ciass:ES_\5i2a 
 
 Rnnic TU 
 
 Gofl^TightN'-Ai^X 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
FRONTIER STORIES _ ^6^ 
 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 R 
 
 SSwei^ 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 1887 
 
 ^'C'^" 
 
■Fi 
 
 18?'/ 
 
 Copyright, 1882, 1883, 1884, 1885, and 1887, 
 By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY. 
 
 A/i rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Flip: A California Romance i 
 
 Found at Blazing Star 55 
 
 In the Carquinez Woods 95 
 
 At the Mission of San Carmel 223 
 
 A Blue-Grass Penelope 267 
 
 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain 335 
 
 A Ship of '49 367 
 
flip: a California IRomance^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Just where the red track of the Los Gatos road streams 
 on and upward like the sinuous trail of a fiery rocket un- 
 til it is extinguished in the blue shadows of the Coast 
 Range, there is an embayed terrace near the summit, 
 hedged by dwarf firs. At every bend of the heat-laden 
 road the eye rested upon it wistfully ; all along the flank 
 of the mountain, which seemed to pant and quiver in the 
 oven-like air, through rising dust, the slow creaking of 
 dragging wheels, the monotonous cry of tired springs, and 
 the muffled beat of plunging hoofs, it held out a promise 
 of sheltered coolness and green silences beyond. Sun- 
 burned and anxious faces yearned toward it from the 
 dizzy, swaying tops of stage-coaches, from lagging teams 
 far below, from the blinding white canvas covers of 
 " mountain schooners,'* and from scorching saddles that 
 seemed to weigh down the scrambling, sweating animals 
 beneath. But it would seem that the hope was vain, the 
 promise illusive. When the terrace was reached it ap- 
 peared not only to have caught and gathered all the heat 
 of the valley below, but to have evolved a fire of its own 
 from some hidden crater-like source unknown. Never- 
 theless, instead of prostrating and enervating man and 
 beast, it was said to have induced the wildest exaltation. 
 The heated air was filled and stifling with resinous exha- 
 lations. The delirious spices of balm, bay, spruce, juni- 
 per, yerba buena, wild syringa, and strange aromatic 
 
2 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 herbs as yet unclassified, distilled and evaporated in that 
 mighty heat, and seemed to fire with a midsummer mad- 
 ness all who breathed their fumes. They stung, smarted, 
 stimulated, intoxicated. It was said that the most jaded 
 and foot-sore horses became furious and ungovernable 
 under their influence ; wearied teamsters and muleteers, 
 who had exhausted their profanity in the ascent, drank 
 fresh draughts of inspiration in this fiery air, extended 
 their vocabulary, and created new and startling forms 
 of objurgation. It is recorded that one bibulous stage- 
 driver exhausted description and condensed its virtues in 
 a single phrase : ** Gin and ginger.'' This felicitous epi- 
 thet, flung out in a generous comparison with his favorite 
 drink, "rum and gum,'' clung to it ever after. 
 
 Such was the current comment on this vale of spices. 
 Like most human criticism it was hasty and superficial. 
 No one yet had been known to have penetrated deeply 
 its mysterious recesses. It was still far below the sum- 
 mit and its wayside inn. It had escaped the intruding 
 foot of hunter and prospector ; and the inquisitive patrol 
 of the county surveyor had only skirted its boundary. It 
 remained for Mr. Lance Harriott to complete its explo- 
 ration. His reasons for so doing were simple. He had 
 made the journey thither underneath the stage-coach, and 
 clinging to its axle. He had chosen this hazardous mode 
 of conveyance at night, as the coach crept by his place of 
 concealment in the wayside brush, to elude the sheriff of 
 Monterey County and his posse, who were after him. He 
 had not made himself known to his fellow-passengers, as 
 they already knew him as a gambler, an outlaw, and a 
 desperado ; he deemed it unwise to present himself in 
 his newer reputation of a man who had just slain a 
 brother gambler in a quarrel, and for whom a reward was 
 offered. He slipped from the axle as the stage-coach 
 swirled past the brushing branches of fir, and for an 
 
Flip : A California Romance. 3 
 
 instant lay unnoticed, a scarcely distinguishable mound 
 of dust in the broken furrows of the road. Then, more 
 like a beast than a man, he crept on his hands and knees 
 into the steaming underbrush. Here he lay still until 
 the clatter of harness and the sound of voices faded in 
 the distance. Had he been followed, it would have been 
 difficult to detect in that inert mass of rags any semblance 
 to a known form or figure. A hideous reddish mask of 
 dust and clay obliterated his face ; his hands were shape- 
 less stumps exaggerated in his trailing sleeves. And 
 when he rose, staggering like a drunken man, and 
 plunged wildly into the recesses of the wood, a cloud of 
 dust followed him, and pieces and patches of his frayed 
 and rotten garments clung to the impeding branches. 
 Twice he fell, but, maddened and upheld by the smart- 
 ing spices and stimulating aroma of the air, he kept on 
 his course. 
 
 Gradually the heat became less oppressive ; once, when 
 he stopped and leaned exhaustedly against a sapling, he 
 fancied he saw the zephyr he could not yet feel in the 
 glittering and trembling of leaves in the distance before 
 him. Again the deep stillness was moved with a faint 
 sighing rustle, and he knew he must be nearing the edge 
 of the thicket. The spell of silence thus broken was fol- 
 lowed by a fainter, more musical interruption — the 
 glassy tinkle of water ! A step further his foot trembled 
 on the verge of a slight ravine, still closely canopied by 
 the interlacing boughs overhead. A tiny stream that he 
 could have dammed with his hand yet lingered in this 
 parched red gash in the hillside and trickled into a deep, 
 irregular, well-like cavity, that again overflowed and sent 
 its slight surplus on. It had been the luxurious retreat 
 of many a spotted trout ; it was to be the bath of Lance 
 Harriott. Without a moment's hesitation, without re- 
 moving a single garment, he slipped cautiously into it, as 
 
4 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 if fearful of losing a single drop. His head disappeared 
 from the level of the bank ; the solitude was again un- 
 broken. Only two objects remained upon the edge of 
 the ravine, — his revolver and tobacco pouch. 
 
 A few minutes elapsed. A fearless blue -jay alighted 
 on the bank and made a prospecting peck at the tobacco 
 pouch. It yielded in favor of a gopher, who endeavored 
 to draw it toward his hole, but in turn gave way to a red 
 squirrel, whose attention was divided, however, between 
 the pouch and the revolver, which he regarded with mis- 
 chievous fascination. Then there was a splash, a grunt, a 
 sudden dispersion of animated nature, and the head of 
 Mr. Lance Harriott appeared above the bank. It was a 
 startling transformation. Not only that he had, by this 
 wholesale process, washed himself and his light " drill " 
 garments entirely clean, but that he had, apparently by 
 the same operation, morally cleansed himself^ and left 
 every stain and ugly blot of his late misdeeds and repu- 
 tation in his bath. His face, albeit scratched here and 
 there, was rosy, round, shining with irrepressible good- 
 humor and youthful levity. His large blue eyes were in- 
 fantine in their innocent surprise and thoughtlessness. 
 Dripping yet with water, and panting, he rested his el- 
 bows lazily on the bank, and became instantly absorbed 
 with a boy's delight in the movements of the gopher, who, 
 after the first alarm, returned cautiously to abduct the 
 tobacco pouch. If any familiar had failed to detect 
 Lance Harriott in this hideous masquerade of dust and 
 grime and tatters, still less would any passing stranger 
 have recognized in this blonde faun the possible outcast 
 and murderer. And when with a swirl of his spattering 
 sleeve he drove back the gopher in a shower of spray 
 and leaped to the bank, he seemed to have accepted his 
 felonious hiding-place as a mere picnicking bower. 
 
 A slight breeze was unmistakably permeating the wood 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 5 
 
 from the west. Looking in that direction, Lance imag- 
 ined that the shadow was less dark, and although the un- 
 dergrowth was denser, he struck off carelessly toward it. 
 As he went on, the wood became lighter and lighter ; 
 branches, and presently leaves, were painted against the 
 vivid blue of the sky. He knew he must be near the 
 summit, stopped, felt for his revolver, and then lightly 
 put the few remaining branches aside. 
 
 The full glare of the noonday sun at first blinded him. 
 When he could see more clearly, he found himself on the 
 open western slope of the mountain, which in the Coast 
 Range was seldom wooded. The spiced thicket stretched 
 between him and the summit, and again between him and 
 the stage road that plunges from the terrace, like forked 
 lightning into the valley below. He could command all 
 the approaches without being seen. Not that this seemed 
 to occupy his thoughts or cause him any anxiety. His 
 first act was to disencumber himself of his tattered coat ; 
 he then filled and lighted his pipe, and stretched himself 
 full-length on the open hillside, as if to bleach in the 
 fierce sun. While smoking he carelessly perused the 
 fragment of a newspaper which had enveloped his to- 
 bacco, and being struck with some amusing paragraph, 
 read it half aloud again to some imaginary auditor, empha- 
 sizing its humor with an hilarious slap upon his leg. 
 
 Possibly from the relaxation of fatigue and the bath, 
 which had become a vapor one as he alternately rolled 
 and dried himself in the baking grass, his eyes closed 
 dreamily. He was awakened by the sound of voices. 
 They were distant ; they were vague ; they approached 
 no nearer. He rolled himself to the verge of the first 
 precipitous grassy descent. There was another bank or 
 plateau below him, and then a confused depth of olive 
 shadows, pierced here and there by the spiked helmets 
 of pines. There was no trace of habitation, yet the 
 
6 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 voices were those of some monotonous occupation, and 
 Lance distinctly heard through them the click of crock- 
 ery and the ring of some household utensil. It appeared 
 to be the interjectional, half listless, half perfunctory, do- 
 mestic dialogue of an old man and a girl, of which the 
 words were unintelligible. Their voices indicated the 
 solitude of the mountain, but without sadness ; they were 
 mysterious without being awe-inspiring. They might 
 have uttered the dreariest commonplaces, but, in their 
 vast isolation, they seemed musical and eloquent. Lance 
 drew his first sigh, — they had suggested dinner. 
 
 Careless as his nature was, he was too cautious to risk 
 detection in broad daylight. He contented himself for 
 the present with endeavoring to locate that particular 
 part of the depths from which the voices seemed to rise. 
 It was more difficult, however, to select some other way 
 of penetrating it than by the stage road. " They 're 
 bound to have a fire or show a light when it 's dark,'' he 
 reasoned, and, satisfied with that reflection, lay down 
 again. Presently he began to amuse himself by tossing 
 some silver coins in the air. Then his attention was di- 
 rected to a spur of the Coast Range which had been 
 sharply silhouetted against the cloudless western sky. 
 Something intensely white, something so small that it 
 was scarcely larger than the silver coin in his hand, was 
 appearing in a slight cleft of the range. 
 
 While he looked it gradually filled and obliterated the 
 cleft. In another moment the whole serrated line of 
 mountain had disappeared. The dense, dazzling white, 
 encompassing host began to pour over and down every 
 ravine and pass of the coast. Lance recognized the sea- 
 fog, and knew that scarcely twenty miles away lay the 
 ocean — and safety ! The drooping sun was now caught 
 and hidden in its soft embraces. A sudden chill breathed 
 over the mountain. He shivered, rose, and plunged 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 7 
 
 again for very warmth into the spice-laden thicket. The 
 heated balsamic air began to affect him like a powerful 
 sedative ; his hunger was forgotten in the languor of fa- 
 tigue : he slumbered. When he awoke it was dark. He 
 groped his way through the thicket. A few stars were 
 shining directly above him, but beyond and below, every- 
 thing was lost in the soft, white, fleecy veil of fog. 
 Whatever light or fire might have betokened human habi- 
 tation was hidden. To push on blindly would be mad- 
 ness ; he could only wait for morning. It suited the 
 outcast's lazy philosophy. He crept back again to his 
 bed in the hollow and slept. In that profound silence 
 and shadow, shut out from human association and sym- 
 pathy by the ghostly fog, what torturing visions conjured 
 up by remorse and fear should have pursued him .? What 
 spirit passed before him, or slowly shaped itself out of 
 the infinite blackness of the wood ? None. As he 
 slipped gently into that blackness he remembered with 
 a slight regret, some biscuits that were dropped from the 
 coach by a careless luncheon-consuming passenger. 
 That pang over, he slept as sweetly, as profoundly, as 
 divinely, as a child. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 He awoke with the aroma of the woods still steeping 
 his senses. His first instinct was that of all young ani- 
 mals : he seized a few of the young, tender green leaves 
 of the yerba buena vine that crept over his mossy pillow 
 and ate them, being rewarded by a half berry-like flavor 
 that seemed to soothe the cravings of his appetite. The 
 languor of sleep being still upon him, he lazily watched 
 the quivering of a sunbeam that was caught in the canopy- 
 ing boughs above. Then he dozed again. Hovering be- 
 tween sleeping and waking, he became conscious of a 
 slight movement among the dead leaves on the bank be- 
 side the hollow in which he lay. The movement appeared 
 to be intelligent, and directed toward his revolver, which 
 glittered on the bank. Amused at this evident return of 
 his larcenious friend of the previous day, he lay perfectly 
 still. The movement and rustle continued, and it now 
 seemed long and undulating. Lance's eyes suddenly be- 
 came set ; he was intensely, keenly awake. It was not a 
 snake, but the hand of a human arm, half hidden in the 
 moss, groping for the weapon. In that flash of perception 
 he saw that it was small, bare, and deeply freckled. In 
 an instant he grasped it firmly, and rose to his feet, drag- 
 ging to his own level as he did so, the struggling figure of 
 a young girl. 
 
 " Leave me go ! " she said, more ashamed than fright- 
 ened. 
 
 Lance looked at her. She was scarcely more than 
 fifteen, slight and lithe, with a boyish flatness of breast 
 and back. Her flushed face and bare throat were abso- 
 
Flip : A California Romance. 9 
 
 lutely peppered with minute brown freckles, like grains of 
 spent gunpowder. Her eyes, which were large and gray, 
 presented the singular spectacle of being also freckled, — 
 at least they were shot through in pupil and cornea with 
 tiny spots like powdered allspice. Her hair was even 
 more remarkable in its tawny deer-skin color, full of 
 lighter shades, and bleached to the faintest of blondes on 
 the crown of her head, as if by the action of the sun. 
 She had evidently outgrown her dress, which was made 
 for a smaller child, and the too brief skirt disclosed a bare, 
 freckled, and sandy desert of shapely limb, for which the 
 darned stockings were equally too scant. Lance let his 
 grasp slip from her thin wrist to her hand, and then with 
 a good-humored gesture tossed it lightly back to her. 
 
 She did not retreat, but continued looking at him in a 
 half-surly embarrassment. 
 
 " I ain't a bit frightened," she said ; " I 'm not going to 
 run away, — don't you fear." 
 
 "Glad to hear it," said Lance, with unmistakable satis- 
 faction, " but why did you go for my revolver ? " 
 
 She flushed again and was silent. Presently she be- 
 gan to kick the earth at the roots of the tree, and said, as 
 if confidentially to her foot : 
 
 " I wanted to get hold of it before you did." 
 
 "You did? — and why?" 
 
 " Oh, you know why." 
 
 Every tooth in Lance's head showed that he did, per- 
 fectly. But he was discreetly silent. 
 
 " I did n't know what you were hiding there for," she 
 went on, still addressing the tree, " and," looking at him 
 sideways under her white lashes, " I did n't see your 
 face." 
 
 This subtle compliment was the first suggestion of her 
 artful sex. It actually sent the blood into the careless 
 rascal's face, and for a moment confused him. He 
 
lo Flip : A California Romance, 
 
 coughed. " So you thought you 'd freeze on to that six- 
 shooter of mine until you saw my hand? " 
 
 She nodded. Then she picked up a broken hazel 
 branch, fitted \\ into the small of her back, threw her 
 tanned bare arms over the ends of it, and expanded her 
 chest and her biceps at the same moment. This simple 
 action was supposed to convey an impression at once of 
 ease and muscular force. 
 
 " Perhaps you 'd like to take it now," said Lance, hand- 
 ing her the pistol. 
 
 " I Ve seen six-shooters before now," said the girl, evad- 
 ing the proffered weapon and its suggestion. " Dad has 
 one, and my brother had two derringers before he was 
 half as big as me." 
 
 She stopped to observe in her companion the effect of 
 this capacity of her family to bear arms. Lance only re- 
 garded her amusedly. Presently she again spoke ab- 
 ruptly : 
 
 *^ What made you eat that grass, just now ? " 
 
 " Grass ! " echoed Lance. 
 
 " Yes, there," pointing to the yerba buena. 
 
 Lance laughed. " I was hungry. Look ! " he said, 
 gayly tossing some silver into the air. " Do you think 
 you could get me some breakfast for that, and have enough 
 left to buy something for yourself ? " 
 
 The girl eyed the money and the man with half-bashful 
 curiositj\ 
 
 " I reckon Dad might give ye suthing if he had a mind 
 ter, though ez a rule he *s down on tramps ever since they 
 run off his chickens. Ye might try." 
 
 " But I want you to try. You can bring it to me here." 
 
 The girl retreated a step, dropped her eyes, and, with a 
 smile that was a charming hesitation between bashfulness 
 and impudence, said : " So you are hidin', are ye t " 
 
 " That's just it. Your head 's level. I am," laughed 
 Lance unconcernedly. 
 
Flip : A California Romance. 1 1 
 
 " Yur ain't one o' the McCarthy gang — are ye ? " 
 
 Mr. Lance Harriott felt a momentary moral exaltation 
 in declaring truthfully that he was not one of a notorious 
 band of mountain freebooters known in the district under 
 that name. 
 
 " Nor ye ain't one of them chicken lifters that raided 
 Henderson's ranch ? We don't go much on that kind o' 
 cattle yer." 
 
 " No," said Lance, cheerfully. 
 
 " Nor ye ain't that chap ez beat his wife unto death 
 at Santa Clara ? " 
 
 Lance honestly scorned the imputation. Such con- 
 jugal ill treatment as he had indulged in had not been 
 physical, and had been with other men's wives. 
 
 There was a moment's further hesitation on the part 
 of the girl. Then she said shortly : 
 
 " Well, then, I reckon you kin come along with me." 
 
 " Where ? " asked Lance. 
 
 " To the ranch," she replied simply. 
 
 " Then you won't bring me anything to eat here ? " 
 
 *' What for? You kin get it down there." Lance hesi- 
 tated. " I tell you it 's all right," she continued. " I '11 
 make it all right with Dad." 
 
 " But suppose I reckon I 'd rather stay here," persisted 
 Lance, with a perfect consciousness, however, of affecta- 
 tion in his caution. 
 
 " Stay away then," said the girl coolly ; " only as Dad 
 perempted this yer woods " — 
 
 ''/V^-empted," suggested Lance. 
 
 "Per-empted or pre-emp-ted, as you like," continued 
 the girl scornfully, — " ez he 's got a holt on this yer 
 woods, ye might ez well see him down thar ez here. For 
 here he 's like to come any minit. You can bet your life 
 on that." 
 
 She must have read Lance's amusement in his eyes, 
 
12 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 for she again dropped her own with a frown of brusque 
 embarrassment. " Come along, then ; I 'm your man," 
 said Lance, gayly, extending his hand. 
 
 She would not accept it, eying it, however, furtively, 
 like a horse about to shy. " Hand me your pistol first," 
 she said. 
 
 He handed it to her with an assumption of gayety. 
 She received it on her part with unfeigned seriousness, 
 and threw it over her shoulder like a gun. This com- 
 bined action of the child and heroine, it is quite unneces- 
 sary to say, afforded Lance undiluted joy, 
 
 " You go first," she said. 
 
 Lance stepped promptly out, with a broad grin. 
 " Looks kinder as if I was a prisoner, don't it t " he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " Go on, and don't fool," she replied. 
 
 The two fared onward through the wood. For one 
 moment he entertained the facetious idea of appearing 
 to rush frantically away, "just to see what the girl would 
 do," but abandoned it. " It 's an even thing if she 
 would n't spot me the first pop," he reflected admiringly. 
 
 When they had reached the open hillside. Lance 
 stopped inquiringly. "This way,'* she said, pointing 
 toward the summit, and in quite an opposite direction to 
 the valley where he had heard the voices, one of which 
 he now recognized as hers. They skirted the thicket for 
 a few moments, and then turned sharply into a trail 
 which began to dip toward a ravine leading to the valley. 
 
 " Why do you have to go all the way round 1 " he 
 asked. 
 
 " ^^ don't," the girl replied with emphasis; "there's 
 a shorter cut." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " That 's telling," she answered shortly. 
 
 " What 's your name ? " asked Lance, after a steep 
 scramble and a drop into the ravine. 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 13 
 
 "Flip.'' 
 • "What?" 
 
 " Flip." 
 ' " I mean your first name, — your front name." 
 
 " Flip." 
 
 " Flip ! Oh, short for Felipa ! " 
 
 " It ain't Flipper, — it 's Flip." And she relapsed into 
 silence. 
 
 "You don't ask me mine ? " suggested Lance. 
 
 She did not vouchsafe a reply. 
 
 " Then you don't want to know ? " 
 
 " Maybe Dad will. You can lie to him,^^ 
 
 This direct answer apparently sustained the agreeable 
 homicide for some moments. He moved onward, silently 
 exuding admiration. 
 
 "Only," added Flip, with a sudden caution, "you'd 
 better agree with me." 
 
 The trail here turned again abruptly and reentered 
 the canon. Lance looked up, and noticed they were al- 
 most directly beneath the bay thicket and the plateau 
 that towered far above them. The. trail here showed 
 signs of clearing, and the way was marked by felled trees 
 and stumps of pines. 
 
 "What does your father do here?" he finally asked. 
 Flip remained silent, swinging the revolver. Lance re- 
 peated his question. 
 
 "Burns charcoal and makes diamonds," said Flip, 
 looking at him from the corners of her eyes. 
 
 " Makes diamonds ? " echoed Lance. 
 
 Flip nodded her head. 
 
 " Many of 'em ? " he continued carelessly. 
 
 "Lots. But they're not big," she returned, with a 
 sidelong glance. 
 
 " Oh, they 're not big? " said Lance gravely. 
 
 They had by this time reached a small staked inclos- 
 
14 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 ure, whence the sudden fluttering and cackle of poultry 
 welcomed the return of the evident mistress of this sylvan 
 retreat. It was scarcely imposing. Further on, a cook- 
 ing stove under a tree, a saddle and bridle, a few house- 
 hold implements scattered about, indicated the " ranch." 
 Like most pioneer clearings, it was simply a disorganized 
 raid upon nature that had left behind a desolate battle- 
 field strewn with waste and decay. The fallen trees, the 
 crushed thicket, the splintered limbs, the rudely torn-up 
 soil, were made hideous by their grotesque juxtaposition 
 with the wrecked fragments of civilization, in empty cans, 
 broken bottles, battered hats, soleless boots, frayed stock- 
 ings, cast-off rags, and the crowning absurdity of the 
 twisted-wire skeleton of a hooped skirt hanging from a 
 branch. The wildest defile, the densest thicket, the 
 most virgin solitude, was less dreary and forlorn than 
 this first footprint of man. The only redeeming feature 
 of this prolonged bivouac was the cabin itself. Built of 
 the half-cylindrical strips of pine bark, and thatched with 
 the same material, it had a certain picturesque rusticity. 
 But this was an accident of economy rather than taste, 
 for which Flip apologized by saying that the bark of the 
 pine was '* no good " for charcoal. 
 
 " I reckon dad 's in the woods," she added, pausing 
 before the open door of the cabin. " Oh, Dad ! " Her 
 voice, clear and high, seemed to fill the whole long canon, 
 and echoed from the green plateau above. The monot- 
 onous strokes of an axe were suddenly intermitted, and 
 somewhere from the depths of the close-set pines a voice 
 answered " Flip." There was a pause of a few moments, 
 with some muttering, stumbling, and crackling in the un- 
 derbrush, and then the appearance of "Dad." 
 
 Had Lance first met him in the thicket, he would have 
 been puzzled to assign his race to Mongolian, Indian, or 
 Ethiopian origin. Perfunctory but incomplete washings 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 15 
 
 of his hands and face, after charcoal burning, had gradu- 
 ally ground into his skin a grayish slate-pencil pallor, 
 grotesquely relieved at the edges, where the washing had 
 left off, with a border of a darker color. He looked like 
 an overworked Christy minstrel with the briefest of inter- 
 vals between his performances. There were black rims 
 in the orbits of his eyes, as if he gazed feebly out of un- 
 glazed spectacles, which heightened his simian resem- 
 blance, already grotesquely exaggerated by what ap- 
 peared to be repeated and spasmodic experiments in dye- 
 ing his gray hair. Without the slightest notice of Lance, 
 he inflicted his protesting and querulous presence entirely 
 on his daughter. 
 
 " Well ! what 's up now ? Yer ye are calling me from 
 work an hour before noon. Dog my skin, ef I ever get 
 fairly limbered up afore it 's ' Dad ! * and * Oh, Dad ! ' " 
 
 To Lance's intense satisfaction the girl received this 
 harangue with an air of supreme indifference, and when 
 " Dad " had relapsed into an unintelligible, and, as it 
 seemed to Lance, a half-frightened muttering, she said 
 coolly, — 
 
 " Ye 'd better drop that axe and scoot round getten' 
 this stranger some breakfast and some grub to take with 
 him. He 's one of them San Francisco sports out here 
 trout-fishing in the branch. He 's got adrift from his 
 party, has lost his rod and fixins, and had to camp out 
 last night in the Gin and Ginger Woods." 
 
 " That 's just it ; it 's allers suthin like that," screamed 
 the old man, dashing his fist on his leg in a feeble, im- 
 potent passion, but without looking at Lance. " Why in 
 blazes don't he go up to that there blamed hotel on the 
 summit ? Why in thunder " — But here he caught his 
 daughter's large, freckled eyes fuU in his own. He 
 blinked feebly, his voice fell into a tone of whining en- 
 treaty. " Now, look yer, Flip, it 's playiijg it rather low 
 
1 6 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 down on the old man, this yer running in o' tramps and 
 desarted emigrants and cast-ashore sailors and forlorn 
 widders and ravin' lunatics, on this yer ranch. I put it to 
 you, Mister," he said abruptly, turning to Lance for the 
 first time, but as if he had already taken an active part 
 in the conversation, — "I put it as a gentleman yourself, 
 and a fair-minded sportin* man, if this is the square 
 thing ? '' 
 
 Before Lance could reply. Flip had already begun. 
 " That 's just it ! D' ye reckon, being a sportin' man 
 and a A I feller, he 's goin' to waltz down inter that 
 hotel, rigged out ez he is ? D' ye reckon he 's goin' to 
 let his partners get the laugh outer him ? D' ye reckon 
 he 's goin' to show his head outer this yer ranch till he 
 can do it square ? Not much ! Go 'long. Dad, you 're 
 talking silly ! " 
 
 The old man weakened. He feebly trailed his axe be- 
 tween his legs to a stump and sat down, wiping his fore- 
 head with his sleeve, and imparting to it the appearance 
 of a slate with a difficult sum partly rubbed out. He 
 looked despairingly at Lance. " In course," he said, with 
 a deep sigh, **you naturally ain't got any money. In 
 course you left your pocketbook, containing fifty dollars, 
 under a stone, and can't find it. In course," he con- 
 tinued, as he observed Lance put his hand to his pocket, 
 ** you 've only got a blank check on Wells, Fargo & Co. 
 for a hundred dollars, and you 'd like me to give you the 
 difference ? " 
 
 Amused as Lance evidently was at this, his absolute 
 admiration for Flip absorbed everything else. With his 
 eyes fixed upon the girl, he briefly assured the old man 
 that he would pay for everything he wanted. He did 
 this with a manner quite different from the careless, easy 
 attitude he had assumed toward Flip ; at least the quick- 
 witted girl noticed it, and wondered if he was angry. It 
 
Flip : A California Romance. 1 7 
 
 was quite true that ever since his eye had fallen upon 
 another of his own sex, its glance had been less frank 
 and careless. Certain traits of possible impatience, which 
 might develop into man-slaying, were coming to the fore. 
 Yet a word or a gesture of Flip's was sufficient to change 
 that manner, and when, with the fretful assistance of her 
 father, she had prepared a somewhat sketchy and prim- 
 itive repast, he questioned the old man about diamond- 
 making. The eye of Dad kindled. 
 
 " I want ter know how ye knew I was making dia- 
 monds,'' he asked, with a certain bashful pettishness not 
 unlike his daughter's. 
 
 " Heard it in 'Frisco,*' replied Lance, with glib men- 
 dacity, glancing at the girl. 
 
 " I reckon they 're gettin' sort of skeert down there — 
 them jewelers," chuckled Dad, " yet it 's in nater that 
 their figgers will have to come down. It 's only a ques- 
 tion of the price of charcoal. I suppose they did n't tell 
 you how I made the discovery ? " 
 
 Lance would have stopped the old man's narrative by 
 saying that he knew the story, but he wished to see how 
 far Flip lent herself to her father's delusion. 
 
 " Ye see, one night about two years ago I had a pit 
 o' charcoal burning out there, and tho' it had been 
 a-smouldering and a-smoking and a-blazing for nigh unto 
 a month, somehow it did n't charcoal worth a cent. And 
 yet, dog my skin, but the heat o' that er pit was suthin 
 hidyus and frightful ; ye could n't stand within a hundred 
 yards of it, and they could feel it on the stage road three 
 miles over yon, t 'other side the mountain. There was 
 nights when me and Flip had to take our blankets up the 
 ravine and camp out all night, and the back of this yer 
 hut shriveled up like that bacon. It was about as nigh 
 on to hell as any sample ye kin get here. Now, mebbe 
 you think I built that air fire ? Mebbe you '11 allow the 
 heat was just the nat'ral burning of that pit ? " 
 
1 8 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 " Certainly," said Lance, trying to see Flip's eyes, 
 which were resolutely averted. 
 
 " Thet's whar you 'd be lyin' ! That yar heat kern out 
 of the bowels of the yearth, — kem up like out of a chim- 
 bley or a blast, and kep up that yar fire. And when she 
 cools down a month after, and I got to strip her, there 
 ^was a hole in the yearth, and a spring o' bilin', scaldin' 
 water pourin' out of it ez big as your waist. And right 
 in the middle of it was this yer." He rose with the in- 
 stinct of a skillful raconteur^ and whisked from under his 
 bunk a chamois leather bag, which he emptied on the 
 table before them. It contained a small fragment of na- 
 tive rock crystal, half-fused upon a petrified bit of pine. 
 It was so glaringly truthful, so really what it purported to 
 be, that the most unscientific woodman pr pioneer would 
 have understood it at a glance. Lance raised his mirth- 
 ful eyes to Flip. 
 
 " It was cooled suddint, — stunted by the water," said 
 the girl, eagerly. She stopped, and as abruptly turned 
 away her eyes and her reddened face. 
 
 ** That's it, that's just it," continued the old man. 
 " Thar 's Flip, thar, knows it j she ain't no fool ! " Lance 
 did not speak, but turned a hard, unsympathizing look 
 upon the old man, and rose almost roughly. The old man 
 clutched his coat. " That 's it, ye see. The carbon 's 
 just turning to di'mens. And stunted. And why? 'Cos 
 the heat was n't kep up long enough. Mebbe yer think 
 I stopped thar ? That ain't me. Thar 's a pit out yar in 
 the woods ez hez been burning six months ; it hain't, in 
 course, got the advantages o' the old one, for it's nat'ral 
 heat. But I 'm keeping that heat up. I 've got a hole 
 where I kin watch it every four hours. When the time 
 comes, I 'm thar ! Don't you see .^ That 's me ! that 's 
 David Fairley, — that 's the old man, — you bet ! " 
 
 "That's so," said Lance, curtly. "And now, Mr. 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 19 
 
 Fairley, if you '11 hand me over a coat or jacket till I can 
 get past these fogs on the Monterey road, I won't keep 
 you from your diamond pit." He threw down a handful 
 of silver on the table. 
 
 "Ther 's a deerskin jacket yer," said the old man, "that 
 one o' them vaqueros left for the price of a bottle of whis- 
 key." 
 
 " I reckon it would n't suit the stranger," said Flip, 
 dubiously producing a much-worn, slashed, and braided 
 vaquero's jacket. But it did suit Lance, who found it 
 warm, and also had suddenly found a certain satisfaction 
 in opposing Flip. When he had put it on, and nodded 
 coldly to the old man, and carelessly to Flip, he walked 
 to the door. 
 
 " If you 're going to take the Monterey road, I can show 
 you a short cut to it," said Flip, with a certain kind of shy 
 civility. 
 
 The paternal Fairley groaned. " That 's it ; let the 
 chickens and the ranch go to thunder, as long as there 's 
 a stranger to trapse round with ; go on ! " 
 
 Lance would have made some savage reply, but Flip 
 interrupted. " You know yourself. Dad, it 's a blind trail, 
 and as that 'ere constable that kem out here hunting 
 French Pete, could n't find it, and had to go round by 
 the canon, like ez not the stranger would lose his way, 
 and have to come back ! " This dangerous prospect si- 
 lenced the old man, and Flip and Lance stepped into the 
 road together. They walked on for some moments with- 
 out speaking. Suddenly Lance turned upon his com- 
 panion. 
 
 "You did n't swallow all that rot about the diamond, 
 did you ? " he asked, crossly. 
 
 Flip ran a little ahead, as if to avoid a reply. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that 's the sort of hog wash 
 the old man serves out to you regularly ? " continued 
 Lance, becoming more slangy in his ill temper. 
 
20 Flip : A California Romance, 
 
 "I don't know that it's any consarn o' yours what I 
 think," replied Flip, hopping from boulder to boulder, as 
 they crossed the bed of a dry watercourse. 
 
 " And I suppose you Ve piloted round and dry-nussed 
 every tramp and dead-beat you 've met since you came 
 here," continued Lance, with unmistakable ill humor. 
 " How many have you helped over this road ? " 
 
 " It 's a year since there was a Chinaman chased by 
 some Irishmen from the Crossing into the brush about 
 yer, and he was too afeered to come out, and nigh most 
 starved to death in thar. I had to drag him out and 
 start him on the mountain, for you could n't get him back 
 to the road. He was the last one hut you.*' 
 
 " Do you reckon it 's the right thing for a girl like you 
 to run about with trash of this kind, and mix herself up 
 with all sorts of roughs and bad company ? " said Lance. 
 
 Flip stopped short. " Look ! if you 're goin' to talk 
 like Dad, I '11 go back." 
 
 The ridiculousness of such a resemblance struck him 
 more keenly than a consciousness of his own ingratitude. 
 He hastened to assure Flip that he was joking. When he 
 had made his peace they fell into talk again, Lance becom- 
 ing unselfish enough to inquire into one or two facts con- 
 cerning her life which did not immediately affect him. 
 Her mother had died on the plains when she was a baby, 
 and her brother had run away from home at twelve. 
 She fully expected to see him again, and thought he 
 might sometime stray into their canon. " That is why, 
 then, you take so much stock in tramps," said Lance. 
 " You expect to recognize Aim ? " 
 
 "Well," replied Flip, gravely, "there is suthing in f/iaf, 
 and there's suthing in f/iis : some o' these chaps might 
 run across brother and do him a good turn for the sake 
 of me." 
 
 " Like me, for instance ? " suggested Lance. 
 
Flip : A California Romance. 2 1 
 
 " Like you. You 'd do him a good trun, would n't 
 you ? " 
 
 " You bet ! " said Lance, with a sudden emotion that 
 quite startled him ; " only don't you go to throwing your- 
 self round promiscuously." He was half conscious of an 
 irritating sense of jealousy, as he asked if any of her 
 proteges had ever returned. 
 
 " No," said Flip, " no one ever did. It shows," she 
 added with sublime simplicity, "I had done 'em good, 
 and they could get on alone. Don't it ? " 
 
 " It does," responded Lance grimly. ** Have you any 
 other friends that come ? " 
 
 " Only the Postmaster at the Crossing." 
 
 " The Postmaster .? " 
 
 "Yes: he's reckonin' to marry me next year, if I 'm 
 big enough." 
 
 " And what do you reckon .^ " asked Lance earnestly. 
 
 Flip began a series of distortions with her shoulders, 
 ran on ahead, picked up a few pebbles and threw them 
 into the wood, glanced back at Lance with swimming 
 mottled eyes, that seemed a piquant incarnation of every- 
 thing suggestive and tantalizing, and said : 
 
 " That 's telling." 
 
 They had by this time reached the spot where they 
 were to separate. " Look," said Flip, pointing to a faint 
 deflection of their path, which seemed, however, to lose 
 itself in the underbrush a dozen yards away, " ther 's 
 your trail. It gets plainer and broader the further you 
 get on, but you must use your eyes here, and get to know 
 it well afore you get into the fog. Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by." Lance took her hand and drew her be- 
 side him. She was still redolent of the spices of the 
 thicket, and to the young man's excited fancy seemed at 
 that moment to personify the perfume and intoxication of 
 her native woods. Half laughingly, half earnestly, he 
 
2 2 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 tried to kiss her : she struggled for some time strongly, 
 but at the last moment yielded, with a slight return and 
 the exchange of a subtle fire that thrilled him, and left 
 him standing confused and astounded as she ran away. 
 He watched her lithe, nymph-like figure disappear in the 
 checkered shadows of the wood, and then he turned 
 briskly down the half-hidden trail. His eyesight was 
 keen, he made good progress, and was soon well on his 
 way toward the distant ridge. 
 
 But Flip's return had not been as rapid. When she 
 reached the wood she crept to its beetling verge, and 
 looking across the canon watched Lance's figure as it 
 vanished and reappeared in the shadows and sinuosities 
 of the ascent. When he reached the ridge the outlying 
 fog crept across the summit, caught him in its embrace, 
 and wrapped him from her gaze. Flip sighed, raised 
 herself, put her alternate foot on a stump, and took a 
 long pull at her too -brief stockings. When she had 
 pulled down her skirt and endeavored once more to re- 
 new the intimacy that had existed in previous years be- 
 tween the edge of her petticoat and the top of her stock- 
 ings, she sighed again, and went home. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 For six months the sea fogs monotonously came and 
 went along the Monterey coast ; for six months they be- 
 leaguered the Coast Range with afternoon sorties of 
 white hosts that regularly swept over the mountain crest, 
 and were as regularly beaten back again by the leveled 
 lances of the morning sun. For six months that white 
 veil which had once hidden Lance Harriott in its folds 
 returned without him. For that amiable outlaw no longer 
 needed disguise or hiding-place. The swift wave of pur- 
 suit that had dashed him on the summit had fallen back, 
 and the next day was broken and scattered. Before the 
 week had passed, a regular judicial inquiry relieved his 
 crime of premeditation, and showed it to be a rude duel 
 of two armed and equally desperate men. From a secure 
 vantage in a sea-coast town Lance challenged a trial by 
 his peers, and, as an already prejudged man escaping 
 from his executioners, obtained a change of venue. Reg- 
 ular justice, seated by the calm Pacific, found the action 
 of an interior, irregular jury rash and hasty. Lance was 
 liberated on bail. 
 
 The Postmaster at Fisher's Crossing had just received 
 the weekly mail and express from San Francisco, and 
 v/as engaged in examining it. It consisted of five letters 
 and two parcels. Of these, three of the letters and 
 the two parcels were directed to Flip. It was not the 
 first time during the last six months that this extraor- 
 dinary event had occurred, and the curiosity of the 
 Crossing was duly excited. As Flip had never called 
 personally for the letters or parcels, but had sent one of 
 
24 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 her wild, irregular scouts or henchmen to bring them, 
 and as she was seldom seen at the Crossing or on the 
 stage road, that curiosity was never satisfied. The disap- 
 pointment to the Postmaster — a man past the middle 
 age — partook of a sentimental nature. He looked at 
 the letters and parcels ; he looked at his watch ; it was 
 yet early, he could return by noon. He again exam- 
 ined the addresses ; they were in the same handwriting 
 as the previous letters. His mind was made up, he 
 would deliver them himself. The poetic, soulful side of 
 his mission was delicately indicated by a pale blue neck- 
 tie, a clean shirt, and a small package of ginger-nuts, of 
 which Flip was extravagantly fond. 
 
 The common road to Fairley's Ranch was by the stage 
 turnpike to a point below the Gin and Ginger Woods, 
 where the prudent horseman usually left his beast and 
 followed the intersecting trail afoot. It was here that 
 the Postmaster suddenly observed on the edge of the 
 wood the figure of an elegantly dressed woman ; she was 
 walking slowly, and apparently at her ease ; one hand 
 held her skirts lightly gathered between her gloved fin- 
 gers, the other slowly swung a riding-whip. Was it a 
 picnic of some people from Monterey or Santa Cruz ? 
 The spectacle was novel enough to justify his coming 
 nearer. Suddenly she withdrew into the wood ; he lost 
 sight of her ; she was gone. He remembered, however, 
 that Flip was still to be seen, and as the steep trail was 
 beginning to tax all his energies, he was fain to hurry 
 forward. The sun was nearly vertical when he turned 
 into the canon, and saw the bark roof of the cabin be- 
 yond. At almost the same moment Flip appeared, 
 flushed and panting, in the road before him. 
 
 " You Ve got something for me," she said, pointing to 
 the parcel and letter. Completely taken by surprise, the 
 Postmaster mechanically yielded them up, and as in- 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 25 
 
 stantly regretted it. " They 're paid for," continued Flip, 
 observing his hesitation. 
 
 "That's so," stammered the official of the Crossing, 
 seeing his last chance of knowing the contents of the 
 parcel vanish ; " but I thought ez it 's a valooable pack- 
 age, maybe ye might want to examine it to see that it was 
 all right afore ye receipted for it." 
 
 "I'll risk it," said Flip, coolly, "and if it ain't right 
 I '11 let ye know." 
 
 As the girl seemed inclined to retire with her property, 
 the Postmaster was driven to other conversation. " We 
 ain't had the pleasure of seeing you down at the Cross- 
 ing for a month o' Sundays," he began, with airy yet 
 pronounced gallantry. " Some folks let on you was keep- 
 in' company with some feller like Bijah Brown, and you 
 were getting a little too set up for the Crossing." The 
 individual here mentioned being the county butcher, and 
 supposed to exhibit his hopeless affection for Flip by 
 making a long and useless divergence from his weekly 
 route to enter the canon for "orders," Flip did not deem 
 it necessary to reply. " Then I allowed how ez you 
 might have company," he continued ; " I reckon there 's 
 some city folks up at the summit. I saw a mighty smart, 
 fash'n'ble gal cavorting round. Hed no end o' style 
 and fancy fixin's. That's my kind, I tell you. I just 
 weaken on that sort o' gal," he continued, in the firm belief 
 that he had awakened Flip's jealousy, as he glanced at 
 her well-worn homespun frock, and found her eyes sud- 
 denly fixed on his own. 
 
 " Strange I ain't got to see her yet," she replied coolly, 
 shouldering her parcel, and quit-e ignoring any sense of 
 obligation to him for his extra-official act. 
 
 " But you might get to see her at the edge of the Gin 
 and Ginger Woods," he persisted feebly, in a last effort 
 to detain her; " if you'll take ^.pasear there with me." 
 
26 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 Flip's only response was to walk on toward the cabin, 
 whence, with a vague complimentary suggestion of "drop- 
 in' in to pass the time o' day " with her father, the Post- 
 master meekly followed. 
 
 The paternal Fairley, once convinced that his daughter's 
 new companion required no pecuniary or material assist- 
 ance from his hands, relaxed to the extent of entering 
 into a querulous confidence with him, during which Flip 
 took the opportunity of slipping away. As Fairley had 
 that infelicitous tendency of most weak natures, to un- 
 consciously exaggerate unimportant details in their talk, 
 the Postmaster presently became convinced that the 
 butcher was a constant and assiduous suitor of Flip's. 
 The absurdity of his sending parcels and letters by post 
 when he might bring them himself did not strike the 
 official. On the contrary, he believed it to be a master- 
 stroke of cunning. Fired by jealousy and Flip's indiffer- 
 ence, he " deemed it his duty " — using that facile form 
 of cowardly offensiveness — to betray Flip. 
 
 Of which she was happily oblivious. Once away from 
 the cabin, she plunged into the woods, with the parcel 
 swung behind her like a knapsack. Leaving the trail, 
 she presently struck off in a straight line through cover 
 and underbrush with the unerring instinct of an animal, 
 climbing hand over hand the steepest ascent, or flutter- 
 ing like a bird from branch to branch down the deepest 
 declivity. She soon reached that part of the trail where 
 the susceptible Postmaster had seen the fascinating un- 
 known. Assuring herself she was not followed, she crept 
 through the thicket until she reached a little waterfall 
 and basin that had served the fugitive Lance for a bath. 
 The spot bore signs of later and more frequent occu- 
 pancy, and when Flip carefully removed some bark and 
 brushwood from a cavity in the rock and drew forth vari- 
 ous folded garments, it was evident she used it as a 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 27 
 
 sylvan dressing-room. Here she opened the parcel ; it 
 contained a small and delicate shawl of yellow China 
 crepe. Flip instantly threw it over her shoulders and 
 stepped hurriedly toward the edge of the wood. Then 
 she began to pass backward and forward before the trunk 
 of a tree. At first nothing was visible on the tree, but a 
 closer inspection showed a large pane of ordinary window 
 glass stuck in the fork of the branches. It was placed at 
 such a cunning angle against the darkness of the forest 
 opening that it made a soft and mysterious mirror, not 
 unlike a Claude Lorraine glass, wherein not only the 
 passing figure of the young girl was seen, but the daz- 
 zling green and gold of the hillside, and the far-off sil- 
 houetted crests of the Coast Range. 
 
 But this was evidently only a prelude to a severer re- 
 hearsal. When she returned to the waterfall she un- 
 earthed from her stores a large piece of yellow soap and 
 some yards of rough cotton " sheeting.^' These she de- 
 posited beside the basin and again crept to the edge of 
 the wood to assure herself that she was alone. Satisfied 
 that no intruding foot had invaded that virgin bower, she 
 returned to her bath and began to undress. A slight wind 
 followed her, and seemed to whisper to the circumjacent 
 trees. It appeared to waken her sister naiads and nymphs, 
 who, joining their leafy fingers, softly drew around her a 
 gently moving band of trembling lights and shadows, of 
 flecked sprays and inextricably mingled branches, and 
 involved her in a chaste sylvan obscurity, veiled alike 
 from pursuing god or stumbling shepherd. Within these 
 hallowed precincts was the musical ripple of laughter and 
 falling water, and at times the glimpse of a lithe brier- 
 caught limb, or a ray of sunlight trembling over bright 
 flanks, or the white austere outline of a childish bosom. 
 
 When she drew again the leafy curtain, and once more 
 stepped out of the wood, she was completely transformed. 
 
28 Flip : A California Romance, 
 
 It was the figure that had appeared to the Postmaster ; 
 the slight, erect, graceful form of a young woman mod- 
 ishly attired. It was Flip, but Flip made taller by the 
 lengthened skirt and clinging habiliments of fashion. 
 Flip freckled, but, through the cunning of a relief of yel- 
 low color in her gown, her piquant brown-shot face and 
 eyes brightened and intensified until she seemed like a 
 spicy odor made visible. I cannot affirm that the judg- 
 ment of Flip's mysterious modiste was infallible, or that 
 the taste of Mr. Lance Harriott, her patron, was fastidi- 
 ous; enough that it was picturesque, and perhaps not 
 more glaring and extravagant than the color in which 
 Spring herself had once clothed the sere hillside where 
 Flip was now seated. The phantom mirror in the tree 
 fork caught and held her with the sky, the green leaves, 
 the sunlight and all the graciousness of her surroundings, 
 and the wind gently tossed her hair and the gay ribbons 
 of her gypsy hat. Suddenly she started. Some remote 
 sound in the trail below, inaudible to any ear less fine 
 than hers, arrested her breathing. She rose swiftly and 
 darted into cover. 
 
 Ten minutes passed. The sun was declining ; the 
 white fog was beginning to creep over the Coast Range. 
 From the edge of the wood Cinderella appeared, disen- 
 chanted, and in her homespun garments. The clock had 
 struck — the spell was past. As she disappeared down 
 the trail even the magic mirror, moved by the wind, 
 slipped from the tree - top to the ground, and became a 
 piece of common glass. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The events of the day had produced a remarkable im- 
 pression on the facial aspect of the charcoal-burning 
 Fairley. Extraordinary processes of thought, indicated 
 by repeated rubbing of his forehead, had produced a 
 high light in the middle and a corresponding deepening 
 of shadow at the sides, until it bore the appearance of a 
 perfect sphere. It was this forehead that confronted 
 Flip reproachfully as became a deceived comrade, menac- 
 ingly as became an outraged parent in the presence of a 
 third party and — a Postmaster. 
 
 " Fine doin's this, yer receivin' clandecent bundles and 
 letters, eh?" he began. Flip sent one swift, withering 
 look of contempt at the Postmaster, who at once becom- 
 ing invertebrate and groveling, mumbled that he must 
 "get on " to the Crossing, and rose to go. But the old 
 man, who had counted on his presence for moral support, 
 and was clearly beginning to hate him for precipitating 
 this scene with his daughter, whom he feared, violently 
 protested. 
 
 " Sit down, can't ye ? Don't you see you 're a wit- 
 ness ? " he screamed hysterically. 
 
 It was a fatal suggestion. " Witness," repeated Flip, 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Yes, a witness ! He gave ye letters and bundles." 
 
 " Were n't they directed to me ? " asked Flip. 
 
 " Yes," said the Postmaster, hesitatingly ; " in course, 
 yes." 
 
 " Do you lay claim to them ? " she said, turning to her 
 father. 
 
 " No," responded the old man. 
 
30 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 " Do you ? '* sharply, to the Postmaster. 
 
 " No," he replied. 
 
 "Then,'' said Flip, coolly, "if you Ve not claimin' 'em 
 for yourself, and you hear father say they ain't his, I 
 reckon the less you have to say about 'em the better." 
 
 "Thar 's suthin' in that," said the old man, shamelessly 
 abandoning the Postmaster. 
 
 " Then why don't she say who sent 'em, and what they 
 are like," said the Postmaster, " if there 's nothing in it ? " 
 
 " Yes," echoed Dad. " Flip, why don't you ? " 
 
 Without answering the direct question, Flip turned 
 upon her father. 
 
 " Maybe you forget how you used to row and tear 
 round here because tramps and such like came to the 
 ranch for suthin', and I gave it to 'em ? Maybe you '11 
 quit tearin' round and letting yourself be made a fool of 
 now by that man, just because one of those tramps gets 
 up and sends us some presents back in turn ? " 
 
 " 'Twas n't me. Flip," said the old man, deprecatingly, 
 but glaring at the astonished Postmaster. " 'Twas n't my 
 doin'. I alius said if you cast your bread on the waters 
 it would come back to you by return mail. The fact is, 
 the Gov'ment is getting too high-handed ! Some o' these 
 bloated officials had better climb down before next leck- 
 shen." 
 
 " Maybe," continued Flip to her father, without looking 
 at her discomfited visitor, " ye 'd better find out whether 
 one of those officials comes up to this yer ranch to steal 
 away a gal about my own size, or to get points about 
 diamond-making. I reckon he don't travel round to find 
 out who writes all the letters that go through the Post 
 Office." 
 
 The Postmaster had seemingly miscalculated the old 
 man's infirm temper, and the daughter's skillful use of it. 
 He was unprepared for Flip's boldness and audacity, and 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 31 
 
 when he saw that both barrels of the accusation had 
 taken effect on the charcoal-burner, who was rising with 
 epileptic rage, he fairly turned and fled. The old man 
 would have followed him with objurgation beyond the 
 door, but for the restraining hand of Flip. 
 
 Baffled and beaten, nevertheless Fate was not wholly 
 unkind to the retreating suitor. Near the Gin and Gin- 
 ger Woods he picked up a letter which had fallen from 
 Flip's packet. He recognized the writing, and did not 
 scruple to read it. It was not a love epistle, — at least, 
 not such a one as he would have written, — it did not 
 give the address nor the name of the correspondent ; but 
 he read the following with greedy eyes : — 
 
 " Perhaps it 's just as well that you don't rig yourself 
 out for the benefit of those dead-beats at the Crossing, 
 or any tramp that might hang round the ranch. Keep 
 all your style for me when I come. I can't tell you when, 
 it 's mighty uncertain before the rainy season. But I 'm 
 coming soon. Don't go back on your promise about let- 
 tin' up on the tramps, and being a little more high-toned. 
 And don't you give 'em so much. It's true I sent you 
 hats twice, I clean forgot all about the first; but / 
 would n't have given a ten-dollar hat to a nigger woman 
 who had a sick baby because I had an extra hat. I 'd 
 have let that baby slide. I forgot to ask whether the 
 skirt is worn separately ; I must see that dressmaker 
 sharp about it ; but I think you '11 want something on be- 
 sides a jacket and skirt ; at least, it looks like it up here. 
 I don't think you could manage a piano down there with- 
 out the old man knowing it, and raisin' the devil generally. 
 I promised you I 'd let up on him. Mind you keep all 
 your promises to me. I 'm glad you're gettin' on with the 
 six-shooter ; tin cans are good at fifteen yards, but try it 
 on suthin' that moves ! 1 forgot to say that I am on the 
 
32 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 track of your big brother. It 's a three years^ old track, 
 and he was in Arizona. The friend who told me didn't 
 expatiate much on what he did there, but I reckon they 
 had a high old time. If he 's above the earth I '11 find 
 him, you bet. The yerba buena and the southern wood 
 came all right, — they smelt like you. Say, Flip, do you 
 remember the last — the very last — thing that happened 
 when you said * good-by ' on the trail 1 Don't let me 
 ever find out that you 've let anybody else kiss" — 
 
 But here the virtuous indignation of the Postmaster 
 found vent in an oath. He threw the letter away. He 
 retained of it only two facts, — Flip had a brother who 
 was missing ; she had a lover present in the flesh. 
 
 How much of the substance of this and previous let- 
 ters Flip had confided to her father I cannot say. If she 
 suppressed anything it was probably that which affected 
 Lance's secret alone, and it was doubtful how much of 
 that she herself knew. In her own affairs she was frank 
 without being communicative, and never lost her shy ob- 
 stinacy even with her father. Governing the old man as 
 completely as she did, she appeared most embarrassed 
 when she was most dominant ; she had her own way with- 
 out lifting her voice or her eyes ; she seemed oppressed 
 by mauvaise honte when she was most triumphant ; she 
 would end a discussion with a shy murmur addressed to 
 herself, or a single gesture of self-consciousness. 
 
 The disclosure of her strange relations with an un- 
 known man, and the exchange of presents and confi- 
 dences, seemed to suddenly awake Fairley to a vague, un- 
 easy sense of some unfulfilled duties as a parent. The 
 first effect of this on his weak nature was a peevish an- 
 tagonism to the cause of it. He had long, fretful mono- 
 logues on the vanity of diamond-making, if accompanied 
 with " pestering " by ** interlopers ; " on the wickedness 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 33 
 
 of concealment and conspiracy, and their effects on char- 
 coal-burning j on the nurturing of spies and " adders '^ in 
 the family circle, and on the seditiousness of dark and 
 mysterious councils in which a gray-haired father was left 
 out. It was true that a word or look from Flip generally 
 brought these monologues to an inglorious and abrupt 
 termination, but they were none the less lugubrious as 
 long as they lasted. In time they were succeeded by an 
 affectation of contrite apology and self - depreciation. 
 " Don't go out o' the way to ask the old man," he would 
 say, referring to the quantity of bacon to be ordered ; " it 's 
 natural a young gal should have her own advisers.'' The 
 state of the flour-barrel would also produce a like self- 
 abasement. " Unless ye 're already in correspondence 
 about more flour, ye might take the opinion o' the first 
 tramp ye meet ez to whether Santa Cruz Mills is a good 
 brand, but don't ask the old man." If Flip was in con- 
 versation with the butcher, Fairley would obtrusively re- 
 tire with the hope " he was n't intrudin' on their secrets." 
 These phases of her father's weakness were not fre- 
 quent enough to excite her alarm, but she could not help 
 noticing they were accompanied with a seriousness un- 
 usual to him. He began to be tremulously watchful of 
 her, returning often from work at an earlier hour, and 
 lingering by the cabin in the morning. He brought 
 absurd and useless presents for her, and presented them 
 with a nervous anxiety, poorly concealed by an assump- 
 tion of careless, paternal generosity. *' Suthin' I picked 
 up at the Crossin' for ye to-day," he would say, airily, and 
 retire to watch the effect of a pair of shoes two sizes too 
 large, or a fur cap in September. He would have hired 
 a cheap parlor organ for her, but for the apparently un- 
 expected revelation that she could n't play. He had re- 
 ceived the news of a clue to his long-lost son without 
 emotion, but lately he seemed to look upon it as a fore- 
 
34 Flip • A California Romance. 
 
 gone conclusion, and one that necessarily solved the ques- 
 tion of companionship for Flip. *^ In course, when you 've 
 got your own fiesh and blood with ye, ye can't go foolin' 
 around with strangers.'^ These autumnal blossoms of 
 affection, I fear, came too late for any effect upon Flip, 
 precociously matured by her father's indifference and 
 selfishness. But she was good-humored, and, seeing him 
 seriously concerned, gave him more of her time, even vis- 
 ited him in the sacred seclusion of the ** diamond pit," 
 and listened with far-off eyes to his fitful indictment of 
 all things outside his grimy laboratory. Much of this 
 patient indifference came with a capricious change in her 
 own habits \ she no longer indulged in the rehearsal of 
 dress, she packed away her most treasured garments, and 
 her leafy boudoir knew her no more. She sometimes 
 walked on the hillside, and often followed the trail she 
 had taken with Lance when she led him to the ranch. 
 She once or twice extended her walk to the spot where 
 she had parted from him, and as often came shyly away, 
 her eyes downcast and her face warm with color. Per- 
 haps because these experiences and some mysterious in- 
 stinct of maturing womanhood had left a story in her 
 eyes, which her two adorers, the Postmaster and the 
 butcher, read with passion, she became famous without 
 knowing it. Extravagant stories of her fascinations 
 brought strangers into the valley. The effect upon her 
 father may be imagined. Lance could not have desired 
 a more effective guardian than he proved to be in this 
 emergency. Those who had been told of this hidden 
 pearl were surprised to find it so jealously protected. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 The long, parched summer had drawn to its dusty 
 close. Much of it was already blown abroad and dissi- 
 pated on trail and turnpike, or crackled in harsh, un- 
 elastic fibres on hillside and meadow. Some of it had 
 disappeared in the palpable smoke by day and fiery crests 
 by night of burning forests. The besieging fogs on the 
 Coast Range daily thinned their hosts, and at last van- 
 ished. The wind changed from northwest to southwest. 
 The salt breath of the sea was on the summit. And then 
 one day the staring, unchanged sky was faintly touched 
 with remote mysterious clouds, and grew tremulous in ex- 
 pression. The next morning dawned upon a newer face 
 in the heavens, on changed woods, on altered outlines, on 
 vanished crests, on forgotten distajices. It was raining ! 
 
 Four weeks of this change, with broken spaces of sun- 
 light and intense blue aerial islands, and then a storm set 
 in. All day the summit pines and redwoods rocked in 
 the blast. At times the onset of the rain seemed to be 
 held back by the fury of the gale, or was visibly seen in 
 sharp waves on the hillside. Unknown and concealed 
 watercourses suddenly overflowed the trails, pools became 
 lakes and brooks rivers. Hidden from the storm, the 
 sylvan silence of sheltered valleys was broken by the im- 
 petuous rush of waters ; even the tiny streamlet that 
 traversed Flip's retreat in the Gin and Ginger Woods be- 
 came a cascade. 
 
 The storm drove Fairley from his couch early. The 
 falling of a large tree across the trail, and the sudden 
 overflow of a small stream beside it, hastened his steps. 
 
36 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 But he was doomed to encounter what was to him a more 
 disagreeable object — a human figure. By the bedraggled 
 drapery that flapped and fluttered in the wind, by the 
 long, unkempt hair that hid the face and eyes, and by the 
 grotesquely misplaced bonnet, the old man recognized 
 one of his old trespassers — an Indian squaw. 
 
 " Clear out 'er that ! Come, make tracks, will ye ? " 
 the old man screamed; but here the wind stopped his 
 voice, and drove him against a hazel-bush. 
 
 " Me heap sick," answered the squaw, shivering through 
 her muddy shawl. 
 
 " I '11 make ye a heap sicker if ye don't vamose the 
 ranch," continued Fairley, advancing. 
 
 " Me wantee Wangee girl. Wangee girl give me heap 
 grub," said the squaw, without moving. 
 
 " You bet your life," groaned the old man to himself. 
 Nevertheless an idea struck him. "Ye ain't brought 
 no presents, hev ye ? " he asked cautiously. " Ye ain't got 
 no pooty things for poor Wangee girl ? " he continued in- 
 sinuatingly. 
 
 " Me got heap cache nuts and berries," said the squaw. 
 "Oh, in course ! in course ! That 's just it," screamed 
 Fairley ; " you 've got 'em cached only two mile from yer, 
 and you '11 go and get 'em for a half dollar, cash down." 
 
 " Me bring Wangee girl to cache,'' replied the Indian, 
 pointing to the wood. " Honest Injin." 
 
 Another bright idea struck Mr. Fairley; but it re- 
 quired some elaboration. Hurrying the squaw with him 
 through the pelting rain, he reached the shelter of the 
 corral. Vainly the shivering aborigine drew her tightly 
 bandaged papoose closer to her square, flat breast, and 
 looked longingly toward the cabin ; the old man backed 
 her against the palisade. Here he cautiously imparted 
 his dark intentions to employ her to keep watch and ward 
 over the ranch, and especially over its young mistress — 
 
Flip : A Caiifornia Romance. 37 
 
 " clear out all the tramps 'ceptin' yourself, and I '11 keep 
 ye in grub and rum." Many and deliberate repetitions 
 of this offer in various forms at last seemed to affect the 
 squaw ; she nodded violently, and echoed the last v^ord 
 "rum." "Now," she added. The old man hesitated; 
 she was in possession of his secret ; he groaned, and, 
 promising an immediate installment of liquor, led her to 
 the cabin. 
 
 The door was so securely fastened against the impact 
 of the storm that some moments elapsed before the bar 
 was drawn, and the old man had become impatient and 
 profane. When it was partly opened by Flip he hastily 
 slipped in, dragging the squaw after him, and cast one 
 single suspicious glance around the rude apartment which 
 served as a sitting-room. Flip had apparently been writ- 
 ing. A small inkstand was still on the board table, but 
 her paper had evidently been concealed before she al- 
 lowed them to enter. The squaw instantly squatted be- 
 fore the adobe hearth, warmed her bundled baby, and 
 left the ceremony of introduction to her companion. 
 Flip regarded the two with calm preoccupation and in- 
 difference. The only thing that touched her interest was 
 the old squaw's draggled skirt and limp neckerchief. 
 They were Flip's own, long since abandoned and cast 
 off in the Gin and Ginger Woods. " Secrets again," 
 whined Fairley, still eying Flip furtively. " Secrets 
 again, in course — in course — jiss so. Secrets that must 
 be kep from the ole man. Dark doin's by one's own 
 flesh and blood. Go on ! go on ! Don't mind me." 
 Flip did not reply. She had even lost the interest in her 
 old dress. Perhaps it had only touched some note in 
 unison with her revery. 
 
 " Can't ye get the poor critter some whiskey ? " he 
 queried, fretfully. " Ye used to be peart enuff be- 
 fore." As Flip turned to the corner to lift the demijohn, 
 
38 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 Fairley took occasion to kick the squaw with his foot, 
 and indicate by extravagant pantomime that the bargain 
 was not to be alluded to before the girl. Flip poured 
 out some whiskey in a tin cup, and, approaching the 
 squaw, handed it to her. " It 's like ez not," continued 
 Fairley to his daughter, but looking at the squaw, ** that 
 she '11 be huntin' the woods off and on, and kinder look- 
 ing after the last pit near the Madronos ; ye '11 give her 
 grub and licker ez she likes. Well, d' ye hear. Flip t 
 Are ye moonin' agin with yer secrets .»* What 's gone 
 with ye ? " 
 
 If the child were dreaming, it was a delicious dream. 
 Her magnetic eyes were suffused by a strange light, as 
 though the eye itself had blushed ; her full pulse showed 
 itself more in the rounding outline of her cheek than in 
 any deepening of color ; indeed, if there was any height- 
 ening of tint, it was in her freckles, which fairly glistened 
 like tiny spangles. Her eyes were downcast, her shoul- 
 ders slightly bent, but her voice was low and clear and 
 thoughtful as ever. 
 
 " One o' the big pines above the Madrono pit has blown 
 overinto the run," she said. " It 's choked up the water, 
 and it's risin' fast. Like ez not it's pourin' over into 
 the pit by this time." 
 
 The old man rose with a fretful cry. ^*And why in 
 blazes did n't you say so first .^ " he screamed, catching 
 up his axe and rushing to the door. 
 
 " Ye did n't give me a chance," said Flip, raising her 
 eyes for the first time. With an impatient imprecation, 
 Fairley darted by her and rushed into the wood. In an 
 instant she had shut the door and bolted it. In the same 
 instant the squaw arose, dashed the long hair not only 
 from her eyes but from her head, tore away her shawl and 
 blanket, and revealed the square shoulders of Lance Har- 
 riott ! Flip remained leaning against the door \ but the 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 39 
 
 young man in rising dropped the bandaged papoose, 
 which rolled from his lap into the fire. Flip, with a cry, 
 sprang toward it ; but Lance caught her by the waist with 
 one arm, as with the other he dragged the bundle from 
 the flames. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," he said, gayly, " it 's only " — 
 
 " What ? " said Flip, trying to disengage herself, 
 
 " My coat and trousers." 
 
 Flip laughed, which encouraged Lance to another at- 
 tempt to kiss her. She evaded it by diving her head into 
 his waistcoat, and saying, " There 's father." 
 
 " But he 's gone to clear away that tree," suggested 
 Lance. 
 
 One of Flip's significant silences followed. 
 
 "Oh, I see," he laughed. "That was a plan to get 
 him away ! Ah ! " She had released herself. 
 
 " Why did you come like that .^ " she said, pointing to 
 his wig and blanket. 
 
 " To see if you 'd know me," he responded. 
 
 "No," said Flip, dropping her eyes. "It's to keep 
 other people from knowing you. You 're hidin' agin." 
 
 " I am," returned Lance ; " but," he interrupted, " it 's 
 only the same old thing." 
 
 " But you wrote from Monterey that if was all over," 
 she persisted. 
 
 " So it would have been," he said gloomily, " but for 
 some dog down here who is hunting up an old scent. I '11 
 spot him yet, and " — He stopped suddenly, with such 
 utter abstraction of hatred in his fixed and glittering 
 eyes that she almost feared him. She laid her hand quite 
 unconsciously on his arm. He grasped it; his face 
 changed. 
 
 " I could n't wait any longer to see you, Flip, so I came 
 here anyway," he went on. " I thought to hang round 
 and get a chance to speak to you first, when I fell afoul 
 
40 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 of the old man. He did n't know me, and tumbled right 
 in my little game. Why, do you believe he wants to hire 
 me for my grub and liquor, to act as a sort of sentry 
 over you and the ranch ? " And here he related with 
 great gusto the substance of his interview. " I reckon as 
 he 's that suspicious," he concluded, " I 'd better play it 
 out now as I Ve begun, only it *s mighty hard I can't see 
 you here before the fire in your fancy toggery. Flip, but 
 must dodge in and out of the wet underbrush in these yer 
 duds of yours that I picked up in the old place in the Gin 
 and Ginger Woods." 
 
 " Then you came here just to see me ? " asked Flip. 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " For only that ? " 
 
 " Only that." 
 
 Flip dropped her eyes. Lance had got his other arm 
 around her waist, but her resisting little hand was still 
 potent. 
 
 ** Listen," she said at last without looking up, but ap- 
 parently talking to the intruding arm, " when Dad comes 
 I '11 get him to send you to watch the diamond pit. It 
 is n't far ; it 's warm, and " — 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " I '11 come, after a bit, and see you. Quit foolin' now. 
 If you 'd only have come here like yourself — like — like 
 — a white man." 
 
 " The old man," interrupted Lance, " would have just 
 passed me on to the summit. I could n't have played the 
 lost fisherman on him at this time of year." 
 
 " Ye could have been stopped at the Crossing by high 
 water, you silly," said the girl. "It was." This gram- 
 matical obscurity referred to the stage-coach. 
 
 " Yes, but I might have been tracked to this cabin. 
 And look here, Flip," he said, suddenly straightening 
 himself, and lifting the girl's face to a level with his own, 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 41 
 
 "I don't want you to lie any more for me. It ain't 
 right." 
 
 " All right. Ye need n't go to the pit, then, and T 
 won't come." 
 
 " Flip ! " 
 
 " And here 's Dad coming. Quick ! " 
 
 Lance chose to put his own interpretation on this last 
 adjuration. The resisting little hand was now lying quite 
 limp on his shoulder. He drew her brown, bright face 
 near his own, felt her spiced breath on his lips, his 
 cheeks, his hot eyelids, his swimming eyes, kissed her, 
 hurriedly replaced his wig and blanket, and dropped be- 
 side the fire with the tremulous laugh of youth and inno- 
 cent first passion. Flip had withdrawn to the window, 
 and was looking out upon the rocking pines. 
 
 "He don't seem to be coming," said Lance, with a half- 
 shy laugh. 
 
 " No," responded Flip demurely, pressing her hot oval 
 cheek against the wet panes ; " I reckon I was mistaken. 
 You 're sure," she added, looking resolutely another way, 
 but still trembling like a magnetic needle toward Lance, 
 as he moved slightly before the fire, " you 're sure you 'd 
 like me to come to you 1 " 
 
 " Sure, Flip ? " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Flip, as this reassuring query of re- 
 proachful astonishment appeared about to be emphasized 
 by a forward amatory dash of Lance's ; " hush ! he 's 
 coming this time, sure." 
 
 It was, indeed, Fairley, exceedingly wet, exceedingly 
 bedraggled, exceedingly sponged out as to color, and ex- 
 ceedingly profane. It appeared that there was, indeed, 
 a tree that had fallen in the " run," but that, far from 
 diverting the overflow into the pit, it had established 
 " back water," which had forced another outlet. All this 
 might have been detected at once by any human intellect 
 
42 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 not distracted by correspondence with strangers, and en- 
 feebled by habitually scorning the intellect of its own 
 progenitor. This reckless selfishness had further only 
 resulted in giving " rheumatics " to that progenitor, who 
 now required the external administration of opodeldoc to 
 his limbs, and the internal administration of whiskey. 
 Having thus spoken, Mr. Fairley, with great promptitude 
 and infantine simplicity, at once bared two legs of en- 
 tirely different colors and mutely waited for his daughter 
 to rub them. If Flip did this all unconsciously, and with 
 the mechanical dexterity of previous habit, it was be- 
 cause she did not quite understand the savage eyes and 
 impatient gestures of Lance in his encompassing wig and 
 blanket, and because it helped her to voice her thought. 
 
 " Ye Ul never be able to take yer watch at the diamond 
 pit to-night. Dad," she said ; " and I Ve been reck'nin' 
 you might set the squaw there instead. I can show her 
 what to do." 
 
 But to Flip's momentary discomfiture, her father 
 promptly objected. " Mebbe I Ve got suthin' else for 
 her to do. Mebbe I may have my secrets, too — eh } '' 
 he said, with dark significance, at the same time adminis- 
 tering a significant nudge to Lance, which kept up the 
 young man's exasperation. " No, she '11 rest yer a bit 
 just now. I '11 set her to watchin' suthin' else, like as 
 not, when I want her." Flip fell into one of her sugges- 
 tive silences. Lance watched her earnestly, mollified by 
 a single furtive glance-from her significant eyes ; the rain 
 dashed against the windows, and occasionally spattered 
 and hissed in the hearth of the broad chimney, and Mr. 
 David Fairley, somewhat assuaged by the internal ad- 
 ministration of whiskey, grew more loquacious. The 
 genius of incongruity and inconsistency which generally 
 ruled his conduct came out with freshened vigor under 
 the gentle stimulation of spirit. "On an evening like 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 43 
 
 this," he began, comfortably settling himself on the. floor 
 beside the chimney, "ye might rig yerself out in them 
 new duds and fancy fixings that that Sacramento shrimp 
 sent ye, and let your own flesh and blood see ye. If 
 that's too much to do for your old dad, ye might do it to 
 please that digger squaw as a Christian act/' Whether 
 in the hidden depths of the old man's consciousness there 
 was a feeling of paternal vanity in showing this wretched 
 aborigine the value and importance of the treasure she 
 was about to guard, I cannot say. Flip darted an inter- 
 rogatory look at Lance, who nodded a quiet assent, and 
 she flew into the inner room. She did not linger on the 
 details of her toilet, but reappeared almost the next mo- 
 ment in her new finery, buttoning the neck of her gown 
 as she entered the room, and chastely stopping at the 
 window to characteristically pull up her stocking. The 
 peculiarity of her situation increased her usual shyness ; 
 she played with the black and gold beads of a hand- 
 some necklace — Lance's last gift — as the merest child 
 might ; her unbuckled shoe gave the squaw a natural op- 
 portunity of showing her admiration and devotion by in- 
 sisting upon buckling it, and gave Lance, under that 
 disguise, an opportunity of covertly kissing the little foot 
 and ankle in the shadow of the chimney ; an event 
 which provoked slight hysterical symptoms in Flip and 
 caused her to sit suddenly down in spite of the remon- 
 strances of her parent. " Ef you can't quit gigglin' and 
 squirmin' like an Injin baby yourself, ye 'd better get rid 
 o' them duds," he ejaculated with peevish scorn. 
 
 Yet, under this perfunctory rebuke, his weak vanity 
 could not be hidden, and he enjoyed the evident admira- 
 tion of a creature, whom he believed to be half-witted and 
 degraded, all the more keenly because it did not make 
 him jealous. She could not take Flip from him. Ren- 
 dered garrulous by liquor, he went to voice his contempt 
 
44 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 for those who might attempt it. Taking advantage of 
 his daughter's absence to resume her homely garments, 
 he whispered confidentially to Lance : 
 
 " Ye see these yer fine dresses, ye might think is presents. 
 Pr'aps Flip lets on they are. Pr'aps she don't know any 
 better. But they ain't presents. They 're only samples 
 o' dressmaking and jewelry that a vain, conceited shrimp 
 of a feller up in Sacramento sends dpwn here to get cus- 
 tomers for. In course I 'm to pay for 'em. In course he 
 reckons I 'm to do it. In course I calkilate to do it ; but 
 he need n't try to play 'em off as presents. He talks 
 suthin' o' coming down here, sportin' hisself off on Flip as 
 a fancy buck ! Not ez long ez the old man 's here, you 
 bet ! " Thoroughly carried away by his fancied wrongs, 
 it was perhaps fortunate that he did not observe the 
 flashing eyes of Lance behind his lank and lustreless 
 wig; but seeing only the figure of Lance as he had con- 
 jured him, he went on : "That's why I want you to hang 
 around her. Hang around her ontil my boy — him that 's 
 comin' home on a visit — gets here, and I reckon he'll 
 clear out that yar Sacramento counter-jumper. Only let 
 me get a sight o' him afore Flip does. Eh ? D'ye hear ? 
 Dog my skin if I don't believe the d— d Injin 's drunk." 
 It was fortunate that at that moment Flip reappeared, 
 and dropping on the hearth between her father and the 
 infuriated Lance, let her hand slip in his with a warning 
 pressure. The light touch momentarily recalled him to 
 himself and her, but not until the quick-witted girl had 
 revealed to her, in one startled wave of consciousness, 
 the full extent of Lance's infirmity of temper. With 
 the instinct of awakened tenderness came a sense of re- 
 sponsibility, and a vague premonition of danger. The 
 coy blossom of her heart was scarce unfolded before it 
 was chilled by approaching shadows. Fearful of, she 
 knew not what, she hesitated. Every moment of Lance s 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 45 
 
 stay was imperiled by a single word that might spring 
 from his suppressed white lips ; beyond and above the 
 suspicions his sudden withdrawal might awaken in her 
 father's breast, she was dimly conscious of some mysteri- 
 ous terror without that awaited him. She listened to the 
 furious onslaught of the wind upon the sycamores beside 
 their cabin, and thought she heard it there ; she listened 
 to the sharp fusillade of rain upon roof and pane, and the 
 turbulent roar and rush of leaping mountain torrents at 
 their very feet, and fancied it was there. She suddenly 
 sprang to the window, and, pressing her eyes to the pane, 
 saw through the misty turmoil of tossing boughs and sway- 
 ing branches the scintillating intermittent flames of torches 
 moving on the trail above, and knew it was there ! 
 
 In an instant she was collected and calm. " Dad," she 
 said, in her ordinary indifferent tone, "there's torches 
 movin' up toward the diamond pit. Likely it 's tramps. 
 I '11 take the squaw and see." And before the old man 
 could stagger to his feet she had dragged Lance with her 
 into the road. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The wind charged down upon them, slamming the 
 door at their backs, extinguishing the broad shaft of Ught 
 that had momentarily shot out into the darkness, and 
 swept them a dozen yards away. Gaining the lee of a 
 madrono tree. Lance opened his blanketed arms, enfolded 
 the girl, and felt her for one brief moment tremble and 
 nestle in his bosom like some frightened animal. " Well/* 
 he said, gayly, " what next } " Flip recovered herself. 
 " You 're safe now anywhere outside the house. But did 
 you expect them to-night ? " Lance shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. " Why not ? " " Hush ! " returned the girl ; " they 're 
 coming this way." 
 
 The four flickering, scattered lights presently dropped 
 into line. The trail had been found ; they were coming 
 nearer. Flip breathed quickly ; the spiced aroma of her 
 presence filled the blanket as he drew her tightly beside 
 him. He had forgotten the storm that raged around 
 them, the mysterious foe that was approaching, until Flip 
 caught his sleeve with a slight laugh. "Why, it 's Ken- 
 nedy and Bijah ! " 
 
 ** Who's Kennedy and Bijah ? " asked Lance, curtly. 
 
 " Kennedy 's the Postmaster and Bijah 's the Butcher." 
 
 " What do they want ? " continued Lance. 
 
 " Me," said Flip, coyly. 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " Yes ; let 's run away." 
 
 Half leading, half dragging her friend, Flip made her 
 way with unerring woodcraft down the ravine. The 
 sound of voices and even the tumult of the storm became 
 
Flip : A California Romance, 47 
 
 fainter, an acrid smell of burning green wood smarted 
 Lance's lips and eyes ; in the midst of the darkness 
 beneath him gradually a faint, gigantic nimbus like a 
 lurid eye glowed and sank, quivered and faded with the 
 spent breath of the gale as it penetrated their retreat. 
 "The pit," whispered Flip; "it's safe on the other side," 
 she added, cautiously skirting the orbit of the great eye, 
 and leading him to a sheltered nest of bark and saw- 
 dust. It was warm and odorous. Nevertheless, they both 
 deemed it necessary to enwrap themselves in the single 
 blanket. The eye beamed fitfully upon them, occasion- 
 ally a wave of lambent tremulousness passed across it ; 
 its weirdness was an excuse for their drawing nearer 
 each other in playful terror. 
 
 " Flip." 
 
 "Well.?" 
 
 " What did the other two want ? To see you, too ? " 
 
 " Likely," said Flip, without the least trace of coquetry. 
 "There 's been a lot of strangers yer, off and on." 
 
 " Perhaps you 'd like to go back and see them ? " 
 
 " Do you want me to ? " 
 
 Lance's reply was a kiss. Nevertheless he was vaguely 
 uneasy. " Looks a little as if I were running away, don't 
 it? " he suggested. 
 
 " No," said Flip ; " they think you 're only a squaw ; it 's 
 me they're after." Lance smarted a little at this infelici- 
 tous speech. A strange and irritating sensation had been 
 creeping over him — it was his first experience of shame 
 and remorse. " I reckon I '11 go back and see," he said, 
 rising abruptly. 
 
 Flip was silent. She was thinking. Believing that the 
 men were seeking her only, she knew that their intention 
 would be directed from her companion when it was found 
 out he was no longer with her, and she dreaded to meet 
 them in his irritable presence. 
 
48 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 " Go," she said; "tell Dad something's wrong in the 
 diamond pit, and say I *m watching it for him here." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " I Ul go there and wait for him. If he can't get rid of 
 them, and they follow him there, I '11 come back here and 
 meet you. Anyhow, I '11 manage to have Dad wait there 
 a spell." 
 
 She took his hand and led him back by a different path 
 to the trail. He was surprised to find that the cabin, its 
 window glowing from the fire, was only a hundred yards 
 away. " Go in the back way, by the shed. Don't go in 
 the room, nor near the light, if you can. Don't talk in- 
 side, but call or beckon to Dad. Remember," she said, 
 with a laugh, "you 're keeping watch of me for him. Pull 
 your hair down on your eyes, so." This operation, like 
 most feminine embellishments of the masculine toilet, was 
 attended by a kiss, and Flip, stepping back into the 
 shadow, vanished in the storm. 
 
 Lance's first movements were inconsistent with his as- 
 sumed sex. He picked up his draggled skirt and drew a 
 bowie-knife from his boot. From his bosom he took a 
 revolver, turning the chambers noiselessly as he felt the 
 caps. He then crept toward the cabin softly and gained 
 the shed. It was quite dark but for a pencil of light 
 piercing a crack of the rude, ill-fitting door that opened on 
 the sitting-room. A single voice not unfamiliar to him, 
 raised in half-brutal triumph, greeted his ears. A name 
 was mentioned — his own ! His angry hand was on the 
 latch. One moment more and he would have burst the 
 door, but in that instant another name was uttered — a 
 name that dropped his hand from the latch and the blood 
 from his cheeks. He staggered backward, passed his 
 hand swiftly across his forehead, recovered himself with a 
 gesture of mingled rage and despair, and, sinking on his 
 knees beside the door, pressed his hot temples against 
 the crack. 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 49 
 
 " Do I know Lance Harriott ? '^ said the voice. " Do 
 I know the d — d ruffian ? Did n't I hunt him a year ago 
 into the brush three miles from the Crossing ? Did n't 
 we lose sight of him the very day he turned up yer at 
 this ranch, and got smuggled over into Monterey? Ain't 
 it the same man as killed Arkansaw Bob — Bob Ridley — 
 the name he went by in Sonora ? And who was Bob 
 Ridley, eh ? Who ? Why, you d — d old fool, it was Bob 
 Fairley — your son ! " 
 
 The old man's voice rose querulous and indistinct. 
 
 " What are ye talkin' about t " interrupted the first 
 speaker. I tell you I know. Look at these pictures. I 
 found 'em on his body. Look at 'em. Pictures of you 
 and your girl. Pr'aps you '11 deny them. Pr'aps you '11 
 tell me I lie when I tell you he told me he was your son ; 
 told me how he ran away from you ; how you were livin' 
 somewhere in the mountains makin' gold, or suthin' else, 
 outer charcoal. He told me who he was as a secret. He 
 never let on he told it to any one else. And when I found 
 that the man who killed him, Lance Harriott, had been 
 hidin' here, had been sendin' spies all around to find out 
 all about your son, had been foolin' you, and tryin' to ruin 
 your gal as he had killed your boy, I knew that he knew it 
 too." 
 
 "Liar!" 
 
 The door fell in with a crash. There was the sudden 
 apparition of the demoniac face, still half hidden by the 
 long trailing black locks of hair that curled like Medusa's 
 around it. A cry of terror filled the room. Three of the 
 men dashed from the door and fled precipitately. The 
 man who had spoken sprang toward his rifle in the chim- 
 ney corner. But the movement was his last ; a blinding 
 flash and shattering report interposed between him and his 
 weapon. The impulse carried him forward headlong into 
 the fire, that hissed and spluttered with his blood, and 
 
50 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 Lance Harriott, with his smoking pistol, strode past him 
 to the door. Already far down the trail there were hur- 
 ried voices, the crack and crackling of impending branches 
 growing fainter and fainter in the distance. Lance turned 
 back to the solitary living figure — the old man. 
 
 Yet he might have been dead too, he sat so rigid and 
 motionless, his fixed eyes staring vacantly at the body on 
 the hearth. Before him on the table lay the cheap pho- 
 tographs, one evidently of himself, taken in some remote 
 epoch of complexion, one of a child which Lance recog- 
 nized as Flip. 
 
 " Tell me," said Lance hoarsely, laying his quivering 
 hand on the table, ^^ was Bob Ridley your son ? " 
 
 " My son,'' echoed the old man in a strange, far-off 
 voice, without turning his eyes from the corpse, — " my 
 son — is — is — is there!" pointing to the dead man. 
 *^ Hush ! Did n't he tell you so ? Did n^t you hear him 
 say it ? Dead — dead — shot — shot ! " 
 
 " Silence ! are you crazy, man ? " interposed Lance, 
 tremblingly ; *^ that is not Bob Ridley, but a dog, a 
 coward, a liar, gone to his reckoning. Hear me ! If 
 your son was Bob Ridley, I swear to God I never knew 
 it, now or — or — then. Do you hear me ? Tell me ! 
 Do you believe me ? Speak ! You shall speak ! " 
 
 He laid his hand almost menacingly on the old man's 
 shoulder. Fairley slowly raised his head. Lance fell 
 back with a groan of horror. The weak lips were wreathed 
 with a feeble imploring smile, but the eyes wherein the 
 fretful, peevish, suspicious spirit had dwelt were blank 
 and tenantless ; the flickering intellect that had lit them 
 was blown out and vanished. 
 
 Lance walked toward the door and remained motion- 
 less for a moment, gazing into the night. When he 
 turned back again toward the fire his face was as color- 
 less as the dead man's on the hearth ; the fire of passion 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 51 
 
 was gone from his beaten eyes ; his step was hesitating 
 and slow. He went up to the table. 
 
 " I say, old man," he said, with a strange smile and an 
 odd, premature suggestion of the infinite weariness of 
 death in his voice, " you would n't mind giving me this, 
 would you ? " and he took up the picture of Flip. The 
 old man nodded repeatedly. " Thank you," said Lance. 
 He went to the door, paused a moment, and returned. 
 " Good-by, old man," he said, holding out his hand. 
 Fairley took it with a childish smile. " He 's dead," said 
 the old man softly, holding Lance's hand, but pointing to 
 the hearth. "Yes," said Lance, with the faintest of 
 smiles on the palest of faces. " You feel sorry for any 
 one that 's dead, don't you ? " Fairley nodded again. 
 Lance looked at him with eyes as remote as his own, 
 shook his head, and turned away. When he reached the 
 door he laid his revolver carefully, and, indeed, somewhat 
 ostentatiously, upon a chair. But when he stepped from 
 the threshold he stopped a moment in the light of the 
 open door to examine the lock of a small derringer which 
 he drew from his pocket. He then shut the door care- 
 fully, and with the same slow, hesitating step, felt his way 
 into the night. 
 
 He had but one idea in his mind, to find some lonely 
 spot ; some spot where the footsteps of man would never 
 penetrate, some spot that would yield him rest, sleep, ob- 
 literation, forgetfulness, and, above all, where he would 
 be forgotten. He had seen such places ; surely there 
 were many, — where bones were picked up of dead men 
 who had faded from the earth and had left no other rec- 
 ord. If he could only keep his senses now he might find 
 such a spot, but he must be careful, for her little feet 
 went everywhere, and she must never see him again alive 
 or dead. And in the midst of his thoughts, and the 
 
52 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 darkness, and the storm, he heard a voice at his side, 
 " Lance, how long you have been 1 " 
 
 Left to himself, the old man again fell into a vacant 
 contemplation of the dead body before him, until a 
 stronger blast swept down like an avalanche upon the 
 cabin, burst through the ill-fastened door and broken 
 chimney, and, dashing the ashes and living embers over 
 the floor, filled the room with blinding smoke and flame. 
 Fairley rose with a feeble cry, and then, as if acted upon 
 by some dominant memory, groped under the bed until 
 he found his buckskin bag and his precious crystal, and 
 fled precipitately from the room. Lifted by this second 
 shock from his apathy, he returned to the fixed idea of 
 his life, — the discovery and creation of the diamond, — 
 and forgot all else. The feeble grasp that his shaken in- 
 tellect kept of the events of the night relaxed, the dis- 
 guised Lance, the story of his son, the murder, slipped 
 into nothingness ; there remained only the one idea, his 
 nightly watch by the diamond pit. The instinct of long 
 habit was stronger than the darkness or the onset of the 
 storm, and he kept his tottering way over stream and 
 fallen timber until he reached the spot. A sudden tremor 
 seemed to shake the lambent flame that had lured him 
 on. He thought he heard the sound of voices; there 
 were signs of recent disturbance, — footprints in the saw- 
 dust ! With a cry of rage and suspicion, Fairley slipped 
 into the pit and sprang toward the nearest opening. To 
 his frenzied fancy it had been tampered with, his secret 
 discovered, the fruit of his long labors stolen from him 
 that very night. With superhuman strength he began to 
 open the pit, scattering the half-charred logs right and left, 
 and giving vent to the suffocating gases that rose from 
 the now incandescent charcoal. At times the fury of the 
 gale would drive it back and hold it against the sides of 
 
Flip: A California Romance. 53 
 
 the pit, leaving the opening free ; at times, following the 
 blind instinct of habit, the demented man would fall upon 
 his face and bury his nose and mouth in the wet bark 
 and sawdust. At last, the paroxysm past, he sank back 
 again into his old apathetic attitude of watching, the atti- 
 tude he had so often kept beside his sylvan crucible. In 
 this attitude and in silence he waited for the dawn. 
 
 It came with a hush in the storm ; it came with blue 
 openings in the broken up and tumbled heavens ; it came 
 with stars that glistened first, and then paled, and at last 
 sank drowning in those deep cerulean lakes ; it came with 
 those cerulean lakes broadening into vaster seas, whose 
 shores expanded at last into one illimitable ocean, ceru- 
 lean no more, but flecked with crimson and opal dyes ; it 
 came with the lightly lifted misty curtain of the day, torn 
 and rent on crag and pine-top, but always lifting, lifting. 
 It came with the sparkle of emerald in the grasses, and 
 the flash of diamonds in every spray, with a whisper in 
 the awakening woods, and voices in the traveled roads 
 and trails. 
 
 The sound of these voices stopped before the pit, and 
 seemed to interrogate the old man. He came, and, put- 
 ting his finger on his lips, made a sign of caution. When 
 three or four men had descended he bade them follow 
 him, saying, weakly and disjointedly, but persistently : 
 " My boy — my son Robert — came home — came home 
 at last — here with Flip — both of them — come and 
 see ! '' 
 
 He had reached a little niche or nest in the hillside, 
 and stopped, and suddenly drew aside a blanket. Be- 
 neath it, side by side, lay Flip and Lance, dead, with 
 their cold hands clasped in each other's. 
 
 " Suffocated ! " said two or three, turning with horror 
 toward the broken up and still smouldering pit. 
 
 " Asleep ! " said the old man. " Asleep ! I've seen 'em 
 
54 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 lying that way when they were babies together. Don't 
 tell me ! Don't say I don't know my own flesh and 
 blood ! So ! so ! So, my pretty ones ! " He stooped and 
 kissed them. Then, drawing the blanket over them 
 gently, he rose and said softly, " Good night ! " 
 
 > 
 
 \ 
 
fonnn at 'Blading ^tat* 
 
 The rain had only ceased with the gray streaks of 
 morning at Blazing Star, and the settlement awoke to a 
 moral sense of cleanliness, and the finding of forgotten 
 knives, tin cups, and smaller camp utensils, where the 
 heavy showers had washed away the debris and dust 
 heaps before the cabin-doors. Indeed, it was recorded 
 in Blazing Star that a fortunate early riser had once 
 picked up on the highway a solid chunk of gold quartz 
 which the rain had freed from its incumbering soil, and 
 washed into immediate and glittering popularity. Possi- 
 bly this may have been the reason why early risers in 
 that locality, during the rainy season, adopted a thought- 
 ful habit of body, and seldom lifted their eyes to the 
 rifted or india-ink washed skies above them. 
 
 " Cass '' Beard had risen early that morning, but not 
 with a view to discovery. A leak in his cabin roof — 
 quite consistent with his careless, improvident habits — 
 had roused him at 4 a. m., with a flooded ** bunk " and 
 wet blankets. The chips from his wood pile refused to 
 kindle a fire to dry his bedclothes, and he had recourse 
 to a more provident neighbor's to supply the deficiency. 
 This was nearly opposite. Mr. Cassius crossed the high- 
 way, and stopped suddenly. Something glittered in the 
 nearest red pool before him. Gold, surely ! But, wonder- 
 ful to relate, not an irregular, shapeless fragment of crude 
 ore, fresh from Nature's crucible, but a bit of jeweler's 
 handicraft in the form of a plain gold ring. Looking at 
 it more attentively, he saw that it bore the inscription, 
 " May to Cass." 
 
56 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Like most of his fellow gold-seekers, Cass was super- 
 stitious. " Cass ! " His own name ! He tried the ring. 
 It fitted his little finger closely. It was evidently a 
 woman's ring. He looked up and down the highway. 
 No one was yet stirring. Little pools of water in the red 
 road were beginning to glitter and grow rosy from the 
 far-flushing east, but there was no trace of the owner of 
 the shining waif. He knew that there was no woman in 
 camp, and among his few comrades in the settlement he 
 remembered to have seen none wearing an ornament like 
 that. Again, the coincidence of the inscription to his 
 rather peculiar nickname would have been a perennial 
 source of playful comment in a camp that made no al- 
 lowance for sentimental memories. He slipped the glit- 
 tering little hoop into his pocket, and thoughtfully 
 returned to his cabin. 
 
 Two hours later, when the long, straggling procession, 
 which every morning wended its way to Blazing Star 
 Gulch, — the seat of mining operations in the settlement, 
 — began to move, Cass saw fit to interrogate his fellows. 
 
 '* Ye did n't none on ye happen to drop anything round 
 yer last night ? " he asked, cautiously. 
 
 " I dropped a pocketbook containing government bonds 
 and some other securities, with between fifty and sixty 
 thousand dollars," responded Peter Drummond, care- 
 lessly ; " but no matter, if any man will return a few au- 
 tograph letters from foreign potentates that happened to 
 be in it, — of no value to anybody but the owner, — he 
 can keep the money. Thar 's nothin' mean about me," 
 he concluded, languidly. 
 
 This statement, bearing every evidence of the grossest 
 mendacity, was lightly passed over, and the men walked 
 on with the deepest gravity. 
 
 " But hev you ? " Cass presently asked of another. 
 
 " I lost my pile to Jack Hamlin at draw-poker, over at 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 57 
 
 Wingdam last night," returned the other, pensively, "but 
 I don't calkilate to find it lying round loose." 
 
 Forced at last by this kind of irony into more detailed 
 explanation, Cass confided to them his discovery, and 
 produced his treasure. The result was a dozen vague 
 surmises, — only one of which seemed to be popular, and 
 to suit the dyspeptic despondency of the party, — a de- 
 spondency born of hastily masticated fried pork and flap- 
 jacks. The ring was believed to have been dropped by 
 some passing " road agent " laden with guilty spoil. 
 
 " Ef I was you," said Drummond gloomily, " I would n't 
 flourish that yer ring around much afore folks. I Ve seen 
 better men nor you strung up a tree by Vigilantes for hav- 
 ing even less than that in their possession." 
 
 " And I would n't say much about bein' up so d — d 
 early this morning," added an even more pessimistic com- 
 rade j " it might look bad before a jury." 
 
 With this the men sadly dispersed, leaving the inno- 
 cent Cass with the ring in his hand, and a general im- 
 pression on his mind that he was already an object of 
 suspicion to his comrades, — an impression, it is hardly 
 necessary to say, they fully intended should be left to 
 rankle in his guileless bosom. 
 
 Notwithstanding Cass's first hopeful superstition, the 
 ring did not seem to bring him nor the camp any luck. 
 Daily the " clean up " brought the same scant rewards to 
 their labors, and deepened the sardonic gravity of Blaz- 
 ing Star. But, if Cass found no material result from his 
 treasure, it stimulated his lazy imagination, and, albeit a 
 dangerous and seductive stimulant, at least lifted him 
 out of the monotonous grooves of his half-careless, half- 
 slovenly, but always self-contented camp life. Heeding 
 the wise caution of his comrades, he took the habit of 
 wearing the ring only at night. Wrapped in his blanket, 
 he stealthily slipped the golden circlet over his little 
 
58 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 finger, and, as he averred, "slept all the better for it." 
 Whether it ever evoked any warmer dream or vision dur- 
 ing those calm, cold, virgin-like spring nights, when even 
 the moon and the greater planets retreated into the icy 
 blue, steel-like firmament, I cannot say. Enough that 
 this superstition began to be colored a little by fancy, 
 and his fatalism somewhat mitigated by hope. Dreams 
 of this kind did not tend to promote his efficiency in the 
 communistic labors of the camp, and brought him a self- 
 isolation that, however gratifying at first, soon debarred 
 him the benefits of that hard practical wisdom which un- 
 derlaid the grumbling of his fellow-workers. 
 
 " I 'm dog-goned," said one commentator, " ef I don't 
 believe that Cass is looney over that yer ring he found. 
 Wears it on a string under his shirt." 
 
 Meantime, the seasons did not wait the discovery of 
 the secret. The red pools in Blazing Star highway were 
 soon dried up in the fervent June sun and riotous night 
 winds of those altitudes. The ephemeral grasses that 
 had quickly supplanted these pools and the chocolate- 
 colored mud, were as quickly parched and withered. The 
 footprints of spring became vague and indefinite, and 
 were finally lost in the impalpable dust of the summer 
 highway. 
 
 In one of his long, aimless excursions, Cass had pene- 
 trated a thick undergrowth of buckeye and hazel, and 
 found himself quite unexpectedly upon the high road to 
 Red Chief's Crossing. Cass knew by the lurid cloud of 
 dust that hid the distance, that the up coach had passed. 
 He had already reached that stage of superstition when 
 the most trivial occurrence seemed to point in some way 
 to an elucidation of the mystery of his treasure. His 
 eyes had mechanically fallen to the ground again, as if 
 he half expected to find in some other waif a hint or cor- 
 roboration of his imaginings. Thus abstracted, the figure 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 59 
 
 of a young girl on horseback, in the road directly before 
 the bushes he emerged from, appeared to have sprung 
 directly from the ground. 
 
 " Oh, come here, please do ; quick ! " 
 
 Cass stared, and then moved hesitatingly toward her. 
 
 " I heard some one coming through the bushes, and I 
 waited," she went on. " Come quick. It 's something 
 too awful for anything." 
 
 In spite of this appalling introduction, Cass could not 
 but notice that the voice, although hurried and excited, 
 was by no means agitated or frightened \ that the eyes 
 which looked into his sparkled with a certain kind of 
 pleased curiosity. 
 
 "It was just here," she went on vivaciously, "just here 
 that I went into the bush and cut a switch for my mare, — 
 and," — leading him along at a brisk trot by her side, — 
 "just here, look, see! this is what I found." 
 
 It was scarcely thirty feet from the road. The only ob- 
 ject that met Cass's eye was a man^s stiff, tall hat, lying 
 emptily and vacantly in the grass. It was new, shiny, and 
 of modish shape. But it was so incongruous, so perkily 
 smart, and yet so feeble and helpless lying there, so 
 ghastly ludicrous in its very appropriateness and inca- 
 pacity to adjust itself to the surrounding landscape, that 
 it affected him with something more than a sense of its 
 grotesqueness, and he could only stare at it blankly. 
 
 " But you 're not looking the right way," the girl went 
 on sharply ; " look there ! " 
 
 Cass followed the direction of her whip. At last, what 
 might have seemed a coat thrown carelessly on the 
 ground met his eye, but presently he became aware of a 
 white, rigid, aimlessly-clinched hand protruding from the 
 flaccid sleeve ; mingled with it in some absurd way and 
 half hidden by the grass, lay what might have been a pair 
 of cast-off trousers but for two rigid boots that pointed in 
 
6o Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 opposite angles to the sky. It was a dead man ! So pal- 
 pably dead that life seemed to have taken flight from his 
 very clothes. So impotent, feeble, and degraded by 
 them that the naked subject of a dissecting table would 
 have been less insulting to humanity. The head had 
 fallen back, and was partly hidden in a gopher burrow, 
 but the white, upturned face and closed eyes had less 
 of helpless death in them than those wretched enwrap- 
 pings. Indeed, one limp hand that lay across the swollen 
 abdomen lent itself to the grotesquely hideous sugges- 
 tjpn of a gentleman sleeping off the excesses of a hearty 
 dinner. 
 
 "Ain't he horrid?" continued the girl; "but what 
 killed him ? " 
 
 Struggling between a certain fascination at the girPs 
 cold-blooded curiosity and horror of the murdered manf 
 Cass hesitatingly lifted the helpless head. A bluish hole 
 above the right temple, and a few brown paint-like spots 
 on the forehead, shirt collar, and matted hair, proved the 
 only record. 
 
 "Turn him over again," said the girl, impatiently, as 
 Cass was about to relinquish his burden. " Maybe 
 you '11 find another wound." 
 
 But Cass was dimly remembering certain formalities 
 that in older civilizations attend the discovery of dead 
 bodies, and postponed a present inquest. 
 
 " Perhaps you 'd better ride on. Miss, afore you get 
 summoned as a witness. I '11 give warning at Red Chief's 
 Crossing, and send the coroner down here." 
 
 "Let me go with you," she said, earnestly; "it would 
 be such fun. I don't mind being a witness. Or," she 
 added, without heeding Cass's look of astonishment, " I '11 
 wait here till you come back." 
 
 " But you see, Miss, it would n't seem right " — began 
 Cass. 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 6i 
 
 " But I found him first," interrupted the girl, with a 
 pout. 
 
 Staggered by this preemptive right, sacred to all min- 
 ers, Cass stopped. 
 
 " Who is the coroner ? " she asked. 
 
 " Joe Hornsby." 
 
 "The tall, lame man, who was half eaten by a griz- 
 zly ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, look now ! I '11 ride on and bring him back in 
 half an hour. There ! " 
 
 " But, Miss — ! '* 
 
 " Oh, don't mind me, I never saw anything of this 
 kind before, and I want to see it allP 
 
 " Do you know Hornsby t '' asked Cass, unconsciously 
 a trifle irritated. 
 
 " No, but I '11 bring him." She wheeled her horse into 
 the road. 
 
 In the presence of this Hving energy Cass quite forgot 
 the helpless dead. " Have you been long in these parts, 
 Miss ? " he asked. 
 
 "About two weeks," she answered, shortly. " Good-by, 
 just now. Look around for the pistol or anything else 
 you can find, although /have been over the whole ground 
 twice already." 
 
 A little puff of dust as the horse sprang into the road, 
 a muffled shuffle, struggle, then the regular beat of hoofs, 
 and she was gone. 
 
 After five minutes had passed, Cass regretted that he 
 had not accompanied her : waiting in such a spot was an 
 irksome task. Not that there was anything in the scene 
 itself to awaken gloomy imaginings ; the bright, truthful 
 Californian sunshine scoffed at any illusion of creeping 
 shadows or waving branches. Once, in the rising wind, 
 the empty hat rolled over — but only in a ludicrous, 
 
62 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 drunken way. A search for any further sign or token 
 had proved futile, and Cass grew impatient. He began 
 to hate himself for having stayed j he would have fled but 
 for shame. Nor was his good -humor restored when at 
 the close of a weary half hour two galloping figures 
 emerged from the dusty horizon — ■' Hornsby and the 
 young girl. 
 
 His vague annoyance increased as he fancied that 
 both seemed to ignore him, the coroner barely acknowl- 
 edging his presence with a nod. Assisted by the young 
 girl, whose energy and enthusiasm evidently delighted 
 him, Hornsby raised the body for a more careful exami- 
 nation. The dead man's pockets were carefully searched. 
 A few coins, a silver pencil, knife, and tobacco-box were 
 all they found. It gave no clew to his identity. Sud- 
 denly the young girl, who had, with unabashed curiosity, 
 knelt beside the exploring official hands of the Red Chief, 
 uttered a cry of gratification. 
 
 " Here 's something ! It dropped from the bosom of 
 his shirt on the ground. Look ! " 
 
 She was holding in the air, between her thumb and 
 forefinger, a folded bit of well-worn newspaper. Her 
 eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Shall I open it ? '' she asked. 
 
 *' Yes." 
 
 " It 's a little ring,'' she said ; " looks like an engage- 
 ment ring. Something is written on it. Look ! * May 
 to Cass.' " 
 
 Cass darted forward. "It's mine," he stammered, 
 " mine ! I dropped it. It 's nothing — nothing," he went 
 on, after a pause, embarrassed and blushing, as the girl 
 and her companion both stared at him — "a mere trifle. 
 I '11 take it." 
 
 But the coroner opposed his outstretched hand. " Not 
 much," he said, significantly. 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 63 
 
 "But it's mine,^* continued Cass, indignation taking 
 the place of shame at his discovered secret. " I found it 
 six months ago in the road. I — picked it up." 
 
 " With your name already written on it ! How handy ! *' 
 said the coroner, grimly. 
 
 "It's an old story," said Cass, blushing again under 
 the half mischievous, half searching eyes of the girl. 
 "All Blazing Star knows I found it." 
 
 " Then ye '11 have no difficulty in provin' it," said 
 Hornsby, coolly. "Just now, however, we\e, found it, 
 and we propose to keep it for the inquest." 
 
 Cass shrugged his shoulders. Further altercation would 
 have only heightened his ludicrous situation in the girl's 
 eyes. He turned away, leaving his treasure in the cor- 
 oner's hands. 
 
 The inquest, a day or two later, was prompt and final. 
 No clew to the dead man's identity ; no evidence suf- 
 ficiently strong to prove murder or suicide ; no trace of 
 any kind, inculpating any party, known or unknown, 
 were found. But much publicity and interest were given 
 to the proceedings by the presence of the principal wit- 
 ness, a handsome girl. " To the pluck, persistency, and 
 intellect of Miss Porter," said the " Red Chief Recorder," 
 " Tuolumne County owes the recovery of the body." 
 
 No one who was present at the inquest failed to be 
 charmed with the appearance and conduct of this beauti- 
 ful young lady. 
 
 " Miss Porter has but lately arrived in this district, in 
 which, it is hoped, she will become an honored resident, 
 and continue to set an example to all lackadaisical and 
 sentimental members of the so-called * sterner sex.' " 
 After this universally recognized allusion to Cass Beard, 
 the " Recorder " returned to its record : " Some interest 
 was excited by what appeared to be a clew to the mystery 
 in the discovery of a small gold engagement ring on the 
 
64 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 body. Evidence was afterward offered to show it was 
 the property of a Mr. Cass Beard of Blazing Star, who 
 appeared upon the scene after \}ci^ discovery of the corpse 
 by Miss Porter. He alleged he had dropped it in lift- 
 ing the unfortunate remains of the deceased. Much 
 amusement was created in court by the sentimental con- 
 fusion of the claimant, and a certain partisan spirit shown 
 by his fellow-miners of Blazing Star. It appearing, how- 
 ever, by the admission of this sighing Strephon of the 
 Foot Hills, that he had \i\vci^€^i found this pledge of affec- 
 tion lying in the highway six months previous, the coroner 
 wisely placed it in the safe-keeping of the county court 
 until the appearance of the rightful owner." 
 
 Thus on the 13th of September, 186-, the treasure 
 found at Blazing Star passed out of the hands of its 
 finder. 
 
 Autumn brought an abrupt explanation of the mystery. 
 Kanaka Joe had been arrested for horse-stealing, but had 
 with noble candor confessed to the finer offense of man- 
 slaughter. That swift and sure justice which overtook 
 the horse-stealer in these altitudes was stayed a moment 
 and hesitated, for the victim was clearly the mysterious 
 unknown. Curiosity got the better of an extempore 
 judge and jury. 
 
 " It was a fair fight," said the accused, not without 
 some human vanity, feeling that the camp hung upon his 
 words, " and was settled by the man az was peartest and 
 liveliest with his weapon. We had a sort of unpleasant- 
 ness over at Lagrange the night afore, along of our both 
 hevin* a monotony of four aces. We had a clinch and a 
 stamp around, and when we was separated it was only a 
 question of shootin' on sight. He left Lagrange at sun 
 up the next morning, and I struck across a bit o' buck- 
 eye and underbrush and came upon him, accidental like, 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 65 
 
 on the Red Chief Road. I drawed when I sighted him, 
 and called out. He slipped from his mare and covered 
 himself with her flanks, reaching for his holster, but she 
 rared and backed down on him across the road and into 
 the grass, where I got in another shot and fetched him." 
 
 " And you stole his mare ? " suggested the Judge. 
 
 " I got away,'' said the gambler, simply. 
 
 Further questioning only elicited the fact that Joe did 
 not know the name or condition of his victim. He was a 
 stranger in Lagrange. 
 
 It was a breezy afternoon, with some turbulency in the 
 camp, and much windy discussion over this unwonted 
 delay of justice. The suggestion that Joe should be 
 first hanged for horse stealing and then tried for murder 
 was angrily discussed, but milder counsels were offered 
 — that the fact of the killing should be admitted only 
 as proof of the theft. A large party from Red Chief 
 had come over to assist in judgment, among them the 
 coroner. 
 
 Cass Beard had avoided these proceedings, which only 
 recalled an unpleasant experience, and was wandering 
 with pick, pan, and wallet far from the camp. These ac- 
 coutrements, as I have before intimated, justified any form 
 of aimless idleness under the equally aimless title of 
 " prospecting." He had at the end of three hours' re- 
 laxation reached the highway to Red Chief, half hidden 
 by blinding clouds of dust torn from the crumbling red 
 road at every gust which swept down the mountain side. 
 The spot had a familiar aspect to Cass, although some 
 freshly-dug holes near the wayside, with scattered earth 
 beside them, showed the presence of a recent prospector. 
 He was struggling with his memory, when the dust was 
 suddenly dispersed and he found himself again at the 
 scene of the murder. He started : he had not put foot 
 on the road since the inquest. There lacked only the 
 
66 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 helpless dead man and the contrasting figure of the alert 
 young woman to restore the picture. The body was 
 gone, it was true, but as he turned he beheld Miss Porter, 
 at a few paces distant, sitting her horse as energetic and 
 observant as on the first morning they had met. A su- 
 perstitious thrill passed over him and awoke his old 
 antagonism. 
 
 She nodded to him slightly. " I came here to refresh 
 my memory," she said, " as Mr. Hornsby thought I might 
 be asked to give my evidence again at Blazing Star." 
 
 Cass carelessly struck an aimless blow with his pick 
 against the sod and did not reply. 
 
 " And you ? '' she queried. 
 
 "/stumbled upon the place just now while prospecting, 
 or I should n't be here." 
 
 " Then it was you made these holes ? " 
 
 " No," said Cass, with ill-concealed disgust. " Nobody 
 but a stranger would go foolin' round such a spot." 
 
 He stopped, as the rude significance of his speech 
 struck him, and added surlily, " I mean — no one would 
 dig here." 
 
 The girl laughed and showed a set of very white teeth 
 in her square jaw. Cass averted his face. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that every miner does n't know 
 that it 's lucky to dig wherever human blood has been 
 spilt ? " 
 
 Cass felt a return of his superstition, but he did not 
 look up. "I never heard it before," he said, severely. 
 
 " And you call yourself a California miner ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 It was impossible for Miss Porter to misunderstand 
 his curt speech and unsocial manner. She stared at him 
 and colored slightly. Lifting her reins lightly, she said : 
 " You certainly do not seem like most of the miners I 
 have met.'' 
 
Fotind at Blazing Star. 67 
 
 " Nor you like any girl from the East I ever met," he 
 responded. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked, checking her horse. 
 
 " What I say,'' he answered, doggedly. Reasonable as 
 this reply was, it immediately struck him that it was 
 scarcely dignified or manly. But before he could explain 
 himself Miss Porter was gone. 
 
 He met her again that very evening. The trial had 
 been summarily suspended by the appearance of the 
 Sheriff of Calaveras and his posse^ who took Joe from 
 that self-constituted tribunal of Blazing Star and set his 
 face southward and toward authoritative although more 
 cautious justice. But not before the evidence of the 
 previous inquest had been read, and the incident of the 
 ring again delivered to the public. It is said the prisoner 
 burst into an incredulous laugh and asked to see this 
 mysterious waif. It was handed to him. Standing in 
 the very shadow of the gallows tree — which might have 
 been one of the pines that sheltered the billiard room in 
 which the Vigilance Committee held their conclave — the 
 prisoner gave way to a burst of merriment, so genuine 
 and honest that the judge and jury joined in automatic 
 sympathy. When silence was restored an explanation 
 was asked by the Judge. But there was no response 
 from the prisoner except a subdued chuckle. 
 
 " Did this ring belong to you ? '' asked the Judge,^se- 
 verely, the jury and spectators craning their ears forward 
 with an expectant smile already on their faces. But the 
 prisoner's eyes only sparkled maliciously as he looked 
 around the court. 
 
 "Tell us, Joe," said a sympathetic and laughter-loving 
 juror, under his breath. *' Let it out and we '11 make it 
 easy for you." 
 
 " Prisoner," said the Judge, with a return of official 
 dignity, " remember that your life 13 in peril. Do you 
 refuse ? " 
 
68 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Joe lazily laid his arm on the back of his chair with 
 (to quote the words of an animated observer) " the air of 
 having a -Christian hope and a sequence flush in his 
 hand/' and said : " Well, as I reckon I 'm not up yer for 
 stealin' a ring that another man lets on to have found, 
 and as fur as I kin see, hez nothin' to do with the case, 
 I do ! " And as it was here that the Sheriff of Calaveras 
 made a precipitate entry into the room, the mystery re- 
 mained unsolved. 
 
 The effect of this freshly-important ridicule on the 
 sensitive mind of Cass might have been foretold by Blaz- 
 ing Star had it ever taken that sensitiveness into consid- 
 eration. He had lost the good-humor and easy pliability 
 which had tempted him to frankness, and he had gradu- 
 ally become bitter and hard. He had at first affected 
 amusement over his own vanished day dream — hiding 
 his virgin disappointment in his own breast ; but when 
 he began to turn upon his feelings he turned upon his 
 comrades also. Cass was for a while unpopular. There 
 is no ingratitude so revolting to the human mind as that 
 of the butt who refuses to be one any longer. The man 
 who rejects that immunity which laughter generally casts 
 upon him and demands to be seriously considered de- 
 serves no mercy. 
 
 It was under these hard conditions that Cass Beard, 
 convicted of overt sentimentalism, aggravated by incon- 
 sistency, stepped into the Red Chief coach that evening. 
 It was his habit usually to ride with the driver, but the 
 presence of Hornsby and Miss Porter on the box seat 
 changed his intention. Yet he had the satisfaction of 
 seeing that neither had noticed him, and as there was 
 no other passenger inside, he stretched himself on the 
 cushion of the back seat and gave way to moody reflec- 
 tions. He quite determined to leave Blazing Star, to 
 settle himself seriously to the task of money-getting, and 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 69 
 
 to return to his comrades, some day, a sarcastic, cynical, 
 successful man, and so overwhelm them with confusion. 
 For poor Cass had not yet reached that superiority of 
 knowing that success would depend upon his ability to 
 forego his past. Indeed, part of his boyhood had been 
 cast among these men, and he was not old enough to 
 have learned that success was not to be gauged by their 
 standard. The moon lit up the dark interior of the 
 coach with a faint poetic light. The lazy swinging of 
 the vehicle that was bearing him away — albeit only for 
 a night and a day — the solitude, the glimpses from the 
 window of great distances full of vague possibilities, made 
 the abused ring potent as that of Gyges. He dreamed 
 with his eyes open. From an Alnaschar vision he sud- 
 denly awoke. The coach had stopped. The voices of 
 men, one in entreaty, one in expostulation, came from 
 the box. Cass mechanically put his hand to his pistol 
 pocket. 
 
 " Thank you, but I insist xx^oxi getting down." 
 
 It was Miss Porter^s voice. This was followed by a 
 rapid, half restrained interchange of words between 
 Hornsby and the driver. Then the latter said gruffly : 
 
 " If the lady wants to ride inside, let her." 
 
 Miss Porter fluttered to the ground. She was followed 
 by Hornsby. "Just a minit. Miss," he expostulated, 
 half shamedly, half brusquely, " ye don't onderstand me. 
 I only" — 
 
 But Miss Porter had jumped into the coach. 
 
 Hornsby placed his hand on the handle of the door. 
 Miss Porter grasped it firmly from the inside. There 
 was a slight struggle. 
 
 All of which was part of a dream to the boyish Cass. 
 But he awoke from it — a man ! "Do you," he asked, 
 in a voice he scarcely recognized himself, — " do you 
 want this man inside ? " 
 
70 Found at Blazing Star, 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 Cass caught at Hornsby's wrist like a young tiger. 
 But alas ! what availed instinctive chivalry against main 
 strength ? He only succeeded in forcing the door open 
 in spite of Miss Porter's superior strategy, and — I fear 
 I must add, muscle also — and threw himself passion- 
 ately at Horiisby's throat, where he hung on and calmly 
 awaited dissolution. But he had, in the onset, driven 
 Hornsby out into the road and the moonlight. 
 
 *' Here ! somebody take my lines." The voice was 
 " Mountain Charley's," the driver. The figure that 
 jumped from the box and separated the struggling men 
 belonged to this singularly direct person. 
 
 " You *re riding inside 1 " said Charley, interrogatively, 
 to Cass. Before he could reply Miss Porter's voice came 
 from the window : 
 
 " He is ! " 
 
 Charley promptly bundled Cass into the coach. 
 
 " And you ? " to Hornsby, " onless you 're kalkilatin' 
 to take a little * pasear ' you 're booked outside. Get up." 
 
 It is probable that Charley assisted Mr. Hornsby as 
 promptly to his seat, for the next moment the coach was 
 rolling on. 
 
 Meanwhile Cass, by reason of his forced entry, had 
 been deposited in Miss Porter's lap, whence, freeing him- 
 self, he had attempted to climb over the middle seat, but 
 in the starting of the coach was again thrown heavily 
 against her hat and shoulder ; all of which was inconsist- 
 ent with the attitude of dignified reserve he had intended 
 to display. Miss Porter, meanwhile, recovered her good- 
 humor. 
 
 " What a brute he was, ugh ! " she said, re-tying the 
 ribbons of her bonnet under her square chin, and smooth- 
 ing out her linen duster. 
 
 Cass tried to look as if he had forgotten the whole 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 71 
 
 affair. " Who ? Oh, yes ! I see ! " he responded, ab- 
 sently. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to thank you," she went on with a 
 smile, " but you know, really, I could have kept him out 
 if you had n't pulled his wrist from outside. I '11 show 
 you. Look ! Put your hand on the handle there ! Now, 
 I '11 hold the lock inside firmly. You see, you can't turn 
 the catch ! " 
 
 She indeed held the lock fast. It was a firm hand, yet 
 soft — their fingers had touched over the handle — and 
 looked white in the moonlight. He made no reply, but 
 sank back again in his seat with a singular sensation in 
 the fingers that had touched hers. He was in the shadow, 
 and, without being seen, could abandon his reserve and 
 glance at her face. It struck him that he had never 
 really seen her before. She was not so tall as she had ap- 
 peared to be. Her eyes were not large, but her pupils were 
 black, moist, velvety, and so convex as to seem embossed 
 on the white. She had an indistinctive nose, a rather 
 colorless face — whiter at the angles of the mouth and 
 nose through the relief of tiny freckles like grains of pep- 
 per. Her mouth was straight, dark, red, but moist as her 
 eyes. She had drawn herself into the corner of the back 
 seat, her wrist put through and hanging over the swinging 
 strap, the easy lines of her plump figure swaying from side 
 to side with the motion of the coach. Finally, forgetful 
 of any presence in the dark corner opposite, she threw her 
 head a little farther back, slipped a trifle lower, and plac- 
 ing two well-booted feet upon the middle seat, completed 
 a charming and wholesome picture. 
 
 Five minutes elapsed. She was looking straight at the 
 moon. Cass Beard felt his dignified reserve becoming 
 very much like awkwardness. He ought to be coldly 
 polite. 
 
 " I hope you 're not flustered, Miss, by the — by the " 
 — he began. 
 
72 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 " I ?'* She straightened herself up in the seat, cast a 
 curious glance into the dark corner, and then, letting her- 
 self down again, said : " Oh dear, no ! " 
 
 Another five minutes elapsed. She had evidently for- 
 gotten him. She might, at least, have been civil. He 
 took refuge again in his reserve. But it v^as now mixed 
 with a certain pique. 
 
 Yet how much softer her face looked in the moonlight ! 
 Even her square jaw had lost that hard, matter-of-fact, 
 practical indication which was so distasteful to him, and 
 always had suggested a harsh criticism of his weakness. 
 How moist her eyes were — actually shining in the light ! 
 How that light seemed to concentrate in the corners of 
 the lashes, and then slipped — a flash — away ! Was 
 she ? Yes, she was crying. 
 
 Cass melted. He moved. Miss Porter put her head 
 out of the window and drew it back in a moment dry- 
 eyed. 
 
 "One meets all sorts of folks traveling," said Cass, 
 with what he wished to make appear a cheerful philoso- 
 phy. 
 
 " I dare say. I don't know. I never before met any 
 one who was rude to me. I have traveled all over the 
 country alone, and with all kinds of people ever since I 
 was so high. I have always gone my own way, without 
 hindrance or trouble. I always do. I don't see why I 
 should n't. Perhaps other people may n't like it. I do. 
 I like excitement. I like to see all that there is to see. 
 Because I 'm a girl I don't see why I can't go out without 
 a keeper, and why I cannot do what any man can do that 
 is n't wrong ; do you ? Perhaps you do — perhaps you 
 don't. Perhaps you like a girl to be always in the house 
 dawdling or thumping a piano or reading novels. Perhaps 
 you think I 'm bold because I don't like it, and won't lie 
 and say I do." 
 
Found at Blazing Siar. 73 
 
 She spoke sharply and aggressively, and so evidently 
 in answer to Cass's unspoken indictment against her, that 
 he was not surprised when she became more direct. 
 
 " You know you were shocked when I went to fetch 
 that Hornsby, the coroner, after we found the dead 
 body." 
 
 " Hornsby was n't shocked," said Cass, a little vi- 
 ciously. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she said, abruptly. 
 
 " You were good friends enough until " — 
 
 " Until he insulted me just now ; is that it ? " 
 
 ''Until he thought," stammered Cass, "that because 
 you were — you know — not so — so — so careful as other 
 girls, he could be a little freer." 
 
 *' And so, because I preferred to ride a mile with him to 
 see something real that had happened, and tried to be 
 useful instead of looking in shop-windows in Main Street 
 or promenading before the hotel " ^— 
 
 " And being ornamental," interrupted Cass. But this 
 feeble and un-Cass-like attempt at playful gallantry met 
 with a sudden check. 
 
 Miss Porter drew herself together, and looked out of 
 the window. " Do you wish me to walk the rest of the 
 way home ? " 
 
 " No," said Cass, hurriedly, with a crimson face and a 
 sense of gratuitous rudeness. 
 
 " Then stop that kind of talk, right there ! " 
 
 There was an awkward silence. " I wish I was a man," 
 she said, half bitterly, half earnestly. Cass Beard was 
 not old and cynical enough to observe that this devout 
 aspiration is usually uttered by those who have least rea- 
 son to deplore their own femininity; and, but for the 
 rebuff he had just received, would have made the usual 
 emphatic dissent of our sex, when the wish is uttered by 
 warm red lips and tender voices — a dissent, it may be 
 
74 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 remarked, generally withheld, however, when the mascu- 
 line spinster dwells on the perfection of woman. I dare 
 say Miss Porter was sincere, for a moment later she con- 
 tinued, poutingly : 
 
 " And yet I used to go to fires in Sacramento when I 
 was only ten years old. I saw the theatre burnt down. 
 Nobody found fault with me then." 
 
 Something made Cass ask if her father and mother ob- 
 jected to her boyish tastes. The reply was characteristic 
 if not satisfactory : 
 
 " Object ? I 'd like to see them do it ! " 
 
 The direction of the road had changed. The fickle 
 moon now abandoned Miss Porter and sought out Cass 
 on the front seat. It caressed the young fellow's silky 
 moustache and long eyelashes, and took some of the sun- 
 burn from his cheek. 
 
 " What 's the matter with your neck ? " said the girl, 
 suddenly. 
 
 Cass looked down, blushing to find that the collar of 
 his smart " duck " sailor shirt was torn open. But some- 
 thing more than his white, soft, girlish skin was exposed ; 
 the shirt front was dyed quite red with blood from a 
 slight cut on the shoulder. He remembered to have felt 
 a scratch while struggling with Hornsby. 
 
 The girPs soft eyes sparkled. " Let ^^," she said, 
 vivaciously. *^ Do ! I 'm good at wounds. Come over 
 here. No — stay there. I '11 come over to you." 
 
 She did, bestriding the back of the middle seat and 
 dropping at his side. The magnetic fingers again touched 
 his ; he felt her warm breath on his neck as she bent 
 toward him. 
 
 " It 's nothing," he said, hastily, more agitated by the 
 treatment than the wound. 
 
 " Give me your flask," she responded, without heeding. 
 A stinging sensation as she bathed the edges of the cut 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 75 
 
 with the spirit brought him back to common sense again. 
 "There,'' she said, skillfully extemporizing a bandage 
 from her handkerchief and a compress from his cravat. 
 "Now, button your coat over your chest, so, and don't 
 take cold." She insisted upon buttoning it for him; 
 greater even than the feminine delight in a man's strength 
 is the ministration to his weakness. Yet, when this was 
 finished, she drew a little away from him in some embar- 
 rassment — an embarrassment she wondered at, as his 
 skin was finer, his touch gentler, his clothes cleaner, and 
 — not to put too fine a point upon it — he exhaled an at- 
 mosphere much sweeter than belonged to most of the men 
 her boyish habits had brought her in contact with — not 
 excepting her own father. Later she even exempted her 
 mother from the possession of this divine effluence. After 
 a moment she asked, suddenly, " What are you going to 
 do with Hornsby ? " 
 
 Cass had not thought of him. His short-lived rage was 
 past with the occasion that provoked it. Without any 
 fear of his adversary, he would have been content quite 
 willing to meet him no more. He only said, " That will 
 depend upon him." 
 
 "Oh, you won't hear from him again," said she, con- 
 fidently ; " but you really ought to get up a little more 
 muscle. You've no more than a girl." She stopped, a 
 little confused. 
 
 " What shall I do with your handkerchief t " asked the 
 uneasy Cass, anxious to change the subject. 
 
 " Oh, keep it, if you want to ; only don't show it to 
 everybody as you did that ring you found." Seeing signs 
 of distress in his face, she added : " Of course that was 
 all nonsense. If you had cared so much for the ring you 
 could n't have talked about it, or shown it ; could you t " 
 
 It relieved him to think that this might be true \ he cer- 
 tainly had not looked at it in that light before. 
 
76 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 " But did you really find it ? " she asked, with sudden 
 gravity. " Really, now ? " 
 
 "Yes.'' 
 
 " And there was no real May in the case ? " 
 
 " Not that I know of," laughed Cass, secretly pleased. 
 
 But Miss Porter, after eying him critically for a mo- 
 ment, jumped up and climbed back again to her seat. 
 "Perhaps you had better give me that handkerchief 
 back." 
 
 Cass began to unbutton his coat. 
 
 " No ! no ! Do you want to take your death of cold ? " 
 she screamed. And Cass, to avoid this direful possibil- 
 ity, rebuttoned his coat again over the handkerchief and 
 a peculiarly pleasing sensation. 
 
 Very little now was said until the rattling, bounding 
 descent of the coach denoted the approach to Red Chief, 
 The straggling main street disclosed itself, light by light. 
 In the flash of glittering windows and the sound of eager 
 voices Miss Porter descended, without waiting for Cass's 
 proffered assistance, and anticipated Mountain Charley's 
 descent from the box. A few undistinguishable words 
 passed between them. 
 
 " You kin freeze to me. Miss," said Charley; and Miss 
 Porter, turning her frank laugh and frankly opened palm 
 to Cass, half returned the pressure of his hand and 
 slipped away. 
 
 A few days after the stage-coach incident Mountain 
 Charley drew up beside Cass on the Blazing Star turn- 
 pike, and handed him a small packet. "I was told to 
 give ye that by Miss Porter. Hush — listen! It's that 
 rather old dog-goned ring o' yours that 's bin in all the 
 papers. She 's bamboozled that sap-headed county judge, 
 Boompointer, into givin' it to her. Take my advice and 
 sling it away for some other feller to pick up and get 
 looney over. That 's all ! " 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 77 
 
 " Did she say anything ? " asked Cass, anxiously, as he 
 received his lost treasure somewhat coldly. 
 
 "Well, yes ! I reckon* She asked me to stand betwixt 
 Hornsby and you. So don't you tackle him, and I '11 see 
 /le don't tackle you," and with a portentous wink Moun- 
 tain Charley whipped up his horses and was gone. 
 
 Cass opened the packet. It contained nothing but the 
 ring. Unmitigated by any word of greeting, remem- 
 brance, or even raillery, it seemed almost an insult. Had 
 she intended to flaunt his folly in his face, or had she 
 believed he still mourned for it and deemed its recovery a 
 sufficient reward for his slight service } For an instanChe 
 felt tempted to follow Charley's advice, and cast this 
 symbol of folly and contempt in the dust of the mountain 
 road. And had she not made his humiliation complete 
 by begging Charley's interference between him and his 
 enemy? He would go home and send her back the 
 handkerchief she had given him. But here the unro- 
 mantic reflection that although he had washed it that very 
 afternoon in the solitude of his own cabin, he could not 
 possibly iron it, but must send it " rough dried," stayed 
 his indignant feet. 
 
 Two or three days, a week, a fortnight even, of this 
 hopeless resentment filled Cass's breast. Thf n the news 
 of Kanaka Joe's acquittal in the state court momentarily 
 revived the story of the ring, and revamped a few stale 
 jokes in the camp. But the interest soon flagged ; the 
 fortunes of the little community of Blazing Star had been 
 for some months failing; and with early snows in the 
 mountain and wasted capital in fruitless schemes on the 
 river, there was little room for the indulgence of that lazy 
 and original humor which belonged to their lost youth 
 and prosperity. Blazing Star truly, in the grim figure of 
 their slang, was "played out." Not dug out, worked out, 
 or washed out, but dissipated in a year of speculation and 
 chance. 
 
78 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Against this tide of fortune Cass struggled manfully, and 
 even evoked the slow praise of his companions. Better 
 still, he won a certain praise for himself, in himself, in a 
 consciousness of increased strength, health, power, and 
 self-reliance. He began to turn his quick imagination 
 and perception to some practical account, and made one or 
 two discoveries which quite startled his more experienced, 
 but more conservative companions. Nevertheless, Cass's 
 discoveries and labors were not of a kind that produced 
 immediate pecuniary realization, and Blazing Star, which 
 consumed so many pounds of pork and flour daily, did 
 not unfortunately produce the daily equivalent in gold. 
 Blazing Star lost its credit. Blazing Star was hungry, 
 dirty, and ragged. Blazing Star was beginning to set. 
 
 Participating in the general ill-luck of the camp, Cass 
 was not without his own individual mischance. He had 
 resolutely determined to forget Miss Porter and all that 
 tended to recall the unlucky ring, but, cruelly enough, she 
 was the only thing that refused to be forgotten — whose 
 undulating figure reclined opposite to him in the weird 
 moonlight of his ruined cabin, whose voice mingled with 
 the song of the river by whose banks he toiled, and whose 
 eyes and touch thrilled him in his dreams. Partly for this 
 reason, and partly because his clothes .were beginning to 
 be patched and torn, he avoided Red Chief and anyplace 
 where he would be likely to meet her. In spite of this 
 precaution he had once seen her driving in a pony car- 
 riage, but so smartly and fashionably dressed that he drew 
 back in the cover of a wayside willow that she might pass 
 without recognition. He looked down upon his red- 
 splashed clothes and grimy, soil-streaked hands, and for 
 a moment half hated her. His comrades seldom spoke 
 of her — instinctively fearing some temptation that might 
 beset his Spartan resolutions, but he heard from time to 
 time that she had been seen at balls and parties, ap- 
 
Found at Blazing Star, "jg 
 
 parently enjoying those very frivolities of her sex she 
 affected to condemn. It was a Sabbath morning in 
 early spring that he was returning from an ineffectual at- 
 tempt to enlist a capitalist at the county town to redeem 
 the fortunes of Blazing Star. He was pondering over the 
 narrowness of that capitalist, who had evidently but il- 
 logically connected Cass's present appearance with the 
 future of that struggling camp, when he became so foot- 
 sore that he was obliged to accept a ** lift " from a way- 
 faring teamster. As the slowly lumbering vehicle passed 
 the new church on the outskirts of the town, the congrega- 
 tion were sallying forth. It was too late to .jump down 
 and run away, and Cass dared not ask his^new-found friend 
 to whip up his cattle. Conscious of his unshorn beard and 
 ragged garments, he kept his eyes fixed upon the road. 
 A voice that thrilled him called his name. It was Miss 
 Porter, a resplendent vision of silk, laces, and Easter flow- 
 ers — yet actually running, with something of her old 
 dash and freedom, beside the wagon. As the astonished 
 teamster drew up before this elegant apparition, she 
 panted : 
 
 " Why did you make me run so far, and why did n't you 
 look up ? " 
 
 Cass, trying to hide the patches on his knees beneath 
 a newspaper, stammered that he had not seen her. 
 
 " And you did not hold down your head purposely ? '* 
 
 "No," said Cass. 
 
 " Why have you not been to Red Chief ? Why did n't 
 you answer my message about the ring ? " she asked, 
 swiftly. 
 
 "You sent nothing but the ring," said Cass, coloring, 
 as he glanced at the teamster. 
 
 " Why, that was a message, you born idiot." 
 
 Cass stared. The teamster smiled. Miss Porter gazed 
 anxiously at the wagon. " I think I 'd like a ride in 
 
8o Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 there ; it looks awfully good.'* She glanced mischiev- 
 ously around at the lingering and curious congregation. 
 " May I ? '' 
 
 But Cass deprecated that proceeding strongly. It was 
 dirty ; he was not sure it was even wholesome ; she would 
 be so uncomfortable ; he himself was only going a few 
 rods farther, and in that time she might ruin her dress — 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said, a little bitterly, ** certainly, my 
 dress must be looked after. And — what else } " 
 
 ** People migHt think it strange, and believe I had in- 
 vited you," continued Cass, hesitatingly. 
 
 " When I had only invited myself ? Thank you. Good- 
 by." 
 
 She waved her hand and stepped back from the wagon. 
 Cass would have given worlds to recall her, but he sat 
 still, and the vehicle moved on in moody silence. At 
 the first cross road he jumped down. "Thank you," he 
 said to the teamster. " You 're welcome," returned that 
 gentleman, regarding him curiously, " but the next time 
 a gal like that asks to ride in this yer wagon, I reckon I 
 won't take the vote of any deadhead passenger. Adios, 
 young fellow. Don't stay out late ; ye might be run off 
 by some gal, and what would your mother say ? " Of 
 course-the young man could only look unutterable things 
 and walk away, but even in that dignified action he was 
 conscious that its effect was somewhat mitigated by a 
 large patch from a material originally used as a flour- 
 sack, which had repaired his trousers, but still bore the 
 ironical legend, " Best Superfine." 
 
 The summer brought warmth and promise and some 
 blossom, if not absolute fruition to Blazing Star. The 
 long days drew Nature into closer communion with the 
 men, and hopefulness followed the discontent of their 
 winter seclusion. It was easier, too, for Capital to be 
 wooed and won into making a picnic in these mountain 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 8i 
 
 solitudes than when high water stayed the fords and drift- 
 ing snow the Sierran trails. At the close of one of these 
 Arcadian days Cass was smoking before the door of his 
 lonely cabin when he was astounded by the onset of a 
 dozen of his companions. Peter Drummond, far in the 
 van, was waving a newspaper like a victorious banner. 
 " All 's right now, Cass, old man ! " he panted as he 
 stopped before Cass and shoved back his eager followers. 
 
 " What 's all right ? " asked Cass, dubiously. 
 
 " You / You kin rake down the pile now. You 're 
 hunky ! You 're on velvet. Listen ! " 
 
 He opened the newspaper and read, with annoying 
 deliberation, as follows : — 
 
 " Lost. — If the finder of a plain gold ring, bearing 
 the engraved inscription, * May to Cass,' alleged to have 
 been picked up on the high road near Blazing Star on 
 the 4th March, 186-, will apply to Bookham & Sons, 
 bankers, 1007 Y. Street, Sacramento, he will be suitably 
 rewarded either for the recovery of the ring, or for such 
 facts as may identify it, or the locality where it was 
 found." 
 
 Cass rose and frowned savagely on his comrades. 
 " No ! no ! " cried a dozen voices assuringly. " It 's all 
 right ! Honest Injun ! True as gospel ! No joke, 
 Cass ! " 
 
 " Here's the paper, Sacramento * Union' of yesterday. 
 Look for yourself," said Drummond, handing him the 
 well-worn journal. " And you see," he added, " how 
 darned lucky you are. It ain't necessary for you to pro- 
 duce the ring, so if that old biled owl of a Boompointer 
 don't giv' it back to ye, it 's all the same." 
 
 " And they say nobody but the finder need apply," in- 
 terrupted another. "That shuts out Boompointer or 
 Kanaka Joe for the matter o' that." 
 
 " It 's clar that it means you, Cass, ez much ez if they 'd 
 given your name," added a third. 
 
82 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 For Miss Porter's sake and his own Cass had never 
 told them of the restoration of the ring, and it was evi- 
 dent that Mountain Charley had also kept silent. Cass 
 could not speak now without violating a secret, and he 
 was pleased that the ring itself no longer played an 
 important part in the mystery. But what was that mys- 
 tery, and why was the ring secondary to himself ? Why 
 was so much stress laid upon his finding it ? 
 
 " You see," said Drummond, as if answering his un- 
 spoken thought, " that 'ar gal — for it is a gal in course — 
 hez read all about it in the papers, and hez sort o' took a 
 shine to ye. It don't make a bit o' difference who in 
 thunder Cass is or waz^ for I reckon she 's kicked him 
 over by this time " — 
 
 ** Sarved him right, too, for losing the girl's ring and 
 then lying low and keeping dark about it," interrupted a 
 sympathizer. 
 
 " And she 's just weakened over the romantic, high- 
 toned way you stuck to it," continued Drummond, for- 
 getting the sarcasms he had previously hurled at this 
 romance. Indeed the whole camp, by this time, had be- 
 come convinced that it had fostered and developed a 
 chivalrous devotion which was now on the point of pe- 
 cuniary realization. It was generally accepted that " she " 
 was the daughter of this banker, and also felt that in the 
 circumstances the happy father could not do less than 
 develop the resources of Blazing Star at once. Even 
 if there were no relationship, what opportunity could be 
 more fit for presenting to capital a locality that even pro- 
 duced engagement rings, and, as Jim Fauquier put it, 
 " the men ez knew how to keep 'em." It was this sym- 
 pathetic Virginian who took Cass aside with the following 
 generous suggestion : *' If you find that you and the old 
 gal couldn't hitch bosses, owin' to your not likin' red 
 hair or a game leg" (it may be here recorded that Blaz- 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 83 
 
 ing Star had, for no reason whatever, attributed these 
 unprepossessing qualities to the mysterious advertiser), 
 "you might let me in. You might say ez how I used to 
 jest worship that ring with you, and allers wanted to 
 borrow it on Sundays. If anything comes of it — why — 
 we ^re pardners / " 
 
 A serious question was the outfitting of Cass for what 
 now was felt to be a diplomatic representation of the 
 community. His garments, it hardly need be said, were 
 inappropriate to any wooing except that of the " maiden 
 all forlorn," which the advertiser clearly was not. " He 
 might,'' suggested Fauquier, "drop in jest as he is — 
 kinder as if he 'd got keerless of the world, being love- 
 sick." But Cass objected strongly, and .was borne out in 
 his objection by his younger comrades. At last a pair of 
 white duck trousers, a red shirt, a flowing black silk 
 scarf, and a Panama hat were procured at Red Chief, on 
 credit, after a judicious exhibition of the advertisement. 
 A heavy wedding-ring, the property of Drummond (who 
 was not married), was also lent as a graceful suggestion, 
 and at the last moment Fauquier affixed to Cass's scarf 
 an enormous specimen pin of gold and quartz. " It 
 sorter indicates the auriferous wealth o' this yer region, 
 and the old man (the senior member of Bookham & Sons) 
 need n't know I won it at draw-poker in Frisco," said 
 Fauqier. " Ef you ' pass ' on the gal, you kin hand it 
 back to me and /'// try it on." 
 
 Forty dollars for expenses was put into Cass's hands, 
 and the entire community accompanied him to the cross 
 roads where he was to meet the Sacramento coach, which 
 eventually carried him away, followed by a benediction 
 of waving hats and exploding revolvers. 
 
 That Cass did not participate in the extravagant hopes 
 of his comrades, and that he rejected utterly their matri- 
 monial speculations in his behalf, need not be said. 
 
84 Fotmd at Blazing Star. 
 
 Outwardly, he kept his own counsel with good-humored 
 assent. But there was something fascinating in the situa- 
 tion, and while he felt he had forever abandoned his ro- 
 mantic dream, he was not displeased to know that it 
 might have proved a reality. Nor was it distasteful to 
 him to think that Miss Porter would hear of it and regret 
 her late inability to appreciate his sentiment. If he 
 really were the object of some opulent maiden's passion, 
 he would show Miss Porter how he could sacrifice the 
 most brilliant prospects for her sake. Alone, on the top 
 of the coach, he projected one of those satisfying conver- 
 sations in which imaginative people delight, but which 
 unfortunately never come quite up to rehearsal. " Dear 
 Miss Porter,'' he would say, addressing the back of the 
 driver, " if I could remain faithful to a dream of my 
 youth, however illusive and unreal, can you believe that 
 for the sake of lucre I could be false to the one real pas- 
 sion that alone supplanted it ? " In the composition and 
 delivery of this eloquent statement an hour was happily 
 forgotten : the only drawback to its complete effect was 
 that a misplacing of epithets in rapid repetition did not 
 seem to make the slightest difference, and Cass found 
 himself saying " Dear Miss Porter, if I could be false to 
 a dream of my youth, etc., etc., can you believe I could 
 he faithful io the one real passion, etc., etc.,'* with equal 
 and perfect satisfaction. As Miss Porter was reputed 
 to be well off, if the unknown were poor, that might be 
 another drawback. 
 
 The banking house of Bookham & Sons did not pre- 
 sent an illusive nor mysterious appearance. It was emi- 
 nently practical and matter of fact ; it was obtrusively 
 open and glassy ; nobody would have thought of leaving 
 a secret there that would have been inevitably circulated 
 over the counter. Cass felt an uncomfortable sense of 
 incongruity in himself, in his story, in his treasure, to this 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 85 
 
 temple of disenchanting realism. With the awkwardness 
 of an embarrassed man he was holding prominently in his 
 hand an envelope containing the ring and advertisement 
 as a voucher for his intrusion, when the nearest clerk 
 took the envelope from his hand, opened it, took out the 
 ring, returned it, said briskly, " T' other shop, next door, 
 young man," and turned to another customer. 
 
 Cass stepped to the door, saw that "T'other shop'' 
 was a pawnbroker's, and returned again with a flashing 
 eye and heightened color, " It 's an advertisement I 
 have come to answer," he began again. 
 
 The clerk cast a glance at Cass's scarf and pin. " Place 
 taken yesterday — no room for any more," he said, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 Cass grew quite white. But his old experience in 
 Blazing Star repartee stood him in good stead. *^ If it 's 
 your place you mean," he said coolly, "I reckon you 
 might put a dozen men in the hole you 're rattlin' round 
 in — but it 's this advertisement I 'm after. If Bookham 
 is n't in, maybe you '11 send me one of the giown-up 
 sons." The production of the advertisement and some 
 laughter from the bystanders had its effect. The pert 
 young clerk retired, and returned to lead the way to the 
 bank parlor. Cass's heart sank again as he was con- 
 fronted by a dark, iron-gray man — in dress, features, 
 speech, and action — uncompromisingly opposed to Cass 
 — his ring and his romance. When the young man had 
 told his story and produced his treasure he paused. The 
 banker scarcely glanced at it, but said, impatiently : 
 
 " Well, your papers ? " 
 
 " My papers ? " 
 
 " Yes. Proof of your identity. You say your name is 
 Cass Beard. Good ! What have you got to prove it 1 
 How can I tell who you are t " 
 
 To a sensitive man there is no form of suspicion that 
 
86 Found at Blazing^ Star. 
 
 <b 
 
 is as bewildering and demoralizing at the moment as the 
 question of his identity. Cass felt the insult in the doubt 
 of his word, and the palpable sense of his present inabil- 
 ity to prove it. The banker watched him keenly but not 
 unkindly. 
 
 "Come," he said at length, "this is not my aflfair; if 
 you can legally satisfy the lady for whom I am only agent, 
 well and good. I believe you can ; I only warn you that 
 you must. And my present inquiry was to keep her from 
 losing her time with impostors, a class I don't think you 
 belong to. There 's her card. Good day." 
 
 " Miss Mortimer." 
 
 It was not the banker's daughter. The first illusion 
 of Blazing Star was rudely dispelled. But the care taken 
 by the capitalist to shield her from imposture indicated 
 a person of wealth. Of her youth and beauty Cass no 
 longer thought. 
 
 The address given was not distant. With a beating 
 heart he rung the bell of a respectable-looking house, and 
 was ushered into a private drawing-room. Instinctively 
 he felt that the room was only temporarily inhabited ; an 
 air peculiar to the best lodgings, and when the door 
 opened upon a tall lady in deep mourning, he was still 
 more convinced of an incongruity between the occupant 
 and her surroundings. With a smile that vacillated be- 
 tween a habit of familiarity and ease, and a recent re- 
 straint, she motioned him to a chair. 
 
 " Miss Mortimer " was still young, still handsome, still 
 fashionably dressed, and still attractive. From her first 
 greeting to the end of the interview Cass felt that she 
 knew all about him. This relieved him from the onus of 
 proving his identity, but seemed to put him vaguely at a 
 disadvantage. It increased his sense of inexperience 
 and youthfulness. 
 
 " I hope you will believe," she began, " that the few 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 87 
 
 questions I have to ask you are to satisfy my own heart, 
 and for no other purpose." She smiled sadly as she 
 went on. "Had it been otherwise, I should have insti- 
 tuted a legal inquiry, and left this interview to some one 
 cooler, calmer, and less interested than myself. But I 
 think, I know I can trust you. Perhaps we women are 
 weak and foolish to talk of an instinct^ and when you 
 know my story you may have reason to believe that but 
 little dependence can be placed on that ; but I am not 
 wrong in saying, — am I ? " (with a sad smile) " that you 
 are not above that weakness ? " She paused, closed her 
 lips tightly, and grasped her hands before her. "You 
 say you found that ring in the road some three months 
 before — the — the — you know what I mean — the body 
 — was discovered?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You thought it might have been dropped by some one 
 in passing ? " 
 
 " I thought so, yes — it belonged to no one in the 
 camp." 
 
 " Before your cabin or on the highway ? " 
 
 " Before my cabin." 
 
 " You are sure? " There was something so very sweet 
 and sad in her smile that it oddly made Cass color. 
 
 " But my cabin is near the road," he suggested. 
 
 " I see ! And there was nothing else ; no paper nor 
 envelope ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " And you kept it because of the odd resemblance one 
 of the names bore to yours ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " For no other reason ? " 
 
 " None." Yet Cass felt he was blushing. 
 
 " You '11 forgive my repeating a question you have al- 
 ready answered, but I am so anxious. There was some 
 
88 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 attempt to prove at the inquest that the ring had been 
 found on the body of — the unfortunate man. But you 
 tell me it was not so ? " 
 
 " I can swear it." 
 
 " Good God — the traitor ! " She took a hurried step 
 forward, turned to the window, and then came back to 
 Cass with a voice broken with emotion. **I have told 
 you I could trust you. That ring was mine ! '' 
 
 She stopped, and then went on hurriedly. *^ Years ago 
 I gave it to a man who deceived and wronged me ; a man 
 whose life since then has been a shame and disgrace to 
 all who knew him ; a man who, once a gentleman, sank 
 so low as to become the associate of thieves and ruffians ; 
 sank so low, that when he died, by violence — a traitor 
 even to them — his own confederates shrunk from him, 
 and left him to fill a nameless grave. That man's body 
 you found ! '' 
 
 Cass started. " And his name w^as ? " 
 
 ** Part of your surname. Cass — Henry Cass." 
 
 " You see why Providence seems to have brought that 
 ring to you," she went on. " But you ask me why, know- 
 ing this, I am so eager to know if the ring was found by 
 you in the road, or if it were found on his body. Listen ! 
 It is part of my mortification that the story goes that this 
 man once showed this ring, boasted of it, staked, and lost 
 it at a gambling table to one of his vile comrades." 
 
 ** Kanaka Joe," said Cass, overcome by a vivid recol- 
 lection of Joe's merriment at the trial. 
 
 "The same. Don't you see," she said, hurriedly, " if 
 the ring had been found on him I could believe that some- 
 where in his heart he still kept respect for the woman he 
 had wronged. I am a woman — a foolish woman, I know 
 — but you have crushed that hope forever." 
 
 " But why have you sent for me ? " asked Cass, touched 
 by her emotion. 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 89 
 
 " To know it for certain," she said, almost fiercely. 
 "Can you not understand that a woman like me must 
 know a thing once and forever ? But you can help me. 
 I did not send for you only to pour my wrongs in your 
 ears. You must take me with you to this place — to the 
 spot where you found the ring — to the spot wbere you 
 found the body — to the spot where — where he lies. 
 You must do it secretly, that none shall know me." 
 
 Cass hesitated. He was thinking of his companions 
 and the collapse of their painted bubble. How could he 
 keep the secret from them ? 
 
 " If it is money, you need, let not that stop you. I have 
 no right to your time without recompense. Do not mis- 
 understand me. There has been a thousand dollars 
 awaiting my order at Bookham's when the ring should be 
 delivered. It shall be doubled if you help me in this last 
 moment." 
 
 It was possible. He could convey her safely there, in- 
 vent some story of a reward delayed for want of proofs, 
 and afterward share that reward with his friends. He 
 answered promptly, " I will take you there." 
 
 She took his hands in both of hers, raised them to her 
 lips, and smiled. The shadow of grief and restraint 
 seemed to have fallen from her face, and a half mischiev- 
 ous, half coquettish gleam in her dark eyes touched the sus- 
 ceptible Cass in so subtle a fashion that he regained the 
 street in some confusion. He wondered what Miss Porter 
 would have thought. But was he not returning to her, a 
 fortunate man, with one thousand dollars in his pocket ! 
 Why should he remember he was handicapped by a 
 pretty woman and a pathetic episode 1 It did not make 
 the proximity less pleasant as he helped her into the 
 coach that evening, nor did the recollection of another 
 ride with another woman obtrude itself upon those conso- 
 lations which he felt it his duty, from time to time, to 
 
90 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 offer. It was arranged that he should leave her at the 
 " Red Chief " Hotel, while he continued on to Blazing 
 Star, returning at noon to bring her with him when he 
 could do it without exposing her to recognition. The gray 
 dawn came soon enough, and the coach drew up at " Red 
 Chief ^' while the lights in the bar-room and dining-room 
 of the hotel were still struggling with the far flushing east. 
 Cass alighted, placed Miss Mortimer in the hands of the 
 landlady, and returned to the vehicle. It was still musty, 
 close, and frowzy, with half awakened passengers. There 
 was a vacated seat on the top, which Cass climbed up to, 
 and abstractedly threw himself beside a figure muffled in 
 shawls and rugs. There was a slight movement among 
 the multitudinous enwrappings, and then the figure turned 
 to him and said dryly, ** Good morning ! " It was Miss 
 Porter ! 
 
 " Have you been long here ? " he stammered. 
 
 "All night." 
 
 He would have given worlds to leave her at that mo- 
 ment. He would have jumped from the starting coach 
 to save himself any explanation of the embarrassment he 
 was furiously conscious of showing, without, as he be- 
 lieved, any adequate cause. And yet, like all inexperi- 
 enced, sensitive men, he dashed blindly into that expla- 
 nation ; worse, he even told his secret at once, then and 
 there, and then sat abashed and conscience-stricken, with 
 an added sense of its utter futility. 
 
 " And this," summed up the young girl, with a slight 
 shrug of her pretty shoulders, " is your May ? " 
 
 Cass would have recommenced his story. 
 
 " No, don't, pray ! It is n't interesting, nor original. 
 Do you believe it ? " 
 
 " I do," said Cass, indignantly. 
 
 " How lucky ! Then let me go to sleep." 
 
 Cass, still furious, but uneasy, did not again address 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 91 
 
 her. When the coach stopped at Blazing Star she asked 
 him, indifferently : " When does this sentimental pilgrim- 
 age begin ? " 
 
 " I return for her at one o'clock," replied Cass, stiffly. 
 He kept his word. He appeased his eager compan- 
 ions with a promise of future fortune, and exhibited the 
 present and tangible reward. By a circuitous route known 
 only to himself, he led Miss Mortimer to the road be- 
 fore the cabin. There was a pink flush of excitement on 
 her somewhat faded cheek. 
 
 "And it was here ? " she asked, eagerly. 
 " I found it here.'' 
 " And the body ? " 
 
 " That was afterward. Over in that direction, beyond 
 the clump of buckeyes, on fhe Red Chief turnpike." 
 
 " And any one coming from the road we left just now 
 and going to — to — that place^ would have to cross just 
 here ? Tell me," she said, with a strange laugh, laying 
 her cold nervous hand on his, " would n't they ? " 
 " They would." 
 "Let us go to that place." 
 
 Cass stepped out briskly to avoid observation and gain 
 the woods beyond the highway. " You have crossed here 
 before," she said. '* There seems to be a trail." 
 
 "I may have made it: it's a shortcut to the buck- 
 eyes." 
 
 "You never found anything else on the trail ?" 
 " You remember, I told you before, the ring was all I 
 found." 
 
 " Ah, true ! " she smiled sweetly ; " it was that which 
 made it seem so odd to you. I forgot." 
 
 In half an hour they reached the buckeyes. During 
 the walk she had taken rapid recognizance of everything 
 in her path. When they crossed the road and Cass had 
 pointed out the scene of the murder, she looked anxiously 
 around. " You are sure we are not seen ? " 
 
92 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " You will not think me foolish if I ask you to wait 
 here while I go in there " — she pointed to the ominous 
 thicket near them — '' alone ? " She was quite white.^ 
 
 Cass's heart, which had grown somewhat cold since 
 his interview with Miss Porter, melted at once. 
 
 " Go ; I will stay here." 
 
 He waited five minutes. She did not return. What if 
 the poor creature had determined upon suicide on the 
 spot where her faithless lover had fallen ? He was reas- 
 sured in another moment by the rustle of skirts in the 
 undergrowth. 
 
 " I was becoming quite alarmed," he said, aloud. 
 
 "You have reason to be," returned a hurried voice. 
 He started. It was Miss Porter, who stepped swiftly 
 out of the cover. " Look," she said, " look at that man 
 down the road. He has been tracking you two ever since 
 you left the cabin. Do you know who he is ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Then listen. It is three-fingered Dick, one of the 
 escaped road agents. I know him ! " 
 
 " Let us go and warn her," said Cass, eagerly. 
 
 Miss Porter laid her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "I don't think she'll thank you," she said, dryly. 
 " Perhaps you 'd better see what she 's doing, first." 
 
 Utterly bewildered, yet with a strong sense of the mas- 
 terfulness of his companion, he followed her. She crept 
 like a cat through the thicket. Suddenly she paused. 
 " Look ! " she whispered, viciously, " look at the tender 
 vigils of your heart-broken May ! " 
 
 Cass saw the woman who had left him a moment be- 
 fore on her knees on the grass, with long thin fingers 
 digging like a ghoul in the earth. He had scarce time 
 to notice her eager face and eyes, cast now and then 
 back toward the spot where she had left him, before 
 
Found at Blazing Star. 93 
 
 there was a crash in the bushes, and a man, — the stran- 
 ger of the road, — leaped to her side. " Run," he said ; 
 " run for it now. You 're watched ! " 
 
 " Oh ! that man. Beard ! " she said, contemptuously. 
 
 "No, another in a wagon. Quick. Fool, you know 
 the place now, — you can come later ; run ! *' And half- 
 dragging, half-lifting her, he bore her through the bushes. 
 Scarcely had they closed behind the pair when Miss 
 Porter ran to the spot vacated by the woman. " LrOok ! " 
 she cried, triumphantly, " look ! '' 
 
 Cass looked, and sank on his knees beside her. 
 
 " It was worth a thousand dollars, was n't it 1 " she 
 repeated, maliciously, " was n't it 1 But you ought to 
 return it ! Really you ought." 
 
 Cass could scarcely articulate. " But how did you know 
 it t " he finally gasped. 
 
 " Oh, I suspected something ; there was a woman, and 
 you know you 're such a fool ! " 
 
 Cass rose, stiffly. 
 
 " Don't be a greater fool now, but go and bring my 
 horse and wagon from the hill, and don't say anything to 
 the driver." 
 
 " Then you did not come alone t " 
 
 " No ; it would have been bold and improper." 
 
 '' Please ! " 
 
 " And to think it was the ring, after all, that pointed to 
 this," she said. 
 
 " The ring that you returned to me." 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 ** Don't, please, the wagon is coming." 
 
 In the next morning's edition of the " Red Chief 
 Chronicle " appeared the following startling intelligence : 
 
94 Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 EXTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY! 
 
 FINDING OF THE STOLEN TREASURE OF WELLS, FARGO 
 & CO. OVER $300,000 RECOVERED. 
 
 Our readers will remember the notorious robbery of 
 Wells, Fargo & Co.'s treasure from the Sacramento and 
 Red Chief Pioneer Coach on the night of September i. 
 Although most of the gang were arrested, it is known that 
 two escaped, who, it was presumed, cached the treasure, 
 amounting to nearly $500,000 in gold, drafts, and jewelry, 
 as no trace of the property was found. Yesterday our 
 esteemed fellow citizen, Mr. Cass Beard, long and favor- 
 ably known in this county, succeeded in exhuming the 
 treasure in a copse of hazel near the Red Chief turnpike, 
 — adjacent to the spot where an unknown body was lately 
 discovered. This body is now strongly suspected to be 
 that of one Henry Cass, a disreputable character, who has 
 since been ascertained to have been one of the road agents 
 who escaped. The matter is now under legal investiga- 
 tion. The successful result of the search is due to a sys- 
 tematic plan evolved from the genius of Mr. Beard, who 
 has devoted over a year to this labor. It was first sug- 
 gested to him by the finding of a ring, now definitely iden- 
 tified as part of the treasure which was supposed to have 
 been dropped from Wells, Fargo & Co.'s boxes by the 
 robbers in their midnight flight through Blazing Star. 
 
 In the same journal appeared the no less important in- 
 telligence, which explains, while it completes this vera- 
 cious chronicle : — 
 
 " It is rumored that a marriage is shortly to take place 
 between the hero of the late treasure discovery and a 
 young lady of Red Chief, whose devoted aid and assist- 
 ance to this important work is well known to this com- 
 munity." 
 
gin tl^e Carauine? mooDis. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The sun was going down on the Carquinez Woods. 
 The few shafts of sunlight that had pierced their pillared 
 gloom were lost in unfathomable depths, or splintered 
 their ineffectual lances on the enormous trunks of the red- 
 woods. For a time the dull red of their vast columns, 
 and the dull red of their cast-off bark which matted the 
 echoless aisles, still seemed to hold a faint glow of the 
 dying day. But even this soon passed. Light and color 
 fled upwards. The dark, interlaced tree-tops, that had all 
 day made an impenetrable shade, broke into fire here and 
 there j their lost spires glittered, faded, and went utterly 
 out. A weird twilight that did not come from an outer 
 world, but seemed born of the wood itself, slowly filled 
 and possessed the aisles. The straight, tall, colossal 
 trunks rose dimly like columns of upward smoke. The 
 few fallen trees stretched their huge length into obscurity, 
 and seemed to lie on shadowy trestles. The strange 
 breath that filled these mysterious vaults had neither cold- 
 ness nor moisture ; a dry, fragrant dust arose from the 
 noiseless foot that trod their bark-strewn floor ; the aisles 
 might have been tombs, the fallen trees, enormous mum- 
 mies ; the silence, the solitude of the forgotten past. 
 
 And yet this silence was presently broken by a recurring 
 sound like breathing, interrupted occasionally by inarticu- 
 late and stertorous gasps. It was not the quick, panting, 
 listening breath of some stealthy feline or canine animal, 
 but indicated a larger, slower, and more powerful organi- 
 
96 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 zation, whose progress was less watchful and guarded, or 
 as if a fragment of one of the fallen monsters had become 
 animate. At times this life seemed to take visible form, 
 but as vaguely, as misshapenly, as the phantom of a night- 
 mare. Now it was a square object moving sideways, end- 
 ways, with neither head nor tail and scarcely visible feet ; 
 then an arched bulk rolling against the trunks of the trees 
 and recoiling again, or an upright cylindrical mass, but al- 
 ways oscillating and unsteady, and striking the trees on 
 either hand. The frequent occurrence of the movement 
 suggested the figures of some weird rhythmic dance to 
 music heard by the shape alone. Suddenly it either be- 
 came motionless or faded away. 
 
 There was the frightened neighing of a horse, the sud- 
 den jingling of spurs, a shout and outcry, and the swift 
 apparition of three dancing torches in one of the dark 
 aisles ; but so intense was the obscurity that they shed 
 no light on surrounding objects, and seemed to advance 
 at their own volition without human guidance, until they 
 disappeared suddenly behind the interposing bulk of one 
 of the largest trees. Beyond its eighty feet of circumfer- 
 ence the light could not reach, and the gloom remained 
 inscrutable. But the voices and jingling spurs were 
 heard distinctly. 
 
 "- Blast the mare ! She 's shied off that cursed trail 
 again.'' 
 
 " Ye ain't lost it agin, hev ye ? " growled a second 
 voice. 
 
 " That 's jist what I hev. And these blasted pine- 
 knots don't give light an inch beyond 'em. D d if I 
 
 don't think they make this cursed hole blacker." 
 
 There was a laugh — a woman's laugh — hysterical, 
 bitter, sarcastic, exasperating. The second speaker, 
 without heeding it, went on : 
 
 " What in thunder skeert the bosses ? Did you see or 
 hear anything ? " 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 97 
 
 " Nothin'. The wood is like a graveyard." 
 
 The woman^s voice again broke into a hoarse, con- 
 temptuous laugh. The man resumed angrily : 
 
 ** If you know anything, why in h — 11 don't you say so, 
 
 instead of cackling like a d d squaw there t P'raps 
 
 you reckon you ken find the trail too." 
 
 "Take this rope off my wrist," said the woman's voice, 
 "untie my hands, let me down, and I'll find it." She 
 spoke quickly and with a Spanish accent. 
 
 It was the men's turn to laugh. " And give you a 
 show to snatch that six-shooter and blow a hole through 
 me, as you did to the Sheriff of Calaveras, eh ? Not if 
 this court understands itself," said the first speaker dryly. 
 
 "Go to the devil, then," she said curtly. 
 
 "Not before a lady," responded the other. There was 
 another laugh from the men, the spurs jingled again, the 
 three torches reappeared from behind the tree, and then 
 passed away in the darkness. 
 
 For a time silence and immutability possessed the 
 woods ; the great trunks loomed upwards, their fallen 
 brothers stretched their slow length into obscurity. The 
 sound of breathing again became audible ; the shape re- 
 appeared in the aisle, and recommenced its mystic 
 dance. Presently it was lost in the shadow of the largest 
 tree, and to the sound of breathing succeeded a grating 
 and scratching of bark. Suddenly, as if riven by light- 
 ning, a flash broke from the centre of the tree-trunk, lit 
 up the woods, and a sharp report rang through it. After 
 a pause the jingling of spurs and the dancing of torches 
 were revived from the distance. 
 
 "Hallo?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Whofired that shot?" 
 
 But there was no reply. A slight veil of smoke passed 
 away to the right, there was the spice of gunpowder in 
 the air, but nothing more. 
 
98 hi the Carquinez Woods, 
 
 The torches came forward again, but this time it could 
 be seen they were held in the hands of two men and a 
 woman. The woman's hands were tied at the wrist to 
 the horse-hair reins of her mule, while a riata^ passed 
 around her waist and under the mule's girth, was held by 
 one of the men, who were both armed with rifles and re- 
 volvers. Their frightened horses curveted, and it was 
 with difficulty they could be made to advance. 
 
 " Ho ! stranger, what are you shooting at? " 
 
 The woman laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 
 " Look yonder at the roots of the tree. You 're a d— d 
 smart man for a sheriff, ain't you? " 
 
 The man uttered an exclamation and spurred his horse 
 forward, but the animal reared in terror. He then sprang 
 to the ground and approached the tree. The shape lay 
 there, a scarcely distinguishable bulk. 
 
 " A grizzly, by the living Jingo ! Shot through the 
 heart." 
 
 It was true. The strange shape lit up by the flaring 
 torches seemed more vague, unearthly, and awkward in 
 its dying throes, yet the small shut eyes, the feeble nose, 
 the ponderous shoulders, and half-human foot armed with 
 powerful claws were unmistakable. The men turned by 
 a common impulse and peered into the remote recesses 
 of the wood again. 
 
 " Hi, Mister ! come and pick up your game. Hallo 
 there ! " 
 
 The challenge fell unheeded on the empty woods. 
 
 " And yet," said he whom the woman had called the 
 sheriff, " he can't be far off. It was a close shot, and the 
 bear hez dropped in his tracks. Why, wot 's this stick- 
 ing in his claws ? " 
 
 The two men bent over the animal. "Why, it's sugar, 
 brown sugar — look!" There was no mistake. The 
 huge beast's fore paws and muzzle were streaked with 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 99 
 
 the unromantic household provision, and heightened the 
 absurd contrast of its incongruous members. The wo- 
 man, apparently indifferent, had taken that opportunity 
 to partly free one of her wrists. 
 
 " If we had n't been cavorting round this yer spot for 
 the last half hour, I 'd swear there was a shanty not a 
 hundred yards away," said the sheriff. 
 
 The other man, without replying, remounted his horse 
 instantly. 
 
 " If there is, and it 's inhabited by a gentleman that 
 kin make centre shots like that in the dark, and don't 
 care to explain how, I reckon I won't disturb him.'' 
 
 The sheriff was apparently of the same opinion, for he 
 followed his companion's example, and once more led 
 the way. The spurs tinkled, the torches danced, and the 
 cavalcade slowly reentered the gloom. In another mo- 
 ment it had disappeared. 
 
 The wood sank again into repose, this time disturbed 
 by neither shape nor sound. What lower forms of life 
 might have crept close to its roots were hidden in the 
 ferns, or passed with deadened tread over the bark-strewn 
 floor. Towards morning a coolness like dew fell from 
 above, with here and there a dropping twig or nut, or the 
 crepitant awakening and stretching-out of cramped and 
 weary branches. Later a dull, lurid dawn, not unlike the 
 last evening's sunset, filled the aisles. This faded again, 
 and a clear gray light, in which every object stood out in 
 sharp distinctness, took its place. Morning was waiting 
 outside in all its brilliant, youthful coloring, but only 
 entered as the matured and sobered day. 
 
 Seen in that stronger light, the monstrous tree near 
 which the dead bear lay revealed its age in its denuded 
 and scarred trunk, and showed in its base a deep cavity, 
 a foot or two from the ground, partly hidden by hanging 
 strips of bark which had fallen across it. Suddenly one 
 
lOO In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 of these strips was pushed aside, and a young man leaped 
 lightly down. 
 
 But for the rifle he carried and some modem peculiari- 
 ties of dress, he was of a grace so unusual and uncon- 
 ventional that he might have passed for a faun who was 
 quitting his ancestral home. He stepped to the side of 
 the bear with a light elastic movement that was as unlike 
 customary progression as his face and figure were unlike 
 the ordinary types of humanity. Even as he leaned upon 
 his rifle, looking down at the prostrate animal, he uncon- 
 sciously fell into an attitude that in any other mortal 
 would have been a pose, but with him was the pictur- 
 esque and unstudied relaxation of perfect symmetry. 
 
 " Hallo, Mister ! " 
 
 He raised his head so carelessly and listlessly that he 
 did not otherwise change his attitude. Stepping from 
 behind the tree, the woman of the preceding night stood 
 before him. Her hands were free except for a thong of 
 the riata^ which was still knotted around one wrist, the 
 end of the thong having been torn or burnt away. Her 
 eyes were bloodshot, and her hair hung over her shoul- 
 ders in one long black braid. 
 
 " I reckoned all along it was you who shot the bear," 
 she said ; " at least some one hidin' yer,^' and she indi- 
 cated the hollow tree with her hand. "It was n't no 
 chance shot." Observing that the young man, either 
 from misconception or indifference, did not seem to com- 
 prehend her, she added, " We came by here, last night, a 
 minute after you fired." 
 
 " Oh, that was you kicked up such a row, was it 1 " said 
 the young man, with a shade of interest. 
 
 " I reckon," said the woman, nodding her head, " and 
 them that was with me." 
 
 " And who are they 1 " 
 
 " Sheriff Dunn, of Yolo, and his deputy." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. loi 
 
 " And where are they now ? " 
 
 " The deputy — in h — 11, I reckon. I don't know about 
 the sheriff." 
 
 " I see/' said the young man quietly ; " and you ? " 
 
 " I — got away," she said savagely. But she was taken 
 with a sudden nervous shiver, which she at once repressed 
 by tightly dragging her shawl over her shoulders and el- 
 bows, and folding her arms defiantly. 
 
 " And you 're going ? " 
 
 "To follow the deputy, may be," she said gloomily. 
 " But come, I say, ain't you going to treat .'* It 's cursed 
 cold here." 
 
 "Wait a moment." The young man was looking at 
 her, with his arched brows slightly knit and a half smile 
 of curiosity. " Ain't you Teresa ? " 
 
 She was prepared for the question, but evidently was 
 not certain whether she would reply defiantly or confi- 
 dently. After an exhaustive scrutiny of his face she 
 chose the latter, and said, "You can bet your life on it, 
 Johnny." 
 
 "I don't bet, and my name is n't Johnny. Then 
 you 're the woman who stabbed Dick Curson over at 
 Lagrange's ? " 
 
 She became defiant again. ** That's me, all the time. 
 What are you going to do about it ? " 
 
 "Nothing. And you used to dance at the Alhambra? " 
 
 She whisked the shawl from her shoulders, held it up 
 like a scarf, and made one or two steps of the sembi- 
 aiacua. There was not the least gayety, recklessness, 
 or spontaneity in the action ; it was simply mechanical 
 bravado. It was so ineffective, even upon her own feel- 
 ings, that her arms presently dropped to her side, and she 
 coughed embarrassedly. " Where 's that whiskey, pard- 
 ner ? " she asked. 
 
 The young man turned toward the tree he had just 
 
I02 In the Carq^dnez Woods. 
 
 quitted, and without further words assisted her to mount 
 to the cavity. It was an irregular-shaped vaulted cham- 
 ber, pierced fifty feet above by a shaft or cylindrical open- 
 ing in the decayed trunk, which was blackened by smoke 
 as if it had served the purpose of a chimney. In one 
 corner lay a bearskin and blanket ; at the side were two 
 alcoves or indentations, one of which was evidently used 
 as a table, and the other as a cupboard. In another 
 hollow, near the entrance, lay a few small sacks of flour, 
 coffee, and sugar, the sticky contents of the latter still 
 strewing the floor. From this storehouse the young man 
 drew a wicker flask of whiskey, and handed it, with a tin 
 cup of water, to the woman. She waved the cup aside, 
 placed the flask to her lips, and drank the undiluted 
 spirit. Yet even this was evidently bravado, for the 
 water started to her eyes, and she could not restrain the 
 paroxysm of coughing that followed. 
 
 " I reckon that 's the kind that kills at forty rods," she 
 said, with a hysterical laugh. " But I say, pardner, you 
 look as if you were fixed here to stay,*' and she stared 
 ostentatiously around the chamber. But she had already 
 taken in its minutest details, even to observing that the 
 hanging strips of bark could be disposed so as to com- 
 pletely hide the entrance. 
 
 " Well, yes,'' he replied ; *' it would n't be very easy to 
 pull up the stakes and move the shanty further on." 
 
 Seeing that either from indifference or caution he had 
 not accepted her meaning, she looked at him fixedly, and 
 said, — 
 
 " What is your little game ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " 
 
 " What are you hiding for — here in this tree t " 
 
 " But I 'm not hiding." 
 
 " Then why did n't you come out when they hailed you 
 last night ? " 
 
In the Carqumez Woods. 103 
 
 *^ Because I did n't care to/' 
 
 Teresa whistled incredulously. " All right — then if 
 you 're not hiding, I 'm going to." As he did not reply, 
 she went on : " If I can keep out of sight for a couple of 
 weeks, this thing will blow over here, and I can get across 
 into Yolo. I could get a fair show there, where the boys 
 know me. Just now the trails are all watched, but no 
 one would think of lookin' here." 
 
 " Then how did you come to think of it ? " he asked 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Because I knew that bear had n't gone far for that 
 sugar ; because I knew he had n't stole it from a cache — 
 it was too fresh, and we 'd have seen the torn-up earth ; 
 because we had passed no camp ; and because I knew 
 there was no shanty here. And, besides," she added in 
 a low voice, *^may be I was huntin' a hole myself to die 
 in — and spotted it by instinct." 
 
 There was something in this suggestion of a hunted 
 animal that, unlike anything she had previously said or 
 suggested, was not exaggerated, and caused the young 
 man to look at her again. She was standing under the 
 chimney-like opening, and the light from above illumi- 
 nated her head and shoulders. The pupils of her eyes 
 had lost their feverish prominence, and were slightly suf- 
 fused and softened as she gazed abstractedly before her. 
 The only vestige of her previous excitement was in her 
 left-hand fingers, which were incessantly twisting and 
 turning a diamond ring upon her right hand, but without 
 imparting the least animation to her rigid attitude. Sud- 
 denly, as if conscious of his scrutiny, she stepped aside 
 out of the revealing light, and by a swift feminine instinct 
 raised her hand to her head as if to adjust her straggling 
 hair. It was only for a moment, however, for, as if aware 
 of the weakness, she struggled to resume her aggressive 
 pose. 
 
I04 in the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 "Well," she said. "Speak up. Am I goin' to stop 
 here, or have I got to get up and get ? '' 
 
 " You can stay," said the young man quietly; " but as 
 I Ve got my provisions and ammunition here, and have n't 
 any other place to go to just now, I suppose we '11 have 
 to share it together.'* 
 
 She glanced at him under her eyelids, and a half-bitter, 
 half-contemptuous smile passed across her face. "All 
 right, old man," she said, holding out her hand, "it 's a go. 
 We '11 start in housekeeping at once, if you like." 
 
 " I '11 have to come here once or twice a day," he said, 
 quite composedly, " to look after my things, and get some- 
 thing to eat j but I '11 be away most of the time, and what 
 with camping out under the trees every night I reckon my 
 share won't incommode you." 
 
 She opened her black eyes upon him, at this original 
 proposition. Then she looked down at her torn dress. 
 " I suppose this style of thing ain't very fancy, is it 1 " 
 she said, with a forced laugh. 
 
 " I think I know where to beg or borrow a change for 
 you, if you can't get any," he replied simply. 
 
 She stared at him again. " Are you a family man? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 She was silent for a moment. " Well," she said, " you 
 can tell your girl I 'm not particular about its being in the 
 latest fashion." 
 
 There was a slight flush on his forehead as he turned 
 toward the little cupboard, but no tremor in his voice as 
 he went on : " You'll find tea and coffee here, and, if 
 you 're bored, there 's a book or two. You read, don't 
 you — I mean English ? " 
 
 She nodded, but cast a look of undisguised contempt 
 upon the two worn, coverless novels he held out to her. 
 " You have n't got last week's ' Sacramento Union,' have 
 you ? I hear they have my case all in ; only them lying 
 reporters made it out against me all the time." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 105 
 
 " I don't see the papers," he replied curtly. 
 
 " They say there 's a picture of me in the * Police Ga- 
 zette,' taken in the act," and she laughed. 
 
 He looked a little abstracted, and turned as if to go. 
 " I think you '11 do well to rest a while just now, and keep 
 as close hid as possible until afternoon. The trail is a mile 
 away at the nearest point, but some one might miss it and 
 stray over here. You 're quite safe if you 're careful, and 
 stand by the tree. You can build afire here," he stepped 
 under the chimney-like opening, " without its being noticed. 
 Even the smoke is lost and cannot be seen so high." 
 
 The light from above was falling on his head and 
 shoulders, as it had on hers. She looked at him intently. 
 
 " You travel a good deal on your figure, pardner, don't 
 you?" she said, with a certain admiration that was quite 
 sexless in its quality ; " but I don't see how you pick up 
 a living by it in the Carquinez Woods. So you 're going, 
 are you ? You might be more sociable. Good-by." 
 
 " Good-by ! " He leaped from the opening. 
 
 " I say, pardner ! " 
 
 He turned a little impatiently. She had knelt down at 
 the entrance, so as to be nearer his level, and was hold- 
 ing out her hand. But he did not notice it, and she 
 quietly withdrew it. 
 
 ** If anybody dropped in and asked for you, v^hat name 
 will they say ? " 
 
 He smiled. " Don't wait to hear." 
 
 "But suppose Z wanted to sing out for you, what will 
 I call you ? " 
 
 He hesitated. " Call me — Lo." 
 
 ^* Lo, the poor Indian ? " ^ 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 It suddenly occurred to the woman, Teresa, that in the 
 
 1 The first word of Pope's familiar apostrophe is humorously used 
 in the far West as a distinguishing title for the Indian. 
 
io6 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 young man's height, supple, yet erect carriage, color, and 
 singular gravity of demeanor there was a refined, aborigi- 
 nal suggestion. He did not look like any Indian she had 
 ever seen, but rather as a youthful chief might have 
 looked. There was a further suggestion in his fringed 
 buckskin shirt and moccasins ; but before she could ut- 
 ter the half-sarcastic comment that rose to her lips he 
 had glided noiselessly away, even as an Indian might 
 have done. 
 
 She readjusted the slips of hanging bark with feminine 
 ingenuity, dispersing them so as to completely hide the 
 entrance. Yet this did not darken the chamber, which 
 seemed to draw a purer and more vigorous light through 
 the soaring shaft that pierced the room than that which 
 came from the dim woodland aisles below. Nevertheless, 
 she shivered, and drawing her shawl closely around her 
 began to collect some half-burnt fragments of wood in the 
 chimney to make a fire. But the preoccupation of her 
 thoughts rendered this a tedious process, as she would 
 from time to time stop in the middle of an action and 
 fall into an attitude of rapt abstraction, with far-off eyes 
 and rigid mouth. When she had at last succeeded in 
 kindling a fire and raising a film of pale blue smoke, that 
 seemed to fade and dissipate entirely before it reached 
 the top of the chimney shaft, she crouched beside it, fixed 
 her eyes on the darkest corner of the cavern, and became 
 motionless. 
 
 What did she see through that shadow ? 
 
 Nothing at first but a confused medley of figures and 
 incidents of the preceding night ; things to be put away 
 and forgotten ; things that would not have happened but 
 for another thing — the thing before which everything 
 faded ! A ball-room ; the sounds of music ; the one man 
 she had cared for insulting her with the flaunting osten- 
 tation of his unfaithfulness ; herself despised, put aside, 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 107 
 
 laughed at, or worse, jilted. And then the moment of 
 delirium, when the light danced ; the one wild act that 
 lifted her, the despised one, above them all — made her 
 the supreme figure, to be glanced at by frightened 
 women, stared at by half-startled, half-admiring men ! 
 "Yes," she laughed ; but struck by the sound of her own 
 voice, moved twice round the cavern nervously, and then 
 dropped again into her old position. 
 
 As they carried him away he had laughed at her — 
 like a hound that he was ; he who had praised her for 
 her spirit, and incited her revenge against others ; he 
 who had taught her to strike when she was insulted j 
 and it was only fit he should reap what he had sown. 
 She was what he, what other men, had made her. And 
 what was she now ? What had she been once ? 
 
 She tried to recall her childhood : the man and woman 
 who might have been her father and mother 3 who fought 
 and wrangled over her precocious little life ; abused or 
 caressed her as she sided with either ; and then left her 
 with a circus troupe, where she first tasted the power of 
 her courage, her beauty, and her recklessness. She re- 
 membered those flashes of triumph that left a fever in her 
 veins — a fever that when it failed must be stimulated by 
 dissipation, by anything, by everything that would keep 
 her name a wonder in men's mouths, an envious fear to 
 women. She recalled her transfer to the strolling play- 
 ers ; her cheap pleasures, and cheaper rivalries and 
 hatred — but always Teresa ! the daring Teresa ! the 
 reckless Teresa ! audacious as a woman, invincible as a 
 boy ; dancing, flirting, fencing, shooting, swearing, drink- 
 ing, smoking, fighting Teresa 1 " Oh, yes ; she had been 
 loved, perhaps — who knows ? — but always feared. 
 Why should she change now ? Ha, he should see." 
 
 She had lashed herself in a frenzy, as was her wont, 
 with gestures, ejaculations, oaths, adjurations, and pas- 
 
io8 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 sionate apostrophes, but with this strange and unexpected 
 result. Heretofore she had always been sustained and 
 kept up by an audience of some kind or quality, if only 
 perhaps a humble companion ; there had always been 
 some one she could fascinate or horrify, and she could 
 read her power mirrored in their eyes. Even the half- 
 abstracted indifference of her strange host had been 
 something. But she was alone now. Her words fell on 
 apathetic solitude \ she was acting to viewless space. 
 She rushed to the opening, dashed the hanging bark 
 aside and leaped to the ground. 
 
 She ran forward wildly a few steps, and stopped. 
 
 " Hallo ! '^ she cried. " Look, 't is I, Teresa ! " 
 
 The profound silence remained unbroken. Her shrill- 
 est tones were lost in an echoless space, even as the 
 smoke of her fire had faded into pure ether. She 
 stretched out her clenched fists as if to defy the pillared 
 austerities of the vaults around her. 
 
 " Come and take me if you dare ! " 
 
 The challenge was unheeded. If she had thrown her- 
 self violently against the nearest tree-trunk, she could not 
 have been stricken more breathless than she was by the 
 compact, embattled solitude that encompassed her. The 
 hopelessness of impressing these cold and passive vaults 
 with her selfish passion filled her with a vague fear. In 
 her rage of the previous night she had not seen the wood 
 in its profound immobility. Left alone with the majesty 
 of those enormous columns, she trembled and turned 
 faint. The silence of the hollow tree she had just quitted 
 seemed to her less awful than the crushing presence of 
 these mute and monstrous witnesses of her weakness. 
 Like a wounded quail with lowered crest and trailing 
 wing, she crept back to her hiding-place. 
 
 Even then the influence of the wood was still upon her. 
 She picked up the novel she had contemptuously thrown 
 
In the Carquinez Woods, 109 
 
 aside, only to let it fall again in utter weariness. For a 
 moment her feminine curiosity was excited by the discov- 
 ery of an old book, in whose blank leaves were pressed a 
 variety of flowers and woodland grasses. As she could 
 not conceive that these had been kept for any but a senti- 
 mental purpose, she was disappointed to find that under- 
 neath each was a sentence in an unknown tongue, that 
 even to her untutored eye did not appear to be the lan- 
 guage of passion.. Finally she rearranged the couch of 
 skins and blankets, and, imparting to it in three clever 
 shakes an entirely different character, lay down to pursue 
 her reveries. But nature asserted herself, and ere she 
 knew it she was fast asleep. 
 
 So intense and prolonged had been her previous excite- 
 ment that, the tension once relieved, she passed into a 
 slumber of exhaustion so deep that she seemed scarce to 
 breathe. High noon succeeded morning, the central shaft 
 received a single ray of upper sunlight, the afternoon 
 came and went, the shadows gathered below, the sunset 
 fires began to eat their way through the groined roof, and 
 she still slept. She slept even when the bark hangings 
 of the chamber were put aside, and the young man re- 
 entered. 
 
 He laid down a bundle he was carrying, and softly ap- 
 proached the sleeper. For a moment he was startled 
 from his indifference ; she lay so still and motionless. 
 But this was not all that struck him ; the face before him 
 was no longer the passionate, haggard visage that con- 
 fronted him that morning ; the feverish air, the burning 
 color, the strained muscles of mouth and brow, and the 
 staring eyes were gone ; wiped away, perhaps, by the tears 
 that still left their traces on cheek and dark eyelash. It 
 was a face of a handsome w^oman of thirty, with even a 
 suggestion of softness in the contour of the cheek and 
 arching of her upper lip, no longer rigidly drawn down in 
 anger, but relaxed by sleep on her white teeth. 
 
no In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 With the lithe, soft tread that was habitual to him, the 
 young man moved about, examining the condition of the 
 little chamber and its stock of provisions and necessaries, 
 and withdrew presently, to reappear as noiselessly with a 
 tin bucket of water. This done he replenished the little 
 pile of fuel with an armful of bark and pine cones, cast 
 an approving glance about him, which included the 
 sleeper, and silently departed. 
 
 It was night when she awoke. She was surrounded by 
 a profound darkness, except where the shaft-like opening 
 made a nebulous mist in the corner in her wooden cavern. 
 Providentially she struggled back to consciousness slowly, 
 so that the solitude and silence came upon her gradually, 
 with a growing realization of the events of the past 
 twenty-four hours, but without a shock. She was alone 
 here, but safe still, and every hour added to her chances 
 of ultimate escape. She remembered to have seen a 
 candle among the articles on the shelf, and she began to 
 grope her way toward the matches. Suddenly she stopped. 
 What was that panting ? 
 
 Was it her own breathing, quickened with a sudden 
 nameless terror ? or was there something outside ? Her 
 heart seemed to stop beating while she listened. Yes ! it 
 was a panting outside — a panting now increased, multi- 
 plied, redoubled, mixed with the sounds of rustling, tear- 
 ing, craunching, and occasionally a quick, impatient snarl. 
 She crept on her hands and knees to the opening and 
 looked out. At first the ground seemed to be undulating 
 between her and the opposite tree. But a second glance 
 showed her the black and gray, bristling, tossing backs 
 of tumbling beasts of prey, charging the carcass of the 
 bear that lay at its roots, or contesting for the prize with 
 gluttonous choked breath, sidelong snarls, arched spines, 
 and recurved tails. One of the boldest had leaped upon 
 a buttressing root of her tree within a foot of the opening. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. iii 
 
 The excitement, awe, and terror she had undergone cul- 
 minated in one wild, maddened scream, that seemed to 
 pierce even the cold depths of the forest, as she dropped 
 on her face, with her hands clasped over her eyes in an 
 agony of fear. 
 
 Her scream was answered, after a pause, by a sudden 
 volley of firebrands and sparks into the midst of the 
 panting, crowding pack ; a few smothered howls and 
 snaps, and a sudden dispersion of the concourse. In an- 
 other moment the young man, with a blazing brand in 
 either hand, leaped upon the body of the bear. 
 
 Teresa raised her head, uttered a hysterical cry, slid 
 down the tree, flew wildly to his side, caught convulsively 
 at his sleeve, and fell on her knees beside him. 
 
 " Save me ! save me ! " she gasped, in a voice broken 
 by terror. " Save me from those hideous creatures. No, 
 no ! " she implored, as he endeavored to lift her to her 
 feet. " No — let me stay here close beside you. So," 
 clutching the fringe of his leather hunting-shirt, and drag- 
 ging herself on her knees nearer him — "so — don^t leave 
 me, for God's sake ! " 
 
 ** They are gone," he replied, gazing down curiously at 
 her, as she wound the fringe around her hand to strengthen 
 her hold ; " they 're only a lot of cowardly coyotes and 
 wolves, that dare not attack anything that lives and can 
 move." 
 
 The young woman responded with a nervous shudder. 
 " Yes, that 's it," she whispered, in a broken voice ; ^* it 's 
 only the dead they want. Promise me — swear to me, if 
 I 'm caught, or hung, or shot, you won't let me be left 
 here to be torn and — ah ! my God ! what 's that ? " 
 
 She had thrown her arms around his knees, completely 
 pinioning him to her frantic breast. Something like a 
 smile of disdain passed across his face as he answered, 
 " It 's nothing. They will not return, Oet up ! " 
 
112 hi the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Even in her terror she saw the change in his face. " I 
 know, I know!'' she cried. **I'm frightened — but I 
 cannot bear it any longer. Hear me ! Listen ! Listen 
 — but don't move ! I did n't mean to kill Curson — no ! 
 I swear to God, no ! I did n't mean to kill the sheriff — 
 and I didn't. I was only bragging — do you hear? I 
 lied! I lied — don't move, I swear to God I lied. I've 
 made myself out worse than I was. I have. Only don't 
 leave me now — and if I die — and it 's not far off, may 
 be — get me away from here — and from them. Swear 
 it!" 
 
 " All right," said the young man, with a scarcely con- 
 cealed movement of irritation. " But get up now, and go 
 back to the cabin." 
 
 " No j not there alone." Nevertheless, he quietly but 
 firmly released himself. 
 
 " I will stay here," he replied. " I would have been 
 nearer to you, but I thought it better for your safety that 
 my camp-fire should be further off. But I can build it 
 here, and that will keep the coyotes off." 
 
 "Let me stay with you — beside you," she said im- 
 ploringly. 
 
 She looked so broken, crushed, and spiritless, so unlike 
 the woman of the morning that, albeit with an ill grace, 
 he tacitly consented, and turned away to bring his blan- 
 kets. But in the next moment she was at his side, follow- 
 ing him like a dog, silent and wistful, and even offering 
 to carry his burden. When he had built the fire, for 
 which she had collected the pine - cones and broken 
 branches near them, he sat down, folded his arms, and 
 leaned back against the tree in reserved and deliberate 
 silence. Humble and submissive, she did not attempt to 
 break in upon a reverie she could not help but feel had 
 little kindliness to herself. As the fire snapped and 
 sparkled, she pillowed her head upon a root, and lay still 
 to watch it. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 1 1 3 
 
 It rose and fell, and dying away at times to a mere 
 lurid glow, and again, agitated by some breath scarcely 
 perceptible to them, quickening into a roaring flame. 
 When only the embers remained, a dead silence filled the 
 wood. Then the first breath of morning moved the 
 tangled canopy above, and a dozen tiny sprays and 
 needles detached from the interlocked boughs winged 
 their soft way noiselessly to the earth. A few fell upon 
 the prostrate woman like a gentle benediction, and she 
 slept. But even then, the young man, looking down, saw 
 that the slender fingers were still aimlessly but rigidly 
 twisted in the leather fringe of his hunting-shirt. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 It was a peculiarity of the Carquinez Wood that it 
 stood apart and distinct in its gigantic individuality. 
 Even where the integrity of its own singular species was 
 not entirely preserved, it admitted no inferior trees. Nor 
 was there any diminishing fringe on its outskirts ; the 
 sentinels that guarded the few gateways of the dim trails 
 were as monstrous as the serried ranks drawn up in the 
 heart of the forest. Consequently, the red highway that 
 skirted the eastern angle was bare and shadeless, until 
 it slipped a league off into a watered valley and refreshed 
 itself under lesser sycamores and willows. It was here 
 the newly-born city of Excelsior, still in its cradle, had, 
 like an infant Hercules, strangled the serpentine North 
 Fork of the American river, and turned its life-current 
 into the ditches and flumes of the Excelsior miners. 
 
 Newest of the new houses that seemed to have acci- 
 dentally formed its single, straggling street was the resi- 
 dence of the Rev. Winslow Wynn, not unfrequently known 
 as " Father Wynn," pastor of the first Baptist church. 
 The "pastorage," as it was cheerfully called, had the 
 glaring distinction of being built of brick, and was, as had 
 been wickedly pointed out by idle scoffers, the only 
 "fireproof" structure in town. This sarcasm was not, 
 however, supposed to be particularly distasteful to " Fa- 
 ther Wynn," who enjoyed the reputation of being " hail 
 fellow, well met " with the rough mining element, who 
 called them by their Christian names, had been known to 
 drink at the bar of the Polka Saloon while engaged in 
 the conversion of a prominent citizen, and was popularly 
 
In the Carquinez Woods, 115 
 
 said to have no " gospel starch " about him. Certain 
 conscious outcasts and transgressors were touched at 
 this apparent unbending of the spiritual authority. The 
 rigid tenets of Father Wynn's faith were lost in the sup- 
 posed catholicity of his humanity. "A preacher that can 
 jine a man when he 's histin' liquor into him, without 
 jawin' about it, ought to be allowed to wrestle with sin- 
 ners and splash about in as much cold water as he likes," 
 was the criticism of one of his converts. Nevertheless, it 
 was true that Father Wynn was somewhat loud and in- 
 tolerant in his tolerance. It was true that he was a little 
 more rough, a little more frank, a little more hearty, a lit- 
 tle more impulsive, than his disciples. It was true that 
 often the proclamation of his extreme liberality and broth- 
 erly equality partook somewhat of an apology. It is true 
 that a few who might have been most benefited by this 
 kind of gospel regarded him with a singular disdain. It 
 is true that his liberality was of an ornamental, insinuat- 
 ing quality, accompanied with but little sacrifice ; his ac- 
 ceptance of a collection taken up in a gambling-saloon 
 for the rebuilding of his church, destroyed by fire, gave 
 him a popularity large enough, it must be confessed, to 
 cover the sins of the gamblers themselves, but it was not 
 proven that he had ever organized any form of relief. But 
 it was true that local history somehow accepted him as 
 an exponent of mining Christianity, without the least ref- 
 erence to the opinions of the Christian miners themselves. 
 The Rev. Mr. Wynn's liberal habits and opinions were 
 not, however, shared by his only daughter, a motherless 
 young lady of eighteen. Nellie Wynn was in the eye of 
 Excelsior an unapproachable divinity, as inaccessible and 
 cold as her father was impulsive and familiar. An atmos- 
 phere of chaste and proud virginity made itself felt even 
 in the starched integrity of her spotless skirts, in her 
 neatly-gloved finger-tips, in her clear an^ber eyes, in her 
 
Ii6 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 imperious red lips, in her sensitive nostrils. Need it be 
 said that the youth and middle age of Excelsior were 
 madly, because apparently hopelessly, in love with her ? 
 For the rest, she had been expensively educated, was pro- 
 foundly ignorant in two languages, with a trained misun- 
 derstanding of music and painting, and a natural and 
 faultless taste in dress. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Wynn was engaged in a characteristic 
 hearty parting with one of his latest converts upon his 
 own doorstep, with admirable al fresco effect. He had 
 just clapped him on the shoulder. " Good-by, good-by, 
 Charley, my boy, and keep in the right path ; not up, or 
 down, or round the gulch, you know — ha, ha! — but 
 straight across lots to the shining gate." He had raised 
 his voice under the stimulus of a few admiring spectators, 
 and backed his convert playfully against the wall. *^ You 
 see ! we 're goin' in to win, you bet. Good-by ! I *d ask 
 you to step in and have a chat, but I Ve got my work 
 to do, and so have you. The gospel mustn't keep us 
 from that, must it, Charley ? Ha, ha ! '' 
 
 The convert (who elsewhere was a profane expressman, 
 and had become quite imbecile under Mr. Wynn's active 
 heartiness and brotherly horse-play before spectators) 
 managed, however, to feebly stammer with a blush some- 
 thing about " Miss Nellie." 
 
 " Ah, Nellie. She, too, is at her tasks — trimming her 
 lamp — you know, the parable of the wise virgins," con- 
 tinued Father Wynn hastily, fearing that the convert 
 might take the illustration literally. " There, there — 
 good-by. Keep in the right path." And with a parting 
 shove he dismissed Charley and entered his own house. 
 
 That "wise virgin," Nellie, had evidently finished with 
 the lamp, and was now going out to meet the bridegroom, 
 as she was fully dressed and gloved, and had a pink par- 
 asol in her hand, as her father entered the sitting-room. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 117 
 
 His bluff heartiness seemed to fade away as he removed 
 his soft, broad-brimmed hat and glanced across the too 
 fresh-looking apartment. There was a smell of mortar 
 still in the air, and a faint suggestion that at any moment 
 green grass might appear between the interstices of the red- 
 brick hearth. The room, yielding a little in the point of 
 coldness, seemed to share Miss Nellie's fresh virginity, and, 
 barring the pink parasol, set her off as in a vestal's cell. 
 
 "I supposed you wouldn't care to see Brace, the ex- 
 pressman, so I got rid of him at the door," said her father, 
 drawing one of the new chairs towards him slowly, and 
 sitting down carefully, as if it were a hitherto untried ex- 
 periment. 
 
 Miss Nellie's face took a tint of interest. " Then he 
 does n't go with the coach to Indian Spring to-day ? " 
 
 " No ; why ? " 
 
 " I thought of going over myself to get the Burnham 
 girls to come to choir-meeting," replied Miss Nellie care- 
 lessly, " and he might have been company." 
 
 " He 'd go now if he knew you were going," said her 
 father ; " but it 's just as well he should n't be needlessly 
 encouraged. I rather think that Sheriff Dunn is a little 
 jealous of him. By the way, the sheriff is much better. 
 I called to cheer him up to-day " (Mr. Wynn had in fact 
 tumultuously accelerated the sick man's pulse), " and he 
 talked of you, as usual. In fact, he said he had only two 
 things to get well for. One was to catch and hang that 
 woman Teresa, who shot him ; the other — can't you guess 
 the other ? " he added archly, with a faint suggestion of 
 his other manner. 
 
 Miss Nellie coldly could not. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Wynn's archness vanished. " Don't be 
 a fool," he said dryly. " He wants to marry you, and 
 you know it." 
 
 " Most of the men here do," responded Miss Nellie, 
 
ii8 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 without the least trace of coquetry. " Is the wedding or 
 the hanging to take place first, or together, so he can offi- 
 ciate at both ? '' 
 
 " His share in the Union Ditch is worth a hundred 
 thousand dollars," continued her father; " and if he isn't 
 nominated for district judge this fall, he 's bound to go to 
 the legislature, any way. I don't think a girl with your 
 advantages and education can afford to throw away the 
 chance of shining in Sacramento, San Francisco, or, in 
 good time, perhaps even Washington.*' 
 
 Miss Nellie's eyes did not reflect entire disapproval of 
 this suggestion, although she replied with something of 
 her father's practical quality. 
 
 " Mr. Dunn is not out of his bed yet, and they say 
 Teresa 's got away 'to Arizona, so there is n't any partic- 
 ular hurry." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but see here, Nellie, I 've some important 
 news for you. You know your young friend of the Car- 
 quinez Woods — Dorman, the botanist, eh ? Well, Brace 
 knows all about him. And what do you think he is ? " 
 
 Miss Nellie took upon herself a few extra degrees of 
 cold, and did n't know. 
 
 " An Injin ! Yes, an out-and-out Cherokee. You see 
 he calls himself Dorman — Low Dorman. That 's only 
 French for ' Sleeping Water,' his Injin name — * Low 
 Dorman.' " 
 
 " You mean ^ L'Eau Dormante,' " said Nellie. 
 
 " That 's what I said. The chief called him ^ Sleeping 
 Water ' when he was a boy, and one of them French 
 Canadian trappers translated it into French when he 
 brought him to California to school. But he 's an Injin, 
 sure. No wonder he prefers to live in the woods." 
 
 " Well ? " said Nellie. 
 
 " Well," echoed her father impatiently, " he 's an Injin, 
 I tell you, and you can't of course have anything to do 
 with him. He must n't come here again." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 119 
 
 " But you forget," said Nellie imperturbably, " that it 
 was you who invited him here, and were so much exer- 
 cised over him. You remember you introduced him to 
 the Bishop and those Eastern clergymen as a magnificent 
 specimen of a young Californian. You forget what an oc- 
 casion you made of his coming to church on Sunday, and 
 how you made him come in his buckskin shirt and walk 
 down the street with you after service ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes,'* said the Rev. Mr. Wynn hurriedly, 
 
 "And,'* continued Nellie carelessly, " how you made 
 us sing out of the same book ' Children of our Father's 
 Fold,' and how you preached at him until he actually got 
 a color ! " 
 
 "Yes," said her father; "but it wasn't known then he 
 was an Injin, and they are frightfully unpopular with those 
 Southwestern men among whom we labor. Indeed, I am 
 quite convinced that when Brace said 'the only good 
 Indian was a dead one ' his expression, though extrava- 
 gant, perhaps, really voiced the sentiments of the majority. 
 It would be only kindness to the unfortunate creature to 
 warn him from exposing himself to their rude but consci- 
 entious antagonism." 
 
 " Perhaps you 'd better tell him, then, in your own 
 popular way, which they all seem to understand so well," 
 responded the daughter. Mr. Wynn cast a quick glance 
 at her, but there was no trace of irony in her face — noth- 
 ing but a half-bored indifference as she walked toward the 
 window. 
 
 " I will go with you to the coach-office," said her father, 
 who generally gave these simple paternal duties the pro- 
 nounced character of a public Christian example. 
 
 " It 's hardly worth while," replied Miss Nellie. " I 've 
 to stop at the Watsons', at the foot of the hill, and ask 
 after the baby ; so I shall go on to the Crossing and pick 
 up the coach as it passes. Good-by." 
 
I20 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Nevertheless, as soon as Nellie had departed, the Rev. 
 Mr. Wynn proceeded to the coach-office, and publicly 
 grasping the hand of Yuba Bill, the driver, commended 
 his daughter to his care in the name of the universal 
 brotherhood of man and the Christian fraternity. Carried 
 away by his heartiness, he forgot his previous caution, and 
 confided to the expressman Miss Nellie's regrets that she 
 was not to have that gentleman's company. The result 
 was that Miss Nellie found the coach with its passengers 
 awaiting her with uplifted hats and wreathed smiles at the 
 Crossing, and the box-seat (from which an unfortunate 
 stranger, who had expensively paid for it, had been sum- 
 marily ejected) at her service beside Yuba Bill, who had 
 thrown away his cigar and donned a new pair of buckskin 
 gloves to do her honor. But a more serious result to the 
 young beauty was the effect of the Rev. Mr. Wynn's con- 
 fidences upon the impulsive heart of Jack Brace, the ex- 
 pressman. It has been already intimated that it was his 
 " day off." Unable to summarily reassume his usual func- 
 tions beside the driver without some practical reason, and 
 ashamed to go so palpably as a mere passenger, he was 
 forced to let the coach proceed without him. Discomfited 
 for the moment, he was not, however, beaten. He had 
 lost the blissful journey by her side, which would have 
 been his professional right, but — she was going to Indian 
 Spring ! could he not anticipate her there ? Might they 
 not meet in the most accidental manner? And what 
 might not come from that meeting away from the prying 
 eyes of their own town? Mr. Brace did not hesitate, 
 but saddling his fleet Buckskin, by the time the stage- 
 coach had passed the Crossing in the high-road he had 
 mounted the hill and was dashing along the " cut-off " in 
 the same direction, a full mile in advance. Arriving at 
 Indian Spring, he left his horse at a Mexican posada on 
 the confines of the settlement, and from the piled debris 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 121 
 
 of a tunnel excavation awaited the slow arrival of the 
 coach. On mature reflection he could give no reason why 
 he had not boldly awaited it at the express office, except a 
 certain bashful consciousness of his own folly, and a belief 
 that it might be glaringly apparent to the bystanders. 
 When the coach arrived and he had overcome this con- 
 sciousness, it was too late. Yuba Bill had discharged his 
 passengers for Indian Spring and driven away. Miss 
 Nellie was in the settlement, but where ? As time passed 
 he became more desperate and bolder. He walked reck- 
 lessly up and down the main street, glancing in at the open 
 doors of shops, and even in the windows of private dwell- 
 ings. It might have seemed a poor compliment to Miss 
 Nellie, but it was an evidence of his complete preoccupa- 
 tion, when the sight of a female face at a window, even 
 though it was plain or perhaps painted, caused his heart 
 to bound, or the glancing of a skirt in the distance quick- 
 ened his feet and his pulses. Had Jack contented him- 
 self with remaining at Excelsior he might have vaguely 
 regretted, but as soon become as vaguely accustomed to, 
 Miss Nellie's absence. But it was not until his hitherto 
 quiet and passive love took this first step of action that it 
 fully declared itself. When he had made the tour of the 
 town a dozen times unsuccessfully, he had perfectly made 
 up his mind that marriage with Nellie or the speedy death 
 of several people, including possibly himself, was the 
 only alternative. He regretted he had not accompanied 
 her ; he regretted he had not demanded where she was 
 going ; he contemplated a course of future action that 
 two hours ago would have filled him with bashful terror. 
 There was clearly but one thing to do — to declare his 
 passion the instant he met her, and return with her to Ex- 
 celsior an accepted suitor, or not to return at all. 
 
 Suddenly he was vexatiously conscious of hearing his 
 name lazily called, and looking up found that he was on 
 
122 In the Carquinez Woods, 
 
 the outskirts of the town, and interrogated by two horse- 
 men. 
 
 *' Got down to walk, and the coach got away from you, 
 Jack, eh ? '^ 
 
 A little ashamed of his preoccupation. Brace stammered 
 something about ** collections." He did not recognize 
 the men, but his own face, name, and business were fa- 
 miliar to everybody for fifty miles along the stage-road. 
 
 " Well, you can settle a bet for us, I reckon. Bill Dacre 
 thar bet me five dollars and the drinks that a young gal 
 we met at the edge of the Carquinez Woods, dressed in a 
 long brown duster and half muffled up in a hood, was the 
 daughter of Father Wynn of Excelsior. I did not get a 
 fair look at her, but it stands to reason that a high-toned 
 .young lady like Nellie Wynn don't go trapesing along the 
 wood like a Pike County tramp. I took the bet. May be 
 you know if she 's here or in Excelsior ? " 
 
 Mr. Brace felt himself turning pale with eagerness and 
 excitement. But the near prospect of seeing her presently 
 gave him back his caution, and he answered truthfully 
 that he had left her in Excelsior, and that in his two hours' 
 sojourn in Indian Spring he had not once met her. 
 ** But," he added, with a Californian's reverence for the 
 sanctity of a bet, " I reckon you 'd better make it a stand- 
 off for twenty-four hours, and I '11 find out and let you 
 know." Which, it is only fair to say, he honestly in- 
 tended to do. 
 
 With a hurried nod of parting, he continued in the di- 
 rection of the Woods. When he had satisfied himself 
 that the strangers had entered the settlement and would 
 not follow him for further explanation, he quickened his 
 pace. In half an hour -he passed between two of the 
 gigantic sentinels that guarded the entrance to a trail. 
 Here he paused to collect his thoughts. The Woods were 
 vast in extent, the trail dim and uncertain — at times ap- 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 123 
 
 parently breaking off, or intersecting another trail as faint 
 as itself. Believing that Miss Nellie had diverged from the 
 highway only as a momentary excursion into the shade, 
 and that she would not dare to penetrate its more sombre 
 and unknown recesses, he kept within sight of the skirting 
 plain. By degrees the sedate influence of the silent vaults 
 seemed to depress him. The ardor of the chase began to 
 flag. Under the calm of their dim roof the fever of his 
 veins began to subside ; his pace slackened ; he reasoned 
 more deliberately. It was by no means probable that the 
 young woman in a brown duster was Nellie j it was not 
 her habitual traveling dress ; it was not like her to walk 
 unattended in the road ; there was nothing in her tastes 
 and habits to take her into this gloomy forest, allowing 
 that she had even entered it ; and on this absolute ques- 
 tion of her identity the two witnesses were divided. 
 He stopped irresolutely, and cast a last, long, half-despair- 
 ing look around him. Hitherto he had given that part of 
 the wood nearest the plain his greatest attention. His 
 glance now sought its darker recesses. Suddenly he be- 
 came breathless. Was it a beam of sunlight that had 
 pierced the groined roof above, and now rested against 
 the trunk of one of the dimmer, more secluded giants ? 
 No, it was moving ; even as he gazed it slipped away, 
 glanced against another tree, passed across one of the 
 vaulted aisles, and then was lost again. Brief as was the 
 glimpse, he was not mistaken — it was the figure of a 
 woman. 
 
 In another moment he was on her track, and soon had 
 the satisfaction of seeing her reappear at a lesser distance. 
 But the continual intervention of the massive trunks 
 made the chase by no means an easy one, and as he could 
 not keep her always in sight he was unable to follow or 
 understand the one intelligent direction which she seemed 
 to invariably keep. Nevertheless, he gained upon her 
 
124 -^^ ^/^^ Carquinez Woods. 
 
 breathlessly, and, thanks to the bark-strewn floor, noise- 
 lessly. He was near enough to distinguish and recognize 
 the dress she wore, a pale yellow, that he had admired 
 when he first saw her. It was Nellie, unmistakably ; if it 
 were she of the brown duster, she had discarded it, per- 
 haps for greater freedom. He was near enough to call out 
 now, but a sudden nervous timidity overcame him ; his 
 lips grew dry. What should he say to her t How ac- 
 count for his presence ? " Miss Nellie, one moment ! " 
 he gasped. She darted forward and — vanished. 
 
 At this moment he was not more than a dozen yards 
 from her. He rushed to where she had been standing, 
 but her disappearance was perfect and complete. He 
 made a circuit of the group of trees within whose radius 
 she had last appeared, but there was neither trace of her, 
 nor suggestion of her mode of escape. He called aloud 
 to her ; the vacant Woods let his helpless voice die in their 
 unresponsive depths. He gazed into the air and down at 
 the bark-strewn carpet at his feet. Like most of his voca- 
 tion, he was sparing of speech, and epigrammatic after his 
 fashion. Comprehending in one swift but despairing flash 
 of intelligence the existence of some fateful power beyond 
 his own weak endeavor, he accepted its logical result with 
 characteristic grimness, threw his hat upon the ground, 
 put his hands in his pockets, and said — 
 
 ^*Well, rmd d!" 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Out of compliment to Miss Nellie Wynn, Yuba Bill, 
 on reaching Indian Spring, had made a slight detour to 
 enable him to ostentatiously set down his fair passenger 
 before the door of the Burnhams. When it had closed 
 on the admiring eyes of the passengers and the coach 
 had rattled away, Miss Nellie, without any undue haste 
 or apparent change in her usual quiet demeanor, man- 
 aged, however, to dispatch her business promptly, and, 
 leaving an impression that she would call again before 
 her return to Excelsior, parted from her friends, and 
 slipped away through a side street, to the General Fur- 
 nishing Store of Indian Spring. In passing this empo- 
 rium, Miss Nellie's quick eye had discovered a cheap 
 brown linen duster hanging in its window. To purchase 
 it, and put it over her delicate cambric dress, albeit with 
 a shivering sense that she looked like a badly-folded 
 brown-paper parcel, did not take long. As she left the 
 shop it was with mixed emotions of chagrin and security 
 that she noticed that her passage through the settlement 
 no longer turned the heads of its male inhabitants. She 
 reached the outskirts of Indian Spring and the high-road 
 at about the time Mr. Brace had begun his fruitless patrol 
 of the main street. Far in the distance a faint olive-green 
 table mountain seemed to rise abruptly from the plain. 
 It was the Carquinez Woods. Gathering her spotless 
 skirts beneath her extemporized brown domino, she set 
 out briskly towards them. 
 
 But her progress was scarcely free or exhilarating. 
 She was not accustomed to walking in a country where 
 
126 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 "buggy-riding" was considered the only genteel young- 
 lady-like mode of progression, and its regular provision 
 the expected courtesy of mankind. Always fastidiously 
 booted, her low-quartered shoes were charming to the 
 eye, but hardly adapted to the dust and inequalities of 
 the high-road. It was true that she had thought of buy- 
 ing a coarser pair at Indian Spring, but once face to face 
 with their uncompromising ugliness, she had faltered 
 and fled. The sun was unmistakably hot, but her par- 
 asol was too well known and offered too violent a con- 
 trast to the duster for practical use. Once she stopped 
 with an exclamation of annoyance, hesitated, and looked 
 back. In half an hour she had twice lost her shoe and 
 her temper ; a pink flush took possession of her cheeks, 
 and her eyes were bright with suppressed rage. Dust 
 began to form grimy circles around their orbits ; with 
 cat-like shivers she even felt it perv^ade the roots of her 
 blonde hair. Gradually her breath grew more rapid and 
 hysterical, her smarting eyes became humid, and at last, 
 encountering two observant horsemen in the road, she 
 turned and fled, until, reaching the wood, she began to 
 cry. 
 
 Nevertheless she waited for the two horsemen to pass, 
 to satisfy herself that she was not followed ; then pushed 
 on vaguely, until she reached a fallen tree, where, with a 
 gesture of disgust, she tore off her hapless duster and 
 flung it on the ground. She then sat down sobbing, but 
 after a moment dried her eyes hurriedly and started to 
 her feet. A few paces distant, erect, noiseless, with out- 
 stretched hand, the young solitary of the Carquinez Woods 
 advanced towards her. His hand had almost touched 
 hers, when he stopped. 
 
 " What has happened ?" he asked gravely. 
 
 " Nothing,'' she said, turning half away, and searching 
 the ground with ker eyes, as if she had lost something. 
 " Only I must be going back now." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 127 
 
 "You shall go back at once, if you wish it," he said, 
 flushing slightly. " But you have been crying ; why ? " 
 
 Frank as Miss Nellie wished to be, she could not bring 
 herself to say that her feet hurt her, and the dust and 
 heat were ruining her complexion. It was therefore with 
 a half-confident belief that her troubles were really of a 
 moral quality that she answered, " Nothing — nothing, 
 but — but — it's wrong to come here." 
 
 " But you did not think it was wrong when you agreed 
 to come, at our last meeting," said the young man, with 
 that persistent logic which exasperates the inconsequent 
 feminine mind. " It cannot be any more wrong to-day." 
 
 " But it was not so far off," murmured the young girl, 
 without looking up. 
 
 "Oh, the distance makes it more improper, then," he 
 said abstractedly ; but after a moment's contemplation 
 of her half-averted face, he asked gravely, " Has any one 
 talked to you about me ? " 
 
 Ten minutes before, Nellie had been burning to un- 
 burden herself of her father's warning, but now she felt 
 she would not. " I wish you would n't call yourself Low," 
 she said at last. 
 
 "But it's my name," he replied quietly. 
 
 " Nonsense ! It 's only a stupid translation of a stupid 
 nickname. They might as well call you * Water ' at 
 once." 
 
 " But you said you liked it." 
 
 "Well, so I do. But don't you see — I — oh dear! 
 you don't understand." 
 
 Low did not reply, but turned his head with resigned 
 gravity towards the deeper woods. Grasping the barrel 
 of his rifle with his left hand, he threw his right arm 
 across his left wrist and leaned slightly upon it with the 
 habitual ease of a Western hunter — doubly picturesque 
 in his own lithe, youthful symmetry. Miss Nellie looked 
 
128 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 at him from under her eyelids, and then half defiantly 
 raised her head and her dark lashes. Gradually an al- 
 most magical change came over her features ; her eyes 
 grew larger and more and more yearning, until they 
 seemed to draw and absorb in their liquid depths the 
 figure of the young man before her ; her cold face broke 
 into an ecstasy of light and color; her humid lips parted 
 in a bright, welcoming smile, until, with an irresistible 
 impulse, she arose, and throwing back her head stretched 
 towards him two hands full of vague and trembling pas- 
 sion. 
 
 In another moment he had seized them, kissed them, 
 and, as he drew her closer to his embrace, felt them 
 tighten around his neck. " But w^hat name do you wish 
 to call me ? " he asked, looking down into her eyes. 
 
 Miss Nellie murmured something confidentially to the 
 third button of his hunting-shirt. " But that," he replied, 
 with a faint smile, " that would n't be any more practical, 
 and you would n't want others to call me dar — " Her 
 fingers loosened around his neck, she drew her head back, 
 and a singular expression passed over her face, which to 
 any calmer observer than a lover would have seemed, 
 however, to indicate more curiosity than jealousy. 
 
 "Who else does call you so ? " she added earnestly. 
 " How many, for instance ? " 
 
 Low's reply was addressed not to her ear, but her lips. 
 She did not avoid it, but added, " And do you kiss them 
 all like that ? " Taking him by the shoulders, she held him 
 a little way from her, and gazed at him from head to foot. 
 Then drawing him again to her embrace, she said, " I 
 don't care, at least no woman has kissed you like that." 
 Happy, dazzled, and embarrassed, he was beginning to 
 stammer the truthful protestation that rose to his lips, 
 but she stopped him : " No, don't protest ! say nothing ! 
 Let me love you — that is all. It is enough." He would 
 
In the Carquinez Woods ^ 129 
 
 have caught her in his arms again, but she drew back. 
 " We are near the road/' she said quietly. " Come ! you 
 promised to show me where you camped. Let us make 
 the most of our holiday. In an hour I must leave the 
 woods." 
 
 " But I shall accompany you, dearest." 
 
 " No, I must go as I came — alone." 
 
 " But Nellie" — 
 
 ** I tell you no," she said, with an almost harsh prac- 
 tical decision, incompatible with her previous abandon- 
 ment. " We might be seen together." 
 
 " Well, suppose we are ; we must be seen together 
 eventually," he remonstrated. 
 
 The young girl made an involuntary gesture of impa- 
 tient negation, but checked herself. " Don't let us talk of 
 that now. Come, while I am here under your own roof " 
 
 — she pointed to the high interlaced boughs above them 
 
 — "you must be hospitable. Show me your home ; tell 
 me, is n't it a little gloomy sometimes ? " 
 
 " It never has been ; I never thought it would be until 
 the moment you leave it to-day." 
 
 She pressed his hand briefly and in a half-perfunctory 
 way, as if her vanity had accepted and dismissed the com- 
 pliment. " Take me somewhere," she said inquisitively, 
 " where you stay most ; I do not seem to see you here^^^ 
 she added, looking around her with a slight shiver. " It 
 is so big and so high. Have you no place where you eat 
 and rest and sleep ? " 
 
 " Except in the rainy season, I camp all over the place 
 
 — at any spot where I may have been shooting or collect- 
 ing." 
 
 " Collecting ? " queried Nellie. 
 
 " Yes j with the herbarium, you know." 
 
 " Yes," said Nellie dubiously. " But you told me once 
 
 — the first time we ever talked together," she added, 
 
130 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 looking in his eyes — "something about your keeping 
 your things like a squirrel in a tree. Could we not go 
 there ? Is there not room for us to sit and talk without 
 being browbeaten and looked down upon by these super- 
 cilious trees ? " 
 
 " It *s too far away," said Low truthfully, but with a 
 somewhat pronounced emphasis, " much too far for you 
 just now ; and it lies on another trail that enters the wood 
 beyond. But come, I will show you a spring known only 
 to myself, the wood ducks, and the squirrels. I dis- 
 covered it the first day I saw you, and gave it your name. 
 But you shall christen it yourself. It will be all yours, 
 and yours alone, for it is so hidden and secluded that I 
 defy any feet but my own or whoso shall keep step with 
 mine to find it. Shall that foot be yours, Nellie ? " 
 
 Her face beamed with a bright assent. " It may be 
 difficult to track it from here," he said, " but stand where 
 you are a moment, and don't move, rustle, nor agitate the 
 air in any way. The woods are still now." He turned 
 at right angles with the trail, moved a few paces into the 
 ferns and underbrush, and then stopped with his finger 
 on his Ups. For an instant both remained motionless ; 
 then, with his intent face bent forward and both arms 
 extended, he began to sink slowly upon one knee and 
 one side, inclining his body with a gentle, perfectly- 
 graduated movement until his ear almost touched the 
 ground. Nellie watched his graceful figure breathlessly, 
 until, like a bow unbent, he stood suddenly erect again, 
 and beckoned to her without changing the direction of 
 his face. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 " All right ; I have found it," he continued, moving for- 
 ward without turning his head. 
 
 " But how ? What did you kneel for .? " He did not 
 reply, but taking her hand in his continued to move 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 131 
 
 slowly on through the underbrush, as if obeying some 
 magnetic attraction. " How did you find it ? " again 
 asked the half-awed girl, her voice unconsciously falling 
 to a whisper. Still silent, Low kept his rigid face and 
 forward tread for twenty yards further ; then he stopped 
 and released the girl's half-impatient hand. " How did 
 you find it ? " she repeated sharply. 
 
 " With my ears and nose,'' replied Low gravely. 
 
 " With your nose ? " 
 
 "Yes ; I smelt it." 
 
 Still fresh with the memory of his picturesque attitude, 
 the young man's reply seemed to involve something more 
 irritating to her feelings than even that absurd anti-climax. 
 She looked at him coldly and critically, and appeared to 
 hesitate whether to proceed. " Is it far ? " she asked. 
 
 *' Not more than ten minutes now, as I shall go." 
 
 " And you won't have to smell your way again 1 " 
 
 " No j it is quite plain now," he answered seriously, 
 the young girl's sarcasm slipping harmlessly from his 
 Indian stolidity. " Don't you smell it yourself } " 
 
 But Miss Nellie's thin, cold nostrils refused to take that 
 vulgar interest. 
 
 " Nor hear it ? Listen ! " 
 
 "You forget I suffer the misfortune of having been 
 brought up under a roof," she replied coldly. 
 
 " That 's true," repeated Low, in all seriousness ; "it 's 
 not your fault. But do you know, I sometimes think I am 
 peculiarly sensitive to water; I feel it miles away. At 
 night, though I may not see it or even know where it is, 
 1 am conscious of it. It is company to me when I am 
 alone, and I seem to hear it in my dreams. There is no 
 music as sweet to me as its song. When you sang with 
 me that day in church, I seemed to hear it ripple in your 
 voice. It says to me more than the birds do, more than 
 the rarest plants I find. It seems to live with me and for 
 
132 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 me. It is my earliest recollection ; I know it will be my 
 last, for I shall die in its embrace. Do you think, Nellie," 
 he continued, stopping short and gazing earnestly in her 
 face — " do you think that the chiefs knew this when 
 they called me * Sleeping Water ' ? " 
 
 To Miss Nellie's several gifts I fear the gods had not 
 added poetry. A slight knowledge of English verse of a 
 select character, unfortunately, did not assist her in the in- 
 terpretation of the young man's speech, nor relieve her 
 from the momentary feeling that he was at times deficient 
 in intellect. She preferred, however, to take a personal 
 view of the question, and expressed her sarcastic regret 
 that she had not known before that she had been in- 
 debted to the great flume and ditch at Excelsior for the 
 pleasure of his acquaintance. This pert remark occa- 
 sioned some explanation, which ended in the girFs accept- 
 ing a kiss in lieu of more logical argument. Nevertheless, 
 she was still conscious of an inward irritation — always 
 distinct from her singular and perfectly material passion — 
 which found vent as the difficulties of their undeviating 
 progress through the underbrush increased. At last she 
 lost her shoe again, and stopped short. " It 's a pity your 
 Indian friends did not christen you * Wild Mustard ' or 
 * Clover,' " she said satirically, " that you might have 
 had some sympathies and longings for the open fields in- 
 stead of these horrid jungles ! I know we will not get 
 back in time." 
 
 Unfortunately, Low accepted this speech literally and 
 with his remorseless gravity. " If my name annoys you, I 
 can get it changed by the legislature, you know, and I can 
 find out what my father's name was, and take that. My 
 mother, who died in giving me birth, was the daughter of 
 a chief." 
 
 " Then your mother was really an Indian ? " said Nel- 
 lie, " and you are " — She stopped short. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 133 
 
 " But I told you all this the day we first met/' said 
 Low, with grave astonishment. " Don't you remember 
 our long talk coming from church ? " 
 
 " No," said Nellie, coldly, "you didn't tell me." But 
 she was obliged to drop her eyes before the unwavering, 
 undeniable truthfulness of his. 
 
 " You have forgotten," he said calmly ; " but it is only 
 right you should have your own way in disposing of a 
 name that I have cared little for ; and as you 're to have 
 a share of it " — 
 
 "Yes, but it's getting late, and if we are not going 
 forward " — interrupted the girl impatiently. 
 
 " We are going forward," said Low imperturbably ; 
 "but I wanted to tell you, as we were speaking on that 
 subject " (Nellie looked at her watch), " I 've been of- 
 fered the place of botanist and naturalist in Professor 
 Grant's survey of Mount Shasta, and if I take it — why 
 when I come back, darling — well " — 
 
 " But you 're not going just yet," broke in Nellie, with 
 a new expression in her face. 
 
 " No." 
 
 **Then we need not talk of it now," she said with ani- 
 mation. 
 
 Her sudden vivacity relieved him. " I see what's the 
 matter," he said gently, looking down at her feet, " these 
 little shoes were not made to keep step with a moccasin. 
 We must try another way." He stooped as if to secure 
 the erring buskin, but suddenly lifted her like a child to 
 his shoulder. " There," he continued, placing her arm 
 around his neck, " you are clear of the ferns and brambles 
 now, and we can go on. Are you comfortable ? " He 
 looked up, read her answer in her burning eyes and the 
 warm lips pressed to his forehead at the roots of his 
 straight dark hair, and again moved onward as in a mes- 
 meric dream. But he did not swerve from his direct 
 
134 ^^^ ^^^ Carquinez Woods. 
 
 course, and with a final dash through the undergrowth 
 parted the leafy curtain before the spring. 
 
 At first the young girl was dazzled by the strong light 
 that came from a rent in the interwoven arches of the 
 wood. The breach had been caused by the huge bulk 
 of one of the great giants that had half fallen, and was 
 lying at a steep angle against one of its mightiest brethren, 
 having borne down a lesser tree in the arc of its down- 
 ward path. Two of the roots, as large as younger trees, 
 tossed their blackened and bare limbs high in the air. 
 The spring — the insignificant cause of this vast disrup- 
 tion — gurgled, flashed, and sparkled at the base ; the 
 limpid baby fingers that had laid bare the foundations of 
 that fallen column played with the still clinging rootlets, 
 laved the fractured and twisted limbs, and, widening, 
 filled with sleeping water the graves from which they had 
 been torn. 
 
 " It had been going on for years, down there," said 
 Low, pointing to a cavity from which the fresh water now 
 slowly welled, ** but it had been quickened by the rising 
 of the subterranean springs and rivers which always oc- 
 curs at a certain stage of the dry season. I remember 
 that on that very night — for it happened a little after 
 midnight, when all sounds are more audible — I was 
 troubled and oppressed in my sleep by what you would 
 call a nightmare; a feeling as if I was kept down by 
 bonds and pinions that I longed to break. And then I 
 heard a crash in this direction, and the first streak of 
 morning brought me the sound and scent of water. Six 
 months afterwards I chanced to find my way here, as I 
 told you, and gave it your name. I did not dream that I 
 should ever stand beside it with you, and have you 
 christen it yourself." 
 
 He unloosed the cup from his flask, and filling it at 
 the spring handed it to her. But the young girl leant 
 
In the Carquiitez Wood. 135 
 
 over the pool, and pouring the water idly back said, " I 'd 
 rather put my feet in it. May n't I ? '' 
 
 **I don't understand you," he said wonderingly. 
 
 " My feet are so hot and dusty. The water looks de- 
 liciously cool. May I ? " 
 
 '' Certainly." 
 
 He turned away as Nellie, with apparent unconscious- 
 ness, seated herself on the bank, and removed her shoes 
 and stockings. When she had dabbled her feet a few 
 moments in the pool, she said over her shoulder — 
 
 " We can talk just as well, can't we ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Well, then, why did n't you come to church more 
 often, and why did n't you think of telling father that you 
 were convicted of sin and wanted to be baptized ? " 
 
 **I don't know," hesitated the young man. 
 
 " Well, you lost the chance of having father convert 
 you, baptize you, and take you into full church fellow- 
 ship." 
 
 " I never thought," — he began. 
 
 " You never thought. Are n't you a Christian ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " He supposes so ! Have you no convictions — no 
 professions ? " 
 
 ** But, Nellie, I never thought that you " — 
 
 " Never thought that I — what .^ Do you think that I 
 could ever be anything to a man who did not believe in 
 justification by faith, or in the covenant of church fellow- 
 ship ? Do you think father would let me ? " 
 
 In his eagerness to defend himself he stepped to her 
 side. But seeing her little feet shining through the dark 
 water, like outcroppings of delicately veined quartz, he 
 stopped embarrassed. Miss Nellie, however, leaped to 
 one foot, and, shaking the other over the pool, put her 
 hand on his shoulder to steady herself. " You have n't 
 
136 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 got a towel — or/' she said dubiously, looking at her 
 small handkerchief, " anything to dry them on ? '' 
 
 But Low did not, as she perhaps expected, offer his 
 own handkerchief. 
 
 " If you take a bath after our fashion," he said gravely, 
 *^ you must learn to dry yourself after our fashion.'* 
 
 Lifting her again lightly in his arms, he carried her a 
 few steps to the sunny opening, and bade her bury her 
 feet in the dried mosses and baked withered grasses that 
 were bleaching in a hollow. The young girl uttered a 
 cry of childish delight, as the soft ciliated fibres touched 
 her sensitive skin. 
 
 " It is healing, too," continued Low ; " a moccasin 
 filled with it after a day on the trail makes you all right 
 again." 
 
 But Miss Nellie seemed to be thinking of something 
 else. 
 
 "Is that the way the squaws bathe and dry them- 
 selves ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; you forget I was a boy when I left 
 them." 
 
 " And you 're sure you never knew any ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 The young girl seemed to derive some satisfaction in 
 moving her feet up and down for several minutes among 
 the grasses in the hollow ; then, after a pause, said, " You 
 are quite certain I am the first woman that ever touched 
 this spring ? " 
 
 " Not only the first woman, but the first human being, 
 except myself." 
 
 " How nice ! " 
 
 They had taken each other's hands ; seated side by 
 side, they leaned against a curving elastic root that half 
 supported, half encompassed them. The girl's capri- 
 cious, fitful manner succumbed as before to the near con- 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 137 
 
 tact of her companion. Looking into her eyes, Low fell 
 into a sweet, selfish lover's monologue, descriptive of his 
 past and present feelings towards her, which she accepted 
 with a heightened color, a slight exchange of sentiment, 
 and a strange curiosity. The sun had painted their half- 
 embraced silhouettes against the slanting tree-trunk, 
 and began to decline unnoticed ; the ripple of the water 
 mingling with their whispers came as one sound to the 
 listening ear ; even their eloquent silences were as deep, 
 and, I wot, perhaps as dangerous, as the darkened pool 
 that filled so noiselessly a dozen yards away. So quiet 
 were they that the tremor of invading wings once or 
 twice shook the silence, or the quick scamper of fright- 
 ened feet rustled the dead grass. But in the midst of a 
 prolonged stillness the young man sprang up so suddenly 
 that Nellie was still half clinging to his neck as he stood 
 erect. " Hush ! " he whispered j " some one is near ! " 
 
 He disengaged her anxious hands gently, leaped upon 
 the slanting tree-trunk, and running half-way up its incline 
 with the agility of a squirrel, stretched himself at full 
 length upon it and listened. 
 
 To the impatient, inexplicably startled girl, it seemed an 
 age before he rejoined her. 
 
 " You are safe,'' he said ; " he 's going by the western 
 trail toward Indian Spring." 
 
 " Who is he ? " she asked, biting her lips with a poorly 
 restrained gesture of mortification and disappointment. 
 
 " Some stranger," replied Low. 
 
 " As long as he was n't coming here, why did you give 
 me such a fright ? " she said pettishly. " Are you ner- 
 vous because a single wayfarer happens to stray here ? " 
 
 " It was no wayfarer, for he tried to keep near the 
 trail," said Low. " He was a stranger to the wood, for he 
 lost his way every now and then. He was seeking or ex- 
 pecting some one, for he stopped frequently and waited or 
 
138 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 listened. He had not walked far, for he wore spurs that 
 tinkled and caught in the brush ; and yet he had not rid- 
 den here, for no horse's hoofs passed the road since we 
 have been here. He must have come from Indian 
 Spring." 
 
 " And you heard all that when you listened just now ? " 
 asked Nellie half disdainfully. 
 
 Impervious to her incredulity, Low turned his calm eyes 
 on her face. Certainly, I '11 bet my life on what I say. 
 Tell me : do you know anybody in Indian Spring who 
 would likely spy upon you ? " 
 
 The young girl was conscious of a certain ill-defined 
 uneasiness, but answered, " No." 
 
 " Then it was not you he was seeking," said Low 
 thoughtfully. Miss Nellie had not time to notice the 
 emphasis, for he added, " You must go at once, and lest 
 you have been followed I will show you another way back 
 to Indian Spring. It is longer, and you must hasten. 
 Take your shoes and stockings with you until we are out 
 of the bush." 
 
 He raised her again in his arms and strode once more 
 out through the covert into the dim aisles of the wood. 
 They spoke but little ; she could not help feeling that 
 some other discordant element, affecting him more strongly 
 than it did her, had come between them, and was half 
 perplexed and half frightened. At the end of ten minutes 
 he seated her upon a fallen branch, and telling her he 
 would return by the time she had resumed her shoes and 
 stockings glided from her like a shadow. She would have 
 uttered an indignant protest at being left alone, but he 
 was gone ere she could detain him. For a moment she 
 thought she hated him. But when she had mechanically 
 shod herself once more, not without nervous shivers at 
 every falling needle, he was at her side. 
 
 **Do you know any one who wears a frieze coat like 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 139 
 
 that ? " he asked, handing her a few torn shreds of wool 
 affixed to a splinter of bark. 
 
 Miss Nellie instantly recognized the material of a cer- 
 tain sporting-coat worn by Mr. Jack Brace on festive oc- 
 casions, but a strange yet infallible instinct that was part 
 of her nature made her instantly disclaim all knowledge 
 of it. 
 
 "No,*' she said. 
 
 " Not any one who scents himself with some doctor's 
 stuff like cologne ? " continued Low, with the disgust of 
 keen olfactory sensibilities. 
 
 Again Miss Nellie recognized the perfume with which 
 the gallant expressman was wont to make redolent her 
 little parlor, but again she avowed no knowledge of its 
 possessor. " Well," returned Low, with some disappoint- 
 ment, " such a man has been here. Be on your guard. 
 Let us go at once.'' 
 
 She required no urging to hasten her steps, but hurried 
 breathlessly at his side. He had taken a new trail by 
 which they left the wood at right angles with the highway, 
 two miles away. Following an almost effaced mule track 
 along a slight depression of the plain, deep enough, how- 
 ever, to hide them from view, he accompanied her, until, 
 rising to the level again, she saw they were beginning to 
 approach the highway and the distant roofs of Indian 
 Spring. " Nobody meeting you now," he whispered, 
 " would suspect where you had been. Good night ! until 
 next week — remember." 
 
 They pressed each other's hands, and standing on the 
 slight ridge outlined against the paling sky, in full view of 
 the highway, parting carelessly, as if they had been 
 chance met travellers. But Nellie could not restrain a 
 parting backward glance as she left the ridge. Low had 
 descended to the deserted trail, and was running swiftly 
 in the direction of the Carquinez Woods. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Teresa awoke with a start. It was day already, but 
 how far advanced the even, unchanging, soft twilight of 
 the woods gave no indication. Her companion had van- 
 ished, and to her bewildered senses so had the camp-fire, 
 even to its embers and ashes. Was she awake, or had 
 she wandered away unconsciously in the night ? One 
 glance at the tree above her dissipated the fancy. There 
 was the opening of her quaint retreat and the hanging 
 strips of bark, and at the foot of the opposite tree lay the 
 carcass of the bear. It had been skinned, and, as Teresa 
 thought with an inward shiver, already looked half its 
 former size. 
 
 Not yet accustomed to the fact that a few steps in 
 either direction around the circumference of those great 
 trunks produced the sudden appearance or disappearance 
 of any figure, Teresa uttered a slight scream as her young 
 companion unexpectedly stepped to her side. " You see 
 a change here," he said ; " the stamped-out ashes of the 
 camp-fire lie under the brush," and he pointed to some 
 cleverly scattered boughs and strips of bark which com- 
 pletely effaced the traces of last night's bivouac. **We 
 can't afford to call the attention of any packer or hunter 
 who might straggle this way to this particular spot and 
 this particular tree; the more naturally," he added, "as 
 they always prefer to camp over an old fire." Accepting 
 this explanation meekly, as partly a reproach for her 
 caprice of the previous night, Teresa hung her head. 
 
 " I 'm very sorry," she said, " but would n't that," 
 pointing to the carcass of the bear, " have made them 
 curious ? " 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 141 
 
 But Low's logic was relentless. 
 
 " By this time there would have been little left to excite 
 curiosity if you had been willing to leave those beasts to 
 their work." 
 
 " I 'm very sorry," repeated the woman, her lips quiver- 
 ing. 
 
 " They are the scavengers of the wood," he continued 
 in a lighter tone ; " if you stay here you must try to use 
 them to keep your house clean." 
 
 Teresa smiled nervously. 
 
 " I mean that they shall finish their work to-night," he 
 added, " and I shall build another camp-fire for us a mile 
 from here until they do." 
 
 But Teresa caught his sleeve. 
 
 " No," she said hurriedly, " don't, please, for me. You 
 must not take the trouble, nor the risk. Hear me ; do, 
 please. I can bear it, I will bear it — to-night. I would 
 have borne it last night, but it was so strange — and " — 
 she passed her hands over her forehead — "I think I 
 must have been half mad. But I am not so foolish 
 now." 
 
 She seemed so broken and despondent that he replied 
 reassuringly : " Perhaps it would be better that I should 
 find another hiding-place for you, until I can dispose of 
 that carcass, so that it will not draw dogs after the wolves, 
 and men after them. Besides, your friend the sheriff will 
 probably remember the bear when he remembers any- 
 thing, and try to get on its track again." 
 
 "He's a conceited fool," broke in Teresa in a high 
 voice, with a slight return of her old fury, " or he 'd have 
 guessed where that shot came from ; and," she added in 
 a lower tone, looking down at her limp and nerveless 
 fingers, " he would n't have let a poor, weak, nervous 
 wretch like me get away." 
 
 " But his deputy may put two and two together, and 
 connect your escape with it." 
 
142 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Teresa's eyes flashed. " It would be like the dog, just 
 to save his pride, to swear it was an ambush of my friends, 
 and that he was overpowered by numbers. Oh yes ! I 
 see it all ! " she almost screamed, lashing herself into a 
 rage at the bare contemplation of this diminution of her 
 glory. " That 's the dirty lie he tells everywhere, and is 
 telling now.'* 
 
 She stamped her feet and glanced savagely around, as 
 if at any risk to proclaim the falsehood. Low turned his 
 impassive, truthful face towards her. 
 
 " Sheriff Dunn," he began gravely, ^^ is a politician, and 
 a fool when he takes to the trail as a hunter of man or 
 beast. But he is not a coward nor a liar. Your chances 
 would be better if he were — if he laid your escape to an 
 ambush of your friends, than if his pride held you alone 
 responsible." 
 
 "If he 's such a good man, why do you hesitate ?" she 
 replied bitterly. " Why don't you give me up at once, 
 and do a service to one of your friends ? " 
 
 " I do not even know him," returned Low, opening his 
 clear eyes upon her. " I Ve promised to hide you here, 
 and I shall hide you as well from him as from anybody." 
 
 Teresa did not reply, but suddenly dropping down upon 
 the ground buried her face in her hands and began to sob 
 convulsively. Low turned impassively away, and putting 
 aside the bark curtain climbed into the hollow tree. In 
 a few moments he reappeared, laden with provisions and 
 a few simple cooking utensils, and touched her lightly on 
 the shoulder. She looked up timidly ; the paroxysm had 
 passed, but her lashes yet glittered. 
 
 " Come," he said, " come and get some breakfast. I 
 find you have eaten nothing since you have been here — 
 twenty-four hours." 
 
 " I did n't know it," she said, with a faint smile. Then 
 seeing his burden, and possessed by a new and strange 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 143 
 
 desire for some menial employment, she said hurriedly, 
 *' Let me carry something — do, please," and even tried 
 to disencumber him. 
 
 Half annoyed. Low at last yielded, and handing his 
 rifle said, " There, then, take that ; but be careful — it *s 
 loaded ! " 
 
 A cruel blush burnt the woman's face to the roots of 
 her hair as she took the weapon hesitatingly in her hand. 
 
 " No ! '* she stammered, hurriedly lifting her shame- 
 suffused eyes to his ; " no ! no ! " 
 
 He turned away with an impatience which showed her 
 how completely gratuitous had been her agitation and its 
 significance, and said, **Well, then give it back if you 
 are afraid of it." But she as suddenly declined to return 
 it ; and shouldering it deftly, took her place by his side. 
 Silently they moved from the hollow tree together. 
 
 During their walk she did not attempt to invade his 
 taciturnity. Nevertheless she was as keenly alive and 
 watchful of his every movement and gesture as if she had 
 hung enchanted on his lips. The unerring way with 
 which he pursued a viewless, undeviating path through 
 those trackless woods, his quick reconnaissance of cer- 
 tain trees or openings, his mute inspection of some al- 
 most imperceptible footprint of bird or beast, his critical 
 examination of certain plants which he plucked and de- 
 posited in his deerskin haversack, were not lost on the 
 quick-witted woman. As they gradually changed the 
 clear, unencumbered aisles of the central woods for a 
 more tangled undergrowth, Teresa felt that subtle ad- 
 miration which culminates in imitation, and simulating 
 perfectly the step, tread, and easy swing of her compan- 
 ion, followed so accurately his lead that she won a grati- 
 fied exclamation from him when their goal was reached — 
 a broken, blackened shaft, splintered by long-forgotten 
 lightning, in the centre of a tangled carpet of wood- 
 clover. 
 
144 ^^ ^^^ Carquinez Woods. 
 
 " I don't wonder you distanced the deputy," he said 
 cheerfully, throwing down his burden, ^* if you can take 
 the hunting-path like that. In a few days, if you stay 
 here, I can venture to trust you alone for a little pasear 
 when you are tired of the tree." 
 
 Teresa looked pleased, but busied herself with arrange- 
 ments for the breakfast, while he gathered the fuel for 
 the roaring fire which soon blazed beside the shattered 
 tree. 
 
 Teresa's breakfast was a success. It was a revelation 
 to the young nomad, whose ascetic habits and simple 
 tastes were usually content with the most primitive forms 
 of frontier cookery. It was at least a surprise to him to 
 know that without extra trouble kneaded flour, water, and 
 saleratus need not be essentially heavy ; that coffee need 
 not be boiled with sugar to the consistency of syrup ; that 
 even that rarest delicacy, small shreds of venison cov- 
 ered with ashes and broiled upon the end of a ramrod 
 boldly thrust into the flames, would be better and even 
 more expeditiously cooked upon burning coals. Moved 
 in his practical nature, he was surprised to find this cu- 
 rious creature of disorganized nerves and useless im- 
 pulses informed with an intelligence that did not pre- 
 clude the welfare of humanity or the existence of a soul. 
 He respected her for some minutes, until in the midst of 
 a culinary triumph a big tear dropped and spluttered in 
 the saucepan. But he forgave the irrelevancy by taking 
 no notice of it, and by doing full justice to that particular 
 dish. 
 
 Nevertheless, he asked several questions based upon 
 these recently discovered qualities. It appeared that in 
 the old days of her wanderings with the circus troupe she 
 had often been forced to undertake this nomadic house- 
 keeping. But she ^* despised it," had never done it 
 since, and always had refused to do it for " him " — the 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 145 
 
 personal pronoun referring, as Low understood, to her 
 lover, Curson. Not caring to revive these memories 
 further. Low briefly concluded : — 
 
 " I don't know what you were, or what you may be, 
 but from what I see of you you Ve got all the sabe of a 
 frontierman's wife." 
 
 She stopped and looked at him, and then, with an im- 
 pulse of impudence that only half concealed a more seri- 
 ous vanity, asked, " Do you think I might have made a 
 good squaw ? " 
 
 " I don't know," he replied quietly. " I never saw 
 enough of them to know." 
 
 Teresa, confident from his clear eyes that he spoke the 
 truth, but having nothing ready to follow this calm dis- 
 posal of her curiosity, relapsed into silence. 
 
 The meal finished, Teresa washed their scant table 
 equipage in a little spring near the camp-fire ; where, 
 catching sight of her disordered dress and collar, she 
 rapidly threw her shawl, after the national fashion, over 
 her shoulder and pinned it quickly. Low cached the re- 
 maining provisions and the few cooking-utensils under 
 the dead embers and ashes, obliterating all superficial 
 indication of their camp-fire as deftly and artistically as 
 he had before. 
 
 "There isn't the ghost of a chance," he said in expla- 
 nation, " that anybody but you or I will set foot here be- 
 fore we come back to supper, but it 's well to be on guard. 
 I '11 take you back to the cabin now, though I bet you 
 could find your way there as well as I can." 
 
 On their way back Teresa ran ahead of her companion, 
 and plucking a few tiny leaves from a hidden oasis in the 
 bark-strewn trail brought them to him. 
 
 "That's the kind you're looking for, isn't it.?" she 
 said, half timidly. 
 
 " It is," responded Low, in gratified surprise ; " but 
 how did you know it ? You 're not a botanist, are you ? " 
 
146 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 *' I reckon not," said Teresa; "but you picked some 
 when we came, and I noticed what they were." 
 
 Here was indeed another revelation. Low stopped 
 and gazed at her with such frank, open, utterly unabashed 
 curiosity that her black eyes fell before him. 
 
 " And do you think," he asked with logical delibera- 
 tion, "that you could find any plant from another I should 
 give you ? " 
 
 " Yes.^' 
 
 " Or from a drawing of it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; perhaps even if you described it to me." 
 
 A half-confidential, half fraternal silence followed. 
 
 " I tell you what. I Ve got a book " — 
 
 " I know it," interrupted Teresa ; " full of these things." 
 
 " Yes. Do you think you could " — 
 
 " Of course I could," broke in Teresa, again. 
 
 " But you don't know what I mean," said the imper- 
 turbable Low. 
 
 " Certainly I do. Why, find 'em, and preserve all the 
 different ones for you to write under — that's it, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 Low nodded his head, gratified but not entirely con- 
 vinced that she had fully estimated the magnitude of the 
 endeavor. 
 
 " I suppose," said Teresa, in the feminine postscriptum 
 voice which it would seem entered even the philosophical 
 calm of the aisles they were treading — "I suppose that 
 she places great value on them ? " 
 
 Low had indeed heard Science personified before, nor 
 was it at all impossible that the singular woman walking 
 by his side had also. He said " Yes ; " but added, in 
 mental reference to the Linnean Society of San Fran- 
 cisco, that ''''they were rather particular about the rarer 
 kinds." 
 
 Content as Teresa had been to believe in Low's tender 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 147 
 
 relations with some favored one of her sex, this frank con- 
 fession of a plural devotion staggered her. 
 
 ^^ They ? " she repeated. 
 
 "Yes," he continued calmly. "The Botanical Society 
 I correspond with are more particular than the Govern- 
 ment Survey." 
 
 " Then you are doing this for a society ? " demanded 
 Teresa, with a stare. 
 
 " Certainly. I 'm making a collection and classifica- 
 tion of specimens. I intend — but what are you look- 
 ing at?" 
 
 Teresa had suddenly turned away. Putting his hand 
 lightly on her shoulder, the young man brought her face 
 to face with him again. She was laughing. 
 
 " I thought all the while it was for a girl," she said ; 
 " and " — But here the mere effort of speech sent her 
 off into an audible and genuine outburst of laughter. It 
 was the first time he had seen her even smile other than 
 bitterly. Characteristically unconscious of any humor in 
 her error, he remained unembarrassed. But he could not 
 help noticing a change in the expression of her face, her 
 voice, and even her intonation. It seemed as if that fit 
 of laughter had loosed the last ties that bound her to a 
 self-imposed character, had swept away the last barrier 
 between her and her healthier nature, had dispossessed a 
 painful unreality, and relieved the morbid tension of a 
 purely nervous attitude. The change in her utterance 
 and the resumption of her softer Spanish accent seemed 
 to have come with her confidences, and Low took leave 
 of her before their sylvan cabin with a comrade^s hearti- 
 ness, and a complete forgetfulness that her voice had ever 
 irritated him. 
 
 When he returned that afternoon he was startled to 
 find the cabin empty. But instead of bearing any ap- 
 pearance of disturbance or hurried flight, the rude interior 
 
148 hi the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 seemed to have magically assumed a decorous order and 
 cleanliness unknown before. Fresh bark hid the in- 
 equalities of the floor. The skins and blankets were 
 folded in the corners, the rude shelves were carefully ar- 
 ranged, even a few tall ferns and bright but quickly fad- 
 ing flowers were disposed around the blackened chimney. 
 She had evidently availed herself of the change of cloth- 
 ing he had brought her, for her late garments were hang- 
 ing from the hastily-devised wooden pegs driven in the 
 wall. The young man gazed around him with mixed 
 feelings of gratification and uneasiness. His presence 
 had been dispossessed in a single hour ; his ten years of 
 lonely habitation had left no trace that this woman had 
 not effaced with a deft move of her hand. More than 
 that, it looked as if she had always occupied it ; and it 
 was with a singular conviction that even when she should 
 occupy it no longer it would only revert to him as her 
 dwelling that he dropped the bark shutters athwart the 
 opening, and left it to follow her. 
 
 To his quick ear, fine eye, and abnormal senses, this 
 was easy enough. She had gone in the direction of this 
 morning's camp. Once or twice he paused with a half, 
 gesture of recognition and a characteristic " Good ! " at 
 the place where she had stopped, but was surprised to 
 find that her main course had been as direct as his own. 
 Deviating from this direct line with Indian precaution he 
 first made a circuit of the camp, and approached the 
 shattered trunk from the opposite direction. He conse- 
 quently came upon Teresa unawares. But the momentary 
 astonishment and embarrassment were his alone. 
 
 He scarcely recognized her. She was wearing the 
 garments he had brought her the day before — a certain 
 discarded gown of Miss Nellie Wynn, which he had hur- 
 riedly begged from her under the pretext of clothing the 
 wife of a distressed over-land emigrant then on the way 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 149 
 
 to the mines. Although he had satisfied his conscience 
 with the intention of confessing the pious fraud to her 
 when Teresa was gone and safe from pursuit, it was not 
 without a sense of remorse that he witnessed the sacrile- 
 gious transformation. The two women were nearly the 
 same height and size; and although Teresa's maturer 
 figure accented the outlines more strongly, it was still be- 
 coming enough to increase his irritation. 
 
 Of this becomingness she was doubtless unaware at 
 the moment that he surprised her. She was conscious of 
 having " a change," and this had emboldened her to " do 
 her hair" and otherwise compose herself. After their 
 greeting she was the first to allude to the dress, regret- 
 ting that it was not more of a rough disguise, and that, 
 as she must now discard the national habit of wearing 
 her shawl " manta " fashion over her head, she wanted a 
 hat. "But you must not," she said, "borrow any more 
 dresses for me from your young woman. Buy them for 
 me at some shop. They left me enough money for that." 
 Low gently put aside the few pieces of gold she had 
 drawn from her pocket, and briefly reminded her of the 
 suspicion such a purchase by him would produce. " That 's 
 so," she said, with a laugh. " Caramba ! what a mule 
 I 'm becoming ! Ah ! wait a moment. I have it ! Buy 
 me a common felt hat — a man's hat — as if for yourself, 
 as a change to that animal," pointing to the fox-tailed cap 
 he wore summer and winter, " and I '11 show you a trick. 
 I have n't run a theatrical wardrobe for nothing." Nor 
 had she, for the hat thus procured, a few days later, be- 
 came, by the aid of a silk handkerchief and a bluejay's 
 feather, a fascinating " pork pie." 
 
 Whatever cause of annoyance to Low still lingered in 
 Teresa's dress, it was soon forgotten in a palpable evi- 
 dence of Teresa's value as botanical assistant. It ap- 
 peared that during the afternoon she had not only dupli- 
 
150 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 cated his specimens, but had discovered one or two rare 
 plants as yet unclassified in the flora of the Carquinez 
 Woods. He was delighted, and in turn, over the camp- 
 fire, yielded up some details of his present life and some 
 of his earlier recollections. 
 
 " You don't remember anything of your father ? " she 
 asked. " Did he ever try to seek you out ? " 
 
 " No ! Why should he ? " replied the imperturbable 
 Low ; " he was not a Cherokee." 
 
 " No, he was a beast," responded Teresa promptly. 
 " And your mother — do you remember her ? " 
 
 " No, I think she died." 
 
 " You think she died ? Don't you know ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Then you 're another ! " said Teresa. Notwithstand- 
 ing this frankness, they shook hands for the night ; Teresa 
 nestling like a rabbit in a hollow by the side of the camp- 
 fire ; Low with his feet towards it, Indian-wise, and his 
 head and shoulders pillowed on his haversack, only half 
 distinguishable in the darkness beyond. 
 
 With such trivial details three uneventful days slipped 
 by. Their retreat was~undisturbed, nor could Low de- 
 tect, by the least evidence to his acute perceptive faculties, 
 that any intruding feet had since crossed the belt of 
 shade. The echoes of passing events at Indian Spring 
 had recorded the escape of Teresa as occurring at a remote 
 and purely imaginative distance, and her probable direc- 
 tion the county of Yolo. 
 
 " Can you remember," he one day asked her, " what 
 time it was when you cut the riata and got away ? " 
 
 Teresa pressed her hands upon her eyes and temples. 
 
 " About three, I reckon." 
 
 " And you were here at seven ; you could have covered 
 some ground in four hours ? " 
 
 " Perhaps — I don't know," she said, her voice taking 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 151 
 
 up its old quality again. " Don't ask me — I ran all the 
 way/' 
 
 Her face was quite pale as she removed her hands from 
 her eyes, and her breath came as quickly as if she had 
 just finished that race for life. 
 
 " Then you think I am safe here ? " she added, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Perfectly — until they find you are not in Yolo. Then 
 they'll look here. And that^s the time for you to go 
 therer Teresa smiled timidly. 
 
 " It will take them some time to search Yolo — unless," 
 she added, " you 're tired of me here." The charming 
 non sequitur did not, however, seem to strike the young 
 man. " I 've got time yet to find a few more plants for 
 you," she suggested. 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! " 
 
 " And give you a few more lessons in cooking." 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 The conscientious and literal Low was beginning to 
 doubt if she were really practical. How otherwise could 
 she trifle with such a situation ? 
 
 It must be confessed that that day and the next she did 
 trifle with it. She gave herself up to a grave and delicious 
 languor that seemed to flow from shadow and silence and 
 permeate her entire being. She passed hours in a thought- 
 ful repose of mind and spirit that seemed to fall like balm 
 from those steadfast guardians, and distill their gentle 
 ether in her soul ; or breathed into her listening ear im- 
 munity from the forgotten past, and security for the pres- 
 ent. If there was no dream of the future in this calm, 
 even recurrence of placid existence, so much the better. 
 The simple details of each succeeding day, the quaint 
 housekeeping, the brief companionship and coming and 
 going of her young host — himself at best a crystallized 
 personification of the sedate and hospitable woods — 
 
152 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 satisfied her feeble cravings. She no longer regretted the 
 inferior passion that her fears had obliged her to take the 
 first night she came ; she began to look up to this young 
 man — so much younger than herself — without knowing 
 what it meant ; it was not until she found that this atti- 
 tude did not detract from his picturesqueness that she 
 discovered herself seeking for reasons to degrade him 
 from this seductive eminence. 
 
 A week had elapsed with little change. On two days 
 he had been absent all day, returning only in time to sup 
 in the hollow *tree, which, thanks to the final removal of 
 the dead bear from its vicinity, was now considered a 
 safer retreat than the exposed camp-fire. On the first of 
 these occasions she received him with some preoccupation, 
 paying but little heed to the scant gossip he brought from 
 Indian Spring, and retiring early under the plea of fatigue, 
 that he might seek his own distant camp-fire, which, thanks 
 to her stronger nerves and regained courage, she no longer 
 required so near. On the second occasion, he found her 
 writing a letter more or less blotted with her tears. When 
 it was finished, she begged him to post it at Indian 
 Spring, where in two days an answer would be returned, 
 under cover, to him. 
 
 " I hope you will be satisfied then," she added. 
 
 " Satisfied with what ? " queried the young man. 
 
 " You '11 see,'' she replied, giving him her cold hand. 
 '' Good-night.'' 
 
 " But can't you tell me now ? " he remonstrated, retain- 
 ing her hand. 
 
 " Wait two days longer — it is n't much," was all she 
 vouchsafed to answer. 
 
 The two days passed. Their former confidence and 
 good fellowship were fully restored when the morning 
 came oh which he was to bring the answer from the post- 
 office at Indian Spring. He had talked again of his fu- 
 
In the Carquinez Woods, 153 
 
 ture, and had recorded his ambition to procure the ap- 
 pointment of naturalist to a Government Surveying Ex- 
 pedition. She had even jocularly proposed to dress 
 herself in man's attire and " enlist " as his assistant. 
 
 "But you will be safe with your friends, I hope, by 
 that time," responded Low. 
 
 " Safe with my friends," she repeated in a lower voice. 
 " Safe with my friends — yes ! " An awkward silence 
 followed ; Teresa broke it gayly : " But your girl, your 
 sweetheart, my benefactor — will she let you go ? " 
 
 " I have n't told her yet," said Low, gravely, *^ but I 
 don't see why she should object." 
 
 " Object, indeed ! " interrupted Teresa in a high voice 
 and a sudden and utterly gratuitous indignation; "how 
 should she ? I 'd like to see her do it ! " 
 
 She accompanied him some distance to the intersection 
 of the trail, where they parted in good spirits. On the 
 dusty plain without a gale was blowing that rocked the 
 high tree-tops above her, but, tempered and subdued, en- 
 tered the low aisles with a fluttering breath of morning 
 and a sound like the cooing of doves. Never had the 
 wood before shown so sweet a sense of security from the 
 turmoil and tempest of the world beyond ; never before 
 had an intrusion from the outer life — even in the shape 
 of a letter — seemed so wicked a desecration. Tempted 
 by the solicitation of air and shade, she lingered, with 
 Low's herbarium slung on her shoulder. 
 
 A strange sensation, like a shiver, suddenly passed 
 across her nerves, and left them in a state of rigid tension. 
 With every sense morbidly acute, with every faculty 
 strained to its utmost, the subtle instincts of Low's wood- 
 craft transformed and possessed her. She knew it now! 
 A new element was in the wood — a strange being — an- 
 other life — another man approaching ! She did not even 
 raise her head to look about her, but darted with the pre- 
 
154 -^^ ^^^ Carquinez Woods. 
 
 cision and fleetness of an arrow in the direction of her 
 tree. But her feet were arrested, her limbs paralyzed, 
 her very existence suspended, by the sound of a voice : 
 
 '' Teresa ! " 
 
 It was a voice that had rung in her ears for the last 
 two years in all phases of intensity, passion, tenderness, 
 and anger; a voice upon whose modulations, rude and 
 unmusical though they were, her heart and soul had hung 
 in transport or anguish. But it was a chime that had 
 rung its last peal to her senses as she entered the Car- 
 quinez Woods, and for the last week had been as dead 
 to her as a voice from the grave. It was the voice of 
 her lover — Dick Curson ! 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 The wind was blowing towards the stranger, so that 
 he was nearly upon her when Teresa first took the alarm. 
 He was a man over six feet in height, strongly built, with 
 a slight tendency to a roundness of bulk which suggested 
 reserved rather than impeded energy. His thick beard 
 and moustache were closely cropped around a small and 
 handsome mouth that lisped except when he was excited, 
 but always kept fellowship with his blue eyes in a per- 
 petual smile of half-cynical good-humor. His dress was 
 superior to that of the locality ; his general expression 
 that of a man of the world, albeit a world of San Fran- 
 cisco, Sacramento, and Murderer's Bar. He advanced 
 towards her with a laugh and an outstretched hand. 
 
 " You here ! " she gasped, drawing back. 
 
 Apparently neither surprised nor mortified at this re- 
 ception, he answered frankly, " Yeth. You did n't expect 
 me, I know. But Doloreth showed me the letter you 
 wrote her, and — well — here I am, ready to help you, 
 with two men and a thpare horthe waiting outside the 
 woodth on the blind trail." 
 
 " You — you — here ? " she only repeated. 
 
 — Curso.n shrugged his shoulders. " Yeth. Of courth 
 you never expected to thee me again, and leatht of all 
 ^ere, I '11 admit that ; I '11 thay I would n't if I 'd been 
 in your plathe. I '11 go further, and thay you did n't 
 want to thee me again — anywhere. But it all cometh to 
 the thame thing ; here I am ; I read the letter you wrote 
 Doloreth. I read how you were hiding here, under 
 Dunn'th very nothe, with his whole pothe out, cavorting 
 
156 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 round and barkin' up the wrong tree. I made up my 
 mind to come down here with a few nathty friends of 
 mine and cut you out under Dunn'th nothe, and run you 
 over into Yuba— that 'th all." 
 
 " How dared she show you my letter — you of all men ? 
 How dared she ask your help ? " continued Teresa, 
 fiercely. 
 
 " But she did n't athk my help," he responded coolly. 
 
 "D d if I don't think she jutht calculated I'd be 
 
 glad to know you were being hunted down and thtarving, 
 that I might put Dunn on your track." 
 
 " You lie ! " said Teresa, furiously \ " she was my 
 friend. A better friend than those who professed — 
 more,''' she added, with a contemptuous drawing away of 
 her skirt as if she feared Curson's contamination. 
 
 " All right. Thettle that with her when you go back," 
 continued Curson philosophically. "We can talk of that 
 on the way. The thing now ith to get up and get out of 
 thethe woods. Come ! " 
 
 Teresa's only reply was a gesture of scorn. 
 
 " I know all that," continued Curson half soothingly, 
 " but they 're waiting." 
 
 " Let them wait. I shall not go." 
 
 " What will you do ? " 
 
 " Stay here — till the wolves eat me." 
 
 " Teresa, listen. D it all — Teresa ! — Tita ! see 
 
 here," he said with sudden energy. " I swear to God 
 it 's all right. I 'm willing to let by-gones be by-gones 
 and take a new deal. You shall come back as if nothing 
 had happened, and take your old place as before. I 
 don't mind doing the square thing, all round. If that 's 
 what you mean, if that 's all that stands in the way, why, 
 look upon the thing as settled. There, Tita, old girl. 
 
 come." 
 
 Careless or oblivious of her stony silence and starting 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 157 
 
 eyes, he attempted to take her hand. But she disengaged 
 herself with a quick movement, drew back, and suddenly 
 crouched like a wild animal about to spring. Curson 
 folded his arms as she leaped to her feet ; the little dag- 
 ger she had drawn from her garter flashed menacingly in 
 the air, but she stopped. 
 
 The man before her remained erect, impassive, and 
 silent ; the great trees around and beyond her remained 
 erect, impassive, and silent ; there was no sound in the 
 dim aisles but the quick panting of her mad passion, no 
 movement in the calm, motionless shadow but the trem- 
 bling of her uplifted steel. Her arm bent and slowly 
 sank, her fingers relaxed, the knife fell from her hand. 
 
 " That 'th quite enough •for a thow," he said, with a 
 return to his former cynical ease and a perceptible tone 
 of relief in his voice. " It 'th the thame old Teretha. 
 Well, then, if you won't go with me, go without me ; take 
 the led horthe and cut away. Dick Athley and Petereth 
 will follow you over the county line. If you want thome 
 money, there it ith." He took a buckskin purse from his 
 pocket. " If you won't take it from me " — he hesitated 
 as she made no reply — " Athley 'th flush and ready to 
 lend you thome." 
 
 She had not seemed to hear him, but had stooped in 
 some embarrassment, picked up the knife and hastily hid 
 it, then with averted face and nervous fingers was begin- 
 ning to tear strips of loose bark from the nearest trunk. 
 
 " Well, what do you thay ? " 
 ^ " I don't want any money, and I shall stay here." She 
 hesitated, looked around her, and then added, with an 
 effort, *' I suppose you meant well. Be it so ! Let by- 
 gones be by-gones. You said just now, * It 's the same 
 old Teresa.' So she is, and seeing she 's the same she 's 
 better here than anywhere else." 
 
 There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for 
 Curson's half-perfunctory sympathy. 
 
158 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 " That be d — d," he responded quickly. " Jutht thay 
 you '11 come, Tita, and " — 
 
 She stopped his half-spoken sentence with a negative 
 gesture. " You don't understand. I shall stay here.'' 
 
 " But even if they don't theek you here, you can't live 
 here forever. The friend that you wrote about who wath 
 tho good to you, you know, can't keep you here alwayth ; 
 and are you thure you can alwayth trutht her ? " 
 
 " It is n't a woman ; it 's a man." She stopped short, 
 and colored to the line of her forehead. " Who said it 
 was a woman 1 " she continued fiercely, as if to coVfer her 
 confusion with a burst of gratuitous anger. " Is that an- 
 other of your lies ? " 
 
 Curson's lips, which for a moment had completely 
 lost their smile, were now drawn together in a prolonged 
 whistle. He gazed curiously at her gown, at her hat, at 
 the bow of bright ribbon that tied her black hair, and 
 said, " Ah ! " 
 
 " A poor man who has kept my secret," she went on 
 hurriedly — "a man as friendless and lonely as myself. 
 Yes," disregarding Curson's cynical smile, "a man who 
 has shared everything " — 
 
 " Naturally," suggested Curson. 
 
 " And turned himself out of his only shelter to give me 
 a roof and covering," she continued mechanically, strug- 
 gling with the new and horrible fancy that his words 
 awakened. 
 
 " And thlept every night at Indian Thpring to save 
 your reputation," said Curson. *^ Of courthe." 
 
 Teresa turned very white. Curson was prepared for an 
 outburst of fury — perhaps even another attack. But the 
 crushed and beaten woman only gazed at him with fright- 
 ened and imploring eyes. " For God's sake, Dick, don't 
 say that ! " 
 
 The amiable cynic was staggered. His good -humor 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 159 
 
 and a certain chivalrous instinct he could not repress got 
 the better of him. He shrugged his shoulders. " What 
 I thay, and what you do^ Teretha, need n't make us quar- 
 rel. I Ve no claim on you — I know it. Only " — a 
 vivid sense of the ridiculous, powerful in men of his 
 stamp, completed her victory — " only don't thay any- 
 thing about my coming down here to cut you out from 
 the — the — the sheriff^ He gave utterance to a short 
 but unaffected laugh, made a slight grimace, and turned 
 to go. 
 
 Teresa did not join in his mirth. Awkward as it would 
 have been if he had taken a severer view of the subject, 
 she was mortified even amidst her fears and embarrass- 
 ment at his levity. Just as she had become convinced that 
 his jealousy had made her over-conscious, his apparent 
 good-humored indifference gave that over-consciousness 
 a guilty significance. Yet this was lost in her sudden 
 alarm as her companion, looking up, uttered an exclama- 
 tion, and placed his hand upon his revolver. With a 
 sinking conviction that the climax had come, Teresa 
 turned her eyes. From the dim aisles beyond, Low was 
 approaching. The catastrophe seemed complete. 
 
 She had barely time to utter an imploring whisper : 
 ** In the name of God, not a word to him." But a 
 change had already come over her companion. It was 
 no longer a parley with a foolish woman ; he had to deal 
 with a man like himself. As Low's dark face and pic- 
 turesque figure came nearer, Mr. Curson's proposed method 
 of dealing with him was made audible. 
 
 " Ith it a mulatto or a Thircuth, or both ? " he asked, 
 with affected anxiety. 
 
 Low's Indian phlegm was impervious to such assault- 
 He turned to Teresa, without apparently noticing her 
 companion. ** I turned back," he said quietly, " as soon 
 as I knew there were strangejrs here ; I thought you 
 
i6o In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 might need me." She noticed for the first time that, in 
 addition to his rifle, he carried a revolver and hunting- 
 knife in his belt. 
 
 " Yeth," returned Curson, with an ineffectual attempt 
 to imitate Low's phlegm ; " but ath I did n't happen to be 
 a sthranger to thith lady, perhaps it wath n't nethethary, 
 particularly ath I had two friends" — 
 
 " Waiting at the edge of the wood with a led horse," 
 interrupted Low, without addressing him, but apparently 
 continuing his explanation to Teresa. But she turned to 
 Low with feverish anxiety. 
 
 " That 's so — he is an old friend " — she gave a quick, 
 imploring glance at Curson — " an old friend who came 
 to help me away — he is very kind," she stammered, 
 turning alternately from the one to the other ; " but I told 
 him there was no hurry — at least to-day — that you — 
 were — very good — too, and would hide me a little 
 longer until your plan — you know your plan," she added, 
 with a look of beseeching significance to Low — '* could 
 be tried." And then, with a helpless conviction that her 
 excuses, motives, and emotions were equally and perfectly 
 transparent to both men, she stopped in a tremble, 
 
 " Perhapth it 'th jutht ath well, then, that the gentle- 
 man came thraight here, and did n't tackle my two friendth 
 when he pathed them," observed Curson, half sarcasti- 
 cally. 
 
 "I have not passed your friends, nor have I been near 
 them," said Low, looking at him for the first time, with 
 the same exasperating calm, " or perhaps I should not 
 be here or they there, I knew that one man entered the 
 wood a few moments ago, and that two men and four 
 horses remained outside." 
 
 "That's true," said Teresa to Curson excitedly — 
 "that's true. He knows all. He can see without look- 
 ing, hear without listening. He — he " — she stammered, 
 colored, and stopped. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. i6i 
 
 The two men had faced each other. Curson, after his 
 first good-natured impulse, had retained no wish to regain 
 Teresa, whom he felt he no longer loved, and yet who, 
 for that very reason perhaps, had awakened his chival- 
 rous instincts. Low, equally on his side, was altogether 
 unconscious of any feeling which might grow into a pas- 
 sion, and prevent him from letting her go with another if 
 for her own safety. They were both men of a certain taste 
 and refinement. Yet, in spite of all this, some vague 
 instinct of the baser male animal remained with them, 
 and they were moved to a mutually aggressive attitude in 
 the presence of the female. 
 
 One word more, and the opening chapter of a sylvan 
 Iliad might have begun. But this modern Helen saw it 
 coming, and arrested it with an inspiration of feminine 
 genius. Without being observed, she disengaged her 
 knife from her bosom and let it fall as if by accident. 
 It struck the ground with the point of its keen blade, 
 bounded and rolled between them. The two men started 
 and looked at each other with a foolish air. Curson 
 laughed. 
 
 "I reckon she can take care of herthelf,'' he said, 
 extending his hand to Low. " I 'm off. But if I 'm 
 wanted she 7/ know where to find me." Low took the 
 proffered hand, but neither of the two men looked at 
 Teresa. The reserve of antagonism once broken, a few 
 words of caution, advice, and encouragement passed 
 between them, in apparent obliviousness of her presence 
 or her personal responsibility. As Curson at last nodded 
 a farewell to her. Low insisted upon accompanying him 
 as far as the horses, and in another moment she was 
 again alone. 
 
 She had saved a quarrel between them at the sacrifice 
 of herself, for her vanity was still keen enough to feel 
 that this exhibition of her old weakness had degraded 
 
1 62 In the Carqtmiez Woods. 
 
 her in their eyes, and, worse, had lost the respect her late 
 restraint had won from Low. They had treated her like 
 a child or a crazy woman, perhaps even now were ex- 
 changing criticisms upon her — perhaps pitying her! 
 Yet she had prevented a quarrel, a fight, possibly the 
 death of either one or the other of these men who 
 despised her, for none better knew than she the trivial 
 beginning and desperate end of these encounters. Would 
 they — would Low ever realize it, and forgive her ? Her 
 Small, dark hands went up to her eyes and she sank upon 
 the ground. She looked through tear-veiled lashes upon 
 the mute and giant witnesses of her deceit and passion, 
 and tried to draw, from their immovable calm, strength and 
 consolation as before. But even they seemed to stand 
 apart, reserved and forbidding. 
 
 When Low returned she hoped to gather from his eyes 
 and manner what had passed between him and her former 
 lover. But beyond a mere gentle abstraction at times he 
 retained his usual calm. She was at last forced to allude 
 to it herself with simulated recklessness. 
 
 " I suppose I did n't get a very good character from my 
 last place t '* she said, with a laugh. 
 
 " I don't understand you," he replied, in evident sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were re- 
 turning home, she said gently, " I hope you were not 
 angry with me for the lie I told when I spoke of * your 
 plan.' I could not give the real reason for not return- 
 ing with — with — that man. But it's not all a lie. I 
 have a plan — if you have n't. When you are ready to go 
 to Sacramento to take your place, dress me as an Indian 
 boy, paint my face, and let me go with you. You can 
 leave me — there — you know." 
 
 " It 's not a bad idea," he responded gravely. " We 
 will see." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 163 
 
 On the next day, and the next, the rencontre seemed to 
 be forgotten. The herbarium was already filled with rare 
 specimens. Teresa had even overcome her feminine re- 
 pugnance to " bugs " and creeping things so far as to as- 
 sist in his entomological collection. He had drawn from 
 a sacred cache in the hollow of a tree the few worn text- 
 books from which he had studied. 
 
 " They seem very precious," she said, with a smile. 
 
 " Very," he replied gravely. " There was one with 
 plates that the ants ate up, and it will be six months 
 before I can afford to buy another." 
 
 Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin 
 suit, at his calico shirt with its pattern almost obliterated 
 by countless washings, and became thoughtful. 
 
 " I suppose you could n't buy one at Indian Spring ? " 
 she said innocently. 
 
 For once Low was startled out of his phlegm. " Indian 
 Spring ! " he ejaculated ; " perhaps not even in San Fran- 
 cisco. These came from the States." 
 
 " How did you get them ? " persisted Teresa. 
 
 " I bought them for skins I got over the ridge." 
 
 " I did n't mean that — but no matter. Then you mean 
 to sell that bearskin, don't you ? " she added. 
 
 Low had, in fact, already sold it, the proceeds having 
 been invested in a gold ring for Miss Nellie, which she 
 scrupulously did not wear except in his presence. In his 
 singular truthfulness he would have frankly confessed it 
 to Teresa, but the secret was not his own. He contented 
 himself with saying that he had disposed of it at Indian 
 Spring. Teresa started, and communicated unconsciously 
 some of her nervousness to her companion. They gazed 
 in each other's eyes with a troubled expression. 
 
 *' Do you think it was wise to sell that particular skin, 
 which might be identified .? " she asked timidly. 
 
 Low knitted his arched brows, but felt a strange sense 
 
164 In the Carqtiinez Woods. 
 
 of relief. " Perhaps not," he said carelessly ; " but it 's 
 too late now to mend matters." 
 
 That afternoon she wrote several letters, and tore them 
 up. One, however, she retained, and handed it to Low to 
 post at Indian Spring, whither he was going. She called 
 his attention to the superscription being the same as the 
 previous letter, and added, with affected gayety, " But if 
 the answer is n't as prompt, perhaps it will be pleasanter 
 than the last." Her quick feminine eye noticed a little 
 excitement in his manner and a more studious attention 
 to his dress. Only a few days before she would not have 
 allowed this to pass without some mischievous allusion to 
 his mysterious sweetheart ; it troubled her greatly now to 
 find that she could not bring herself to this household 
 pleasantry, and that her lip trembled and her eye grew 
 moist as he parted from her. 
 
 The afternoon passed slowly; he had said he might 
 not return to supper until late, nevertheless a strange 
 restlessness took possession of her as the day wore on. 
 She put aside her work, the darning of his stockings, and 
 rambled aimlessly through the woods. She had wandered 
 she knew not how far, when she was suddenly seized with 
 the same vague sense of a foreign presence which she had 
 felt before. Could it be Curson again, with a word of 
 warning ? No ! she knew it was not he ; so subtle had 
 her sense become that she even fancied that she detected 
 in the invisible aura projected by the unknown no signifi- 
 cance or relation to herself or Low, and felt no fear. 
 Nevertheless she deemed it wisest to seek the protection 
 of her sylvan bower, and hurried swiftly thither. 
 
 But not so quickly nor directly that she did not once or 
 twice pause in her flight to examine the new-comer from 
 behind a friendly trunk. He was a stranger — a young fel- 
 low with a brown mustache, wearing heavy Mexican spurs 
 in his riding-boots, whose tinkling he apparently did not 
 
In the Carqtiinez Woods. 165 
 
 care to conceal. He had perceived her, and was evidently 
 pursuing her, but so awkwardly and timidly that she eluded 
 him with ease. When she had reached the security of the 
 hollow tree and had pulled the curtain of bark before the 
 narrow opening, with her eye to the interstices, she waited 
 his coming. He arrived breathlessly in the open space be- 
 fore the tree where the bear once lay ; the dazed, bewil- 
 dered, and half awed expression of his face, as he glanced 
 around him and through the openings of the forest aisles, 
 brought a faint smile to her saddened face. At last he 
 called in a half embarrassed voice : 
 
 " Miss Nellie ! " 
 
 The smile faded from Teresa's cheek. Who was " Miss 
 Nellie " ? She pressed her ear to the opening. " Miss 
 Wynn ! '* the voice again called, but was lost in the echo- 
 less woods. Devoured with a new and gratuitous curi- 
 osity, in another moment Teresa felt she would have dis- 
 closed herself at any risk, but the stranger rose and began 
 to retrace his steps. Long after his tinkling spurs were 
 lost in the distance, Teresa remained like a statue, staring 
 at the place where he had stood. Then she suddenly 
 turned like a mad woman, glanced down at the gown she 
 was wearing, tore it from her back as if it had been a pol- 
 luted garment, and stamped upon it in a convulsion of 
 rage. And then, with her beautiful bare arms clasped to- 
 gether over her head, she threw herself upon her couch in 
 a tempest of tears. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When Miss Nellie reached the first mining extension 
 of Indian Spring, which surrounded it like a fosse, she 
 descended for one instant into one of its trenches, opened 
 her parasol, removed her duster, hid it under a bowlder, 
 and with a few shivers and cat-like strokes of her soft 
 hands not only obliterated all material traces of the stolen 
 cream of Carquinez Woods, but assumed a feline demure- 
 ness quite inconsistent with any moral dereliction. Un- 
 fortunately, she forgot to remove at the same time a 
 certain ring from her third finger, which she had put on 
 with her duster and had worn at no other time. With 
 this slight exception, the benignant fate which always 
 protected that young person brought her in contact with 
 the Burnham girls at one end of the main street as the 
 returning coach to Excelsior entered the other, and en- 
 abled her to take leave of them before the coach office 
 with a certain ostentation of parting which struck Mr. 
 Jack Brace, who was lingering at the doorway, into a 
 state of utter bewilderment. 
 
 Here was Miss Nellie Wynn, the belle of Excelsior, 
 calm, quiet, self-possessed, her chaste cambric skirts and 
 dainty shoes as fresh as when she had left her father's 
 house ; but where was the woman of the brown duster, 
 and where the yellow-dressed apparition of the woods ? 
 He was feebly repeating to himself his mental adjuration 
 of a few hours before when he caught her eye, and was 
 taken with a blush and a fit of coughing. Could he have 
 been such an egregious fool, and was it not plainly writ- 
 ten on his embarrassed face for her to read ? 
 
 r 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 167 
 
 " Are we going down together ? " asked Miss Nellie, 
 with an exceptionally gracious smile. 
 
 There was neither affectation nor coquetry in this ad- 
 vance. The girl had no idea of Brace's suspicion of her, 
 nor did any uneasy desire to placate or deceive a possible 
 rival of Low's prompt her graciousness. She simply 
 wished to shake off in this encounter the already stale ex- 
 citement of the past two hours, as she had shaken the 
 dust of the woods from her clothes. It was characteristic 
 of her irresponsible nature and transient susceptibilities 
 that she actually enjoyed the relief of change ; more than 
 that, I fear, she looked upon this infidelity to a past dubi- 
 ous pleasure as a moral principle. A mild, open flirta- 
 tion with a recognized man like Brace, after her secret 
 passionate tryst with a nameless nomad like Low, was an 
 ethical equipoise that seemed proper to one of her re- 
 ligious education. 
 
 Brace was only too happy to profit by Miss Nellie's 
 condescension ; he at once secured the seat by her side, 
 and spent the four hours and a half of their return 
 journey to Excelsior in blissful but timid communion with 
 her. If he did not dare to confess his past suspicions, he 
 was equally afraid to venture upon the boldness he had 
 premeditated a few hours before. He was therefore 
 obliged to take a middle course of slightly egotistical nar- 
 ration of his own personal adventures, with which he be- 
 guiled the young girl's ear. This he only departed from 
 once, to describe to her a valuable grizzly bearskin which 
 he had seen that day for sale at Indian Spring, with a 
 view to divining her possible acceptance of it for a 
 *' buggy robe ; " and once to comment upon a ring which 
 she had inadvertently disclosed in pulling off her glove. 
 
 " It 's only an old family keepsake," she added, with 
 easy mendacity ; and affecting to recognize in Mr. Brace's 
 curiosity a not unnatural excuse for toying with her 
 
1 68 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 charming fingers, she hid them in chaste and virginal se- 
 clusion in her lap, until she could recover the ring and 
 resume her glove. 
 
 A week passed — a week of peculiar and desiccating 
 heat for even those dry Sierra table-lands. The long 
 days were filled with impalpable dust and acrid haze sus- 
 pended in the motionless air; the nights were breathless 
 and dewless ; the cold wind which usually swept down 
 from the snow line was laid to sleep over a dark monot- 
 onous level, whose horizon was pricked with the eating 
 fires of burning forest crests. The lagging coach of In- 
 dian Spring drove up at Excelsior, and precipitated its 
 passengers with an accompanying cloud of dust before 
 the Excelsior Hotel. As they emerged from the coach, 
 Mr. Brace, standing in the doorway, closely scanned their 
 begrimed and almost unrecognizable faces. They were 
 the usual type of travelers : a single professional man in 
 dusty black, a few traders in tweeds and flannels, a 
 sprinkling of miners in red and gray shirts, a Chinaman, 
 a negro, and a Mexican packer or muleteer. This latter 
 for a moment mingled with the crowd in the bar-room, 
 and even penetrated the corridor and dining-room of the 
 hotel, as if impelled by a certain semi-civilized curiosity, 
 and then strolled with a lazy, dragging step — half im- 
 peded by the enormous leather leggings, chains, and 
 spurs, peculiar to his class — down the main street. The 
 darkness was gathering, but the muleteer indulged in the 
 same childish scrutiny of the dimly lighted shops, maga- 
 zines, and saloons, and even of the occasional groups of 
 citizens at the street corners. Apparently young, as far 
 as the outlines of his figure could be seen, he seemed to 
 show even more than the usual concern of masculine Ex- 
 celsior in the charms of womankind. The few female 
 figures about at that hour, or visible at window or ve- 
 randa, received his marked attention ; he respectfully 
 
In the Carqinnez Woods. 169 
 
 followed the two auburn-haired daughters of Deacon 
 Johnson on their way to choir meeting to the door of the 
 church. Not content with that act of discreet gallantry, 
 after they had entered he managed to slip in unperceived 
 behind them. 
 
 The memorial of the Excelsior gamblers^ generosity 
 was a modern building, large and pretentious for even 
 Mr. Wynn's popularity, and had been good-humoredly 
 known, in the characteristic language of the generous do- 
 nors, as one of the " biggest religious bluffs " on record. 
 Its groined rafters, which were so new and spicy that they 
 still suggested their native forest aisles, seldom covered 
 more than a hundred devotees, and in the rambling choir, 
 with its bare space for the future organ, the few choris- 
 ters, gathered round a small harmonium, were lost in the 
 deepening shadow of that summer evening. The mule- 
 teer remained hidden in the obscurity of the vestibule. 
 After a few moments' desultory conversation, in which it 
 appeared that the unexpected absence of Miss Nellie 
 Wynn, their leader, would prevent their practicing, the 
 choristers withdrew. The stranger, who had listened 
 eagerly, drew back in the darkness as they passed out, 
 and remained for a few moments a vague and motionless 
 figure in the silent church. Then coming cautiously to 
 the window, the flapping broad - brimmed hat was put 
 aside, and the faint light of the dying day shone in the 
 black eyes of Teresa ! Despite her face, darkened with 
 dye and disfigured with dust, the matted hair piled and 
 twisted around her head, the strange dress and boyish 
 figure, one swift glance from under her raised lashes 
 betrayed her identity. 
 
 She turned aside mechanically into the first pew, picked 
 up and opened a hymn-book. Her eyes became riveted 
 on a name written on the title-page, *^ Nellie Wynn." 
 Her name, and her book. The instinct that had guided 
 
170 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 her here was right ; the slight gossip of her fellow-pas- 
 sengers was right ; this was the clergyman's daughter, 
 whose praise filled all mouths. This was the unknown 
 girl the stranger was seeking, but who in her turn per- 
 haps had been seeking Low — the girl who absorbed his 
 fancy — the secret of his absences, his preoccupation, 
 his coldness ! This was the girl whom to see, perhaps in 
 his arms, she was now periling her liberty and her life 
 unknown to him ! A slight odor, some faint perfume of 
 its owner, came from the book ; it was the same she had 
 noticed in the dress Low had given her. She flung the 
 volume to the ground, and, throwing her arms over the 
 back of the pew before her, buried her face in her hands. 
 In that light and attitude she might have seemed some 
 rapt acolyte abandoned to self-communion. But whatever 
 yearning her soul might have had for higher sympathy 
 or deeper consolation, I fear that the spiritual Tabernacle 
 of Excelsior and the Reverend Mr. Wynn did not meet 
 that requirement. She only felt the dry, oven-like heat 
 of that vast shell, empty of sentiment and beauty, hollow 
 in its pretense and dreary in its desolation. She only 
 saw in it a chief altar for the glorification of this girl who 
 had absorbed even the pure worship of her companion, 
 and converted and degraded his sublime paganism to her 
 petty creed. With a woman's withering contempt for her 
 own art displayed in another woman, she thought how 
 she herself could have touched him with the peace that 
 the majesty of their woodland aisles — so unlike this 
 pillared sham — had taught her own passionate heart, 
 had she but dared. Mingling with this imperfect the- 
 ology, she felt she could have proved to him also that a 
 brunette and a woman of her experience was better than 
 an immature blonde. She began to loathe herself for 
 coming hither, and dreaded to meet his face. Here a 
 sudden thought struck her. What if he had not come 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 171 
 
 here ? What if she had been mistaken ? What if her rash 
 interpretation of his absence from the wood that night 
 was simple madness ? What if he should return — if he 
 had already returned ? She rose to her feet, whitening^ 
 yet joyful with the thought. She would return at once ; 
 what was the girl to her now ? Yet there was time to 
 satisfy herself if he were at her house. She had been 
 told where it was ; she could find it in the dark ; an open 
 door or window would betray some sign or sound of the 
 occupants. She rose, replaced her hat over her eyes, 
 knotted her flaunting scarf around her throat, groped her 
 way to the door, and glided into the outer darkness. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was quite dark when Mr. Jack Brace stopped 
 before Father Wynn's open door. The windows were 
 also invitingly open to the wayfarer, as were the pastoral 
 counsels of Father Wynn, delivered to some favored 
 guest within, in a tone of voice loud enough for a pulpit. 
 Jack Brace paused. The visitor was the convalescent 
 sheriff, Jim Dunn, who had publicly commemorated his 
 recovery by making his first call upon the father of his 
 inamorata. The Reverend Mr. Wynn had been expatiat- 
 ing upon the unremitting heat as a possible precursor of 
 forest fires, and exhibiting some catholic knowledge of 
 the designs of a Deity in that regard, and what should be 
 the policy of the Legislature, when Mr. Brace concluded 
 to enter. Mr. Wynn and the wounded man, who occu- 
 pied an arm-chair by the window, were the only occupants 
 of the room. But in spite of the former's ostentatious 
 greeting. Brace could see that his visit was inopportune 
 and unwelcome. The sheriff nodded a quick, impatient 
 recognition, which, had it not been accompanied by an 
 anathema on the heat, might have been taken as a per- 
 sonal insult. Neither spoke of Miss Nellie, although it 
 was patent to Brace that they were momentarily expecting 
 her. All of which went far to strengthen a certain wa- 
 vering purpose in his mind. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! strong language, Mr. Dunn," said Father 
 Wynn, referring to the sheriff's adjuration, " but ' out of 
 the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh.' Job, sir, 
 cursed, we are told, and even expressed himself in vig- 
 orous Hebrew regarding his birthday. Ha, ha ! I 'm not 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 173 
 
 opposed to that. When I have often wrestled with the 
 spirit I confess I have sometimes said, *D — n you.* 
 Yes, sir, ' D — n you.' " 
 
 There was something so unutterably vile in the rever- 
 end gentleman's utterance and emphasis of this oath that 
 the two men, albeit both easy and facile blasphemers, 
 felt shocked \ as the purest of actresses is apt to overdo 
 the rakishness of a gay Lothario, Father Wynn's immacu- 
 late conception of an imprecation was something terrible. 
 But he added, " The law ought to interfere with the reck- 
 less use of camp-fires in the woods in such weather by 
 packers and prospecters. " 
 
 " It is n't so much the work of white men," broke in 
 Brace, "as it is of Greasers, Chinamen, and Diggers, 
 especially Diggers. There 's that blasted Low, ranges 
 the whole Carquinez Woods as if they were his. I 
 reckon he ain't particular just where he throws his 
 matches." 
 
 " But he 's not a Digger ; he 's a Cherokee, and only a 
 half-breed at that," interpolated Wynn. "Unless," he 
 added, with the artful suggestion of the betrayed trust of 
 a too credulous Christian, " he deceived me in this as in 
 other things." 
 
 In what other things Low had deceived him he did 
 not say ; but, to the astonishment of both men, Dunn 
 growled a dissent to Brace's proposition. Either from 
 some secret irritation with that possible rival, or impa- 
 tience at the prolonged absence of Nellie, he had " had 
 enough of that sort of hog-wash ladled out to him for 
 genuine liquor." As to the Carquinez Woods, he [Dunn] 
 "did n't know why Low had n't as much right there as 
 if he 'd grabbed it under a preemption law and did n't 
 live there." With this hint at certain speculations of 
 Father Wynn in public lands for a homestead, he added 
 that " If they [Brace and Wynn] could bring him along 
 
174 ^^ t^^ Carquinez Woods. 
 
 any older American settler than an Indian, they might 
 rake down his [Dunn's] pile." Unprepared for this turn 
 in the conversation, Wynn hastened to explain that he 
 did not refer to the pure aborigine, whose gradual ex- 
 tinction no one regretted more than himself, but to the 
 mongrel, who inherited only the vices of civilization. 
 " There should be a law, sir, against the mingling of 
 races. There are men, sir, who violate the laws of the 
 Most High by living with Indian women — squaw men, 
 sir, as they are called." 
 
 Dunn rose with a face livid with weakness and passion. 
 " Who dares say that ? They are a d — d sight better 
 th^n sneaking Northern Abolitionists, who married their 
 daughters to buck niggers like " — But a spasm of pain 
 withheld this Parthian shot at the politics of his two com- 
 panions, and he sank back helplessly in his chair. 
 
 An awkward silence ensued. The three men looked 
 at each other in embarrassment and confusion. Dunn 
 felt that he had given way to a gratuitous passion ; Wynn 
 had a vague presentiment that he had said something 
 that imperiled his daughter's prospects ; and Brace was 
 divided between an angry retort and the secret purpose 
 already alluded to. 
 
 " It 's all the blasted heat," said Dunn, with a forced 
 smile, pushing away the whiskey which Wynn had osten- 
 tatiously placed before him. 
 
 " Of course," said Wynn hastily ; " only it 's a pity 
 Nellie ain't here to give you her smelling-salts. She 
 ought to be back now," he added, no longer mindful of 
 Brace's presence ; " the coach is over-due now, though 
 I reckon the heat made Yuba Bill take it easy at the up 
 grade." 
 
 " If you mean the coach from Indian Spring," said 
 Brace quietly, ^' it 's in already ; but Miss Nellie did n't 
 come on it." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 175 
 
 " Maybe she got out at the Crossing/* said Wynn 
 cheerfully ; " she sometimes does." 
 
 " She did n't take the coach at Indian Spring," returned 
 Brace, " because I saw it leave, and passed it on Buck- 
 skin ten minutes ago, coming up the hills." 
 
 ** She 's stopped over at Burnham's,'' said Wynn reflec- 
 tively. Then, in response to the significant silence of 
 his guests, he added, in a tone of chagrin which his 
 forced heartiness could not disguise, " Well, boys, it 's a 
 disappointment all round ; but we must take the lesson 
 as it comes. I '11 go over to the coach office and see if 
 she 's sent any word. Make yourselves at home until I 
 return." 
 
 When the door had closed behind him. Brace arose and 
 took his hat as if to go. With his hand on the lock, he 
 turned to his rival, who, half-hidden in the gathering dark- 
 ness, still seemed unable to comprehend his ill-luck. 
 
 " If you 're waiting for that bald-headed fraud to come 
 back with the truth about his daughter," said Brace coolly, 
 "you 'd better send for your things and take up your lodg- 
 ings here." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Dunn sternly. 
 
 " I mean that she 's not at the Burnhams' ; I mean 
 that he does or does not know where she is, and that in 
 either case he is nat likely to give you information. But 
 I can." 
 
 " You can ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then, where is she ? " 
 
 " In the Carquinez Woods, in the arms of the man you 
 were just defending — Low, the half-breed." 
 
 The room had become so dark that from the road noth- 
 ing could be distinguished. Only the momentary sound 
 of struggling feet was heard. 
 
 " Sit down," said Brace's voice, " and don't be a fool. 
 
176 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 You 're too weak, and it ain't a fair fight. Let go your 
 hold. I 'm not lying — I wish to God I was ! " 
 
 There was a silence, and Brace resumed, **We Ve been 
 rivals, I know. Maybe I thought my chance as good as 
 yours. If what I say ain't truth, we '11 stand as we stood 
 before ; and if you 're on the shoot, I 'm your man when 
 you like, where you like, or on sight if you choose. But I 
 can't see another man played upon as I 've been played 
 upon — given dead away as I have been. It ain't on the 
 square. 
 
 "There," he continued, after a pause, "that's right; 
 now steady. Listen. A week ago that girl went down 
 just like this to Indian Spring. It was given out, like 
 this, that she went to the Burnhams'. I don't mind saying, 
 Dunn, that I went down myself, all on the square, think- 
 ing I might get a show to talk to her, just as you might 
 have done, you know, if you had my chance. I did n't 
 come across her anywhere. But two men that I met 
 thought they recognized her in a disguise going into the 
 woods. Not suspecting anything, I went after her ; saw 
 her at a distance in the middle of the woods in another 
 dress that I can swear to, and was just coming up to her 
 when she vanished — went like a squirrel up a tree, or 
 down like a gopher in the ground, but vanished." 
 
 " Is that all ? " said Dunn's voice. " And just because 
 you were a d— d fool, or had taken a little too much 
 whiskey, you thought " — 
 
 " Steady ! That 's just what I said to myself," in- 
 terrupted Brace coolly, "particularly when I saw her 
 that same afternoon in another dress, saying good-by to 
 the Burnhams, as fresh as a rose and as cold as those 
 snow-peaks. Only one thing — she had a ring on her 
 finger she never wore before, and didn't expect me to 
 
 see." 
 
 "What if she did? She might have bought it. I 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 177 
 
 reckon she has n't to consult you," broke in Dunn's voice 
 sternly. 
 
 " She did n't buy it," continued Brace quietly. " Low 
 gave that Jew trader a bearskin in exchange for it, and 
 presented it to her. I found that out two days afterwards. 
 I found out that out of the whole afternoon she spent less 
 than an hour with the Burnhams. I found out that she 
 bought a duster like the disguise the two men saw her in. 
 I found the yellow dress she wore that day hanging up in 
 Low's cabin — the place where I saw her go — the rendez- 
 vous where she meets him. Oh, you 're listenin', are you t 
 Stop ! Sit Down ! 
 
 " I discovered it by accident," continued the voice of 
 Brace when all was again quiet ; " it was hidden as only a 
 squirrel or an Injin can hide when they improve upon na- 
 ture. When I was satisfied that the girl had been in the 
 woods, I was determined to find out where she vanished, 
 and went there again. Prospecting around, I picked up 
 at the foot of one of the biggest trees this yer old mem- 
 orandum-book, with grasses and herbs stuck in it. I re- 
 membered that I 'd heard old Wynn say that Low, like 
 the d — d Digger that he was, collected these herbs ; only 
 he pretended it was for science. I reckoned the book 
 was his and that he might n't be far away. I lay low 
 and waited. Bimeby I saw a lizard running down the 
 root. When he got sight of me he stopped." 
 
 " D — n the lizard ! What 's that got to do with where 
 she is now ? " 
 
 " Everything. That lizard had a piece of sugar in 
 his mouth. Where did it come from 1 I made him 
 drop it, and calculated he 'd go back for more. He 
 did. He scooted up that tree and slipped in under some 
 hanging strips of bark. I shoved 'em aside, and found 
 an opening to the hollow where they do their house- 
 keeping." 
 
178 In the Carquifiez Woods. 
 
 " But you did n't see her there — and how do you know 
 she is there now ? " 
 
 ** I determined to make it sure. When she left to-day, 
 I started an hour ahead of her, and hid myself at the edge 
 of the woods. An hour after the coach arrived at Indian 
 Spring, she came there in a brown duster and was joined 
 by him. I 'd have followed them, but the d — d hound 
 has the ears of a squirrel, and though I was five hundred 
 yards from him he was on his guard.'' 
 
 " Guard be blessed ! Was n't you armed 1 Why did n't 
 you go for him t " said Dunn, furiously. 
 
 " I reckoned I 'd leave that for you," said Brace coolly. 
 " If he 'd killed me, and if he 'd even covered me with his 
 rifle, he 'd be sure to let daylight through me at double 
 the distance. I should n't have been any better off, nor 
 you either. If I 'd killed him^ it would have been your 
 duty as sheriff to put me in jail ; and I reckon it wouldn't 
 have broken your heart, Jim Dunn, to have got rid of two 
 rivals instead of one. Hullo ! Where are you going ? " 
 
 ** Going ? ' said Dunn hoarsely. *^ Going to the Car- 
 quinez Woods, by God ! to kill him before her. /'// risk 
 it, if you dare n't. Let me succeed, and you can hang 
 me and take the girl yourself." 
 
 " Sit down, sit down. Don't be a fool, Jim Dunn ! 
 You would n't keep the saddle a hundred yards. Did I 
 say I would n't help you .? No. If you 're willing, we '11 
 run the risk together, but it must be in my way. Hear 
 me. I '11 drive you down there in a buggy before day- 
 light, and we '11 surprise them in the cabin or as they 
 leave the wood. But you must come as if to arrest him 
 for some offense — say, as an escaped Digger from the 
 Reservation, a dangerous tramp, a destroyer of public 
 property in the forests, a suspected road agent, or anything 
 to give you the right to hunt him. The exposure of him 
 and Nellie, don't you see, must be accidental. If he 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 179 
 
 resists, kill him on the spot, and nobody '11 blame you ; if 
 he goes peaceably with you, and you once get him in Ex- 
 celsior jail, when the story gets out that he 's taken the 
 belle of Excelsior for his squaw, if you 'd the angels for 
 your posse you could n't keep the boys from hanging him 
 to the first tree. What 's that ? " 
 
 He walked to the window, and looked out cautiously. 
 
 " If it was the old man coming back and listening," 
 he said, after a pause, " it can't be helped. He '11 hear it 
 soon enough, if he don't suspect something already." 
 
 " Look yer. Brace," broke in Dunn hoarsely. ^* D — d 
 if I understand you or you me. That dog Low has got 
 to answer to nie^ not to the law I I '11 take my risk of 
 killing him, on sight and on the square. I don't reckon 
 to handicap myself with a warrant, and I am not going 
 to draw him out with a lie. You hear me ? That 's me 
 all the time ! " 
 
 **Then you calkilate to go down thar," said Brace con- 
 temptuously, " yell out for him and Nellie, and let him 
 line you on a rest from the first tree as if you were a 
 grizzly." 
 
 There was a pause. " What 's that you were -saying 
 just now about a bearskin he sold ? " asked Dunn slowly, 
 as if reflecting. 
 
 "He exchanged a bearskin," replied Brace, "with a 
 single hole right over the heart. He 's a dead shot, I tell 
 you." 
 
 " D — n his shooting," said Dunn. " I 'm not thinking 
 of that. How long ago did he bring in that bearskin ? " 
 
 " About two weeks, I reckon. Why ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! Look yer. Brace, you mean well — thar 's 
 my hand. I '11 go down with you there, but not as the 
 sheriff. I 'm going there as Jim Dunn, and you can 
 come along as a white man, to see things fixed on the 
 square. Come ! " 
 
i8o In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Brace hesitated. You '11 think better of my plan before 
 you get there ; but I Ve said I 'd stand by you, and I will. 
 Come, then. There 's no time to lose." 
 
 They passed out into the darkness together. 
 
 " What are you waiting for 1 " said Dunn impatiently, 
 as Brace, who was supporting him by the arm, suddenly 
 halted at the comer of the house. 
 
 " Some one was listening — did you not see him ? Was 
 it the old man ? " asked Brace hurriedly. 
 
 " Blast the old man ! It was only one of them Mexi- 
 can packers chock-full of whiskey, and trying to hold 
 up the house. What are you thinking of t We shall be 
 late." 
 
 In spite of his weakness, the wounded man hurriedly 
 urged Brace forward, until they reached the latter's lodg- 
 ings. To his surprise, the horse and buggy were already 
 before the door. 
 
 "Then you reckoned to go, any way?" said Dunn, 
 with a searching look at his companion. 
 
 "I calkilated somebody would go," returned Brace, 
 evasively, patting the impatient Buckskin ; " but come in 
 and take a drink before w^e leave." 
 
 Dunn started out of a momentary abstraction, put his 
 hand on his hip, and mechanically entered the house. 
 They had scarcely raised the glasses to their lips when a 
 sudden rattle of wheels was heard in the street. Brace 
 set down his glass and ran to the window. 
 
 " It 's the mare bolted," he said, with an oath. 
 " We Ve kept her too long standing. Follow me ; " and 
 he dashed down the staircase into the street. Dunn fol- 
 lowed with difficulty ; when he reached the door he was 
 confronted by his breathless companion. She 's gone off 
 on a run, and I '11 swear there was a man in the buggy ! " 
 He stopped and examined the halter-strap, still fastened 
 to the fence. " Cut ! by God ! " 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. i8i 
 
 Dunn turned pale with passion. " Who 's got another 
 horse and buggy ? '' he demanded. 
 
 " The new blacksmith in Main Street ; but we won't 
 get it by borrowing," said Brace. 
 
 '* How, then ? " asked Dunn savagely. 
 
 " Seize it, as the sheriff of Yuba and his deputy, pur- 
 suing a confederate of the Injin Low — the horse 
 
 THIEF 1 " 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The brief hour of darkness that preceded the dawn 
 was that night intensified by a dense smoke, which, after 
 blotting out horizon and sky, dropped a thick veil on the 
 highroad and the silent streets of Indian Spring. As 
 the buggy containing Sheriff Dunn and Brace dashed 
 through the obscurity. Brace suddenly turned to his 
 companion. 
 
 " Some one ahead ! " 
 
 The two men bent forward over the dashboard. Above 
 the steady plunging of their own horse-hoofs they could 
 hear the quicker irregular beat of other hoofs in the 
 darkness before them. 
 
 " It 's that horse thief ! " said Dunn, in a savage whisper. 
 " Bear to the right, and hand me the whip." 
 
 A dozen cuts of the cruel lash, and their maddened 
 horse, bounding at each stroke, broke into a wild canter. 
 The frail vehicle swayed from side to side at each spring 
 of the elastic shafts. Steadying himself by one hand on 
 the low rail, Dunn drew his revolver with the other. 
 " Sing out to him to pull up, or we '11 fire. My voice is 
 clean gone,'' he added, in a husky whisper. 
 
 They were so near that they could distinguish the bulk 
 of a vehicle careering from side to side in the blackness 
 ahead. Dunn deliberately raised his weapon. " Sing 
 out ! " he repeated impatiently. But Brace, who was still 
 keeping in the shadow, suddenly grasped his companion's 
 arm. 
 
 " Hush ! It 's nof Buckskin," he whispered hurriedly. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 183 
 
 " Don't you see we 're gaining on him ? " replied the 
 other contemptuously, Dunn grasped his companion's 
 hand and pressed it silently. Even in that supreme 
 moment this horseman's tribute to the fugitive Buckskin 
 forestalled all baser considerations of pursuit and cap- 
 ture ! 
 
 In twenty seconds they were abreast of the stranger, 
 crowding his horse and buggy nearly into the ditch ; 
 Brace keenly watchful, Dunn suppressed and pale. In 
 half a minute they were leading him a length ; and when 
 their horse again settled down to his steady work, the 
 stranger was already lost in the circling dust that fol- 
 lowed them. But the victors seemed disappointed. The 
 obscurity had completely hidden all but the vague out- 
 lines of the mysterious driver. 
 
 " He 's not our game, any way," whispered Dunn. 
 " Drive on." 
 
 ** But if it was some friend of his," suggested Brace 
 uneasily, " what would you do ? " 
 
 " What I said I 'd do," responded Dunn savagely. " I 
 don't want five minutes to do it in, either ; we '11 be half 
 an hour ahead of that d — d fool, whoever he is. Look 
 here ; all you 've got to do is to put me in the trail to that 
 cabin. Stand back of me, out of gun-shot, alone, if you 
 like, as my deputy, or with any number you can pick up 
 as my posse. If he gets by me as Nellie's lover, you may 
 shoot him or take him as a horse thief, if you like." 
 
 " Then you won't shoot him on sight ? " 
 
 " Not till I 've had a word with him." 
 
 "But" — 
 
 " I 've chirped," said the sheriff gravely. " Drive on." 
 
 For a few moments only the plunging hoofs and rat- 
 tling wheels were heard. A dull, lurid glow began to 
 define the horizon. They were silent until an abatement 
 of the smoke, the vanishing of the gloomy horizon line, 
 
184 ^^^ the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 and a certain impenetrability in the darkness ahead 
 showed them they were nearing the Carquinez Woods. 
 But they were surprised on entering them to find the dim 
 aisles alight with a faint mystic Aurora. The tops of the 
 towering spires above them had caught the gleam of the 
 distant forest fires, and reflected it as from a gilded 
 dome. 
 
 " It would be hot work if the Carquinez Woods should 
 conclude to take a hand in this yer little game that 's go- 
 ing on over on the Divide yonder," said Brace, securing 
 his horse and glancing at the spires overhead. " I reckon 
 I 'd rather take a backseat at Injin Spring when the show 
 commences." 
 
 Dunn did not reply, but, buttoning his coat, placed one 
 hand on his companion's shoulder, and sullenly bade him 
 *Mead the way." Advancing slowly and with difficulty, 
 the desperate man might have been taken for a peaceful 
 invalid returning from an early morning stroll. His right 
 hand was buried thoughtfully in the side-pocket of his 
 coat. Only Brace knew that it rested on the handle of 
 his pistol. 
 
 From time to time the latter stopped and consulted the 
 faint trail with a minuteness that showed recent careful 
 study. Suddenly he paused. " I made a blaze here- 
 abouts to show where to leave the trail. There it is," he 
 added, pointing to a slight notch cut in the trunk of an . 
 adjoining tree. 
 
 " But we Ve just passed one," said Dunn, " if that 's 
 what you are looking after, a hundred yards back." 
 
 Brace uttered an oath, and ran back in the direction 
 signified by his companion. Presently he returned with 
 a smile of triumph. 
 
 " They Ve suspected something. It 's a clever trick, 
 but it won't hold water. That blaze which was done to 
 muddle you was cut with an axe ; this which I made was 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 185 
 
 done with a bowie-knife. It ^s the real one. We 're not 
 far off now. Come on.'* 
 
 They proceeded cautiously, at right angles with the 
 "blazed" tree, for ten minutes more. The heat was op- 
 pressive ; drops of perspiration rolled from the forehead 
 of the sheriff, and at times, when he attempted to steady 
 his uncertain" limbs, his hands shrank from the heated, 
 blistering bark he touched with ungloved palms. 
 
 " Here we are," said Brace, pausing at last. " Do 
 you see that biggest tree, with the root stretching out 
 half-way across to the opposite one ? " 
 
 " No j it 's further to the right and abreast of the dead 
 brush," interrupted Dunn quickly, with a sudden revela- 
 tion that this was the spot where he had found the dead 
 bear in the night Teresa escaped. 
 
 " That 's so," responded Brace, in astonishment. 
 
 " And the opening is on the other side, opposite the 
 dead brush," said Dunn. 
 
 " Then you know it ? " said Brace suspiciously. 
 
 " I reckon ! " responded Dunn, grimly. " That 's 
 enough ! Fall back ! " 
 
 To the surprise of his companion, he lifted his head 
 erect, and with a strong, firm step walked directly to the 
 tree. Reaching it, he planted himself squarely before 
 the opening. 
 
 " Halloo ! " he said. 
 
 There was no reply. A squirrel scampered away close 
 to his feet. Brace, far in the distance, after an ineffect- 
 ual attempt to distinguish his companion through the 
 intervening trunks, took off his coat, leaned against a 
 tree, and lit a cigar. 
 
 " Come out of that cabin ! " continued Dunn, in a 
 clear, resonant voice. " Come out before I drag you 
 out ! " 
 
 " All right, * Captain Scott* Don't shoot, and Fll come 
 
1 86 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 down," said a voice as clear and as high as his own. 
 The hanging strips of bark were dashed aside, and a 
 woman leaped lightly to the ground. 
 
 Dunn staggered back. *^ Teresa ! by the Eternal ! " 
 
 It was Teresa ! the old Teresa ! Teresa, a hundred 
 times more vicious, reckless, hysterical, extravagant, and 
 outrageous than before, — Teresa, staring with tooth and 
 eye, sunburnt and embrowned, her hair hanging down 
 her shoulders, and her shawl drawn tightly around her 
 neck. 
 
 " Teresa it is ! the same old gal ! Here we are again ! 
 Return of the favorite in her original character ! For 
 two weeks only ! Houp la ! Tshk ! " and, catching her 
 yellow skirt with her fingers, she pirouetted before the 
 astounded man, and ended in a pose. Recovering him- 
 self with an effort, Dunn dashed forward and seized her 
 by the wrist. 
 
 " Answer me, woman ! Is that Low's cabin ?" 
 
 " It is. " 
 
 " Who occupies it besides ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 ** And who else ? " 
 
 ^* Well," drawled Teresa slowly, with an extravagant 
 affectation of modesty, " nobody else but us, I reckon. 
 Two 's company, you know, and three *s none." 
 
 " Stop ! Will you swear that there is n't a young girl, 
 his — his sweetheart — concealed there with you } " 
 
 The fire in Teresa's eye was genuine as she answered 
 steadily, " Well, it ain't my style to put up with that sort 
 of thing; at least, it was n't over at Yolo, and you know 
 it, Jim Dunn, or I would n't be here." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Dunn hurriedly. " But I 'm a d — d 
 fool, or worse, the fool of a fool. Tell me, Teresa, is 
 this man Low your lover ? " 
 
 Teresa lowered her eyes as if in maidenly confusion. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 187 
 
 " Well, if I 'd known that you had any feeling of your 
 own about it — if you 'd spoken sooner " — 
 
 " Answer me, you devil ! " 
 
 "He is/' 
 
 "And he has been with you here — yesterday — to- 
 night ? '' 
 
 "He has.'' 
 
 " Enough." He laughed a weak, foolish laugh, and 
 turning pale, suddenly lapsed against a tree. He would 
 have fallen, but with a quick instinct Teresa sprang to 
 his side, and supported him gently to a root. The action 
 over they both looked astounded. 
 
 " I reckon that was n't much like either you or me," 
 said Dunn slowly, " was it ? But if you 'd let me drop 
 then you 'd have stretched out the biggest fool in the Sier- 
 ras." He paused, and looked at her curiously. " What 's 
 come over you \ blessed if I seem to know you now." 
 
 She was very pale again, and quiet ; that was all. 
 
 " Teresa ! d — n it, look here ! When I was laid up 
 yonder in Excelsior I said I wanted to get well for only 
 two things. One was to hunt you down, the other to 
 marry Nellie Wynn. When I came here I thought that 
 last thing could never be. I came here expecting to find 
 her here with Low, and kill him — perhaps kill her too. 
 I never even thought of you ; not once. You might have 
 risen up before me — between me and him — and I 'd 
 have passed you by. And now that I find it 's all a mis- 
 take, and it was you, not her, I was looking for, why " — 
 
 " Why," she interrupted bitterly, " you '11 just take me, 
 of course, to save your time and earn your salary. I 'm 
 ready." 
 
 "But I'm not, just yet," he said faintly. "Help 
 me up." She mechanically assisted him to his feet. 
 
 "Now stand where you are," he added, "and don't 
 move beyond this tree till I return." 
 
1 88 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 He straightened himself with an effort, clenched his 
 fists until the nails were nearly buried in his palms, and 
 strode with a firm, steady step in the direction he had 
 come. In a few moments he returned and stood before 
 her. 
 
 "I Ve sent away my deputy — the man who brought 
 me here, the fool who thought you were Nellie. He 
 knows now he made a mistake. But who it was he mis- 
 took for Nellie he does not know, nor shall ever know, 
 nor shall any living being know, other than myself. And 
 when I leave the wood to-day I shall know it no longer. 
 You are safe here as far as I am concerned, but I cannot 
 screen you from others prying. Let Low take you away 
 from here as soon as he can." 
 
 " Let him take me away ? Ah, yes. For what ? " 
 
 " To save you," said Dunn. " Look here, Teresa ! 
 Without knowing it, you lifted me out of hell just now ; 
 and because of the wrong I might have done her — for 
 her sake, I spare you and shirk my duty." 
 
 " For her sake ! " gasped the woman — " for her sake ! 
 Oh, yes ! Go on." 
 
 " Well," said Dunn gloomily, " I reckon perhaps you 'd 
 as lieve left me in hell, for all the love you bear me. 
 And maybe you Ve grudge enough agin me still to wish 
 I'd found her and him together." 
 
 " You think so ? " she said, turning her head away. 
 
 " There, d — n it ! I did n't mean to make you cry. 
 Maybe you would n't, then. Only tell that fellow to take 
 you out of this, and not run away the next time he sees a 
 man coming." 
 
 " He didn't run," said Teresa, with flashing eyes. "I 
 — I — I sent him away," she stammered. Then, sud- 
 denly turning with fury upon him, she broke out, " Run ! 
 Run from you ! Ha, ha ! You said just now I 'd a grudge 
 against you. Well, listen, Jim Dunn. I 'd only to bring 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 189 
 
 you in range of that young man's rifle, and you 'd have 
 dropped in your tracks like " — 
 
 " Like that bar, the other night," said Dunn, with a 
 short laugh. " So that was your little game ? " He 
 checked his laugh suddenly — a cloud passed over his 
 face. " Look here, Teresa," he said, with an assumption 
 of carelessness that was as transparent as it was utterly 
 incompatible with his frank, open selfishness. "What 
 became of that bar ? The skin — eh 1 That was worth 
 something ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Teresa quietly. " Low exchanged it and 
 got a ring for me from that trader Isaacs. It was worth 
 more, you bet. And the ring did n't fit either " — 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Dunn, with an almost childish eager- 
 ness. 
 
 " And I made him take it back, and get the value in 
 money. I hear that Isaacs sold it again and made an- 
 other profit; but that's like those traders." The disin- 
 genuous candor of Teresa's manner was in exquisite con- 
 trast to Dunn. He rose and grasped her hand so heartily 
 she was forced to turn her eyes away. 
 
 " Good-by ! " he said. 
 
 "You look tired," she murmured, with a sudden gentle- 
 ness that surprised him ; " let me go with you a part of 
 the way." 
 
 "It is n't safe for you just now," he said, thinking of 
 the possible consequences of the alarm Brace had raised. 
 
 "Not the way ^^^ came," she replied ; "but one known 
 only to myself." 
 
 He hesitated only a moment. " All right, then," he 
 said finally ; " let us go at once. It 's suffocating here, 
 and I seem to feel this dead bark crinkle under my 
 feet." 
 
 She cast a rapid glance around her, and then seemed 
 to sound with her eyes the far-off depths of the aisles, 
 
IQO In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 beginning to grow pale with the advancing day, but still 
 holding a strange quiver of heat in the air. When she 
 had finished her half abstracted scrutiny of the distance, 
 she cast one backward glance at her own cabin and 
 stopped. 
 
 " Will you wait a moment for me ? " she asked gently. 
 
 " Yes — but — no tricks, Teresa ! It is n't worth the 
 time." 
 
 She looked him squarely in the eyes without a word. 
 
 " Enough,'' he said 3 " go ! " 
 
 She was absent for some moments. He was beginning 
 to become uneasy, when she made her appearance again, 
 clad in her old faded black dress. Her face was very 
 pale, and her eyes were swollen, but she placed his hand 
 on her shoulder, and bidding him not to fear to lean upon 
 her, for she was quite strong, led the way. 
 
 "You look more like yourself now, and yet — blast it 
 all ! — you don't either," said Dunn, looking down upon 
 her. " You 've changed in some way. What is it ? Is 
 it on account of that Injin ? Could n't you have found a 
 white man in his place .»* " 
 
 " I reckon he 's neither worse nor better for that," she 
 replied bitterly ; "and perhaps he wasn't as particular in 
 his taste as a white man might have been. But," she 
 added, with a sudden spasm of her old rage, " it 's a lie \ 
 he 's not an Indian, no more than I am. Not unless be- 
 ing born of a mother who scarcely knew him, of a father 
 who never even saw him, and being brought up among 
 white men and wild beasts less cruel than they were, 
 could make him one ! " 
 
 Dunn looked at her in surprise not unmixed with ad- 
 miration. " If Nellie," he thought, " could but love me 
 like that ! " But he only said : 
 
 " For all that, he 's an Injin. Why, look at his name. 
 It ain't Low. It 's LEau Dormante^ Sleeping Water, an 
 Injin name." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 191 
 
 " And what does that prove ? " returned Teresa. " Only 
 that Indians clap a nickname on any stranger, white or 
 red, who may camp with them. Why, even his own fa- 
 ther, a white man, the wretch who begot him and aban- 
 doned him, — he had an Indian name — Loup Noir.^^ 
 
 " What name did you say ? " 
 
 " Le Loup Noiry the Black Wolf, I suppose you 'd call 
 him an Indian, too ? Eh .^ What 's the matter ? We 're 
 walking too fast. Stop a moment and rest. There — 
 there, lean on me ! " 
 
 She was none too soon ; for, after holding^im upright 
 a moment, his limbs failed, and stooping gently she was 
 obliged to support him half reclining against a tree. 
 
 " It 's the heat ! " he said. " Give me some whiskey 
 from my flask. Never mind the water," he added faintly, 
 with a forced laugh, after he had taken a draught at the 
 strong spirit. '* Tell me more about the other water — 
 the Sleeping Water, you know. How do you know all 
 this about him and his — father } " 
 
 " Partly from him and partly from Curson, who wrote 
 to me about him," she answered, with some hesitation. 
 
 But Dunn did not seem to notice this incongruity of 
 correspondence with a former lover. "And he told 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes j and I saw the name on an old memorandum- 
 book he has, which he says belonged to his father. It 's 
 full of old accounts of some trading post on the frontier. 
 It 's been missing for a day or two, but it will turn up. 
 But I can swear I saw it." 
 
 Dunn attempted to rise to his feet. " Put your hand in 
 my pocket," he said in a hurried whisper. " No, there ! 
 — bring out a book. There, I have n't looked at it yet. 
 Is that it ? " he added, handing her the book Brace had 
 given him a few hours before. 
 
 " Yes," said Teresa, in surprise. " Where did you find 
 it?" 
 
192 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 " Never mind ! Now let me see it, quick. Open it, 
 for my sight is failing. There — thank you — that *s 
 all!'' 
 
 " Take more whiskey," said Teresa, with a strange 
 anxiety creeping over her. " You are faint again." 
 
 " Wait ! Listen, Teresa — lower — put your ear lower. 
 Listen ! I came near killing that chap Low to-day. 
 Would n't it have been ridiculous t " 
 
 He tried to smile, but his head fell back. He had 
 fainted. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 For the first time in her life Teresa lost her presence of 
 mind in an emergency. She could only sit staring at the 
 helpless man, scarcely conscious of his condition, her 
 mind filled with a sudden prophetic intuition of the sig- 
 nificance of his last words. In the light of that new rev- 
 elation she looked into his pale, haggard face for some 
 resemblance to Low, but in vain. Yet her swift feminine 
 instinct met the objection. " It *s the mother's blood that 
 would show," she murmured, " not this man's." 
 
 Recovering herself, she began to chafe his hands and 
 temples, and moistened his lips with the spirit. When 
 his respiration returned with a faint color to his cheeks, 
 she pressed his hand eagerly and leaned over him. 
 
 '* Are you sure ? " she asked. 
 
 " Of what ? " he whispered faintly. 
 
 " That Low is really your son } " 
 
 " Who said so ? " he asked, opening his round eyes 
 upon her. 
 
 " You did yourself, a moment ago," she said quickly. 
 " Don't you remember ? " 
 
 " Did I ? " 
 
 " You did. Is it so ? " 
 
 He smiled faintly. " I reckon." 
 
 She held her breath in expectation. But only the ludi- 
 crousness of the discovery seemed paramount to his weak- 
 ened faculties. " Is n't it just about the ridiculousest thing 
 all round ? " he said, with a feeble chuckle. " First you 
 nearly kill me before you know I am Low's father ; then 
 I 'm just spoilin' to kill him before I know he 's my son ; 
 
194 ^^ i^^ Carquinez Woods. 
 
 then that god-forsaken fool Jack Brace mistakes you for 
 Nellie, and Nellie for you. Ain't it just the biggest thing 
 for the boys to get hold of ? But we must keep it dark 
 until after I marry Nellie, don't you see ? Then we 11 
 have a good time all round, and I '11 stand the drinks. 
 Think of it, Teresha ! You don' no me, I do' no you, no- 
 body knowsh anybody elsh. I try kill Lo'. Lo' wants 
 kill Nellie. No thath no ri' " — but the potent liquor, 
 overtaking his exhausted senses, thickened, impeded, and 
 at last stopped his speech. His head slipped to her 
 shoulder, and he became once more unconscious. 
 
 Teresa breathed again. In that brief moment she had 
 abandoned herself to a wild inspiration of hope which she 
 could scarcely define. Not that it was entirely a wild in- 
 spiration ; she tried to reason calmly. What if she re- 
 vealed the truth to him ? What if she told the wretched 
 man before her that she had deceived him ; that she had 
 overheard his conversation with Brace ; that she had 
 stolen Brace's horse to bring Low warning ; that, failing to 
 find Low in his accustomed haunts, or at the camp-fire, 
 she had left a note for him pinned to the herbarium, im- 
 ploring him to fly with his companion from the danger that 
 was coming ; and that, remaining on watch, she had seen 
 them both — Brace and Dunn — approaching, and had 
 prepared to meet them at the cabin ? Would this miser- 
 able and maddened man understand her self-abnegation ? 
 Would he forgive Low and Nellie ? — she did not ask for 
 herself. Or would the revelation turn his brain, if it did 
 not kill him outright ? She looked at the sunken orbits 
 of his eyes and hectic on his cheek, and shuddered. 
 
 Why was this added to the agony she already suffered 1 
 She had been willing to stand between them with her life, 
 her liberty and even — the hot blood dyed her cheek at 
 the thought — with the added shame of being thought the 
 cast-off mistress of that man's son. Yet all this she had 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 195 
 
 taken upon herself in expiation of something — she knew 
 not clearly what ; no, for nothing — only for him. And 
 yet this very situation offered her that gleam of hope which 
 had thrilled her ; a hope so wild in its improbability, so 
 degrading in its possibility, that at first she knew not 
 whether despair was not preferable to its shame. And yet 
 was it unreasonable ? She was no longer passionate \ she 
 would be calm and think it out fairly. 
 
 She would go to Low at once. She would find him 
 somewhere — and even if with that girl, what mattered ? — 
 and she would tell him all. When he knew that the life 
 and death of his father lay in the scale, would he let his 
 brief, foolish passion for Nellie stand in the way ? Even 
 if he were not influenced by filial affection or mere com- 
 passion, would his pride let him stoop to a rivalry with 
 the man who had deserted his youth ? Could he take 
 Dunn's promised bride, who must have coquetted with 
 him to have brought him to this miserable plight t Was 
 this like the calm, proud young god she knew ? Yet she 
 had an uneasy instinct that calm, proud young gods and 
 goddesses did things like this, and felt the weakness of 
 her reasoning flush her own conscious cheek. 
 
 "Teresa!'' 
 
 She started. Dunn was awake, and was gazing at her 
 curiously. 
 
 " I was reckoning it was the only square thing for Low 
 to stop this promiscuous picnicking here and marry you 
 out and out." 
 
 " Marry me ! " said Teresa in a voice that, with all her 
 efforts, she could not make cynical. 
 
 *" Yes," he repeated, " after I Ve married Nellie ; tote 
 you down to San Angeles, and there take my name like a 
 man, and give it to you. Nobody '11 ask after Teresa^ 
 sure — you bet your life. And if they do, and he can't 
 stop their jaw, just you call on the old man. It 's mighty 
 
196 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 queer, ain't it, Teresa, to think of you being my daughter- 
 in-law?" 
 
 It seemed here as if he was about to lapse again into 
 unconsciousness over the purely ludicrous aspect of the 
 subject, but he haply recovered his seriousness. " He '11 
 have as much money from me as he wants to go into 
 business with. What's his line of business, Teresa?" 
 asked this prospective father-in-law, in a large, liberal way. 
 
 " He is a botanist ! " said Teresa, with a sudden child- 
 ish animation that seemed to keep up the grim humor of 
 the paternal suggestion ; " and oh, he is too poor to buy 
 books ! I sent for one or two for him myself, the other 
 day " — she hesitated — " it was all the money I had, 
 but it was n't enough for him to go on with his studies." 
 
 Dunn looked at her sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, 
 and became thoughtful. " Curson must have been a 
 d — d fool," he said finally. 
 
 Teresa remained silent. She was beginning to be im- 
 patient and uneasy, fearing some mischance that might 
 delay her dreaded yet longed-for meeting with Low. Yet 
 she could not leave this sick and exhausted man, his 
 father^ now bound to her by more than mere humanity. 
 
 " Could n't you manage," she said gently, " to lean on 
 me a few steps further, until I could bring you to a cooler 
 spot and nearer assistance ? " 
 
 He nodded. She lifted him almost like a child to his 
 feet. A spasm of pain passed over his face. " How far 
 is it ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not more than ten minutes," she replied. 
 
 " I can make a spurt for that time," he said coolly, and 
 began to walk slowly but steadily on. Only his face, 
 which was white and set, and the convulsive grip of his 
 hand on her arm, betrayed the effort. At the end of ten 
 minutes she stopped. They stood before the splintered, 
 lightning-scarred shaft in the opening of the woods, 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 197 
 
 where Low had built her first camp-fire. She carefully 
 picked up the herbarium, but her quick eye had already 
 detected in the distance, before she had allowed Dunn to 
 enter the opening with her, that her note was gone. Low 
 had been there before them ; he had been warned, as his 
 absence from the cabin showed; he would not return 
 there. They were free from interruption — but where 
 had he gone ? 
 
 The sick man drew a long breath of relief as she seated 
 him in the clover-grown hollow where she had slept the 
 second night of her stay. " It 's cooler than those cursed 
 woods," he said. " I suppose it 's because it 's a little like 
 a grave. What are you going to do now ? " he added, 
 as she brought a cup of water and placed it at his side. 
 
 " I am going to leave you here for a little while," she 
 said cheerfully, but with a pale face and nervous hands. 
 " I 'm going to leave you while I seek Low." 
 
 The sick man raised his head. " I 'm good for a spurt, 
 Teresa, like that I Ve just got through, but I don't think 
 I 'm up to a family party. Could n't you issue cards later 
 on?" 
 
 " You don't understand," she said. " I 'm going to get 
 Low to send some one of your friends to you here. I 
 don't think he '11 begrudge leaving her a moment for 
 that," she added to herself bitterly. 
 
 " What 's that you 're saying ? " he queried, with the 
 nervous quickness of an invalid. 
 
 " Nothing — but that I 'm going now." She turned 
 her face aside to hide her moistened eyes. " Wish me 
 good luck, won't you ? " she asked, half sadly, half pet- 
 tishly. 
 
 " Come here ! " 
 
 She came and bent over him. He suddenly raised his 
 hands, and, drawing her face down to his own, kissed her 
 forehead. 
 
198 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 " Give that to him^^^ he whispered, "from me,^^ 
 
 She turned and fled, happily for her sentiment, not 
 hearing the feeble laugh that followed, as Dunn, in sheer 
 imbecility, again referred to the extravagant ludicrousness 
 of the situation. " It is about the biggest thing in the 
 way of a sell all round," he repeated, lying on his back, 
 confidentially to the speck of smoke-obscured sky above 
 him. He pictured himself repeating it, not to Nellie — 
 her severe propriety might at last overlook the fact, but 
 would not tolerate the joke — but to her father ! It 
 would be just one of those characteristic Californian jokes 
 Father Wynn would admire. 
 
 To his exhaustion fever presently succeeded, and he 
 began to grow restless. The heat too seemed to invade 
 his retreat, and from time to time the little patch of blue 
 sky was totally obscured by clouds of smoke- He 
 amused himself with watching a lizard who was investi- 
 gating a folded piece of paper, whose elasticity gave the 
 little creature lively apprehensions of its vitality. At 
 last he could stand the stillness of his retreat and his 
 supine position no longer, and rolled himself out of the 
 bed of leaves that Teresa had so carefully prepared for 
 him. He rose to his feet stiff and sore, and, supporting 
 himself by the nearest tree, moved a few steps from the 
 dead ashes of the camp-fire. The movement frightened 
 the lizard, who abandoned the paper and fled. With a 
 satirical recollection of Brace and his " ridiculous " discov- 
 ery through the medium of this animal, he stooped and 
 picked up the paper. " Like as not,'* he said to himself, 
 with grim irony, " these yer lizards are in the discovery 
 business. P'r'aps this may lead to another mystery ; " 
 and he began to unfold the paper with a smile. But the 
 smile ceased as his eye suddenly caught his own name. 
 
 A dozen lines were written in pencil on what seemed 
 to be a blank leaf originally torn from some book. He 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 199 
 
 trembled so that he was obliged to sit down to read these 
 words : — 
 
 " When you get this keep away from the woods. Dunn 
 and another man are in deadly pursuit of you and your 
 companion. I overheard their plan to surprise you in 
 our cabin. Don't go there^ and I will delay them and put 
 them off the scent. Don't mind me. God bless you, and 
 if you never see me again think sometimes of 
 
 Teresa." 
 
 His trembling ceased ; he did not start, but rose in an 
 abstracted way, and made a few deliberate steps in the 
 direction Teresa had gone. Even then he was so con- 
 fused that he was obliged to refer to the paper again, but 
 with so little effect that he could only repeat the last 
 words, " think sometimes of Teresa." He was conscious 
 that this was not all ; he had a full conviction of being 
 deceived, and knew that he held the proof in his hand, 
 but he could not formulate it beyond that sentence. 
 "Teresa" — yes, he would think of her. She would 
 think of him. She would explain it. And here she was 
 returning. 
 
 In that brief interval her face and manner had again 
 changed. She was pale and quite breathless. She cast 
 a swift glance at Dunn and the paper he mechanically 
 held out, walked up to him, and tore it from his hand. 
 
 "Well," she said hoarsely, "what are you going to do 
 about it ? " 
 
 He attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. 
 Even then he was conscious that if he had spoken he 
 would have only repeated, " think sometimes of Teresa." 
 He looked longingly but helplessly at the spot where she 
 had thrown the paper, as if it had contained his unut- 
 tered words. 
 
200 In the Carqtiinez Woods. 
 
 "Yes," she went on to herself, as if he was a mute, 
 indifferent spectator — "yes, they 're gone. That ends it 
 all. The game 's played out. Well ! " suddenly turning 
 upon him, " now you know it all. Your Nellie was here 
 with him, and is with him now. Do you hear ? Make 
 the most of it ; you Ve lost them — but here I am." 
 
 " Yes," he said eagerly — " yes, Teresa." 
 
 She stopped, stared at him ; then taking him by the 
 hand led him like a child back to his couch. "Well," 
 she said, in half-savage explanation, " I told you the truth 
 when I said the girl was n't at the cabin last night, and 
 that I did n't know her. What are you glowerin' at? 
 No ! I have n't lied to you, I swear to God, except in one 
 thing. Do you know what that was ? To save him I took 
 upon me a shame I don't deserve. I let you think I was 
 his mistress. You think so now, don't you ? Well, before 
 God to-day — and He may take me when He likes — I 'm 
 no more to him than a sister ! I reckon your Nellie can't 
 say as much." 
 
 She turned away, and with the quick, impatient stride 
 of some caged animal made the narrow circuit of the 
 opening, stopping a moment mechanically before the sick 
 man, and again, without looking at him, continuing her 
 monotonous round. The heat had become excessive, but 
 she held her shawl with both hands drawn tightly over 
 her shoulders. Suddenly a wood-duck darted out of the 
 covert blindly into the opening, struck against the blasted 
 trunk, fell half stunned near her feet, and then, recover- 
 ing, fluttered away. She had scarcely completed another 
 circuit before the irruption was followed by a whirring 
 bevy of quail, a flight of jays, and a sudden tumult of 
 wings swept through the wood like a tornado. She 
 turned inquiringly to Dunn, who had risen to his feet, but 
 the next moment she caught convulsively at his wrist : 
 a wolf had just dashed through the underbrush not a 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 201 
 
 dozen yards away, and on either side of them they could 
 hear the scamper and rustle of hurrying feet like the 
 outburst of a summer shower. A cold wind arose from 
 the opposite direction, as if to contest this wild exodus, 
 but it was followed by a blast of sickening heat. Teresa 
 sank at Dunn's feet in an agony of terror. 
 
 " Don't let them touch me ! " she gasped ; " keep them 
 off ! Tell me, for God's sake, what has happened ! " 
 
 He laid his hand firmly on her arm, and lifted her in 
 his turn to her feet like a child. In that supreme mo- 
 ment of physical danger, his strength, reason, and man- 
 hood returned in their plenitude of power. He pointed 
 coolly to the trail she had quitted, and said : 
 
 " The Carquinez Woods are on fire ! " 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 The nest of the tuneful Burnhams, although in the 
 suburbs of Indian Spring, was not in ordinary weather 
 and seasons hidden from the longing eyes of the youth of 
 that settlement. That night, however, it was veiled in the 
 smoke that encompassed the great highway leading to 
 Excelsior. It is presumed that the Burnham brood had 
 long since folded their wings, for there was no sign of life 
 nor movement in the house as a rapidly driven horse and 
 buggy pulled up before it. Fortunately, the paternal 
 Burnham was an early bird, in the habit of picking up 
 the first stirring mining worm, and a resounding knock 
 brought him half dressed to the street door. He was 
 startled at seeing Father Wynn before him, a trifle flushed 
 and abstracted. 
 
 " Ah ha ! up betimes, I see, and ready. No sluggards 
 here — ha, ha ! " he said heartily, slamming the door be- 
 hind him, and by a series of pokes in the ribs genially 
 backing his host into his own sitting-room. '* I 'm up, 
 too, and am here to see Nellie. She's here, eh — of 
 course ? " he added, darting a quick look at Burnham. 
 
 But Mr. Burnham was one of those large, liberal West- 
 em husbands who classified his household under the 
 general title of "woman folk," for the integers of which 
 he was not responsible. He hesitated, and then pro- 
 pounded over the balusters to the upper story the direct 
 query — "You don't happen to have Nellie Wynn up 
 there, do ye ? " 
 
 There was an interval of inquiry proceeding from half 
 a dozen reluctant throats, more or less cottony and muf- 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 203 
 
 fled, in those various degrees of grievance and mental 
 distress which indicate too early roused young woman- 
 hood. The eventual reply seemed to be affirmative, al- 
 beit accompanied with a suppressed giggle, as if the 
 young lady had just been discovered as an answer to an 
 amusing conundrum. 
 
 " All right,'* said Wynn, with an apparent accession of 
 boisterous geniality. " Tell her I must see her, and I Ve 
 only got a few minutes to spare. Tell her to slip on any- 
 thing and come down ; there 's no one here but myself, 
 and I Ve shut the front door on Brother Burnham. Ha, 
 ha ! " and suiting the action to the word, he actually 
 bundled the admiring Brother Burnham out on his own 
 doorstep. There was a light pattering on the staircase, 
 and Nellie Wynn, pink with sleep, very tall, very slim, 
 hastily draped in a white counterpane with a blue border 
 and a general classic suggestion, slipped into the parlor. 
 At the same moment the father shut the door behind her, 
 placed one hand on the knob, and with the other seized 
 her wrist. 
 
 ** Where were you yesterday .? " he asked. 
 
 Nellie looked at him, shrugged her shoulders, and said, 
 " Here.'' 
 
 " You were in the Carquinez Woods with Low Dorman ; 
 you went there in disguise ; you 've met him there before. 
 He is your clandestine lover ; you have taken pledges of 
 affection from him ; you have " — 
 
 " Stop ! " she said. 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 " Did he tell you this ? " she asked, with an expression 
 of disdain. 
 
 "No; I overheard it. Dunn and Brace were at the 
 house waiting for you. When the coach did not bring 
 you, I went to the office to inquire. As I left our door I 
 thought I saw somebody listening at the parlor windows. 
 
204 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 It was only a drunken Mexican muleteer leaning against 
 the house ; but if >^^ heard nothing, /did. Nellie, I heard 
 Brace tell Dunn that he had tracked you in your disguise 
 to the woods — do you hear ? that when you pretended to 
 be here with the girls you were with Low — alone ; that 
 you wear a ring that Low got of a trader here ; that there 
 was a cabin in the woods " — 
 
 ** Stop ! " she repeated. 
 
 Wynn again paused. 
 
 ** And what did you do ? " she asked. 
 
 " I heard they were starting down there to surprise you 
 and him together, and I harnessed up and got ahead of 
 them in my buggy. *' 
 
 "And found me here," she said, looking full into his 
 eyes. 
 
 He understood her and returned the look. He recog- 
 nized the full importance of the culminating fact con- 
 veyed in her words, and was obliged to content himself 
 with its logical and worldly significance. It was too late 
 now to take her to task for mere filial disobedience ; they 
 must become allies. 
 
 "Yes," he said hurriedly ; "but if you value your repu- 
 tation, if you wish to silence both these men, answer me 
 fully." 
 
 " Go on," she said. 
 
 " Did you go to the cabin in the woods yesterday ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Did you ever go there with Low ? " 
 
 " No j I do not know even where it is." 
 
 Wynn felt that she was telling the truth. Nellie knew 
 it ; but as she would have been equally satisfied with 
 an equally efficacious falsehood, her face remained un- 
 changed. 
 
 " And when did he leave you ? " 
 
 " At nine o'clock, here. He went to the hotel." 
 
In the Carqui7iez Woods. 205 
 
 " He saved his life, then, for Dunn is on his way to the 
 woods to kill him.'' 
 
 The jeopardy of her lover did not seem to affect the 
 young girl with alarm, although her eyes betrayed some 
 interest. 
 
 " Then Dunn has gone to the woods ? " she said thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " He has," replied Wynn. 
 
 " Is that all ? " she asked. 
 
 " I want to know what you are going to do ? " 
 
 "I was going back to bed." 
 
 " This is no time for trifling, girl." 
 
 " I should think not," she said, with a yawn ; " it 's too 
 early, or too late." 
 
 Wynn grasped her wrist more tightly. " Hear me ! 
 Put whatever face you like on this affair, you are com- 
 promised — and compromised with a man you can't 
 marry." 
 
 " I don't know that I ever wanted to marry Low, if you 
 mean him," she said quietly. 
 
 " And Dunn would n't marry you now." 
 
 " I 'm not so sure of that either." 
 
 "Nellie," said Wynn excitedly, "do you want to drive 
 me mad ? Have you nothing to say — nothing to sug- 
 gest ? " 
 
 " Oh, you want me to help you, do you ? Why did n't 
 you say that first ? Well, go and bring Dunn here." 
 
 " Are you mad ? The man has gone already in pursuit 
 of your lover, believing you with him." 
 
 " Then he will the more readily come and talk with me 
 without him. Will you take the invitation — yes or no ? " 
 
 " Yes, but " — 
 
 "Enough. On your way there you will stop at the 
 hotel and give Low a letter from me." 
 
 " Nellie ! " 
 
2o6 In the Carquinez Woods, 
 
 " You shall read it, of course," she said scornfully, " for 
 it will be your text for the conversation you will have with 
 him. Will you please take your hand from the lock and 
 open the door ? " 
 
 Wynn mechanically opened the door. The young girl 
 flew up-stairs. In a very few moments she returned with 
 two notes : one contained a few lines of formal invitation 
 to Dunn ; the other read as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Mr. Dorman : My father will tell you how 
 deeply I regret that our recent botanical excursions in 
 the Carquinez Woods have been a source of serious mis- 
 apprehension to those who had a claim to my considera- 
 tion, and that I shall be obliged to discontinue them for 
 the future. At the same time he wishes me to express 
 my gratitude for your valuable instruction and assistance 
 in that pleasing study, even though approaching events 
 may compel me to relinquish it for other duties. May I 
 beg you to accept the enclosed ring as a slight recogni- 
 tion of my obligations to you 1 
 
 ^* Your grateful pupil, 
 
 " Nellie Wynn." 
 
 When he had finished reading the letter, she handed 
 him a ring, which he took mechanically. He raised his 
 eyes to hers with perfectly genuine admiration. " You 're 
 a good girl, Nellie," he said, and, in a moment of pa- 
 rental forgetfulness, unconsciously advanced his lips 
 towards her cheek. But she drew back in time to recall 
 him to a sense of that human weakness. 
 
 " I suppose I '11 have time for a nap yet," she said, 
 as a gentle hint to her embarrassed parent. He nodded 
 and turned towards the door. 
 
 "If I were you," she continued, repressing a yawn, 
 " I'd manage to be seen on good terms with Low at the 
 
In the Carqtiinez Woods. 207 
 
 hotel j so perhaps you need not give the letter to him 
 until the last thing. Good-by." 
 
 The sitting-room door opened and closed behind her 
 as she slipped up-stairs, and her father, without the for- 
 mality of leave-taking, quietly let himself out by the front 
 door. 
 
 When he drove into the highroad again, however, an 
 overlooked possibility threatened for a moment to indefi- 
 nitely postpone his amiable intentions regarding Low. 
 The hotel was at the farther end of the settlement toward 
 the Carquinez Woods, and as Wynn had nearly reached 
 it he was recalled to himself by the sounds of hoofs and 
 wheels rapidly approaching from the direction of the Ex- 
 celsior turnpike. Wynn made no doubt it was the sheriff 
 and Brace. To avoid recognition at that moment, he 
 whipped up his horse, intending to keep the lead until he 
 could turn into the first cross-road. But the coming 
 travelers had the fleetest horse ; and finding it impossible 
 to distance them, he drove close to the ditch, pulling up 
 suddenly as the strange vehicle was abreast of him, and 
 forcing them to pass him at full speed, with the result 
 already chronicled. When they had vanished in the 
 darkness, Mr. Wynn, with a heart overflowing with Chris- 
 tian thankfulness and universal benevolence, wheeled 
 round, and drove back to the hotel he had already passed. 
 To pull up at the veranda with a stentorian shout, to 
 thump loudly at the deserted bar, to hilariously beat the 
 panels of the landlord's door, and commit a jocose assault 
 and battery upon that half-dressed and half-awakened 
 man, was eminently characteristic of Wynn, and part of 
 his amiable plans that morning. 
 
 " Something to wash this wood smoke from my throat, 
 Brother Carter, and about as much again to prop open 
 your eyes," he said, dragging Carter before the bar, " and 
 glasses round for as many of the boys as are up and stir- 
 
2o8 In the Carquinez Woods, 
 
 ring after a hard-working Christian's rest. How goes 
 the honest publican's trade, and who have we here ? " 
 
 " Thar 's Judge Robinson and two lawyers from Sacra- 
 mento, Dick Curson over from Yolo,'* said Carter, " and 
 that ar young Injin yarb doctor from the Carquinez 
 Woods. I reckon he 's jist up — I noticed a light under 
 his door as I passed." 
 
 " He 's my man for a friendly chat before breakfast," 
 said Wynn. " You need n't come up. I '11 find the way. 
 I don't want a light; I reckon my eyes ain't as bright 
 nor as young as his, but they '11 see almost as far in the 
 dark — he-he ! " And, nodding to Brother Carter, he 
 strode along the passage, and with no other introduction 
 than a playful and preliminary " Boo ! " burst into one of 
 the rooms. Low, who by the light of a single candle was 
 bending over the plates of a large quarto, merely raised 
 his eyes and looked at the intruder. The young man's 
 natural imperturbability, always exasperating to Wynn, 
 seemed accented that morning by contrast with his own 
 over-acted animation. 
 
 " Ah ha ! — wasting the midnight oil instead of imbib- 
 ing the morning dews," said Father Wynn archly, illus- 
 trating his metaphor with a movement of his hand to his 
 lips. " What have we here ? " 
 
 " An anonymous gift," replied Low simply, recognizing 
 the father of Nellie by rising from his chair. " It 's a vol- 
 ume I 've longed to possess, but never could afford to buy. 
 I cannot imagine who sent it to me." 
 
 Wynn was for a moment startled by the thought that this 
 recipient of valuable gifts might have influential friends- 
 But a glance at the bare room, which looked like a camp, 
 and the strange, unconventional garb of its occupant, re- 
 stored his former convictions. There might be a promise 
 of intelligence, but scarcely of prosperity, in the figure 
 before him. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 209 
 
 " Ah ! We must not forget that we are watched over 
 in the night season," he said, laying his hand on Low's 
 shoulder, with an illustration of celestial guardianship 
 that would have been impious but for its palpable gro- 
 tesqueness. " No, sir, we know not what a day may bring 
 forth.'' 
 
 Unfortunately, Low's practical mind did not go beyond 
 a mere human interpretation. It was enough, however, 
 to put a new light in his eye and a faint color in his 
 cheek. 
 
 " Could it have been Miss Nellie ? '^ he asked, with 
 half-boyish hesitation. 
 
 Mr. Wynn was too much of a Christian not to bow be- 
 fore what appeared to him the purely providential inter- 
 position of this suggestion. Seizing it and Low at the 
 same moment, he playfully forced him down again in his 
 chair. 
 
 " Ah, you rascal ! " he said, with infinite archness ; 
 " that 's your game, is it ? You want to trap poor Father 
 Wynn. You want to make him say * No.' You want to 
 tempt him to commit himself. No, sir ! — never, sir ! — no, 
 no ! " 
 
 Firmly convinced that the present was Nellie's and that 
 her father only good-humoredly guessed it, the young 
 man's simple, truthful nature was embarrassed. He 
 longed to express his gratitude, but feared to betray the 
 young girl's trust. The Reverend Mr. Wynn speedily 
 relieved his mind. 
 
 " No," he continued, bestriding a chair, and familiarly 
 confronting Low over its back. " No, sir — no ! And you 
 want me to say * No,' don't you, regarding the little walks 
 of Nellie and a certain young man in the Carquinez 
 Woods? — ha, ha! You'd like me to say that I knew 
 nothing of the botknizings, and the herb collectings, and 
 the picnickings there — he-he ! — you sly dog ! Perhaps 
 
2IO In the Carguinez Woods. 
 
 you 'd like to tempt Father Wynn further and make him 
 swear he knows nothing of his daughter disguising herself 
 in a duster and meeting another young man — isn't it 
 another young man ? — all alone, eh ? Perhaps you want 
 poor old Father Wynn to say ' No.' No, sir, nothing of 
 the kind ever occurred. Ah, you young rascal ! " 
 
 Slightly troubled, in spite of Wynn's hearty manner. 
 Low, with his usual directness however, said, " I do not 
 want any one to deny that I have seen Miss Nellie." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly,'' said Wynn, abandoning his 
 method, considerably disconcerted by Low's simplicity, 
 and a certain natural reserve that shook off his familiarity. 
 '' Certainly it 's a noble thing to be able to put your hand 
 on your heart and say to the world, * Come on, all of you ! 
 Observe me ; I have nothing to conceal. I walk with 
 Miss Wynn in the woods as her instructor — her teacher, 
 in fact. We cull a flower here and there ; we pluck an 
 herb fresh from the hand of the Creator. We look, so to 
 speak, from Nature to Nature's God.' Yes, my young 
 friend, we should be the first to repel the foul calumny 
 that could misinterpret our most innocent actions." 
 
 " Calumny ? " repeated Low, starting to his feet. ** What 
 calumny ? " 
 
 "My friend, my noble young friend, I recognize your 
 indignation. I know your worth. When I said to Nellie, 
 my only child, my perhaps too simple offspring — a mere 
 wildflower like yourself — when I said to her, * Go, my 
 child, walk in the woods with this young man, hand in 
 hand. Let him instruct you from the humblest roots, for 
 he has trodden in the ways of the Almighty. Gather 
 wisdom from his lips, and knowledge from his simple 
 woodman's craft. Make, in fact, a collection not only of 
 herbs, but of moral axioms and experience,' — I knew I 
 could trust you, and, trusting you, my young friend, I felt I 
 could trust the world. Perhaps I was weak, foolish. But 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 211 
 
 I thought only of her welfare. I even recall how that, to 
 preserve the purity of her garments, I bade her don a 
 simple duster; that, to secure her from the trifling com- 
 panionship of others, I bade her keep her own counsel, 
 and seek you at seasons known but to yourselves." 
 
 " But . . . did Nellie . . . understand you ? " inter- 
 rupted Low hastily. 
 
 " I see you read her simple nature. Understand me ? 
 No, not at first ! Her maidenly instinct — perhaps her 
 duty to another — took the alarm. I remember her words. 
 * But what will Dunn say ? ' she asked. * Will he not be 
 jealous ? ' " 
 
 " Dunn ! jealous ! I don't understand," said Low, fix- 
 ing his eyes on Wynn. 
 
 "That's just what I said to Nellie. * Jealous!' I 
 said. * What, Dunn, your affianced husband, jealous of 
 a mere friend — a teacher, a guide, a philosopher. It is 
 impossible.' Well, sir, she was right. He is jealous. 
 And, more than that, he has imparted his jealousy to 
 others ! In other words, he has made a scandal ! " 
 
 Low's eyes flashed. " Where is your daughter now ? " 
 he said sternly. 
 
 "At present in bed, suffering from a nervous attack 
 brought on by these unjust suspicions. She appreciates 
 your anxiety, and, knowing that you could not see her, 
 told me to give you this." He handed Low the ring and 
 the letter. 
 
 The climax had been forced, and, it must be confessed, 
 was by no means the one Mr. Wynn had fully arranged 
 in his own inner consciousness. He had intended to take 
 an ostentatious leave of Low in the bar-room, deliver the 
 letter with archness, and escape before a possible explo- 
 sion. He consequently backed towards the door for an 
 emergency. But he was again at fault. That unaffected 
 stoical fortitude in acute suffering, which was the one 
 
212 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 remaining pride and glory of Low's race, was yet to be 
 revealed to Wynn's civilized eyes. 
 
 The young man took the letter, and read it without 
 changing a muscle, folded the ring in it, and dropped it 
 into his haversack. Then he picked up his blanket, threw 
 it over his shoulder, took his trusty rifle in his hand, and 
 turned toward Wynn as if coldly surprised that he was 
 still standing there. 
 
 " Are you — are you — going ? " stammered Wynn. 
 
 *' Are you notV^ replied Low dryly, leaning on his rifle 
 for a moment as if waiting for Wynn to precede him. 
 The preacher looked at him a moment, mumbled some- 
 thing, and then shambled feebly and ineffectively down 
 the staircase before Low, with a painful suggestion to the 
 ordinary observer of being occasionally urged thereto by 
 the moccasin of the young man behind him. 
 
 On reaching the lower hall, however, he endeavored to 
 create a diversion in his favor by dashing into the bar- 
 room and clapping the occupants on the back with indis- 
 criminate playfulness. But here again he seemed to be 
 disappointed. To his great discomfiture, a large man not 
 only returned his salutation with powerful levity, but with 
 equal playfulness seized him in his arms, and after an 
 ingenious simulation of depositing him in the horse- 
 trough set him down in affected amazement. " Bleth 't if I 
 did n't think from the weight of your hand it wath my old 
 friend, Thacramento Bill,'' said Curson apologetically, 
 with a wink at the bystanders. ** That 'th the way Bill 
 alwayth uthed to tackle hith friendth, till he wath one day 
 bounthed by a prithe-fighter in Frithco, whom he had 
 mithtaken for a mithionary." As Mr. Curson's reputation 
 was of a quality that made any form of apology from 
 him instantly acceptable, the amused spectators made 
 way for him as, recognizing Low, who was just leaving 
 the hotel, he turned coolly from them and walked 
 towards him. 
 
In the Carquinez Woods, 213 
 
 ** Halloo ! " he said, extending his hand. " You 're the 
 man I 'm waiting for. Did you get a book from the 
 exthpreth offithe latht night ? " 
 
 " I did. Why ? " 
 
 " It 'th all right. Ath I 'm rethponthible for it, I only 
 wanted to know." 
 
 " Did you send it t " asked Low, quickly fixing his eyes 
 on his face. 
 
 " Well, not exactly me. But it 'th not worth making 
 a mythtery of it. Teretha gave me a commithion to 
 buy it and thend it to you anonymouthly. That 'th a 
 woman 'th nonthenth, for how could thee get a retheipt 
 for it?" 
 
 " Then it was her present," said Low gloomily. 
 
 "Of courthe. It wath n't mine, my boy. I'd have 
 thent you a Tharp'th rifle in plathe of that muthle loader 
 you carry, or thomething thenthible. But, I thay ! what 'th 
 up ? You look ath if you had been running all night." 
 
 Low grasped his hand. " Thank you," he said hur- 
 riedly; "but it's nothing. Only I must be back to the 
 woods early. Good-by." 
 
 But Curson retained Low's hand in his own powerful 
 
 grip. 
 
 " I '11 go with you a bit further," he said. " In fact, 
 I 've got thomething to thay to you ; only don't be in 
 thuch a hurry; the woodth can wait till you get there." 
 Quietly compelling Low to alter his own characteristic 
 Indian stride to keep pace with his, he went on: *'I 
 don't mind thaying I rather cottoned to you from the time 
 you acted like a white man — no ofTenthe — to Teretha. 
 She thayth you were left when a child lying round, jutht 
 ath promithcuouthly ath she wath ; and if I can do any- 
 thing tbwardth putting you on the trail of your people, 
 I '11 do it. I know thome of the voyagetirth who traded 
 with the Cherokeeth, and your father wath one — was n't 
 
2 14 -^^ i^^ Carquinez Woods. 
 
 he ? " He glanced at Low's utterly abstracted and im- 
 mobile face. " I thay, you don't theem to take a hand 
 in thith game, pardner. What 'th the row ? Ith anything 
 wrong over there?" and he pointed to the Carquinez 
 Woods, which were just looming out of the morning 
 horizon in the distance. 
 
 Low stopped. The last words of his companion seemed 
 to recall him to himself. He raised his eyes automati- 
 cally to the woods, and started. 
 
 " There is something wrong over there,'' he said breath- 
 lessly. " Look ! " 
 
 " I thee nothing," said Curson, beginning to doubt 
 Low's sanity ; " nothing more than I thaw an hour ago." 
 
 " Look again. Don't you see that smoke rising straight 
 up ? It is n't blown over from the Divide ; it 's new 
 smoke ! The fire is in the woods ! " 
 
 " I reckon that 'th so," muttered Curson, shading his 
 eyes with his hand. " But, hullo ! wait a minute ! We '11 
 get hortheth. I say ! " he shouted, forgetting his lisp in 
 his excitement — *' stop ! " But Low had already lowered 
 his head and darted forward like an arrow. 
 
 In a few moments he had left not only his companion 
 but the last straggling houses of the outskirts far behind 
 him, and had struck out in a long, swinging trot for the 
 disused "cut-off." Already he fancied he heard the note 
 of clamor in Indian Spring, and thought he distinguished 
 the sound of hurrying hoofs on the great highway. But 
 the sunken trail hid it from his view. From the column 
 of smoke now plainly visible in the growing morning 
 light he tried to locate the scene of the conflagration. It 
 was evidently not a fire advancing regularly from the 
 outer skirt of the wood, communicated to it from the 
 Divide ; it was a local outburst near its centre. It was 
 not in the direction of his cabin in the tree. There was 
 no immediate danger to Teresa, unless fear drove her 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 215 
 
 beyond the confines of the wood into the hands of those 
 who might recognize her. The screaming of jays and 
 ravens above his head quickened his speed, as it her- 
 alded the rapid advance of the flames ; and the unex- 
 pected apparition of a bounding body, flattened and flying 
 over the yellow plain, told him that even the secure 
 retreat of the mountain wild-cat had been invaded. A 
 sudden recollection of Teresa's uncontrollable terror that 
 first night smote him with remorse and redoubled his 
 efforts. Alone in the track of these frantic and bewildered 
 beasts, to what madness might she not be driven ! 
 
 The sharp crack of a rifle from the highroad turned 
 his course momentarily in that direction. The smoke 
 was curling lazily over the heads of a party of men in the 
 road, while the huge bulk of a grizzly was disappearing 
 in the distance. A battue of the escaping animals had 
 commenced ! In the bitterness of his heart he caught at 
 the horrible suggestion, and resolved to save her from 
 them or die with her there. 
 
 How fast he ran, or the time it took him to reach the 
 woods, has never been known. Their outlines were al- 
 ready hidden when he entered them. To a sense less 
 keen, a courage less desperate, and a purpose less unal- 
 tered than Low's, the wood would have been impenetra- 
 ble. The central fire was still confined to the lofty tree- 
 tops, but the downward rush of wind from time to time 
 drove the smoke into the aisles in blinding and suffo- 
 cating volumes. To simulate the creeping animals, and 
 fall to the ground on hands and knees, feel his way 
 through the underbrush when the smoke was densest, or 
 take advantage of its momentary lifting, and without un- 
 certainty, mistake, or hesitation glide from tree to tree in 
 one undeviating course, was possible only to an experi- 
 enced woodsman. To keep his reason and insight so 
 clear as to be able in the midst of this bewildering con- 
 
2i6 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 fusion to shape that course so as to intersect the wild and 
 unknown tract of an inexperienced, frightened wanderer 
 belonged to Low, and to Low alone. He was making his 
 way against the wind towards the fire. He had reasoned 
 that she was either in comparative safety to windward of 
 it, or he should meet her being driven towards him by it, 
 or find her succumbed and fainting at its feet. To do 
 this he must penetrate the burning belt, and then pass 
 under the blazing dome. He was already upon it ; he 
 could see the falling fire dropping like rain or blown like 
 gorgeous blossoms of the conflagration across his path. 
 The space was lit up brilliantly. The vast shafts of dull 
 copper cast no shadow below, but there was no sign nor 
 token of any human being. For a moment the young 
 man was at fault. It was true this hidden heart of the 
 forest bore no undergrowth ; the cool matted carpet of 
 the aisles seemed to quench the glowing fragments as 
 they fell. Escape might be difficult, but not impossible ; 
 yet every moment was precious. He leaned against a 
 tree, and sent his voice like a clarion before him : 
 " Teresa ! " There was no reply. He called again. A 
 faint cry at his back from the trail he had just traversed 
 made him turn. Only a few paces behind him, blinded 
 and staggering, but following like a beaten and wounded 
 animal, Teresa halted, knelt, clasped her hands, and 
 dumbly held them out before her. " Teresa ! " he cried 
 again, and sprang to her side. 
 
 She caught him by the knees, and lifted her face im- 
 ploringly to his. 
 
 *^ Say that again ! " she cried, passionately. " Tell me 
 it was Teresa you called, and no other ! You have come 
 back for me ! You would not let me die here alone ! " 
 
 He lifted her tenderly in his arms, and cast a rapid 
 glance around him. It might have been his fancy, but 
 there seemed a dull glow in the direction he had come. 
 
In the Carqiiinez Woods. 217 
 
 " You do not speak ! '' she said. " Tell me ! You did 
 not come here to seek her ? '' 
 
 " Whom ? " he said quickly. 
 
 " Nellie ! " 
 
 With a sharp cry he let her slip to the ground. All 
 the pent-up agony, rage, and mortification of the last 
 hour broke from him in that inarticulate outburst. Then, 
 catching her hands again, he dragged her to his level. 
 
 " Hear me ! " he cried, disregarding the whirling smoke 
 and the fiery baptism that sprinkled them — " hear me ! 
 If you value your life, if you value your soul, and if you 
 do not want me to cast you to the beasts like Jezebel of 
 old, never — never take that accursed name again upon 
 your lips. Seek her — her ? Yes ! Seek her to tie her 
 like a witch's daughter of hell to that blazing tree ! " He 
 stopped. "Forgive me," he said in a changed voice. 
 " I *m mad, and forgetting myself and you. Come." 
 
 Without noticing the expression of half savage delight 
 that had passed across her face, he lifted her in his 
 arms. 
 
 " Which way are you going } " she asked, passing her 
 hands vaguely across his breast, as if to reassure herself 
 of his identity. 
 
 " To our camp by the scarred tree," he replied. 
 
 " Not there, not there," she said, hurriedly. " I was 
 driven from there just now. I thought the fire began 
 there until I came here." 
 
 Then it was as he feared. Obeying the same mysteri- 
 ous law that had launched this fatal fire like a thunder- 
 bolt from the burning mountain crest five miles away into 
 the heart of the Carquinez Woods, it had again leaped a 
 mile beyond, and was hemming them between two narrow- 
 ing lines of fire. But Low was not daunted. Retracing 
 his steps through the blinding smoke, he strode off at 
 right angles to the trail near the point where he had en- 
 
2i8 In the Carquinez Woods, 
 
 tered the wood. It was the spot where he had first lifted 
 Nellie in his arms to carry her to the hidden spring. If 
 any recollection of it crossed his mind at that moment, it 
 was only shown in his redoubled energy. He did not 
 glide through the thick underbrush, as on that day, but 
 seemed to take a savage pleasure in breaking through it 
 with sheer brute force. Once Teresa insisted upon re- 
 lieving him of the burden of her weight, but after a few 
 steps she staggered blindly against him, and would fain 
 have recourse once more to his strong arms. And so, 
 alternately staggering, bending, crouching,, or bounding 
 and crashing on, but always in one direction, they burst 
 through the jealous rampart, and came upon the sylvan 
 haunt of the hidden spring. The great angle of the half 
 fallen tree acted as a barrier to the wind and drifting 
 smoke, and the cool spring sparkled and bubbled in the 
 almost translucent air. He laid her down beside the 
 water, and bathed her face and hands. As he did so 
 his quick eye caught sight of a woman's handkerchief 
 lying at the foot of the disrupted root. Dropping Te- 
 resa's hand, he walked towards it, and with the toe of his 
 moccasin gave it one vigorous kick into the ooze at the 
 overflow of the spring. He turned to Teresa, but she 
 evidently had not noticed the act. 
 
 " Where are you ? " she asked, with a smile. 
 
 Something in her movement struck him. He came 
 towards her, and bending down looked into her face. 
 
 " Teresa ! Good God ! — look at me ! What has hap- 
 pened ?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. There was a slight film 
 across them ; the lids were blackened ; the beautiful 
 lashes gone forever ! 
 
 " I see you a little now, I think,'' she said, with a 
 smile, passing her hands vaguely over his face. " It 
 must have happened when he fainted, and I had to drag 
 
In the Carqninez Woods. 219 
 
 him through the blazing brush \ both my hands were full, 
 and I could not cover my eyes." 
 
 '' Drag whom ? " said Low, quickly. 
 
 " Why, Dunn." 
 
 " Dunn ! He here ? " said Low, hoarsely. 
 
 " Yes j did n't you read the note I left on the herba- 
 rium ? Did n't you come to the camp-fire ? " she asked 
 hurriedly, clasping his hands. " Tell me quickly ! '* 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Then you were not there — then you did n't leave me 
 to die ? " 
 
 " No ! I swear it, Teresa ! " the stoicism that had up- 
 held his own agony breaking down before her strong emo- 
 tion. 
 
 " Thank God ! " She threw her arms around him, and 
 hid her aching eyes in his troubled breast. 
 
 " Tell me all, Teresa," he whispered in her listening 
 ear. " Don't move ; stay there, and tell me all." 
 
 With her face buried in his bosom, as if speaking to 
 his heart alone, she told him part, but not all. With her 
 eyes filled with tears, but a smile on her lips, radiant with 
 new-found happiness, she told him how she had overheard 
 the plans of Dunn and Brace, how she had stolen their 
 conveyance to warn him in time. But here she stopped, 
 dreading to say a word that would shatter the hope she 
 was building upon his sudden revulsion of feeling for 
 Nellie. She could not bring herself to repeat their inter- 
 view — that would come later, when they were safe and 
 out of danger ; now not even the secret of his birth must 
 come between them with its distraction, to mar their per- 
 fect communion. She faltered that Dunn had fainted 
 from weakness, and that she had dragged him out of 
 danger. " He will never interfere with us — I mean," 
 she said softly, " with me again. I can promise you that 
 as well as if he had sworn it." 
 
220 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 " Let him pass now," said Low ; " that will come later 
 on," he added, unconsciously repeating her thought in a 
 tone that made her heart sick. " But tell me, Teresa, 
 why did you go to Excelsior ? " 
 
 She buried her head still deeper, as if to hide it. He 
 felt her broken heart beat against his own ; he was con- 
 scious of a depth of feeling her rival had never awakened 
 in him. The possibility of Teresa loving him had never 
 occurred to his simple nature. He bent his head and 
 kissed her. She was frightened, and unloosed her cling- 
 ing arms ; but he retained her hand, and said, "We will 
 leave this accursed place, and you shall go with me as 
 you said you would ; nor need you ever leave me, unless 
 you wish it." 
 
 She could hear the beating of her own heart through 
 his words ; she longed to look at the eyes and lips that 
 told her this, and read the meaning his voice alone could 
 not entirely convey. For the first time she felt the loss 
 of her sight. She did not know that it was, in this mo- 
 ment of happiness, the last blessing vouchsafed to her 
 miserable life. 
 
 A few moments of silence followed, broken only by the 
 distant rumor of the conflagration and the crash of falling 
 boughs. " It may be an hour yet," he whispered, " before 
 the fire has swept a path for us to the road below. We 
 are safe here, unless some sudden current should draw 
 the fire down upon us. You are not frightened ? " She 
 pressed his hand \ she was thinking of the pale face of 
 Dunn, lying in the secure retreat she had purchased for 
 him at such a sacrifice. Yet the possibility of danger to 
 him now for a moment marred her present happiness and 
 security. " You think the fire will not go north of where 
 you found me ? " she asked softly. 
 
 " I think not," he said ; " but I will reconnoitre. Stay 
 where you are." 
 
In the Carquinez Woods. 221 
 
 They pressed hands and parted. He leaped upon the 
 slanting trunk and ascended it rapidly. She waited in 
 mute expectation. 
 
 There was a sudden movement of the root on which 
 she sat, a deafening crash, and she was thrown forward 
 on her face. 
 
 The vast bulk of the leaning tree, dislodged from its 
 aerial support by the gradual sapping of the spring at its 
 roots, or by the crumbling of the bark from the heat, had 
 slipped, made a half revolution, and, falling, overbore the 
 lesser trees in its path, and tore, in its resistless momen- 
 tum, a broad opening to the underbrush. 
 
 With a cry to Low, Teresa staggered to her feet. There 
 was an interval of hideous silence, but no reply. She 
 called again. There was a sudden deepening roar, the 
 blast of a fiery furnace swept through the opening, a 
 thousand luminous points around her burst into fire, and 
 in an instant she was lost in a whirlwind of smoke and 
 flame ! From the onset of its fury to its culmination 
 twenty minutes did not elapse ; but in that interval a 
 radius of two hundred yards around the hidden spring 
 was swept of life and light and motion. 
 
 For the rest of that day and part of the night a pall of 
 smoke hung above the scene of desolation. It lifted only 
 tow^ards the morning, when the moon, riding high, picked 
 out in black and silver the shrunken and silent columns 
 of those roofless vaults, shorn of base and capital. It 
 flickered on the still, overflowing pool of the hidden 
 spring, and shone upon the white face of Low, who, with 
 a rootlet of the fallen tree holding him down like an arm 
 across his breast, seemed to be sleeping peacefully in the 
 sleeping water. 
 
 Contemporaneous history touched him as briefly, but 
 not as gently. "It is now definitely ascertained," said 
 
2 22 In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 " The Slumgullion Mirror," " that Sheriil Dunn met his 
 fate in the Carquinez Woods in the performance of his 
 duty ; that fearless man having received information of 
 the concealment of a band of horse thieves in their re- 
 cesses. The desperadoes are presumed to have escaped, 
 as the only remains found are those of two wretched 
 tramps, one of whom is said to have been a digger, who 
 supported himself upon roots and herbs, and the other a 
 degraded half-white woman. It is not unreasonable to 
 suppose that the fire originated through their careless- 
 ness, although Father Wynn of the First Baptist Church, 
 in his powerful discourse of last Sunday, pointed at the 
 warning and lesson of such catastrophes. It may not be 
 out of place here to say that the rumors regarding an 
 engagement between the pastor's accomplished daughter 
 and the late lamented sheriff are utterly without founda- 
 tion, as it has been an on dit for some time in all well-in- 
 formed circles that the indefatigable Mr. Brace, of Wells, 
 Fargo & Co.'s Express, will shortly lead the lady to the 
 hymeneal altar/' 
 
at tl^e Mi^^ion of ^m CarmeL 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 It was noon of the loth of August, 1838. The monot- 
 onous coast line between Monterey and San Diego had 
 set its hard outlines against the steady glare of the Cali- 
 fornian sky and the metallic glitter of the Pacific Ocean. 
 The weary succession of rounded, dome-like hills oblit- 
 erated all sense of distance ; the rare whaling vessel or 
 still rarer trader, drifting past, saw no change in these 
 rusty undulations, barren of distinguishing peak or head- 
 land, and bald of wooded crest or timbered ravine. The 
 withered ranks of wild oats gave a dull procession of uni- 
 form color to the hills, unbroken by any relief of shadow 
 in their smooth, round curves. As far as the eye could 
 reach, sea and shore met in one bleak monotony, flecked 
 by no passing cloud, stirred by no sign of life or motion. 
 Even sound was absent ; the Angelus, rung from the in- 
 visible Mission tower far inland, was driven back again 
 by the steady northwest trades, that for half the year had 
 swept the coast line and left it abraded of all umbrage 
 and color. 
 
 But even this monotony soon gave way to a change and 
 another monotony as uniform and depressed. The west- 
 ern horizon, slowly contracting before a wall of vapor, by 
 four o'clock had become a mere cold, steely strip of sea, 
 into which gradually the northern trend of the coast 
 faded and was lost. As the fog stole with soft step 
 southward, all distance, space, character, and locality 
 again vanished ; the hills upon which the sun still shone 
 
224 -^^ ^^^ Mission of Sa7t Carmel. 
 
 bore the same monotonous outlines as those just wiped 
 into space. Last of all, before the red sun sank like the 
 descending Host, it gleamed upon the sails of a trading 
 vessel close in shore. It was the last object visible. A 
 damp breath breathed upon it, a soft hand passed over 
 the slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and 
 became a confused gray cloud. 
 
 The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog j the 
 now invisible and hushed breakers occasionally sent the 
 surf over the sand in a quick whisper, with grave inter- 
 vals of silence, but with no continuous murmur as before. 
 In a curving bight of the shore the creaking of oars in 
 their rowlocks began to be distinctly heard, but the boat 
 itself, although apparently only its length from the sands, 
 was invisible. 
 
 " Steady now ; way enough ! " The voice came from 
 the sea, and was low, as if unconsciously affected by the 
 fog. " Silence ! '' 
 
 The sound of a keel grating the sand was followed by 
 the order, " Stern all ! " from the invisible speaker. 
 
 " Shall we beach her ? " asked another vague voice. 
 
 " Not yet. Hail again, and all together.'* 
 
 " Ah hoy — oi — oi — oy ! " 
 
 There were four voices, but the hail appeared weak 
 and ineffectual, like a cry in a dream, and seemed hardly 
 to reach beyond the surf before it was suffocated in the 
 creeping cloud. A silence followed, but no response. 
 
 " It 's no use to beach her and go ashore until we find 
 the boat," said the first voice, gravely ; " and we '11 do 
 that if the current has brought her here. Are you sure 
 you Ve got the right bearings ? " 
 
 " As near as a man could off a shore with not a blasted 
 pint to take his bearings by." 
 
 There was a long silence again, broken only by the 
 occasional dip of oars, keeping the invisible boat-head 
 to the sea. 
 
Ai the Mission of San CarmeL 225 
 
 " Take my word for it, lads, it 's the last we '11 see of 
 that boat again, or of Jack Cranch, or the captain's baby." 
 
 " It does look mighty queer that the painter should 
 slip. Jack Cranch ain't the man to tie a granny knot." 
 
 " Silence ! " said the invisible leader. " Listen." 
 
 A hail, so faint and uncertain that it might have been 
 the long-deferred, far-off echo of their own, came from 
 the sea, abreast of them. 
 
 " It 's the captain. He has n't found anything, or he 
 could n't be so far north. Hark ! " 
 
 The hail was repeated again faintly, dreamily. To the 
 seamen's trained ears it seemed to have an intelligent 
 significance, for the first voice gravely responded, " Aye, 
 aye t " and then said softly, " Oars." 
 
 The word was followed by a splash. The oars clicked 
 sharply and simultaneously in the rowlocks, then more 
 faintly, then still fainter, and then passed out into the 
 darkness. 
 
 The silence and shadow both fell together ; for hours 
 sea and shore were impenetrable. Yet at times the air 
 was softly moved and troubled, the surrounding gloom 
 faintly lightened as with a misty dawn, and then was dark 
 again ; or drowsy, far-off cries and confused noises seemed 
 to grow out of the silence, and, when they had attracted 
 the weary ear, sank away as in a mocking dream, and 
 showed themselves unreal. Nebulous gatherings in the 
 fog seemed to indicate stationary objects that, even as 
 one gazed, moved away \ the recurring lap and ripple on 
 the shingle sometimes took upon itself the semblance of 
 faint articulate laughter or spoken words. But towards 
 morning a certain monotonous grating on the sand, that 
 had for many minutes alternately cheated and piqued the' 
 ear, asserted itself more strongly, and a moving, vacillat- 
 ing shadow in the gloom became an opaque object on the 
 shore. 
 
226 At the Mission of Saii CarmeL 
 
 With the first rays of the morning light the fog lifted. 
 As the undraped hills one by one bared their cold bosoms 
 to the sun, the long line of coast struggled back to life 
 again. Everything was unchanged, except that a stranded 
 boat lay upon the sands, and in its stern sheets a sleep- 
 ing child. 
 
 The loth of August, 1852, brought little change to the 
 dull monotony of wind, fog, and treeless coast line. 
 Only the sea was occasionally flecked with racing sails 
 that outstripped the old, slow-creeping trader, or was at 
 times streaked and blurred with the trailing smoke of a 
 steamer. There were a few strange footprints on those 
 virgin sands, and a fresh track, that led from the beach 
 over the rounded hills, dropped into the bosky recesses 
 of a hidden valley beyond the coast range. 
 
 It was here that the refectory windows of the Mission 
 of San Carmel had for years looked upon the reverse of 
 that monotonous picture presented to the sea. It was 
 here that the trade winds, shorn of their fury and strength 
 in the heated, oven-like air that rose from the valley, lost 
 their weary way in the tangled recesses of the wooded 
 slopes, and breathed their last at the foot of the stone 
 cross before the Mission. It was on the crest of those 
 slopes that the fog halted and walled in the sun-illumined 
 plain below j it was in this plain that limitless fields of 
 grain clothed the flat adobe soil ; here the Mission garden 
 smiled over its hedges of fruitful vines, and through the 
 leaves of fig and gnarled pear trees ; and it was here 
 that Father Pedro had lived for fifty years, found the 
 prospect good, and had smiled also. 
 
 Father Pedro's smile was rare. He was not a Las 
 Casas, nor a Junipero Serra, but he had the deep serious- 
 
Ai the Mission of San Carmel. 227 
 
 ness of all disciples laden with the responsible wording of 
 a gospel not their own. And his smile had an ecclesias- 
 tical as well as a human significance, the pleasantest 
 object in his prospect being the fair and curly head of 
 his boy acolyte and chorister, Francisco, which appeared 
 among the vines, and his sweetest pastoral music, the 
 high soprano humming of a chant with which the boy 
 accompanied his gardening. 
 
 Suddenly the acolyte's chant changed to a cry of ter- 
 ror. Running rapidly to Father Pedro's side, he grasped 
 his sotana^ and even tried to hide his curls among its 
 folds. 
 
 " 'St ! 'st ! '' said the Padre, disengaging himself with 
 some impatience. "" What new alarm is this 1 Is it 
 Luzbel hiding among our Catalan vines, or one of those 
 heathen Americanos from Monterey ? Speak 1 " 
 
 " Neither, holy father," said the boy, the color struggling 
 back into his pale cheeks, and an apologetic, bashful 
 smile lighting his clear eyes. " Neither ; but oh ! such 
 a gross, lethargic toad ! And it almost leaped upon me.'' 
 
 " A toad leaped upon thee ! " repeated the good father 
 with evident vexation. " What next 1 I tell thee, child, 
 those foolish fears are most unmeet for thee, and must 
 be overcome, if necessary, with prayer and penance. 
 Frightened by a toad ! Blood of the Martyrs ! 'T is like 
 any foolish girl ! " 
 
 Father Pedro stopped and coughed. 
 
 ** I am saying that no Christian child should shrink 
 from any of God's harmless creatures. And only last 
 week thou wast disdainful of poor Murieta's pig, forget- 
 ting that San Antonio himself did elect one his faithful 
 companion, even in glory." 
 
 " Yes, but it was so fat, and so uncleanly, holy father," 
 replied the young acolyte^ " and it smelt so." 
 
 '* Smelt so t " echoed the father doubtfully. " Have a 
 
2 28 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 care, child, that this is not luxuriousness of the senses. 
 I have noticed of late you gather over-much of roses and 
 syringa, excellent in their way and in moderation, but 
 still not to be compared with the flower of Holy Church, 
 the lily." 
 
 " But lilies don't look well on the refectory table, and 
 against the adobe wall,'' returned the acolyte, with a 
 pout of a spoilt child ; " and surely the flowers cannot 
 help being sweet, any more than myrrh or incense. And 
 I am not frightened of the heathen Americanos either, 
 now. There was a small one in the garden yesterday, a 
 boy like me, and he spoke kindly and with a pleasant 
 face." 
 
 "What said he to thee, child?" asked Father Pedro, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Nay, the matter of his speech I could not under- 
 stand," laughed the boy, " but the manner was as gentle 
 as thine, holy father." 
 
 "'St, child," said the Padre, impatiently. "Thy lik- 
 ings are as unreasonable as thy fears. Besides, have I 
 not told thee it ill becomes a child of Christ to chatter 
 with those sons of Belial .'* But canst thou not repeat 
 the words — the words he said t " he continued sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 " 'T is a harsh tongue the Americanos speak in their 
 throat," replied the boy. " But he said * Devilishnisse ' 
 and * pretty-as-a-girl,' and looked at me." 
 
 The good father made the boy repeat the words 
 gravely, and as gravely repeated them after him with in- 
 finite simplicity. "They are but heretical words," he re- 
 plied, in answer to the boy's inquiring look ; " it is well 
 you understand not English. Enough. Run away, child, 
 and be ready for the Angelus. I will commune with my- 
 self awhile under the pear trees." 
 
 Glad to escape so easily, the young acolyte disappeared 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 229 
 
 down the alley of fig trees, not without a furtive look at 
 the patches of chickweed around their roots, the possible 
 ambuscade of creeping or saltant vermin. The good 
 priest heaved a sigh and glanced round the darkening 
 prospect. The sun had already disappeared over the 
 mountain wall that lay between him and the sea, rimmed 
 with a faint white line of outlying fog. A cool zephyr 
 fanned his cheek ; it was the dying breath of the vientos 
 generates beyond the wall. As Father Pedro's eyes were 
 raised to this barrier, which seemed to shut out the bois- 
 terous world beyond, he fancied he noticed for the first 
 time a slight breach in the parapet, over which an ad- 
 vanced banner of the fog was fluttering. Was it an 
 omen ? His speculations were cut short by a voice at his 
 very side. 
 
 He turned quickly and beheld one of those " heathens " 
 against whom he had just warned his young acolyte ; one 
 of that straggling band of adventurers whom the recent 
 gold discoveries had scattered along the coast. Luckily 
 the fertile alluvium of these valleys, lying parallel with 
 the sea, offered no " indications " to attract the gold-seek- 
 ers. Nevertheless, to Father Pedro even the infrequent 
 contact with the Americanos was objectionable : they 
 were at once inquisitive and careless ; they asked ques- 
 tions with the sharp perspicacity of controversy; they 
 received his grave replies with the frank indifference of 
 utter worldliness. Powerful enough to have been tyran- 
 nical oppressors, they were singularly tolerant and gentle, 
 contenting themselves with a playful, good-natured irrev- 
 erence, which tormented the good father more than oppo- 
 sition. They were felt to be dangerous and subversive. 
 
 The Americano, however, who stood before him did 
 not offensively suggest these national qualities. A man 
 of middle height, strongly built, bronzed and slightly 
 gray from the vicissitudes of years and exposure, he had 
 
230 At the Mission of San CarmeL 
 
 an air of practical seriousness that commended itself to 
 Father Pedro. To his religious mind it suggested self- 
 consciousness ; expressed in the dialect of the stranger, 
 it only meant " business." 
 
 " I 'm rather glad I found you out here alone," began 
 the latter ; ** it saves time. I have n't got to take my 
 turn with the rest, in there," — he indicated the church 
 with his thumb, — "and you have n't got to make an ap- 
 pointment. You have got a clear forty minutes before 
 the Angelus rings," he added, consulting a large silver 
 chronometer, " and I reckon I kin git through my part of 
 the job inside of twenty, leaving you ten minutes for re- 
 marks. I want to confess." 
 
 Father Pedro drew back with a gesture of dignity. The 
 stranger, however, laid his hand upon the Padre's sleeve 
 with the air of a man anticipating objection, but never re- 
 fusal, and went on. 
 
 '* Of course, I know. You want me to come at some 
 other time, and in there. You want it in the reg'lar style. 
 That 's your way and your time. My answer is : it ain't 
 my way and my time. The main idea of confession, I 
 take it, is gettin' at the facts. I 'm ready to give 'em if 
 you '11 take 'em out here, now. If you 're willing to drop 
 the Church and confessional, and all that sort o' thing, I, 
 on my side, am willing to give up the absolution, and all 
 that sort o' thing. You might," he added, with an un- 
 conscious touch of pathos in the suggestion, *' heave in a 
 word or two of advice after I get through ; for instance, 
 what you ^d do in the circumstances, you see ! That 's 
 all. But that 's as you please. It ain't part of the busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Irreverent as this speech appeared, there was really no 
 trace of such intention in his manner, and his evident 
 profound conviction that his suggestion was practical, 
 and not ^t all inconsistent with ecclesiastical dignity, 
 
At the Mission of San Carmel. 231 
 
 would alone have been enough to touch the Padre, had 
 not the stranger's dominant personality already overridden 
 him. He hesitated. The stranger seized the opportunity 
 to take his arm, and lead him with the half familiarity of 
 powerful protection to a bench beneath the refectory win- 
 dow. Taking out his watch again, he put it in the passive 
 hands of the astonished priest, saying, " Time me," cleared 
 his throat, and began : — 
 
 " Fourteen years ago there was a ship cruisin' in the 
 Pacific, jest off this range, that was ez nigh on to a Hell 
 afloat as anything rigged kin be. If a chap managed to 
 dodge the cap'en's belaying-pin for a time he was bound 
 to be fetched up in the ribs at last by the mate's boots. 
 There was a chap knocked down the fore hatch with a 
 broken leg in the Gulf, and another jumped overboard off 
 Cape Corrientes, crazy as a loon, along a clip of the 
 head from the cap'en's trumpet. Them 's facts. The 
 ship was a brigantine, trading along the Mexican coast. 
 The cap'en had his wife aboard, a little timid Mexican 
 woman he 'd picked up at Mazatlan. I reckon she did n't 
 get on with him any better than the men, for she ups and 
 dies one day, leavin' her baby, a year-old gal. One o' 
 the crew was fond o' that baby. He used to get the 
 black nurse to put it in the dingy, and he 'd tow it astern, 
 rocking it with the painter like a cradle. He did it — 
 hatin' the cap'en all the same. One day the black nurse 
 got out of the dingy for a moment, when the baby was 
 asleep, leavin' him alone with it. An idea took hold on 
 him, jest from cussedness, you 'd say, but it was partly 
 from revenge on the cap'en and partly to get away from 
 the ship. The ship was well in shore, and the current 
 settin' towards it. He slipped the painter — that man — 
 and set himself adrift with the baby. It was a crazy act, 
 you 'd reckon, for there was n't any oars in the boat ; but 
 he had a crazy man's luck, and he contrived, by sculling 
 
232 At the Mission of San CarmeL 
 
 the boat with one of the seats he tore out, to keep her out 
 of the breakers, till he could find a bight in the shore to 
 run her in. The alarm was given from the ship, but the 
 fog shut down upon him ; he could hear the other boats 
 in pursuit. They seemed to close in on him, and by the 
 sound he judged the cap'en was just abreast of him in the 
 gig, bearing down upon him in the fog. He slipped out 
 of the dingy into the water without a splash, and struck 
 out for the breakers. He got ashore after havin' been 
 knocked down and dragged in four times by the under- 
 tow. He had only one idea then, thankfulness that he 
 had not taken the baby with him in the surf. You kin 
 put that down for him ; it 's a fact. He got off into the 
 hills, and made his way up to Monterey." 
 
 " And the child t " asked the Padre, with a sudden and 
 strange asperity that boded no good to the penitent ; " the 
 child thus ruthlessly abandoned — what became of it 1 " 
 
 " That 's just it, the child," said the stranger, gravely. 
 " Well, if that man was on his death-bed instead of being 
 here talking to you, he'd swear that he thought the 
 cap'en was sure to come up to it the next minit. That 's 
 a fact. But it was n't until one day that he — that 's me 
 — ran across one of that crew in Frisco. * Hallo, Cranch,' 
 sez he to me, * so you got away, did n't you ? And 
 how 's the cap'en's baby ? Grown a young gal by this 
 time, ain't she ? ' ^ What are you talking about,' sez I ; 
 ' how should I know ? ' He draws away from me, and 
 sez, *D — it,' sez he, *you don't mean that you' . . . 
 I grabs him by the throat and makes him tell me all. 
 And then it appears that the boat and the baby were 
 never found again, and every man of that crew, cap 'en 
 and all, believed I had stolen it." 
 
 He paused. Father Pedro was staring at the prospect 
 with an uncompromising rigidity of head and shoulder. 
 
 " It 's a bad lookout for me, ain't it i " the stranger 
 continued, in serious reflection. 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 233 
 
 " How do I know," said the priest harshly, without 
 turning his head, " that you did not make away with this 
 child?" 
 
 "Beg pardon." 
 
 "That you did not complete your revenge by — by — 
 killing it, as your comrade suspected you ? Ah ! Holy 
 Trinity," continued Father Pedro, throwing out his hands 
 with an impatient gesture, as if to take the place of unut- 
 terable thought. 
 
 " How do you know ? " echoed the stranger coldly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The stranger linked his fingers together and threw 
 them over his knee, drew it up to his chest caressingly, 
 and said quietly, "Because ^owdo know." 
 
 The Padre rose to his feet. 
 
 " What mean you ? " he said, sternly fixing his eyes 
 upon the speaker. Their eyes met. The stranger's were 
 gray and persistent, with hanging corner lids that might 
 have concealed even more purpose than they showed. 
 The Padre's were hollow, open, and the whites slightly 
 brown, as if with tobacco stains. Yet they were the first 
 to turn away. 
 
 " I mean," returned the stranger, with the same practi- 
 cal gravity, " that you know it would n't pay me to come 
 here, if I 'd killed the baby, unless I wanted you to fix 
 things right with me up there," pointing skyward, "and 
 get absolution ; and I Ve told you that was n't in my line." 
 
 " Why do you seek me, then t " demanded the Padre, 
 suspiciously. 
 
 " Because I reckon I thought a man might be allowed 
 to confess something short of a murder. If you 're going 
 to draw the line below that " — 
 
 "This is but sacrilegious levity," interrupted Father 
 Pedro, turning as if to go. But the stranger did not 
 make any movement to detain him. 
 
2 34 -^^ ^^^ Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 ** Have you implored forgiveness of the father — the 
 man you wronged — before you came here ? '' asked the 
 priest, lingering. 
 
 " Not much. It would n't pay if he was living, and he 
 died four years ago.'' 
 
 " You are sure of that ? " 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " There are other relations, perhaps ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 Father Pedro was silent. When he spoke again, it was 
 with a changed voice. " What is your purpose, then ? " 
 he asked, with the first indication of priestly sympathy 
 in his manner. **You cannot ask forgiveness of the 
 earthly father you have injured, you refuse the inter- 
 cession of Holy Church with the Heavenly Father you 
 have disobeyed. Speak, wretched man ! What is it you 
 want ? " 
 
 "I want to find the child." 
 
 " But if it were possible, if she were still living, are you 
 fit to seek her, to even make yourself known to her, to 
 appear before her ? " 
 
 "Well, if I made it profitable to her, perhaps." 
 
 " Perhaps," echoed the priest, scornfully. " So be it. 
 But why come here ? " 
 
 "To ask your advice. To know how to begin my 
 search. You know this country. You were here when 
 that boat drifted ashore beyond that mountain." 
 
 " Ah, indeed. I have much to do with it. It is an 
 affair of the alcalde — the authorities — of your — your 
 police." 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 The Padre again met the stranger's eyes. He stopped, 
 with the snuffbox he had somewhat ostentatiously drawn 
 from his pocket still open in his hand. 
 
 " Why is it not, Seiior 1 " he demanded. 
 
At the Mission of San Carmel. 235 
 
 " If she lives, she is a young lady by this time, and 
 might not want the details of her life known to any 
 one/' 
 
 ** And how will you recognize your baby in this young 
 lady?" asked Father Pedro, with a rapid gesture, indicat- 
 ing the comparative heights of a baby and an adult. 
 
 " I reckon I '11 know her, and her clothes too ; and 
 whoever found her would n't be fool enough to destroy 
 them." 
 
 " After fourteen years ! Good ! You have faith, Se- 
 fior " — 
 
 " Cranch," supplied the stranger, consulting his watch. 
 " But time 's up. Business is business. Good-by ; don't 
 let me keep you." 
 
 He extended his hand. 
 
 The Padre met it with a dry, unsympathetic palm, as 
 sere and yellow as the hills. When their hands sepa- 
 rated, the father still hesitated, looking at Cranch. If he 
 expected further speech or entreaty from him he was mis- 
 taken, for the American, without turning his head, walked 
 in the same serious, practical fashion down the avenue of 
 fig trees, and disappeared beyond the hedge of vines. The 
 outlines of the mountain beyond were already lost in the 
 fog. Father Pedro turned into the refectory. 
 
 " Antonio." 
 
 A strong flavor of leather, onions, and stable preceded 
 the entrance of a short, stout vaquero from the little patio. 
 
 " Saddle Pinto and thine own mule to accompany Fran- 
 cisco, who will take letters from me to the Father Supe- 
 rior at San Jose to-morrow at daybreak." 
 
 " At daybreak, reverend father ? " 
 
 " At daybreak. Hark ye, go by the mountain trails 
 and avoid the highway. Stop at no posada nor/onda,hut 
 if the child is weary, rest then awhile at Don Juan Briones' 
 or at the rancho of the Blessed Fisherman. Have no con- 
 
236 At the Mission of San CarmeL 
 
 verse with stragglers, least of all those gentile Americanos. 
 So " . . . 
 
 The first strokes of the Angelus came from the nearer 
 tower. With a gesture Father Pedro waved Antonio 
 aside, and opened the door of the sacristy. 
 
 " Ad Majorem Dei Gloria'^ 
 
 11. 
 
 The hacienda of Don Juan Briones, nestling in a 
 wooded cleft of the foot-hills, was hidden, as Father 
 Pedro had wisely reflected, from the straying feet of 
 travelers along the dusty highway to San Jose. As 
 Francisco, emerging from the Canada^ put spurs to his 
 mule at the sight of the whitewashed walls, Antonio 
 grunted : 
 
 " Oh aye, little priest ! thou wast tired enough a mo- 
 ment ago, and though we are not three leagues from the 
 Blessed Fisherman, thou couldst scarce sit thy saddle 
 longer. Mother of God ! and all to see that little mon- 
 grel, Juanita." 
 
 " But, good Antonio, Juanita was my playfellow, and I 
 may not soon again chance this way. And Juanita is 
 not a mongrel, no more than I am." 
 
 " She is a mestiza, and thou art a child of the Church, 
 though this following of gypsy wenches does not show 
 it." 
 
 " But Father Pedro does not object," urged the boy. 
 
 " The reverend father has forgotten he was ever young," 
 replied Antonio, sententiously, " or he would n't set fire 
 and tow together." 
 
 "What sayest thou, good Antonio ? " asked Francisco 
 quickly, opening his blue eyes in frank curiosity ; " who 
 is fire, and who is tow ? " 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 237 
 
 The worthy muleteer, utterly abashed and confounded 
 by this display of the acolyte's direct simplicity, con- 
 tented himself by shrugging his shoulders, and a vague 
 " Quien sabe ? " 
 
 " Come,'' said the boy, gayly, " confess it is only the 
 aguardiente of the Blessed Fisherman thou missest. Never 
 fear, Juanita will find thee some. And see ! here she 
 comes." 
 
 There was a flash of white flounces along the dark 
 brown corridor, the twinkle of satin slippers, the flying 
 out of long black braids, and with a cry of joy a young 
 girl threw herself upon Francisco as he entered the patio^ 
 and nearly dragged him from his mule. 
 
 " Have a care, little sister," laughed the acolyte, look- 
 ing at Antonio, " or there will be a conflagration. Am I 
 the fire ? " he continued, submitting to the two sounding 
 kisses the young girl placed upon either cheek, but still 
 keeping his mischievous glance upon the muleteer. 
 
 " Quien sabe ? " repeated Antonio, gruffly, as the young 
 girl blushed under his significant eyes. " It is no affair 
 of mine," he added to himself, as he led Pinto away. 
 " Perhaps Father Pedro is right, and this young twig of 
 the Church is as dry and sapless as himself. Let the 
 mestiza burn if she likes." 
 
 ^^ Quick, Pancho," said the young girl, eagerly leading 
 him along the corridor. " This way. I must talk with 
 thee before thou seest Don Juan ; that is why I ran to 
 intercept thee, and not as that fool Antonio would 
 signify, to shame thee. Wast thou ashamed, my Pancho .'^ " 
 
 The boy threw his arm familiarly round the supple, 
 stayless little waist, accented only by the belt of the 
 light flounced saya^ and said, " But why this haste and 
 feverishness, 'Nita t And now I look at thee, thou hast 
 been crying." 
 
 They had emerged from a door in the corridor into the 
 
238 At the Mission of San CarmeL 
 
 bright sunlight of a walled garden. The girl dropped 
 her eyes, cast a quick glance around her, and said : 
 
 *^Not here; to the arroyo ; '* and half leading, half drag- 
 ging him, made her way through a copse of manzanita 
 and alder until they heard the faint tinkling of water. 
 "Dost thou remember,'^ said the girl, "it was here," 
 pointing to an embayed pool in the dark current, "that 
 I baptized thee, when Father Pedro first brought thee 
 here, when we both played at being monks? They were 
 dear old days, for Father Pedro would trust no one with 
 thee but me, and always kept us near him." 
 
 " Aye, and he said I would be profaned by the touch 
 of any other, and so himself always washed and dressed 
 me, and made my bed near his." 
 
 " And took thee away again, and I saw thee not till 
 thou camest with Antonio, over a year ago, to the cattle 
 branding. And now, my Pancho, I may never see thee 
 again." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 The little acolyte tried to comfort her, but with such 
 abstraction of manner and inadequacy of warmth that 
 she hastily removed his caressing hand. 
 
 " But why ? What has happened ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 The girl's manner had changed. Her eyes flashed, and 
 she put her brown fist on her waist and began to rock 
 from side to side. 
 
 " But I '11 not go," she said, viciously. 
 
 " Go where ? " asked the boy. 
 
 " Oh, where ? " she echoed, impatiently. " Hear me, 
 Francisco. Thou knowest I am, like thee, an orphan ; but 
 I have not, like thee, a parent in the Holy Church. For, 
 alas," she added, bitterly, " I am not a boy, and have not 
 a lovely voice borrowed from the angels. I was, like 
 thee, a foundling, kept by the charity of the reverend 
 fathers, until Don Juan, a childless widower, adopted me. 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 239 
 
 I was happy, not knowing and caring who were the par- 
 ents who had abandoned me, happy only in the love of 
 him who became my adopted father. And now " — She 
 paused. 
 
 " And now ? " echoed Francisco, eagerly. 
 
 "And now they say it is discovered who are my 
 parents.'' 
 
 " And they live ? " 
 
 *^ Mother of God 1 no," said the girl, with scarcely filial 
 piety. " There is some one, a thing, a mere Don Fulano, 
 who knows it all, it seems, who is to be my guardian." 
 
 " But how ? Tell me all, dear Juanita," said the boy 
 with a feverish interest, that contrasted so strongly with 
 his previous abstraction that Juanita bit her lips with 
 vexation. 
 
 " Ah ! How ? Santa Barbara ! An extravaganza for 
 children. A necklace of lies. I am lost from a ship of 
 which my father — Heaven rest him ! — is General, and I 
 am picked up among the weeds on the sea-shore, like 
 Moses in the bulrushes. A pretty story, indeed." 
 
 " O how beautiful ! " exclaimed P^ancisco enthusias- 
 tically. " Ah, Juanita, would it had been me ! " 
 
 " Thee I " said the girl bitterly, — " thee ! No ! — it was 
 a girl wanted. Enough, it was me." 
 
 " And when does the guardian come ? " persisted the 
 boy, with sparkling eyes. 
 
 "He is here even now, with that pompous fool the 
 American alcalde from Monterey, a wretch who knows 
 nothing of the country or the people, but who helped 
 the other American to claim me. I tell thee, Francisco, 
 like as not it is all a folly, some senseless blunder of 
 those Americanos that imposes upon Don Juan's sim- 
 plicity and love for them." 
 
 " How looks he, this Americano who seeks thee ? " 
 asked Francisco. 
 
240 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 "What care I how he looks," said Juanita, "or what he 
 is ? He may have the four S's, for all I care. Yet," she 
 added with a slight touch of coquetry, "he is not bad to 
 look upon, now I recall him." 
 
 " Had he a long mustache and a sad, sweet smile, and 
 a voice so gentle and yet so strong that you felt he 
 ordered you to do things without saying it ? And did his 
 eye read your thoughts ? — that very thought that you 
 must obey him ? " 
 
 " Saints preserve thee, Pancho ! Of whom dost thou 
 speak ? " 
 
 " Listen, Juanita. It was a year ago, the eve of Nativi- 
 dad ; he was in the church when I sang. Look where 
 I would, I always met his eye. When the canticle was 
 sung and I was slipping into the sacristy, he was beside 
 me. He spoke kindly, but I understood him not. He 
 put into my hand gold for an aguinaldo, I pretended I 
 understood not that also, and put it into the box for the 
 poor. He smiled and went away. Often have I seen 
 him since ; and last night, when I left the Mission, he was 
 there again with Father Pedro." 
 
 " And Father Pedro, what said he of him 1 " asked Ju- 
 anita. 
 
 " Nothing." The boy hesitated. " Perhaps — because 
 I said nothing of the stranger." 
 
 Juanita laughed. " So thou canst keep a secret from 
 the good father when thou carest. But why dost thou 
 think this stranger is my new guardian ? " 
 
 " Dost thou not see, little sister 1 He was even then 
 seeking thee,'' said the boy with joyous excitement. 
 " Doubtless he knew we were friends and playmates — 
 maybe the good father has told him thy secret. For it 
 is no idle tale of the alcalde, believe me. I see it all ! 
 It is true ! " 
 
 "Then thou wilt let him take me away," exclaimed the 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 241 
 
 girl bitterly, withdrawing the little hand he had clasped 
 in his excitement, 
 
 " Alas, Juanita, what avails it now ? I am sent to San 
 Jos^, charged with a letter to the Father Superior, who 
 will give me further orders. What they are, or how long 
 I must stay, I know not. But I know this : the good 
 Father Pedro's eyes were troubled when he gave me his 
 blessing, and he held me long in his embrace. Pray 
 Heaven I have committed no fault. Still it may be that 
 the reputation of my gift hath reached the Father Supe- 
 rior, and he would advance me ; " and Francisco's eyes 
 lit up with youthful pride at the thought. 
 
 Not so Juanita. Her black eyes snapped suddenly 
 with suspicion, she drew in her breath, and closed her 
 little mouth firmly. Then she began a crescendo. 
 
 Mother of God ! was that all t Was he a child, to be 
 sent away for such time or for such purpose as best 
 pleased the fathers '^, Was he to know no more than that t 
 With such gifts as God had given him, was he not at least 
 to have some word in disposing of them 1 Ah ! she would 
 not stand it. 
 
 The boy gazed admiringly at the piquant energy of the 
 little figure before him, and envied her courage. " It is 
 the mestizo blood," he murmured to himself. Then aloud, 
 " Thou shouldst have been a man, 'Nita." 
 
 " And thou a woman." 
 
 " Or a priest. Eh, what is that ? " 
 
 They had both risen, Juanita defiantly, her black 
 braids flying as she wheeled and suddenly faced the 
 thicket, Francisco clinging to her with trembling hands 
 and whitened lips. A stone, loosened from the hillside, 
 had rolled to their feet ; there was a crackling in the 
 alders on the slope above them. 
 
 " Is it a bear, or a brigand 1 " whispered Francisco, 
 hurriedly, sounding the uttermost depths of his terror in 
 the two words. 
 
242 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 " It is an eavesdropper," said Juanita, impetuously ; 
 " and who and why, I intend to know," and she started 
 towards the thicket. 
 
 "Do not leave me, good Juanita;" said the young 
 acolyte, grasping the girl's skirt. 
 
 " Nay ; run to the hacienda quickly, and leave me to 
 search the thicket. Run ! " 
 
 The boy did not wait for a second injunction, but 
 scuttled away, his long coat catching in the brambles, 
 while Juanita darted like a kitten into the bushes. Her 
 search was fruitless, however, and she was returning im- 
 patiently, when her quick eye fell upon a letter lying 
 amid the dried grass where she and Francisco had been 
 seated the moment before. It had evidently fallen from 
 his breast when he had risen suddenly, and been over- 
 looked in his alarm. It was Father Pedro's letter to the 
 Father Superior of San Jose. 
 
 In an instant she had pounced upon it as viciously as 
 if it had been the interloper she was seeking. She knew 
 that she held in her fingers the secret of Francisco's sudden 
 banishment. She felt instinctively that this yellowish en- 
 velope, with its red string and its blotch of red seal, was 
 his sentence and her own. The little mestiza had not been 
 brought up to respect the integrity of either locks or seals, 
 both being unknown in the patriarchal life of the haci- 
 enda. Yet with a certain feminine instinct she looked 
 furtively around her, and even managed to dislodge the 
 clumsy wax without marring the pretty effigy of the 
 crossed keys impressed upon it. Then she opened the 
 letter and read. 
 
 Suddenly she stopped and put back her hair from her 
 brown temples. Then a succession of burning blushes 
 followed each other in waves from her neck up, and died 
 in drops of moisture in her eyes. This continued until 
 she was fairly crying, dropping the letter from her hands 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 243 
 
 and rocking to and fro. In the midst of this she quickly 
 stopped again ; the clouds broke, a sunshine of laughter 
 started from her eyes, she laughed shyly, she laughed 
 loudly, she laughed hysterically. Then she stopped again 
 as suddenly, knitted her brows, swooped down once more 
 upon the letter, and turned to fly. But at the same mo- 
 ment the letter was quietly but firmly taken from her 
 hand, and Mr. Jack Cranch stood beside her. 
 
 Juanita was crimson, but unconquered. She mechani- 
 cally held out her hand for the letter; the American 
 took her little fingers, kissed them, and said : 
 
 " How are you again ? " 
 
 " The letter," replied Juanita, with a strong disposition 
 to stamp her foot. 
 
 " But," said Cranch, with business directness, " you Ve 
 read enough to know it is n't for you." 
 
 " Nor for you either," responded Juanita. 
 
 " True. It is for the Reverend Father Superior of San 
 Jose Mission. I ^11 give it to him." 
 
 Juanita was becoming alarmed, first at this prospect, 
 second at the power the stranger seemed to be gaining 
 over her. She recalled Francisco's description of him 
 with something like superstitious awe. 
 
 " But it concerns Francisco. It contains a secret he 
 should know." 
 
 " Then you can tell him it. Perhaps it would come 
 easier from you." 
 
 Juanita blushed again. " Why ? " she asked, half dread- 
 ing his reply. 
 
 "Because," said the American, quietly, "you are old 
 playmates ; you are attached to each other." 
 
 Juanita bit her lips. "Why don't you read it your- 
 self ? " she asked bluntly. 
 
 " Because I don't read other people's letters, and if it 
 concerns me you '11 tell me." 
 
244 ^^ ^^^^ Mission of San CamieL 
 
 "What if I don't?" 
 
 "Then the Father Superior will." 
 
 " I believe you know Francisco's secret already," said 
 the girl, boldly. 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Then, Mother of God ! Senor Crancho, what do you 
 want ? " 
 
 " I do not want to separate two such good friends as 
 you and Francisco." 
 
 "Perhaps you 'd like to claim us both," said the girl, 
 with a sneer that was not devoid of coquetry. 
 
 " I should be delighted." 
 
 " Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes 
 my adopted father, Don Juan, and your friend, Senor 
 Br — r — own, the American alcalde." 
 
 Two men appeared in the garden path below them. 
 The stiff, glazed, broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting 
 a dark face of Quixotic gravity and romantic rectitude, 
 indicated Don Juan Briones. His companion, lazy, spe- 
 cious, and red - faced, was Senor Brown, the American 
 alcalde. 
 
 "Well, I reckon we kin about call the thing fixed," said 
 Senor Brown, with a large wave of the hand, suggesting a 
 sweeping away of all trivial details. " Ez I was saying to 
 the Don yer, when two high-toned gents like you and him 
 come together in a delicate matter of this kind, it ain't no 
 hoss trade nor sharp practice. The Don is that lofty in 
 principle that he 's willin' to sacrifice his affections for 
 the good of the gal ; and you, on your hand, kalkilate to 
 see all he 's done for her, and go your whole pile better. 
 You'll make the legal formalities good. I reckon that 
 old Injin woman who can swear to the finding of the 
 baby on the shore will set things all right yet. For the 
 matter o' that, if you want anything in the way of a cer- 
 tificate, I 'm on hand always." 
 
At the Mission of San Carmel. 245 
 
 " Juanita and myself are at your disposition, caballeros^^ 
 said Don Juan, with a grave exaltation. " Never let it 
 be said that the Mexican nation was outdone by the great 
 Americanos in deeds of courtesy and affection. Let it 
 rather stand that Juanita was a sacred trust put into my 
 hands years ago by the goddess of American liberty, and 
 nurtured in the Mexican eagle's nest. Is it not so, my 
 soul ? " he added, more humanly, to the girl, when he had 
 quite recovered from the intoxication of his own speech. 
 " We love thee, little one, but we keep our honor." 
 
 "There's nothing mean about the old man," said 
 Brown, admiringly, with a slight dropping of his left eye- 
 lid ; "his head is level, and he goes with his party." 
 
 " Thou takest my daughter, Senor Cranch," continued 
 the old man, carried away by his emotion ; " but the 
 American nation gives me a son." 
 
 " You know not what you say, father," said the young 
 girl, angrily, exasperated by a slight twinkle in the Ameri- 
 can's eye. 
 
 " Not so," said Cranch. " Perhaps one of the Ameri- 
 can nation may take him at his word." 
 
 "Then, caballeros, you will, for the moment at least, 
 possess yourselves of the house and its poor hospitality," 
 said Don Juan, with time -honored courtesy, producing 
 the rustic key of the gate of the patio. " It is at your 
 disposition, caballeros^^^ he repeated, leading the way as 
 his guests passed into the corridor. 
 
 Two hours passed. The hills were darkening on their 
 eastern slopes ; the shadows of the few poplars that 
 sparsedly dotted the dusty highway were falling in long 
 black lines that looked like ditches on the dead level of 
 the tawny fields ; the shadows of slowly moving cattle 
 were mingling with their own silhouettes, and becoming 
 more and more grotesque. A keen wind rising in the 
 hills was already creeping from the Canada as from the 
 
246 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 mouth of a funnel, and sweeping the plains. Antonio 
 had forgathered with the servants, had pinched the ears 
 of the maids, had partaken of aguardieiite^ had saddled 
 the mules, — Antonio was becoming impatient. 
 
 And then a singular commotion disturbed the peaceful 
 monotony of the patriarchal household of Don Juan Brio- 
 nes. The stagnant courtyard was suddenly alive with 
 peons and servants, running hither and thither. The al- 
 leys and gardens were filled with retainers. A confusion 
 of questions, orders, and outcrys rent the air, the plains 
 shook with the galloping of a dozen horsemen. For the 
 acolyte Francisco, of the Mission San Carmel, had disap- 
 peared and vanished, and from that day the hacienda of 
 Don Juan Briones knew him no more. 
 
 III. 
 
 When Father Pedro saw the yellow mules vanish under 
 the low branches of the oaks beside the little graveyard, 
 caught the last glitter of the morning sun on Pinto's 
 shining headstall, and heard the last tinkle of Antonio's 
 spurs, something very like a mundane sigh escaped him. 
 To the simple wonder of the majority oE early worshipers 
 — the half-breed converts who rigorously attended the 
 spiritual ministrations of the Mission, and ate the tem- 
 poral provisions of the reverend fathers — he deputed the 
 functions of the first mass to a coadjutor, and, breviary 
 in hand, sought the orchard of venerable pear trees. 
 Whether there was any occult sympathy in his reflections 
 with the contemplation of their gnarled, twisted, gouty, 
 and knotty limbs, still bearing gracious and goodly fruit, 
 I know not, but it was his private retreat, and under one 
 of the most rheumatic and misshapen trunks there was 
 a rude seat. Here Father Pedro sank, his face toward 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 247 
 
 the mountain wall between him and the invisible sea. 
 The relentless, dr}', practical Californian sunlight falling 
 on his face grimly pointed out a night of vigil and suffer- 
 ing. The snuffy yellow of his eyes was injected yet 
 burning, his temples were ridged and veined like a to- 
 bacco leaf; the odor of desiccation which his garments 
 always exhaled was hot and feverish, as if the fire had 
 suddenly awakened among the ashes. 
 
 Of what was Father Pedro thinking ? 
 
 He was thinking of his youth, a youth spent under the 
 shade of those pear trees, even then venerable as now. 
 He was thinking of his youthful dreams of heathen con- 
 quest, emulating the sacrifices and labors of Junipero 
 Serra; a dream cut ^ort by the orders of the archbishop, 
 that sent his companion, Brother Diego, north on a mis- 
 sion to strange lands, and condemned him to the isolation 
 of San Carmel. He was thinking of that fierce struggle 
 with envy of a fellow-creature's better fortune, that, con- 
 quered by prayer and penance, left him patient, submis- 
 sive, and devoted to his humble work ; how he raised up 
 converts to the faith, even taking them from the breast of 
 heretic mothers. 
 
 He recalled how once, with the zeal of propagandism 
 quickening in the instincts of a childless man, he had 
 dreamed of perpetuating his work through some sinless 
 creation of his own ; of dedicating some virgin soul, one 
 over whom he could have complete control, restricted by 
 no human paternal weakness, to the task he had begun. 
 But how ? Of all the boys eagerly offered to the Church 
 by their parents there seemed none sufficiently pure and 
 free from parental taint. He remembered how one night, 
 through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin herself, as he 
 firmly then believed, this dream was fulfilled. An Indian 
 woman brought him a Waiigee child — a baby-girl that she 
 had picked up on the sea-shore. There were no parents 
 
248 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 to divide the responsibility, the child had no past to con- 
 front, except the memory of the ignorant Indian woman, 
 who deemed her duty done, and whose interest ceased in 
 giving it to the Padre. The austere conditions of his 
 monkish life compelled him to the first step in his adop- 
 tion of it — the concealment of its sex. This was easy 
 enough, as he constituted himself from that moment its 
 sole nurse and attendant, and boldly baptized it among 
 the other children by the name of Francisco. No others 
 knew its origin, nor cared to know. Father Pedro had 
 taken a muchacho foundling for adoption ; his jealous 
 seclusion of it and his personal care was doubtless some 
 sacerdotal formula at once high and necessary. 
 
 He remembered with darkening eyes and impeded 
 breath how his close companionship and daily care of this 
 helpless child had revealed to him the fascinations of that 
 paternity denied to him ; how he had deemed it his duty 
 to struggle against the thrill of baby fingers laid upon his 
 yellow cheeks, the pleading of inarticulate words, the elo- 
 quence of wonder -seeing and mutely questioning eyes ; 
 how he had succumbed again and again, and then strug- 
 gled no more, seeing only in them the suggestion of child- 
 hood made incarnate in the Holy Babe. And yet, even 
 as he thought, he drew from his gown a little shoe, and 
 laid it beside his breviary. It was Francisco's baby slip- 
 per, a duplicate to those worn by the miniature waxen 
 figure of the Holy Virgin herself in her niche in the 
 transept. 
 
 Had he felt during these years any qualms of conscience 
 at this concealment of the child's sex } None. For to 
 him the babe was sexless, as most befitted one who 
 was to live and die at the foot of the altar. There was 
 no attempt to deceive God ; what mattered else ? Nor 
 was he withholding the child from the ministrations of the 
 sacred sisters. There was no convent near the Mission, 
 
Ai the Mission of San Carmel. 249 
 
 and as each year passed, the difficulty of restoring her to 
 the position and duties of her sex became greater and 
 more dangerous. And then the acolyte's destiny was 
 sealed by what again appeared to Father Pedro as a di- 
 rect interposition of Providence. The child developed 
 a voice of such exquisite sweetness and purity that an 
 angel seemed to have strayed into the little choir, and 
 kneeling worshipers below, transported, gazed upwards, 
 half expectant of a heavenly light breaking through the 
 gloom of the raftered ceiling. The fame of the little 
 singer filled the valley of San Carmel ; it was a miracle 
 vouchsafed the Mission ; Don Jose Peralta remembered, 
 ah yes, to have heard in old Spain of boy choristers 
 with such voices ! 
 
 And was this sacred trust to be withdrawn from him ? 
 Was this life, which he had brought out of an unknown 
 world of sin, unstained and pure, consecrated and dedi- 
 cated to God, just in the dawn of power and promise for 
 the glory of the Mother Church, to be taken from his 
 side ? And at the word of a self-convicted man of sin — 
 a man whose tardy repentance was not yet absolved 
 by the Holy Church ? Never ! never ! Father Pedro 
 dwelt upon the stranger's rejections of the ministrations 
 of the Church with a pitiable satisfaction ; had he ac- 
 cepted it, he would have had a sacred claim upon Father 
 Pedro's sympathy and confidence. Yet he rose again, 
 uneasily and with irregular steps returned to the corridor, 
 passing the door of the familiar little cell beside his own. 
 The window, the table, and even the scant toilette utensils 
 were filled with the flowers of yesterday, some of them 
 withered and dry ; the white gown of the little chorister 
 was hanging emptily against the wall. Father Pedro 
 started and trembled ; it seemed as if the spiritual life of 
 the child had slipped away with its garments. 
 
 In that slight chill, which even in the hottest days in 
 
250 At the Mission of San CarmeL 
 
 California always invests any shadow cast in that white 
 sunlight, Father Pedro shivered in the corridor. Passing 
 again into the garden, he followed in fancy the wayfaring 
 figure of Francisco, saw the child arrive at the rancho of 
 Don Juan, and with the fateful blindness of all dreamers 
 projected a picture most unlike the reality. He followed 
 the pilgrims even to San Jose, and saw the child deliver 
 the missive which gave the secret of her sex and condi- 
 tion to the Father Superior. That the authority at San 
 Jose might dissent with the Padre of San Carmel, or de- 
 cline to carry out his designs, did not occur to the one- 
 idea'd priest. Like all solitary people, isolated from 
 passing events, he made no allowance for occurrences 
 outside of his routine. Yet at this moment a sudden 
 thought whitened his yellow cheek. What if the Father 
 Superior deemed it necessary to impart the secret to 
 Francisco ? Would the child recoil at the deception, 
 and, perhaps, cease to love him ? It was the first time, 
 in his supreme selfishness, he had taken the acolyte's 
 feelings into account. He had thought of him only as 
 one owing implicit obedience to him as a temporal and 
 spiritual guide. 
 
 " Reverend Father ! " 
 
 He turned impatiently. It was his muleteer, Jose. 
 Father Pedro's sunken eye brightened. 
 
 " Ah, Jose ! Quickly, then ; hast thou found Sanchi- 
 cha?" 
 
 "Truly, your reverence ! And I have brought her with 
 me, just as she is ; though if your reverence make more 
 of her than to fill the six-foot hole and say a prayer over 
 her, I '11 give the mule that brought her here for food for 
 the bull's horns. She neither hears nor speaks, but 
 whether from weakness or sheer wantonness, I know 
 not." 
 
 " Peace, then ! and let thy tongue take example from 
 
Ai the Mission of San CarmeL 251 
 
 hers. Bring her with thee into the sacristy and attend 
 without. Go ! " 
 
 Father Pedro watched the disappearing figure of the 
 muleteer and hurriedly swept his thin, dry hand, veined 
 and ribbed like a brown November leaf, over his stony 
 forehead, with a sound that seemed almost a rustle. 
 Then he suddenly stiffened his fingers over his breviary, 
 dropped his arms perpendicularly before him, and with a 
 rigid step returned to the corridor and passed into the 
 sacristy. 
 
 For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed 
 to be empty. Tossed carelessly in the corner appeared 
 some blankets topped by a few straggling black horse- 
 tails, like an unstranded riata, A trembling agitated the 
 mass as Father Pedro approached. He bent over the 
 heap and distinguished in its midst the glowing black 
 eyes of Sanchicha, the Indian centenarian of the Mission 
 San Carmel. Only her eyes lived. Helpless, boneless, 
 and jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a mild form 
 of deliquescence. 
 
 "Listen, Sanchicha," said the father, gravely. "It is 
 important that thou shouldst refresh thy memory for a 
 moment. Look back fourteen years, mother; it is but 
 yesterday to thee. Thou dost remember the baby — a 
 little muchacha thou broughtest me then — fourteen years 
 ago ? '' 
 
 The old woman's eyes became intelligent, and turned 
 with a quick look towards the open door of the church, 
 and thence towards the choir. 
 
 The Padre made a motion of irritation. " No, no ! 
 Thou dost not understand ; thou dost not attend me. 
 Knowest thou of any mark of clothing, trinket, or amulet 
 found upon the babe } '^ 
 
 The light of the old woman's eyes went out. She 
 might have been dead. Father Pedro waited a moment, 
 and then laid his hand impatiently on her shoulder. 
 
252 At the Mission of San Car met. 
 
 ^* Dost thou mean there are none ? " 
 
 A ray of light struggled back into her eyes. 
 
 " None.'' 
 
 " And thou hast kept back or put away no sign nor 
 mark of her parentage ? Tell me, on this crucifix.'' 
 
 The eyes caught the crucifix, and became as empty as 
 the orbits of the carven Christ upon it. 
 
 Father Pedro waited patiently. A moment passed ; 
 only the sound of the muleteer's spurs was heard in the 
 courtyard. 
 
 " It is well," he said at last, with a sigh of relief. 
 " Pepita shall give thee some refreshment, and Jose will 
 bring thee back again. I will summon him." 
 
 He passed out of the sacristy door, leaving it open. A 
 ray of sunlight darted eagerly in, and fell upon the gro- 
 tesque heap in the corner. Sanchicha's eyes lived again \ 
 more than that, a singular movement came over her face. 
 The hideous caverns of her toothless mouth opened — 
 she laughed. The step of Jose was heard in the corridor, 
 and she became again inert. 
 
 The third day, which should have brought the return 
 of Antonio, was nearly spent. Father Pedro was impa- 
 tient but not alarmed. The good fathers at San Jose 
 might naturally detain Antonio for the answer, which 
 might require deliberation. If any mischance had oc- 
 curred to Francisco, Antonio would have returned or sent 
 a special messenger. At sunset he was in his accustomed 
 seat in the orchard, his hands clasped over the breviary 
 in his listless lap, his e3'es fixed upon the mountain be- 
 tween him and that mysterious sea that had brought so 
 much into his life. He was filled with a strange desire 
 to see it, a vague curiosity hitherto unknown to his pre- 
 occupied life ; he wished to gaze upon that strand, per- 
 haps the very spot where she had been found ; he doubted 
 not his questioning eyes would discover some forgotten 
 
 / 
 
At the Mission of San Carmel. 253 
 
 trace of her j under his persistent will and aided by the 
 Holy Virgin, the sea would give up its secret. He looked 
 at the fog creeping along the summit, and recalled the 
 latest gossip of San Carmel ; how that since the advent 
 of the Americanos it was gradually encroaching on the 
 Mission. The hated name vividly recalled to him the 
 features of the stranger as he had stood before him three 
 nights ago, in this very garden ; so vividly that he sprang 
 to his feet with an exclamation. It was no fancy, but 
 Senor Cranch himself advancing from under the shadow 
 of a pear tree. 
 
 " I reckoned I 'd catch you here,'^ said Mr. Cranch, with 
 the same dry, practical business fashion, as if he were 
 only resuming an interrupted conversation, *' and I reckon 
 I ain't going to keep you a minit longer than I did 
 t' other day.'* He mutely referred to his watch, which he 
 already held in his hand, and then put it back in his 
 pocket. " Well ! we found her ! " 
 
 " Francisco," interrupted the priest with a single 
 stride, laying his hand upon Cranch's arm, and staring into 
 his eyes. 
 
 Mr. Cranch quietly removed Father Pedro^s hand. 
 " I reckon that was n't the name as / caught it," he re- 
 turned dryly. " Had n't you better sit down ? " 
 
 "Pardon me — pardon me, Senor," said the priest, 
 hastily sinking back upon his bench, " I was thinking of 
 other things. You — you — came upon me suddenly. I 
 thought it was the acolyte. Go on, Senor ! I am inter- 
 ested." 
 
 " I thought you 'd be," said Cranch, quietly. " That 's 
 why I came. And then you might be of service too." 
 
 ** True, true," said the priest, with rapid accents j " and 
 this girl, Senor, this girl is " — 
 
 " Juanita, the mesHza, adopted daughter of Don Juan 
 Briones, over on the Santa Clare Valley," replied Cranch, 
 
254 ^^ ^^^ Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and then sitting 
 down upon the bench beside Father Pedro. 
 
 The priest turned his feverish eyes piercingly upon his 
 companion for a few seconds, and then doggedly fixed 
 them upon the ground. Cranch drew a plug of tobacco 
 from his pocket, cut off a portion, placed it in his cheek, 
 and then quietly began to strap the blade of his jack- 
 knife upon his boot. Father Pedro saw it from under 
 his eyelids, and even in his preoccupation despised him. 
 
 " Then you are certain she is the babe you seek ? " said 
 the father, without looking up. 
 
 " I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. 
 Her age tallies ; she was the only foundling girl baby 
 baptized by you, you know," — he partly turned round 
 appealingly to the Padre, — " that year. Injin woman 
 says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty clear 
 case, don't it 1 '' 
 
 " And the clothes, friend Cranch ? '' said the priest, 
 with his eyes still on the ground, and a slight assumption 
 of easy indifference. 
 
 " They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the 
 time comes," said Cranch. " The main thing at first was 
 to find the girl ; that was my job ; the lawyers, I reckon, 
 can fit the proofs and say what 's wanted, later on." 
 
 " But why lawyers," continued Padre Pedro, with a 
 slight sneer he could not repress, "if the child is found 
 and Senor Cranch is satisfied ? " 
 
 " On account of the property. Business is business ! " 
 
 " The property ? " 
 
 Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his 
 boot, shut it up with a click, and putting it in his pocket 
 said calmly : 
 
 " Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father 
 left when he died, which naturally belongs to her, will 
 require some proof that she is his daughter." 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 255 
 
 He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and 
 turned his eyes full upon Father Pedro. The priest arose 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " But you said nothing of this before, Sefior Cranch," 
 said he, with a gesture of indignation, turning his back 
 quite upon Cranch, and taking a step towards the re- 
 fectory. 
 
 " Why should I .^ I was looking after the girl, not the 
 property,'* returned Cranch, following the Padre with 
 watchful eyes, but still keeping his careless, easy at- 
 titude. 
 
 " Ah, well ! Will it be said so, think you ? Eh ! Bueno. 
 What will the world think of your sacred quest, eh?" 
 continued the Padre Pedro, forgetting himself in his 
 excitement, but still averting his face from his companion. 
 
 " The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not 
 bother if the proofs are all right," replied Cranch, care- 
 lessly j " and the girl won't think the worse for me for 
 helping her to a fortune. Hallo ! you 've dropped some- 
 thing." He leaped to his feet, picked up the breviary 
 which had fallen from the Padre's fingers, and returned it 
 to him with a slight touch of gentleness that was unsus- 
 pected in the man. 
 
 The priest's dry, tremulous hand grasped the volume 
 without acknowledgment. 
 
 "But these proofs?" he said hastily; "these proofs, 
 Senor ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, you '11 testify to the baptism, you know." 
 
 " But if I refuse ; if I will have nothing to do with this 
 thing ! If I will not give my word that there is not some 
 mistake," said the priest, working himself into a feverish 
 indignation. " That there are not slips of memory, eh ? 
 Of so many children baptized, is it possible for me to 
 know which, eh ? And if this Juanit^ \% not your girl, 
 eh?" 
 
256 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 "Then you'll help me to find who is," said Cranch, 
 coolly. 
 
 Father Pedro turned furiously on his tormentor. Over- 
 come by his vigil and anxiety, he was oblivious of every- 
 thing but the presence of the man who seemed to usurp 
 the functions of his own conscience. " Who are you, 
 who speak thus ? '' he said hoarsely, advancing upon 
 Cranch with outstretched and anathematizing fingers. 
 " Who are you, Senor Heathen, who dare to dictate to 
 me, a Father of Holy Church ? I tell you, I will have 
 none of this. Never ! I will not ! From this moment, 
 you understand — nothing. I will never" . . . 
 
 He stopped. The first stroke of the Angelus rang from 
 the little tower. The first stroke of that bell before whose 
 magic exorcism all human passions fled, the peaceful bell 
 that had for fifty years lulled the little fold of San Carmel 
 to prayer and rest, came to his throbbing ear. His trem- 
 bling hands groped for the crucifix, carried it to his left 
 breast ; his lips moved in prayer. His eyes were turned 
 to the cold, passionless sky, where a few faint, far-spaced 
 stars had silently stolen to their places. The Angelus 
 still rang, his trembling ceased, he remained motionless 
 and rigid. 
 
 The American, who had uncovered in deference to the 
 worshiper rather than the rite, waited patiently. The 
 eyes of Father Pedro returned to the earth, moist as if 
 with dew caught from above. He looked half absently 
 at Cranch. 
 
 " Forgive me, my son," he said, in a changed voice. 
 " I am only a worn old man. I must talk with thee more 
 of this — but not to-night — not to-night ; — to-morrow — 
 to-morrow — to-morrow. " 
 
 He turned slowly and appeared to glide rather than 
 move under the trees, until the dark shadow of the Mis- 
 sion tower met and encompassed him. Cranch followed 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 257 
 
 him with anxious eyes. Then he removed the quid of 
 tobacco from his cheek. 
 
 "Just as I reckoned," remarked he, quite audibly. 
 " He 's clean gold on the bed rock after all ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 That night Father Pedro dreamed a strange dream. 
 How much of it was reality, how long it lasted, or when 
 he awoke from it, he could not tell. The morbid ex- 
 citement of the previous day culminated in a febrile exal- 
 tation in which he lived and moved as in a separate exist- 
 ence. 
 
 This is what he remembered. He thought he had 
 risen at night in a sudden horror of remorse, and making 
 his way to the darkened church had fallen upon his knees 
 before the high altar, when all at once the acolyte's voice 
 broke from the choir, but in accents so dissonant and un- 
 natural that it seemed a sacrilege, and he trembled. He 
 thought he had confessed the secret of the child's sex to 
 Cranch, but whether the next morning or a week later 
 he did not know. He fancied, too, that Cranch had also 
 confessed some trifling deception to him, but what, or why, 
 he could not remember ; so much greater seemed the 
 enormity of his own transgression. He thought Cranch 
 had put in his hands the letter he had written to the Fa- 
 ther Superior, saying that his secret was still safe, and 
 that he had been spared the avowal and the scandal that 
 might have ensued. But through all, and above all, he 
 was conscious of one fixed idea : to seek the sea-shore 
 with Sanchicha, and upon the spot where she had found 
 Francisco, meet the young girl who had taken his place, 
 and so part from her forever. He had a dim recollection 
 that this was necessary to some legal identification of her, 
 
258 At the Mission of San CarmeL 
 
 as arranged by Cranch, but how or why he did not under- 
 stand ; enough that it was a part of his penance. 
 
 It was early morning when the faithful Antonio, accom- 
 panied by Sanchicha and Jose, rode forth with him from 
 the Mission of San Carmel. Except on the expression- 
 less features of the old woman, there was anxiety and 
 gloom upon the faces of the little cavalcade. He did not 
 know how heavily his strange abstraction and hallucina- 
 tions weighed upon their honest hearts. As they wound 
 up the ascent of the mountain he noticed that Antonio 
 and Jose conversed with bated breath and many pious 
 crossings of themselves, but with eyes always wistfully 
 fixed upon him. He wondered if, as part of his penance, 
 he ought not to proclaim his sin and abase himself before 
 them ; but he knew that his devoted followers would in- 
 sist upon sharing his punishment ; and he remembered 
 his promise to Cranch, that for her sake he would say 
 nothing. Before they reached the summit he turned once 
 or twice to look back upon the Mission. How small it 
 looked, lying there in the peaceful valley, contrasted with 
 the broad sweep of the landscape beyond, stopped at the 
 farther east only by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the 
 Sierras. But the strong breath of the sea was beginning 
 to be felt ; in a few moments more they were facing it 
 with lowered sombreros and flying serapes^ and the vast, 
 glittering, illimitable Pacific opened out beneath them. 
 
 Dazed and blinded, as it seemed to him, by the shining, 
 restless expanse, Father Pedro rode forward as if still in 
 a dream. Suddenly he halted, and called Antonio to his 
 side. 
 
 ** Tell me, child, didst thou say that this coast was 
 wild and desolate of man, beast, and habitation ? '* 
 
 "Truly I did, reverend father." 
 
 " Then what is that ? " pointing to the shore. 
 
 Almost at their feet nestled a cluster of houses, at the 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 259 
 
 head of an arroyo reaching up from the beach. They 
 looked down upon the smoke of a manufactory chimney, 
 upon strange heaps of material and curious engines scat- 
 tered along the sands, with here and there moving specks 
 of human figures. In a little bay a schooner swung at 
 her cables. 
 
 The vaquero crossed himself in stupefied alarm. "I 
 know not, your reverence ; it is only two years ago, before 
 the rodeo^ that I was here for strayed colts, and I swear by 
 the blessed bones of San Antonio that it was as I said.'* 
 
 " Ah ! it is like these Americanos," responded the 
 muleteer. " I have it from my brother Diego that he 
 went from San Jose to Pescadero two months ago across 
 the plains, with never a hut nor fonda to halt at all the 
 way. He returned in seven days, and in the midst of the 
 plain there were three houses and a mill and many people. 
 And why was it ? Ah ! Mother of God ! one had picked 
 up in the creek where he drank that much of gold ; " and 
 the muleteer tapped one of the silver coins that fringed his 
 jacket sleeves in place of buttons. 
 
 " And they are washing the sands for gold there now," 
 said Antonio, eagerly pointing to some men gathered 
 round a machine like an enormous cradle. "Let us 
 hasten on." 
 
 Father Pedro's momentary interest had passed. The 
 words of his companions fell dull and meaningless upon 
 his dreaming ears. He was conscious only that the child 
 was more a stranger to him as an outcome of this hard, 
 bustling life, than when he believed her borne to him over 
 the mysterious sea. It perplexed his dazed, disturbed 
 mind to think that if such an antagonistic element could 
 exist within a dozen miles of the Mission, and he not 
 know it, could not such an atmosphere have been around 
 him., even in his monastic isolation, and he remain blind 
 to it ? Had he really lived in the world without knowing 
 
26o At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 it ? Had it been in his blood ? Had it impelled him to — 
 He shuddered and rode on. 
 
 They were at the last slope of the zigzag descent to the 
 shore, when he saw the figures of a man and woman mov- 
 ing slowly through a field of wild oats, not far from the 
 trail. It seemed to his distorted fancy that the man was 
 Cranch. The woman ! His heart stopped beating. Ah ! 
 could it be ? He had never seen her in her proper garb : 
 would she look like that } Would she be as tall ? He 
 thought he bade Jose and Antonio go on slowly before 
 with Sanchicha, and dismounted, walking slowly between 
 the high stalks of grain lest he should disturb them. They 
 evidently did not hear his approach, but were talking 
 earnestly. It seemed to Father Pedro that they had taken 
 each other^s hands, and as he looked Cranch slipped his 
 arm round her waist. With only a blind instinct of some 
 dreadful sacrilege in this act, Father Pedro would have 
 rushed forward, when the girFs voice struck his ear. He 
 stopped, breathless. It was not Francisco, but Juanita, 
 the little mestiza, 
 
 " But are you sure you are not pretending to love me 
 now, as you pretended to think I was the muchacha you 
 had run away with and lost ? Are you sure it is not pity 
 for the deceit you practiced upon me — upon Don Juan — 
 upon poor Father Pedro ? " 
 
 It seemed as if Cranch had tried to answer with a kiss, 
 for the girl drew suddenly away from him with a coquet- 
 tish fling of the black braids, and whipped her little 
 brown hands behind her. 
 
 " Well, look here," said Cranch, with the same easy, 
 good-natured, practical directness which the priest re- 
 membered, and which would have passed for philosophy 
 in a more thoughtful man, " put it squarely, then. In the 
 first place, it was Don Juan and the alcalde who first sug- 
 gested you might be the child." 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 261 
 
 " But you have said you knew it was Francisco all the 
 time," interrupted Juanita. 
 
 " I did ; but when I found the priest would not assist 
 me at first, and admit that the acolyte was a girl, I pre- 
 ferred to let him think I was deceived in giving a fortune 
 to another, and leave it to his own conscience to permit 
 it or frustrate it. I was right. I reckon it was pretty hard 
 on the old man, at his time of life, and wrapped up as he 
 was in the girl ; but at the moment he came up to the 
 scratch like a man." 
 
 " And to save him you have deceived me ? Thank you, 
 Senor," said the girl with a mock curtsey. 
 
 " I reckon I preferred to have you for a wife than a 
 daughter," said Cranch, " if that 's what you mean. 
 When you know me better, Juanita," he continued, 
 gravely, "you'll know that I would never have let you 
 believe I sought in you the one if I had not hoped to find 
 in you the other." 
 
 " Bueno I And when did you have that pretty hope ? " 
 
 " When I first saw you." 
 
 " And that was — two weeks ago." 
 
 " A year ago, Juanita. When Francisco visited you at 
 the rancho. I followed and saw you." 
 
 Juanita looked at him a moment, and then suddenly 
 darted at him, caught him by the lapels of his coat and 
 shook him like a terrier. 
 
 " Are you sure that you did not love that Francisco ? 
 Speak ! " (She shook him again.) " Swear that you did 
 not follow her ! " 
 
 "But — I did," said Cranch, laughing and shaking be- 
 tween the clenching of the little hands. 
 
 " Judas Iscariot ! Swear you do not love her all this 
 while." 
 
 " But, Juanita 1 " 
 
 " Swear ! " 
 
262 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Cranch swore. Then to Father Pedro's intense aston- 
 ishment she drew the American's face towards her own 
 by the ears and kissed him. 
 
 " But you might have loved her, and married a fortune," 
 said Juanita, after a pause. 
 
 ** Where would have been my reparation — my duty ? " 
 returned Cranch, with a laugh. 
 
 " Reparation enough for her to have had you," said 
 Juanita, with that rapid disloyalty of one loving woman 
 to another in an emergency. This provoked another 
 kiss from Cranch, and then Juanita said demurely : 
 
 " But we are far from the trail. Let us return, or we 
 shall miss Father Pedro. Are you sure he will come ? " 
 
 " A week ago he promised to be here to see the proofs 
 to-day." 
 
 The voices were growing fainter and fainter ; they were 
 returning to the trail. 
 
 Father Pedro remained motionless. A week ago ! Was 
 it a week ago since — since what ? And what had he 
 been doing here ? Listening ! He ! Father Pedro, lis- 
 tening like an idle peon to the confidences of two lovers. 
 But they had talked of him, of his crime, and the man 
 had pitied him. Why did he not speak ? Why did he not 
 call after them ? He tried to raise his voice. It sank in 
 his throat with a horrible choking sensation. The nearest 
 heads of oats began to nod to him, he felt himself swaying 
 backward and forward. He fell — heavily, down, down, 
 down, from the summit of the mountain to the floor of 
 the Mission chapel, and there he lay in the dark. 
 
 "He moves." 
 
 " Blessed Saint Anthony preserve him ! " 
 It was Antonio's voice, it was Jose's arm, it was the 
 field of wild oats, the sky above his head, — all un- 
 changed. 
 
At the Mission of San CarmeL 263 
 
 " What has happened ? " said the priest feebly. 
 
 " A giddiness seized your reverence just now, as we 
 were coming to seek you/' 
 
 " And you met no one ? " 
 
 " No one, your reverence." 
 
 Father Pedro passed his hand across his forehead. 
 
 " But who are these ? " he said, pointing to two figures 
 who now appeared upon the trail. 
 
 Antonio turned. 
 
 " It is the Americano, Senor Cranch, and his adopted 
 daughter, the mestiza Juanita, seeking your reverence, me- 
 thinks.'' 
 
 " Ah ! " said Father Pedro. 
 
 Cranch came forward and greeted the priest cordially. 
 
 " It was kind of you. Father Pedro," he said, mean- 
 ingly, with a significant glance at Jose and Antonio, " to 
 come so far to bid me and my adopted daughter farewell. 
 We depart when the tide serves, but not before you par- 
 take of our hospitality in yonder cottage." 
 
 Father Pedro gazed at Cranch and then at Juanita. 
 
 " I see," he stammered. " But she goes not alone. 
 She will be strange at first. She takes some friend, per- 
 haps — some companion ? " he continued, tremulously. 
 
 " A very old and dear one, Father Pedro, who is * wait- 
 ing for us now." 
 
 He led the way to a little white cottage, so little and 
 white and recent, that it seemed a mere fleck of sea-foam 
 cast on the sands. Disposing of Jose and Antonio in the 
 neighboring workshop and outbuildings, he assisted the 
 venerable Sanchicha to dismount, and, together with Fa- 
 ther Pedro and Juanita, entered a white palisaded enclos- 
 ure beside the cottage, and halted before what appeared 
 to be a large folding trap-door, covering a slight sandy 
 mound. It was locked with a padlock ; beside it stood 
 the American alcalde and Don Juan Briones. Father 
 
264 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Pedro looked hastily around for another figure, but it was 
 not there. 
 
 ** Gentlemen," began Cranch, in his practical business 
 way, ** I reckon you all know we 've come here to identify 
 a young lady, who " — he hesitated — " was lately under 
 the care of Father Pedro, with a foundling picked up on 
 this shore fifteen years ago by an Indian woman. How 
 this foundling came here, and how I was concerned in it, 
 you all know. I Ve told everybody here how I scrambled 
 ashore, leaving the baby in the dingy, supposing it would 
 be picked up by the boat pursuing me. I Ve told some 
 of you," he looked at Father Pedro, "how I first discov- 
 ered, from one of the men, three years ago, that the child 
 was not found by its father. But I have never told any 
 one, before now, I knew it was picked up here. 
 
 ** I never could tell the exact locality where I came 
 ashore, for the fog was coming on as it is now. But two 
 years ago I came up with a party of gold hunters to work 
 these sands. One day, digging near this creek, I struck 
 something embedded deep below the surface. Well, 
 gentlemen, it was n't gold, but something worth more to 
 me than gold or silver. Here it is." 
 
 At a sign the alcalde unlocked the doors and threw 
 them open. They disclosed an irregular trench, in which, 
 filled with sand, lay the half-excavated stern of a boat. 
 
 " It was the dingy of the Trinidad, gentlemen ; you can 
 still read her name. I found hidden away, tucked under 
 the stern sheets, moldy and water -worn, some clothes 
 that I recognized to be the baby's. I knew then that 
 the child had been taken away alive for some purpose, 
 and the clothes were left so that she should carry no trace 
 with her. I recognized the hand of an Indian. I set to 
 work quietly. I found Sanchicha here, she confessed to 
 finding a baby, but what she had done with it she would 
 not at first say. But since then she has declared before 
 
At the Mission of San Carmel, 265 
 
 the alcalde that she gave it to Father Pedro of San Car- 
 mel, and that here it stands — Francisco that was ! Fran- 
 cisca that it is ! '' 
 
 He stepped aside to make way for a tall girl, who had 
 approached from the cottage. 
 
 Father Pedro had neither noticed the concluding words 
 nor the movement of Cranch. His eyes were fixed upon 
 the imbecile Sanchicha, — Sanchicha, of whom, to render 
 his rebuke more complete, the Deity seemed to have 
 worked a miracle, and restored intelligence to eye and 
 lip. He passed his hand tremblingly across his forehead, 
 and turned away, when his eye fell upon the last comer. 
 
 It was she. The moment he had longed for and 
 dreaded had come. She stood there, animated, hand- 
 some, filled with a hurtful consciousness in her new 
 charms, her fresh finery, and the pitiable trinkets that had 
 supplanted her scapulary, and which played under her 
 foolish fingers. The past had no place in her preoccu- 
 pied mind ; her bright eyes were full of eager anticipa- 
 tion of a substantial future. The incarnation of a frivolous 
 world, even as she extended one hand to him in half- 
 coquettish embarrassment she arranged the folds of her 
 dress with the other. At the touch of her fingers he 
 felt himself growing old and cold. Even the penance of 
 parting, which he had looked forward to, was denied him ; 
 there was no longer sympathy enough for sorrow. He 
 thought of the empty chorister's robe in the little cell, 
 but not now with regret. He only trembled to think of 
 the flesh that he had once caused to inhabit it. 
 
 *' That 's all, gentlemen," broke in the practical voice 
 of Cranch. " Whether there are proofs enough to make 
 Francisca the heiress of her father's wealth, the lawyers 
 must say. I reckon it 's enough for me that they give me 
 the chance of repairing a wrong by taking her father's 
 place. After all, it was a mere chance." 
 
266 At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 " It was the will of God," said Father Pedro, solemnly. 
 
 They were the last words he addressed them. For 
 when the fog had begun to creep in-shore, hastening their 
 departure, he only answered their farewells by a silent 
 pressure of the hand, mute lips, and far-oJBE eyes. 
 
 When the sound of their laboring oars grew fainter, he 
 told Antonio to lead him and Sanchicha again to the 
 buried boat. There he bade her kneel beside him. " We 
 will do penance here, thou and I, daughter,^' he said, 
 gravely. When the fog had drawn its curtain gently 
 around the strange pair, and sea and shore were blotted 
 out, he whispered, " Tell me, it was even so, was it not, 
 daughter, on the night she came .^ " When the distant 
 clatter of blocks and rattle of cordage came from the 
 unseen vessel, now standing out to sea, he whispered 
 again, " So, this is what thou didst hear, even then." 
 And so during the night he marked, more or less audibly 
 to the half-conscious woman at his side, the low whisper 
 of the waves, the murmur of the far-off breakers, the 
 lightening and thickening of the fog, the phantoms of 
 moving shapes, and the slow coming of the dawn. And 
 when the morning sun had rent the veil over land and 
 sea, Antonio and Jose found him, haggard but erect, 
 beside the trembling old woman, with a blessing on his 
 lips, pointing to the horizon where a single sail still glim- 
 mered: — 
 
 " Va Usted con Diosr 
 
 \ 
 
I. 
 
 She was barely twenty-three years old. It is probable 
 that up to that age, and the beginning of this episode, her 
 life had been uneventful. Born to the easy mediocrity of 
 such compensating extremes as a small farmhouse and 
 large lands, a good position and no society, in that vast 
 grazing district of Kentucky known as the " Blue Grass " 
 region, all the possibilities of a Western American girl's 
 existence lay before her. A piano in the bare-walled 
 house, the latest patented mower in the limitless meadows, 
 and a silk dress sweeping the rough floor of the unpainted 
 "meeting-house," were already the promise of those 
 possibilities. Beautiful she was, but the power of that 
 beauty was limited by being equally shared with her 
 few neighbors. There were small, narrow, arched feet 
 besides her own that trod the uncarpeted floors of out- 
 lying log cabins with equal grace and dignity ; bright, 
 clearly opened eyes that were equally capable of looking 
 unabashed upon princes and potentates, as a few later 
 did, and the heiress of the county judge read her own 
 beauty without envy in the frank glances and unlowered 
 crest of the blacksmith's daughter. Eventually she had 
 married the male of her species, a young stranger, who, 
 as schoolmaster in the nearest town, had utilized to some 
 local extent a scant capital of education. In obedience 
 to the unwritten law of the West, after the marriage was 
 celebrated the doors of the ancestral home cheerfully 
 opened, and bride and bridegroom issued forth, without 
 
268 A Blue Grass Penelope, 
 
 regret and without sentiment, to seek the further pos- 
 sibilities of a life beyond these already too familiar 
 voices. With their departure for California as Mr. and 
 Mrs. Spencer Tucker, the parental nest in the Blue Grass 
 meadows knew them no more. 
 
 They submitted with equal cheerfulness to the priva- 
 tions and excesses of their new conditions. Within three 
 years the schoolmaster developed into a lawyer and capi- 
 talist, the Blue Grass bride supplying a grace and ease to 
 these transitions that were all her own. She softened 
 the abruptness of sudden wealth, mitigated the austerities 
 of newly acquired power, and made the most glaring in- 
 congruity picturesque. Only one thing seemed to limit 
 their progress in the region of these possibilities. They 
 were childless. It was as if they had exhausted the 
 future in their own youth, leaving little or nothing for 
 another generation to do. 
 
 A southwesterly storm was beating against the dress- 
 ing-room windows of their new house in one of the hilly 
 suburbs of San Francisco, and threatening the unseason- 
 able frivolity of the stucco ornamentation of cornice and 
 balcony. Mrs. Tucker had been called from the con- 
 templation of the dreary prospect without by the arrival 
 of a visitor. On entering the drawing-room she found 
 him engaged in a half admiring, half resentful examina- 
 tion of its new furniture and hangings. Mrs. Tucker at 
 once recognized Mr. Calhoun Weaver, a former Blue 
 Grass neighbor; with swift feminine intuition she also 
 felt that his slight antagonism was likely to be trans- 
 ferred from her furniture to herself. AVaiving it with the 
 lazy amiability of Southern indifference, she welcomed 
 him by the familiarity of a Christian name. 
 
 " I reckoned that mebbee you opined old Blue Grass 
 friends would n't naturally hitch on to them fancy doins," 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 269 
 
 he said, glancing around the apartment to avoid her clear 
 eyes, as if resolutely setting himself against the old charm 
 of her manner as he had against the more recent glory 
 of her surroundings, " but I thought I ^d just drop in for 
 the sake of old times." 
 
 " Why should n't you, Cal ? " said Mrs. Tucker with a 
 frank smile. 
 
 "Especially as I'm going up to Sacramento to-night 
 with some influential friends," he continued, with an 
 ostentation calculated to resist the assumption of her 
 charms and her furniture. " Senator Dyce of Kentucky, 
 and his cousin Judge Briggs ; perhaps you know 'em, or 
 maybe Spencer — I mean Mr. Tucker — does." 
 
 "I reckon," said Mrs. Tucker smiling; "but tell me 
 something about the boys and girls at Vineville, and 
 about yourself. You ^re looking well, and right smart 
 too." She paused to give due emphasis to this latter 
 recognition of a huge gold chain with which her visitor 
 was somewhat ostentatiously trifling. 
 
 " I did n't know as you cared to hear anything about 
 Blue Grass," he returned, a little abashed. " I 've been 
 away from there some time myself," he added, his uneasy 
 vanity taking fresh alarm at the faint suspicion of patron- 
 age on the part of his hostess. " They 're doin' well 
 though ; perhaps as well as some others." 
 
 "And you 're not married yet," continued Mrs. Tucker, 
 oblivious of the innuendo. " Ah Cal," she added archly, 
 " I am afraid you are as fickle as ever. What poor girl 
 in Vineville have you left pining ? " 
 
 . The simple face of the man before her flushed with 
 foolish gratification at this old-fashioned, ambiguous flat- 
 tery. " Now look yer. Belle," he said, chuckling, " if 
 you 're talking of old times and you think 1 bear malice 
 agin Spencer, why " — 
 
 But Mrs. Tucker interrupted what might have been an 
 
270 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 inopportune sentimental retrospect with a finger of arch 
 but languid warning. " That will do ! I 'm dying to 
 know all about it, and you must stay to dinner and tell 
 me. It 's right mean you can't see Spencer too ; but he 
 is n't back from Sacramento yet." 
 
 Grateful as a tete-a-tete with his old neighbor in her 
 more prosperous surroundings would have been, if only 
 for the sake of later gossiping about it, he felt it would be 
 inconsistent with his pride and his assumption of present 
 business. More than that, he was uneasily conscious 
 that in Mrs. Tucker's simple and unaffected manner there 
 was a greater superiority than he had ever noticed dur- 
 ing their previous acquaintance. He would have felt 
 kinder to her had she shown any " airs and graces," 
 which he could have commented upon and forgiven. He 
 stammered some vague excuse of preoccupation, yet lin- 
 gered in the hope of saying something which, if not ag- 
 gressively unpleasant, might at least transfer to her in- 
 dolent serenity some of his own irritation. " I reckon," 
 he said, as he moved hesitatingly toward the door, " that 
 Spencer has made himself easy and secure in them busi- 
 ness risks he 's taking. That 'ere Alameda ditch affair 
 they're talking so much about is a mighty big thing, 
 rather too big if it ever got to falling back on him. But I 
 suppose he 's accustomed to take risks 1 " 
 
 " Of course he is," said Mrs. Tucker gayly. " He 
 marri^ meP 
 
 The visitor smiled feebly, but was not equal to the op- 
 portunity offered for gallant repudiation. ** But suppose 
 you ain't accustomed to risks 1 '* 
 
 " Why not ? I married ^/w," said Mrs. Tucker. 
 
 Mr. Calhoun Weaver was human, and succumbed to 
 this last charming audacity. He broke into a noisy but 
 genuine laugh, shook Mrs. Tucker's hand with effusion, 
 said, " Now that 's regular Blue Grass and no mistake ! " 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope, 271 
 
 and retreated under cover of his hilarity. In the hall he 
 made a rallying stand to repeat confidentially to the ser- 
 vant who had overheard them, " Blue Grass all over, you 
 bet your life/' and, opening the door, was apparently 
 swallowed up in the tempest. 
 
 Mrs. Tucker's smile kept her lips until she had re- 
 turned to her room, and even then languidly shone in 
 her eyes for some minutes after, as she gazed abstract- 
 edly from her window on the storm-tossed bay in the dis- 
 tance. Perhaps some girlish vision of the peaceful Blue 
 Grass plain momentarily usurped the prospect ; but it is 
 to be doubted if there was much romance in that retro- 
 spect, or that it was more interesting to her than the 
 positive and sharply cut outlines of the practical life she 
 now led. Howbeit she soon forgot this fancy in lazily 
 watching a boat that, in the teeth of the gale, was beat- 
 ing round Alcatraz Island. Although at times a mere 
 blank speck on the gray waste of foam, a closer scrutiny 
 showed it to be one of those lateen-rigged Italian fishing- 
 boats that so often flecked the distant bay. Lost in the 
 sudden darkening of rain, or reappearing beneath the lifted 
 curtain of the squall, she watched it weather the island, 
 and then turn its laboring but persistent course toward 
 the open channel. A rent in the Indian-inky sky, that 
 showed the narrowing portals of the Golden Gate be- 
 yond, revealed, as unexpectedly, the destination of^he 
 little craft, a tall ship that hitherto lay hidden in the mist 
 of the Saucelito shore. As the distance lessened be- 
 tween boat and ship, they were again lost in the down- 
 ward swoop of another squall. When it lifted, the ship 
 was creeping under the headland towards the open sea, 
 but the boat was gone. Mrs. Tucker in vain rubbed the 
 pane with her handkerchief, it had vanished. Mean- 
 while the ship, as she neared the Gate, drew out from the 
 protecting headland, stood outlined for a moment with 
 
272 A Blue Grass Pe^ielope. 
 
 spars and canvas hearsed in black against the lurid rent 
 in the horizon, and then seemed to sink slowly into the 
 heaving obscurity beyond. A sudden onset of rain against 
 the windows obliterated the remaining prospect ; the en- 
 trance of a servant completed the diversion. 
 
 *^ Captain Poindexter, ma'am ! " 
 
 Mrs. Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively. 
 Captain Poindexter was a legal friend of her husband, 
 and had dined there frequently ; nevertheless she asked, 
 " Did you tell him Mr. Tucker was not at home ? '' 
 
 "Yes, 'm." 
 
 "Did he askfor /«^r* 
 
 " Yes, 'm." 
 
 " Tell him I '11 be down directly." 
 
 Mrs. Tucker's quiet face did not betray the fact that 
 this second visitor was even less interesting than the first. 
 In her heart she did not like Captain Poindexter. With 
 a clever woman's instinct, she had early detected the fact 
 that he had a superior, stronger nature than her husband ; 
 as a loyal wife, she secretly resented the occasional un- 
 conscious exhibition of this fact on the part of his inti- 
 mate friend in their familiar intercourse. Added to this 
 slight jealousy there was a certain moral antagonism be- 
 tween herself and the captain which none but themselves 
 knew. They were both philosophers, but Mrs. Tucker's 
 serene and languid optimism would not tolerate the com- 
 passionate and kind-hearted pessimisms of the lawyer. 
 " Knowing what Jack Poindexter does of human nature," 
 her husband had once said, " it 's mighty fine in him to 
 be so kind and forgiving. You ought to like him better, 
 Belle." " And qualify myself to be forgiven," said the 
 lady pertly. " I don't see what you 're driving at. Belle ; 
 I give it up," had responded the puzzled husband. Mrs. 
 Tucker kissed his high but foolish forehead tenderly, and 
 said, " I 'm glad you don't, dear." 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope, 273 
 
 Meanwhile her second visitor had, like the first, em- 
 ployed the interval in a critical survey of the glories of 
 the new furniture, but with apparently more compassion 
 than resentment in his manner. Once only had his ex- 
 pression changed. Over the fireplace hung a large photo- 
 graph of Mr. Spencer Tucker. It was retouched, refined, 
 and idealized in the highest style of that polite and dip- 
 lomatic art. As Captain Poindexter looked upon the 
 fringed hazel eyes, the drooping raven mustache, the 
 clustering ringlets, and the Byronic full throat and turned- 
 down collar of his friend, a smile of exhausted humorous 
 tolerance and affectionate impatience curved his lips. 
 " Well, you are a fool, are n't you ? " he apostrophized it 
 half audibly. 
 
 He was standing before the picture as she entered. 
 Even in the trying contiguity of that peerless work he 
 would have been called a fine-looking man. As he ad- 
 vanced to greet her, it was evident that his military title 
 was not one of the mere fanciful sobriquets of the local- 
 ity. In his erect figure and the disciplined composure of 
 limb and attitude there were still traces of the refined 
 academic rigors of West Point. The pliant adaptability 
 of Western civilization, which enabled him, three years 
 before, to leave the army and transfer his executive 
 ability to the more profitable profession of the law, had 
 loosed sash and shoulder - strap, but had not entirely 
 removed the restraint of the one, nor the bearing of the 
 other. 
 
 " Spencer is in Sacramento,'' began Mrs. Tucker in 
 languid explanation, after the first greetings were over. 
 
 " I knew he was not here," replied Captain Poindexter 
 gently, as he drew the proffered chair towards her, *' but 
 this is business that concerns you both." He stopped 
 and glanced upwards at the picture. *^I suppose you 
 know nothing of his business ? Of course not," he added 
 
2 74 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 reassuringly, *' nothing, absolutely nothing, certainly." 
 He said this so kindly, and yet so positively, as if to 
 promptly dispose of that question before going further, 
 that she assented mechanically. " Well, then, he 's taken 
 some big risks in the way of business, and — well, things 
 have gone bad with him, you know. Very bad ! Really, 
 they could n't be worse ! Of course it was dreadfully 
 rash and all that,'' he went on, as if commenting upon 
 the amusing waywardness of a child ; " but the result is 
 the usual smash - up of everything, money, credit,^ and 
 all ! " He laughed and added, " Yes, he 's got cut off — 
 mules and baggage regularly routed and dispersed ! I 'm 
 in earnest." He raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly, 
 as if to deprecate any corresponding hilarity on the part 
 of Mrs. Tucker, or any attempt to make too light of the 
 subject, and then rising, placed his hands behind his 
 back, beamed half - humorously upon her from beneath 
 her husband's picture, and repeated, " That 's so." 
 
 Mrs. Tucker instinctively knew that he spoke the truth, 
 and that it was impossible for him to convey it in any 
 other than his natural manner ; but between the shock 
 and the singular influence of that manner she could at 
 first only say, " You don't mean it ! " fully conscious of 
 the utter inanity of the remark, and that it seemed 
 scarcely less cold-blooded than his own. 
 
 Poindexter, still smiling, nodded. 
 
 She arose with an effort. She had recovered from the 
 first shock, and pride lent her a determined calmness that 
 more than equaled Poindexter's easy philosophy. 
 
 " Where is he 1 " she asked. 
 
 " At sea, and I hope by this time where he cannot be 
 found or followed." 
 
 Was her momentary glimpse of the outgoing ship a 
 coincidence or only a vision ? She was confused and 
 giddy, but, mastering her weakness, she managed to con- 
 tinue in a lower voice : 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 275 
 
 " You have no message for me from him ? He told 
 you nothing to tell me ? '' 
 
 " Nothing, absolutely nothing/' replied Poindexter. 
 ** It was as much as he could do, I reckon, to get fairly 
 away before the crash came." 
 
 " Then you did not see him go ? " 
 
 "Well, no," said Poindexter. "I 'd hardly have man- 
 aged things in this way." He checked himself and 
 added, with a forgiving smile, " but he was the best judge 
 of what he needed, of course." 
 
 " I suppose I will hear from him," she said quietly, " as 
 soon as he is safe. He must have had enough else to 
 think about, poor fellow." 
 
 She said this so naturally and quietly that Poindexter 
 was deceived. He had no idea that the collected woman 
 before him was thinking only of solitude and darkness, 
 of her own room, and madly longing to be there. He 
 said, "Yes, I dare say," in quite another voice, and 
 glanced at the picture. But as she remained standing, 
 he continued more earnestly, " I did n't come here to tell 
 you what you might read in the newspapers to-morrow 
 morning, and what everybody might tell you. Before 
 that time I want you to do something to save a fragment 
 of your property from the ruin ; do you understand } I 
 want you to make a rally, and bring off something in good 
 order." 
 
 " For him ? " said Mrs. Tucker, with brightening eyes. 
 
 " Well, yes, of course — if you like — but as if for your- 
 self. Do you know the Rancho de los Cuervos } " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 ** It 's almost the only bit of real property your husband 
 has n't sold, mortgaged, or pledged. Why it was exempt, 
 or whether only forgotten, I can't say." 
 
 " I '11 tell you why," said Mrs. Tucker, with a slight 
 return of color. " It was the first land we ever bought, 
 
276 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 and Spencer always said it should be mine and he would 
 build a new house on it." 
 
 Captain Poindexter smiled and nodded at the picture. 
 " Oh, he did say that, did he ? Well, thafs evidence. But 
 you see he never gave you the deed, and by sunrise to- 
 morrow his creditors will attach it — unless — 
 
 " Unless " — repeated Mrs. Tucker, with kindling eyes. 
 
 "Unless," continued Captain Poindexter, "they hap- 
 pen to ^M^ you in possession." 
 
 " I '11 go," said Mrs. Tucker. 
 
 "Of course you will," returned Poindexter, pleasantly. 
 " Only, as it 's a big contract to take, suppose we see how 
 you can fill it. It 's forty miles to Los Cuervos, and you 
 can't trust yourself to steamboat or stage-coach. The 
 steamboat left an hour ago." 
 
 " If I had only known this then ! " ejaculated Mrs. 
 Tucker. 
 
 "/knew it, but you had company then," said Poindex- 
 ter, with ironical gallantry, " and I would n't disturb you." 
 Without saying how he knew it, he continued, " In the 
 stage-coach you might be recognized. You must go in a 
 private conveyance and alone ; even I cannot go with 
 you, for I must go on before and meet you there. Can 
 you drive forty miles ? " 
 
 Mrs. Tucker lifted up her abstracted pretty lids. " I 
 once drove fifty — at home," she returned simply. 
 
 " Good ! And I dare say you did it then for fun. Do 
 it now for something real and personal, as we lawyers 
 say. You will have relays and a plan of the road. It 's 
 rough weather for a pasear^ but all the better for that. 
 You '11 have less company on the road." 
 
 " How soon can I go ? " she asked. 
 
 " The sooner the better. I Ve arranged everything for 
 you already," he continued with a laugh. " Come now, 
 that 's a compliment to you, is n't it ? " He smiled a mo- 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope, 277 
 
 ment in her steadfast, earnest face, and then said, more 
 gravely, " You '11 do. Now listen." 
 
 He then carefully detailed his plan. There was so 
 little of excitement or mystery in their manner that the 
 servant, who returned to light the gas, never knew that 
 the ruin and bankruptcy of the house was being told be- 
 fore her, or that its mistress was planning her secret 
 flight. 
 
 " Good afternoon. I will see you to-morrow then," said 
 Poindexter, raising his eyes to hers as the servant opened 
 the door for him. 
 
 "Good afternoon," repeated Mrs. Tucker, quietly an- 
 swering his look. " You need not light the gas in my 
 room, Mary," she continued in the same tone of voice as 
 the door closed upon him ; " I shall lie down for a few 
 moments, and then I may run over to the Robinsons for 
 the evening." 
 
 She regained her room composedly. The longing de- 
 sire to bury her head in her pillow and " think out " her 
 position had gone. She did not apostrophize her fate, 
 she did not weep ; few real women do in the access of 
 calamity, or when there is anything else to be done. She 
 felt that she knew it all ; she believed she had sounded 
 the profoundest depths of the disaster, and seemed al- 
 ready so old in her experience that she almost fancied 
 she had been prepared for it. Perhaps she did not fully 
 appreciate it. To a life like hers it was only an incident, 
 the mere turning of a page of the illimitable book of 
 youth ; the breaking up of what she now felt had become 
 a monotony. In fact, she was not quite sure she had ever 
 been satisfied with their present success. Had it brought 
 her all she expected ? She wanted to say this to her hus- 
 band, not only to comfort him, poor fellow, but that they 
 might come to a better understanding of life in the future. 
 She was not perhaps different from other loving women, 
 
278 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 who, believing in this unattainable goal of matrimony, 
 have sought it in the various episodes of fortune or re- 
 verses, in the bearing of children, or the loss of friends. 
 In her childless experience there was no other life that 
 had taken root in her circumstances and might suffer 
 transplantation ; only she and her husband could lose or 
 profit by the change. The *' perfect " understanding 
 would come under other conditions than these. 
 
 She would have gone superstitiously to the window to 
 gaze in the direction of the vanished ship, but another in- 
 stinct restrained her. She would put aside all yearning 
 for him until she had done something to help him, and 
 earned the confidence he seemed to have withheld. Per- 
 haps it was pride — perhaps she never really believed his 
 exodus was distant or complete. 
 
 With a full knowledge that to-morrow the various orna- 
 ments and pretty trifles around her would be in the hands 
 of the law, she gathered only a few necessaries for her 
 flight and some familiar personal trinkets. I am con- 
 strained to say that this self-abnegation was more fastid- 
 ious than moral. She had no more idea of the ethics of 
 bankruptcy than any other charming woman ; she simply 
 did not like to take with her any contagious memory of 
 the chapter of the life just closing. She glanced around 
 the home she was leaving without a lingering regret ; 
 there was no sentiment of tradition or custom that might 
 be destroyed ; her roots lay too near the surface to suffer 
 dislocation ; the happiness of her childless union had de- 
 pended upon no domestic center, nor was its flame sacred 
 to any local hearthstone. It was without a sigh that, when 
 night had fully fallen, she slipped unnoticed down the 
 staircase. At the door of the drawing-room she paused, 
 and then entered with the first guilty feeling of shame she 
 had known that evening. Looking stealthily around, she 
 mounted a chair before her husband's picture, kissed the 
 
A Blue Grass Pefielope. 279 
 
 irreproachable mustache hurriedly, said, " You foolish 
 darling, you ! " and slipped out again. With this touch- 
 ing indorsement of the views of a rival philosopher, she 
 closed the door softly and left her home forever. 
 
 II. 
 
 The wind and rain had cleared the unfrequented suburb 
 of any observant lounger, and the darkness, lit only by far- 
 spaced, gusty lamps, hid her hastening figure. She had 
 barely crossed the second street when she heard the quick 
 clatter of hoofs behind her ; a buggy drove up to the 
 curbstone, and Poindexter leaped out. She entered 
 quickly, but for a moment he still held the reins of the im- 
 patient horse. " He 's rather fresh," he said, eying her 
 keenly ; " are you sure you can manage him ? " 
 
 " Give me the reins," she said simply. 
 
 He placed them in the two firm, well-shaped hands 
 that reached from the depths of the vehicle, and was 
 satisfied. Yet he lingered. 
 
 " It 's rough work for a lone woman," he said, almost 
 curtly. " /can't go with you, but, speak frankly, is there 
 any man you know whom you can trust well enough to 
 take ? It 's not too late yet ; think a moment ! " 
 
 He paused over the buttoning of the leather apron of 
 the vehicle. 
 
 " No, there is none," answered the voice from the in- 
 terior ; " and it 's better so. Is all ready ? " 
 
 " One moment more." He had recovered his half ban- 
 tering manner. " You have a friend and countryman al- 
 ready with you, do you know 1 Your horse is Blue Grass. 
 Good-night." 
 
 With these words ringing in her ears she began her 
 journey. The horse, as if eager to maintain the reputa- 
 
28o A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 tion which his native district had given his race, as well 
 as the race of the pretty woman behind him, leaped im- 
 patiently forward. But pulled together by the fine and 
 firm fingers that seemed to guide rather than check his 
 exuberance, he presently struck into the long, swinging 
 pace of his kind, and kept it throughout without " break " 
 or acceleration. Over the paved streets the light buggy 
 rattled, and the slender shafts danced around his smooth 
 barrel, but when they touched the level high road, horse 
 and vehicle slipped forward through the night, a swift and 
 noiseless phantom. Mrs. Tucker could see his graceful 
 back dimly rising and falling before her with tireless 
 rhythm, and could feel the intelligent pressure of his 
 mouth until it seemed the responsive grasp of a power- 
 ful but kindly hand. The faint glow of conquest came to 
 her cold cheek ; the slight stirrings of pride moved her 
 preoccupied heart. A soft light filled her hazel eyes. 
 A desolate woman, bereft of husband and home, and fly- 
 ing through storm and night, she knew not where, she still 
 leaned forward towards her horse. "Was he Blue Grass, 
 then, dear old boy ? " she gently cooed at him in the dark- 
 ness. He evidently was^ and responded by blowing her 
 an ostentatious equine kiss. " And he would be good to 
 his own forsaken Belle,'' she murmured caressingly, " and 
 would n't let any one harm her ? " But here, overcome 
 by the lazy witchery of her voice, he shook his head so 
 violently that Mrs. Tucker, after the fashion of her sex, 
 had the double satisfaction of demurely restraining the 
 passion she had evoked. 
 
 To avoid the more traveled thoroughfare, while the 
 evening was still early, it had been arranged that she 
 should at first take a less direct but less frequented road. 
 This was a famous pleasure-drive from San Francisco, a 
 graveled and sanded stretch of eight miles to the sea, and 
 an ultimate " cocktail," in a " stately pleasure-dome de- 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 281 
 
 creed " among the surf and rocks of the Pacific shore. 
 It was deserted now, and left to the unobstructed sweep 
 of the wind and rain. Mrs. Tucker would not have 
 chosen this road. With the instinctive jealousy of a 
 bucolic inland race born by great rivers, she did not like 
 the sea ; and again, the dim and dreary waste tended to 
 recall the vision connected with her husband's flight, upon 
 which she had resolutely shut her eyes. But when she 
 had reached it the road suddenly turned, following the 
 trend of the beach, and she was exposed to the full power 
 of its dread fascinations. The combined roar of sea 
 and shore was in her ears. As the direct force of the gale 
 had compelled her to furl the protecting hood of the 
 buggy to keep the light vehicle from oversetting or drift- 
 ing to leeward, she could no longer shut out the heaving 
 chaos on the right, from which the pallid ghosts of dead 
 and dying breakers dimly rose and sank as if in awful 
 salutation. At times through the darkness a white sheet 
 appeared spread before the path and beneath the wheels 
 of the buggy, which, when withdrawn with a reluctant hiss, 
 seemed striving to drag the exhausted beach seaward with 
 it. But the blind terror of her horse, who swerved at 
 every sweep of the surge, shamed her own half supersti- 
 tious fears, and with the effort to control his alarm she 
 regained her own self-possession, albeit with eyelashes wet 
 not altogether with the salt spray from the sea. This was 
 followed by a reaction, perhaps stimulated by her victory 
 over the beaten animal, when for a time, she knew not 
 how long, she felt only a mad sense of freedom and 
 power, oblivious of even her sorrows, her lost home and 
 husband, and with intense feminine consciousness she 
 longed to be a man. She was scarcely aware that the 
 track turned again inland until the beat of the horse's 
 hoofs on the firm ground and an acceleration of speed 
 showed her she had left the beach and the mysterious 
 
282 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 sea behind her, and she remembered that she was near 
 the end of the first stage of her journey. Half an hour 
 later the twinkling lights of the roadside inn where she 
 was to change horses rose out of the darkness. 
 
 Happily for her, the hostler considered the horse, who 
 had a local reputation, of more importance than the 
 unknown muffled figure in the shadow of the unfurled 
 hood, and confined his attention to the Animal. After a 
 careful examination of his feet and a few comments 
 addressed solely to the superior creation, he led him away. 
 Mrs. Tucker would have liked to part more affectionately 
 from her four-footed compatriot, and felt a sudden sense 
 of loneliness at the loss of her new friend, but a recollec- 
 tion of certain cautions of Captain Poindexter's kept her 
 mute. Nevertheless, the hostler's ostentatious adjuration 
 of " Now then, are n't you going to bring out that mus- 
 tang for the Senora t " puzzled her. It was not until the 
 fresh horse was put to, and she had flung a piece of gold 
 into the attendant's hand, that the " Gracias " of his 
 unmistakable Saxon speech revealed to her the reason of 
 the lawyer's caution. Poindexter had evidently repre- 
 sented her to these people as a native Californian who 
 did not speak English. In her inconsistency her blood 
 took fire at this first suggestion of deceit, and burned in 
 her face. Why should he try to pass her off as anybody 
 else t Why should she not use her own, her husband's 
 name ? She stopped and bit her lip. 
 
 It was but the beginning of an uneasy train of thought. 
 She suddenly found herself thinking of her visitor, 
 Calhoun Weaver, and not pleasantly. He would hear of 
 their ruin to-morrow, perhaps of her own flight. He 
 would remember his visit, and what would he think of 
 her deceitful frivolity? Would he believe that she was 
 then ignorant of the failure t It was her first sense of 
 any accountability to others than herself, but even then 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 283 
 
 it was rather owing to an uneasy consciousness of what 
 her husband must feel if he were subjected to the criti- 
 cisms of men Uke Calhoun* She wondered if others 
 knew that he had kept her in ignorance of his flight. 
 Did Poindexter know it, or had he only entrapped her 
 into the admission ? Why had she not been clever enough 
 to make him think that she knew it already ? For the 
 moment she hated Poindexter for sharing that secret. 
 Yet this was again followed by a new impatience of her 
 husband's want of insight into her ability to help him. 
 Of course the poor fellow could not bear to worry her, 
 could not bear to face such men as Calhoun, or even 
 Poindexter (she added exultingly to herself), but he 
 might have sent her a line as he fled, only to prepare her 
 to meet and combat the shame alone. * It did not occur 
 to her unsophisticated singleness of nature that she was 
 accepting as an error of feeling what the world would 
 call cowardly selfishness. 
 
 At midnight the storm lulled and a few stars trembled 
 through the rent clouds. Her eyes had become accus- 
 tomed to the darkness, and her country instincts, a little 
 overlaid by the urban experiences of the last few years, 
 came again to the surface. She felt the fresh, cool radia- 
 tion from outlying, upturned fields, the faint, sad odors 
 from dim stretches of pricking grain and quickening leaf, 
 and wondered if at Los Cuervos it might be possible to 
 reproduce the peculiar verdure of her native district. 
 She beguiled her fancy by an ambitious plan of retrieving 
 their fortunes by farming; her comfortable tastes had 
 lately rebelled against the homeless mechanical cultiva- 
 tion of these desolate but teeming Californian acres, and 
 for a moment indulged in a vision of a vine-clad cottage 
 home that in any other woman would have been senti- 
 mental. Her cramped limbs aching, she took advantage 
 of the security of the darkness and the familiar conti- 
 
284 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 guity of the fields to get down from the vehicle, gather her 
 skirts together, and run at the head of the mustang, until 
 her chill blood was thawed, night drawing a modest veil 
 over this charming revelation of the nymph and woman. 
 But the sudden shadow of a coyote checked the scouring 
 feet of this swift Camilla, and sent her back precipitately 
 to the buggy. Nevertheless, she was refreshed and able 
 to pursue her journey, until the cold gray of early morn- 
 ing found her at the end of her second stage. 
 
 Her route was changed again from the main highway, 
 rendered dangerous by the approach of day and the con- 
 tiguity of the neighboring rancheros. The road was rough 
 and hilly, her new horse and vehicle in keeping with the 
 rudeness of the route — by far the most difficult of her 
 whole journey. The rare wagon tracks that indicated her 
 road were often scarcely discernible ; at times they led 
 her through openings in the half-cleared woods, skirted 
 suspicious morasses, painfully climbed the smooth, dome- 
 like hills, or wound along perilous slopes at a dangerous 
 angle. Twice she had to alight and cling to the sliding 
 wheels on one of those treacherous inclines, or drag them 
 from impending ruts or immovable mire. In the growing 
 light she could distinguish the distant, low-lying marshes 
 eaten by encroaching sloughs and insidious channels, and 
 beyond them the faint gray waste of the Lower Bay. A 
 darker peninsula in the marsh she knew to be the 
 extreme boundary of her future home : the Rancho de 
 los Cuervos. In another hour she began to descend to 
 the plain, and once more to approach the main road, 
 which now ran nearly parallel with her track. She 
 scanned it cautiously for any early traveler ; it stretched 
 north and south in apparent unending solitude. She 
 struck into it boldly, and urged her horse to the top of 
 his speed, until she reached the cross-road that led to the 
 rancho. But here she paused and allowed the reins to 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 285 
 
 drop idly on the mustang's back. A singular and unac- 
 countable irresolution seized her. The difficulties of her 
 journey were over ; the rancho lay scarcely two miles 
 away ; she had achieved the most important part of her 
 task in the appointed time ; but she hesitated. What had 
 she come for ? She tried to recall Poindexter's words, 
 even her own enthusiasm, but in vain. She was going 
 to take possession of her husband's property, she knew, 
 that was all. But the means she had taken seemed now 
 so exaggerated and mysterious for that simple end, that 
 she began to dread an impending something, or some 
 vague danger she had not considered, that* she was rush- 
 ing blindly to meet. Full of this strange feeling, she 
 almost mechanically stopped her horse as she entered the 
 cross-road. 
 
 From this momentary hesitation a singular sound 
 aroused her. It seemed at first like the swift hurrying 
 by of some viewless courier of the air, the vague alarm of 
 some invisible flying herald, or like the inarticulate cry 
 that precedes a storm. It seemed to rise and fall around 
 her as if with some changing urgency of purpose. Rais- 
 ing her eyes she suddenly recognized the two far-stretching 
 lines of telegraph wire above her head, and knew the 
 aeolian cry of the morning wind along its vibrating chords. 
 But it brought another and more practical fear to her ac- 
 tive brain. Perhaps even now the telegraph might be an- 
 ticipating her ! Had Poindexter thought of that t She 
 hesitated no longer, but laying the whip on the back of 
 her jaded mustang, again hurried forward. 
 
 As the level horizon grew more distinct, her attention 
 was attracted by the white sail of a small boat lazily 
 threading the sinuous channel of the slough. It might be 
 Poindexter arriving by the more direct route from the 
 steamboat that occasionally laid off the ancient embarca- 
 dero of the Los Cuervos Rancho. But even while watch- 
 
286 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 ing it her quick ear caught the sound of galloping hoofs 
 behind her. She turned quickly and saw she was fol- 
 lowed by a horseman. But her momentary alarm was 
 succeeded by a feeling of relief as she recognized the 
 erect figure and square shoulders of Poindexter. Yet she 
 could not help thinking that he looked more like a mili- 
 tant scout, and less like a cautious legal adviser, than 
 ever. 
 
 With unaffected womanliness she rearranged her slightly 
 disordered hair as he drew up beside her. " I thought 
 you were in yonder boat," she said. 
 
 " Not I," he laughed ; " I distanced you by the high- 
 road two hours, and have been reconnoitering, until I saw 
 you hesitate at the cross-roads." 
 
 " But who is in the boat ? " asked Mrs. Tucker, partly 
 to hide her embarrassment. 
 
 "Only some early Chinese market gardener, I dare say. 
 But you are safe now. You are on your own land. You 
 passed the boundary monument of the rancho five min- 
 utes ago. Look ! All you see before you is yours from 
 the embarcadero to yonder Coast Range." 
 
 The tone of half raillery did not, however, cheer Mrs. 
 Tucker. She shuddered slightly and cast her eyes over 
 the monotonous sea of tule and meadow. 
 
 " It does n't look pretty, perhaps," continued Poin- 
 dexter, "but it's the richest land in the State, and the 
 embarcadero will some day be a town. I suppose you '11 
 call it Blue Grassville. But you seem tired ! " he said, 
 suddenly dropping his voice to a tone of half humorous 
 sympathy. 
 
 Mrs. Tucker managed to get rid of an impending tear 
 under the pretense of clearing her eyes. " Are we nearly 
 there ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nearly. You know," he added, with the same half 
 mischievous, half sympathizing gayety, " it 's not exactly 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 287 
 
 a palace you 're coming to, — hardly. It 's the old casa 
 that has been deserted for years, but I thought it better 
 you should go into possession there than take up your 
 abode at the shanty where your husband's farm-hands 
 are. No one will know when you take possession of the 
 casa^ while the very hour of your arrival at the shanty 
 would be known ; and if they should make any 
 trouble '' — 
 
 " If they should make any trouble ? " repeated Mrs, 
 Tucker, lifting her frank, inquiring eyes to Poindexter. 
 
 His horse suddenly rearing from an apparently acci- 
 dental prick of the spur, it was a minute or two before 
 he was able to explain. " I mean if this ever comes up 
 as a matter of evidence, you know. But here we are ! *' 
 
 What had seemed to be an overgrown mound rising 
 like an island out of the dead level of the grassy sea now 
 resolved itself into a collection of adobe walls, eaten and 
 incrusted with shrubs and vines, that bore some resem- 
 blance to the usual uninhabited -looking exterior of a 
 Spanish- American dwelling. Apertures that might have 
 been lance-shaped windows or only cracks and fissures 
 in the walls were choked up with weeds and grass, and 
 gave no passing glimpse of the interior. Entering a ruin- 
 ous corral they came to a second entrance, which proved 
 to be the /^//(^^ or courtyard. The deserted wooden cor- 
 ridor, with beams, rafters, and floors whitened by the 
 sun and wind, contained a few withered leaves, dryly rot- 
 ting skins, and thongs of leather, as if undisturbed by 
 human care. But among these scattered debris of former 
 life and habitation there was no noisome or unclean sug- 
 gestion of decay. A faint spiced odor of desiccation 
 filled the bare walls. There was no slime on stone or 
 sun-dried brick. In place of fungus or discolored mois- 
 ture the dust of efflorescence whitened in the obscured 
 corners. The elements had picked clean the bones of 
 
288 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 the old and crumbling tenement ere they should finally 
 absorb it. 
 
 A withered old peon woman, who in dress, complexion, 
 and fibrous hair might have been an animated fragment 
 of the debris, rustled out of a low vaulted passage and 
 welcomed them with a feeble crepitation. Following her 
 into the dim interior, Mrs. Tucker was surprised to find 
 some slight attempt at comfort and even adornment in the 
 two or three habitable apartments. They were scrupu- 
 lously clean and dry, two qualities which in her feminine 
 eyes atoned for poverty of material. 
 
 " I could not send anything from San Bruno, the near- 
 est village, without attracting attention," explained Poin- 
 dexter ; " but if you can manage to picnic here for a day 
 longer, I '11 get one of our Chinese friends here," he 
 pointed to the slough, " to bring over, for his return cargo 
 from across the bay, any necessaries you may want. 
 There is no danger of his betraying you," he added, with 
 an ironical smile ; " Chinamen and Indians are, by an 
 ingenious provision of the statute of California, incapable 
 of giving evidence against a white person. You can 
 trust your handmaiden perfectly — even if she can't trust 
 you. That is your sacred privilege under the constitu- 
 tion. And now, as I expect to catch the up boat ten 
 miles from hence, I must say * good-by ' until to-morrow 
 night. I hope to bring you then some more definite 
 plans for the future. The worst is over." He held her 
 hand for a moment, and with a graver voice continued, 
 " You have done it very well — do you know — very 
 well ! " 
 
 In the slight embarrassment produced by his sudden 
 change of manner she felt that her thanks seemed awk- 
 ward and restrained. " Don't thank me," he laughed, 
 with a prompt return of his former levity ; " that 's my 
 trade. I only advised. You have saved yourself like a 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope, 289 
 
 plucky woman — shall I say like Blue Grass ? Good-by ! " 
 He mounted his horse, but, as if struck by an after-thought, 
 wheeled and drew up by her side again. " If I were you 
 I would n't see many strangers for a day or two, and 
 listen to as little news as a woman possibly can.'' He 
 laughed again, waved her a half gallant, half military sa- 
 lute, and was gone. The question she had been trying 
 to frame, regarding the probability of communication with 
 her husband, remained unasked. At least she had saved 
 her pride before him. 
 
 Addressing herself to the care of her narrow house- 
 hold, she mechanically put away the few things she had 
 brought with her, and began to readjust the scant furni-. 
 ture. She was a little discomposed at first at the absence 
 of bolts, locks, and even window-fastenings until assured, 
 by Concha's evident inability to comprehend her concern, 
 that they were quite unknown at Los Cuervos. Her slight 
 knowledge of Spanish was barely sufficient to make her 
 wants known, so that the relief of conversation with her 
 only companion was debarred her, and she was obliged 
 to content herself with the sapless, crackling smiles and 
 withered genuflexions that the old woman dropped like 
 dead leaves in her path. It was staring noon when, the 
 house singing like an empty shell in the monotonous 
 wind, she felt she could stand the solitude no longer, and, 
 crossing the glaring patio and whistling corridor, made 
 her way to the open gateway. 
 
 But the view without seemed to intensify her desolation. 
 The broad expanse of the shadowless plain reached ap- 
 parently to the Coast Range, trackless and unbroken save 
 by one or two clusters of dwarfed oaks, which at that 
 distance were but mossy excrescences on the surface, 
 barely raised above the dead level. On the other side 
 the marsh took up the monotony and carried it, scarcely 
 interrupted by undefined water-courses, to the faintly 
 
290 A Blue Grass Pe^t elope. 
 
 marked-out horizon line of the remote bay. Scattered 
 and apparently motionless black spots on the meadows 
 that gave a dreary significance to the title of " the Crows " 
 which the rancho bore, and sudden gray clouds of sand- 
 pipers on the marshes, that rose and vanished down the 
 wind, were the only signs of life. Even the white sail 
 of the early morning was gone. 
 
 She stood there until the aching of her straining eyes 
 and the stiffening of her limbs in the cold wind compelled 
 her to seek the sheltered warmth of the courtyard. Here 
 she endeavored to make friends with a bright-eyed lizard, 
 who was sunning himself in the corridor ; a graceful little 
 creature in blue and gold, from whom she felt at other 
 times she might have fled, but whose beauty and harm- 
 lessness solitude had made known to her. With mis- 
 placed kindness she tempted it with bread-crumbs, wuth 
 no other effect than to stiffen it into stony astonishment. 
 She wondered if she should become like the prisoners 
 she had read of in books, who poured out their solitary 
 affections on noisome creatures, and she regretted even 
 the mustang, which with the buggy had disappeared un- 
 der the charge of some unknown retainer on her arrival. 
 Was she not a prisoner? The shutterless windows, yawn- 
 ing doors, and open gate refuted the suggestion, but the 
 encompassing solitude and trackless waste still held her 
 captive. Poindexter had told her it was four miles to 
 the shanty ; she might walk there. Why had she given 
 her word that she would remain at the rancho until he 
 returned ? 
 
 The long day crept monotonously away, and she wel- 
 comed the night which shut out the dreary prospect. 
 But it brought no cessation of the harassing wind with- 
 out, nor surcease of the nervous irritation its perpetual 
 and even activity wrought upon her. It haunted her 
 pillow even in her exhausted sleep, and seemed to im- 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 291 
 
 patiently beckon her to rise and follow it. It brought 
 her feverish dreams of her husband, footsore and weary, 
 staggering forward under its pitiless lash and clamorous 
 outcry ; she would have gone to his assistance, but when 
 she reached his side and held out her arms to him it 
 hurried her past with merciless power, and, bearing her 
 away, left him hopelessly behind. It was broad day 
 when she awoke. The usual night showers of the waning 
 rainy season had left no trace in sky or meadow ; the 
 fervid morning sun had already dried the patio ; only the 
 restless, harrying wind remained. 
 
 Mrs. Tucker arose with a resolve. She had learned 
 from Concha on the previous evening that a part of the 
 shanty was used as a tienda or shop for the laborers and 
 rancheros. Under the necessity of purchasing some arti- 
 cles, she would go there and for a moment mingle with 
 those people, who would not recognize her. Even if 
 they did, her instinct told her it would be less to be 
 feared than the hopeless uncertainty of another day. As 
 she left the house the wind seemed to seize her as in her 
 dream, and hurry her along with it, until in a few mo- 
 ments the walls of the low casa sank into the earth again 
 and she was alone, but for the breeze on the solitary 
 plain. The level distance glittered in the sharp light, a 
 few crows with slant wings dipped and ran down the 
 wind before her, and a passing gleam on the marsh was 
 explained by the far-off cry of a curlew. 
 
 She had walked for an hour, upheld by the stimulus of 
 light and morning air, when the cluster of scrub oaks, 
 which was her destination, opened enough to show two 
 rambling sheds, before one of which was a wooden plat- 
 form containing a few barrels and bones. As she ap- 
 proached nearer, she could see that one or two horses 
 were tethered under the trees, that their riders were 
 lounging by a horse-trough, and that over an open door 
 
292 A Blue Grass Pe^ielope, 
 
 the word Tienda was rudely painted on a board, and as 
 rudely illustrated by the wares displayed at door and 
 window. Accustomed as she was to the poverty of fron- 
 tier architecture, even the crumbling walls of the old ha- 
 cienda she had just left seemed picturesque to the rigid 
 angles of the thin, blank, unpainted shell before her. 
 One of the loungers, who was reading a newspaper aloud 
 as she advanced, put it aside and stared at her ; there 
 was an evident commotion in the shop as she stepped 
 upon the platform, and when she entered, with breathless 
 lips and beating heart, she found herself the object of a 
 dozen curious eyes. Her quick pride resented the scru- 
 tiny and recalled her courage, and it was with a slight 
 coldness in her usual lazy indifference that she leaned 
 over the counter and asked for the articles she wanted. 
 
 The request was followed by a dead silence. Mrs. 
 Tucker repeated it with some hauteur, 
 
 " I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the 
 hands of the sheriff," said one of the loungers. 
 
 Mrs. Tucker was not aware of it. 
 
 " Well, 1 don't know any one who 's a better right to 
 know than Spence Tucker's wife," said another with a 
 coarse laugh. The laugh was echoed by the others. Mrs. 
 Tucker saw the pit into which she had deliberately walked, 
 but did not flinch. 
 
 " Is there any one to serve here ? " she asked, turning 
 her clear eyes full upon the bystanders. 
 
 " You 'd better ask the sheriff. He was the last one 
 to sarve here. He sarved an attachment," replied the 
 inevitable humorist of all Californian assemblages. 
 
 " Is he here ? " asked Mrs. Tucker, disregarding the 
 renewed laughter which followed this subtle witticism. 
 
 The loungers at the door made way for one of their 
 party, who was half dragged, half pushed into the shop. 
 " Here he is," said half a dozen eager voices, in the fond 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 293 
 
 belief that his presence might impart additional humor 
 to the situation. He cast a deprecating glance at Mrs. 
 Tucker and said, " It 's so, madam ! This yer place is 
 attached ; but if there 's anything you 're wanting, why I 
 reckon, boys," — he turned half appealingly to the crowd, 
 " we could oblige a lady.'' There was a vague sound of 
 angry opposition and remonstrance from the back door 
 of the shop, but the majority, partly overcome by Mrs. 
 Tucker's beauty, assented. " Only," continued the offi- 
 cer explanatorily, " ez these yer goods are in the hands of 
 the creditors, they ought to be represented by an equiva- 
 lent in money. If you 're expecting they should be 
 charged " — 
 
 " But I wish to /^7 for them," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, 
 with a slight flush of indignation ; " I have the money." 
 
 " Oh, 1 bet you have ! " screamed a voice, as, overturn- 
 ing all opposition, the malcontent at the back door, in 
 the shape of an infuriated woman, forced her way into 
 the shop. " I '11 bet you have the money ! Look at her, 
 boys! Look at the wife of the thief, with the stolen 
 money in diamonds in her ears and rings on her fingers. 
 She 's got money if we ^ve none. She can pay for what 
 she fancies, if we have n't a cent to redeem the bed 
 that's stolen from under us. Oh yes, buy it all, Mrs. 
 Spencer Tucker ! buy the whole shop, Mrs. Spencer 
 Tucker, do you hear? And if you ain't satisfied then, 
 buy my clothes, my wedding ring, the only things your 
 husband has n't stolen." 
 
 " I don't understand you," said Mrs. Tucker coldly, 
 turning towards the door. But with a flying leap across 
 the counter her relentless adversary stood between her 
 and retreat. 
 
 " You don't understand ! Perhaps you don't under- 
 stand that your husband not only stole the hard labor of 
 these men, but even the little money they brought here 
 
294 -^ Blue Grass Pe^telope. 
 
 and trusted to his thieving hands. Perhaps you don't 
 know that he stole my husband's hard earnings, mort- 
 gaged these very goods you want to buy, and that he is 
 to-day a convicted thief, a forger, and a runaway coward. 
 Perhaps, if you can't understand me^ you can read the 
 newspaper. Look ! " She exultingly opened the paper 
 the sheriff had been reading aloud, and pointed to the 
 displayed headlines. " Look ! there are the very words, 
 * Forgery, Swindling, Embezzlement ! ' Do you see ? And 
 perhaps you can't understand this. Look ! * Shameful 
 Flight. Abandons his Wife. Runs off with a Notori- 
 ous ' " — 
 
 " Easy, old gal, easy now. D — n it ! Will you dry 
 up .? I say. Stop ! " 
 
 It was too late ! The sheriff had dashed the paper from 
 the woman's hand, but not until Mrs. Tucker had read a 
 single line, a line such as she had sometimes turned from 
 with weary scorn in her careless perusal of the daily 
 shameful chronicle of domestic infelicity. Then she had 
 coldly wondered if there could be any such men and 
 women. And now ! The crowd fell back before her ; 
 even the virago was silenced as she looked at her face. 
 The humorist's face was as white, but not as immobile, 
 as he gasped, " Christ ! if I don't believe she knew 
 nothin' of it ! " 
 
 For a moment the full force of such a supposition, 
 with all its poignancy, its dramatic intensity, and its 
 pathos, possessed the crowd. In the momentary clair- 
 voyance of enthusiasm they caught a glimpse of the truth, 
 and by one of the strange reactions of human passion 
 they only waited for a word of appeal or explanation from 
 her lips to throw themselves at her feet. Had she simply 
 told her story they would have believed her; had she 
 cried, fainted, or gone into hysterics, they would have 
 pitied her. She did neither. Perhaps she thought of 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 295 
 
 neither, or indeed of anything that was then before her 
 eyes. She walked erect to the door and turned upon the 
 threshold. *' I mean what I say," she said calmly. "I 
 don't understand you. But whatever just claims you 
 have upon my husband will be paid by me, or by his law- 
 yer. Captain Poindexter.'* 
 
 She had lost the sympathy but not the respect of her 
 hearers. They made way for her with sullen deference 
 as she passed out on the platform. But her adversary, 
 profiting by the last opportunity, burst into an ironical 
 laugh. 
 
 " Captain Poindexter, is it .? Well, perhaps he 's safe 
 to pay your bill ; but as for your husband's " — 
 
 " That 's another matter," interrupted a familiar voice 
 with the greatest cheerfulness ; " that 's what you were 
 going to say, was n't it? Ha! ha! Well, Mrs. Patter- 
 son,'^ continued Poindexter, stepping from his buggy, 
 " you never spoke a truer word in your life. — One mo- 
 ment, Mrs. Tucker. Let me send you back in the buggy. 
 Don't mind me, I can get a fresh horse of the sheriff. 
 I 'm quite at home here." Then, turning to one of the 
 bystanders, " I say, Patterson, step a few paces this way, 
 will you 1 A little further from your wife, please. That 
 will do. You Ve got a claim of five thousand dollars 
 against the property, have n't you ? " 
 
 *' Yes. " 
 
 " Well, that woman just driving away is your one soli- 
 tary chance of getting a cent of it. If your wife insults 
 her again, that chance is gone. And if you do " — 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " As sure as there is a God in Israel and a Supreme 
 Court of the State of California, I '11 kill you in your 
 tracks ! . . . . Stay ! " 
 
 Patterson turned. The irrepressible look of humorous 
 tolerance of all human frailty had suffused Poindexter's 
 
296 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 black eyes with mischievous moisture. " If you think it 
 quite safe to confide to your wife this prospect of her 
 improvement by widowhood, you may ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 Mr. Patterson did not inform his wife of the lawyer's 
 personal threat to himself. But he managed, after Poin- 
 dexter had left, to make her conscious that Mrs. Tucker 
 might be a power to be placated and feared. *' You Ve 
 shot off your mouth at her," he said argumentatively, 
 " and whether you Ve hit the mark or not you Ve had 
 your say. Ef you think it 's worth a possible five thou- 
 sand dollars and interest to keep on, heave ahead. Ef 
 you rather have the chance of getting the rest in cash, 
 you '11 let up on her.'' " You don't suppose," returned 
 Mrs. Patterson contemptuously, " that she *s got anything 
 but what that man of hers — Poindexter — lets her 
 have ? " " The sheriff says," retorted Patterson surlily, 
 " that she 's notified him that she claims the rancho as a 
 gift from her husband three years ago, and she 's in pos- 
 session now, and was so when the execution was out. It 
 don't make no matter," he added, with gloomy philoso- 
 phy, "who 's got a full hand as long as we ain't got the 
 cards to chip in. I would n't 'a' minded it," he continued 
 meditatively, " ef Spence Tucker had dropped a hint to 
 me afore he put out." " And I suppose," said Mrs. Pat- 
 terson angrily, " you 'd have put out too?" "I reckon," 
 said Patterson simply. 
 
 Twice or thrice during the evening he referred, more or 
 less directly, to this lack of confidence shown by his late 
 debtor and employer, and seemed to feel it more keenly 
 than the loss of property. He confided his sentiments 
 quite openly to the sheriff in possession, over the whiskey 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 297 
 
 and euchre with which these gentlemen avoided the 
 difficulties of their delicate relations. He brooded over 
 it as he handed the keys of the shop to the sheriff when 
 they parted for the night, and was still thinking of it 
 when the house was closed, everybody gone to bed, and 
 he was fetching a fresh jug of water from the well. The 
 moon was at times obscured by flying clouds, the avant- 
 couriers of the regular evening shower. He was stooping 
 over the well, when he sprang suddenly to his feet again. 
 "Who 's there 1 " he demanded sharply. 
 
 " Hush ! " said a voice so low and faint it might have 
 been a whisper of the wind in the palisades of the corral. 
 But, indistinct as it was, it was the voice of a man he 
 was thinking of as far away, and it sent a thrill of 
 alternate awe and pleasure through his pulses. 
 
 He glanced quickly round. The moon was hidden 
 by a passing cloud, and only the faint outlines of the 
 house he had just quitted were visible. " Is that you, 
 Spence 1 " he said tremulously. 
 
 "Yes,'' replied the voice, and a figure dimly emerged 
 from the corner of the corral. 
 
 ** Lay low, lay low, for God's sake," said Patterson, 
 hurriedly throwing himself upon the apparition. " The 
 sheriff and his posse are in there." 
 
 " But I must speak to you a moment," said the 
 figure. 
 
 " Wait," said Patterson, glancing toward the building. 
 Its blank, shutterless windows revealed no inner light ; a 
 profound silence encompassed it. " Come quick," he 
 whispered. Letting his grasp slip down to the unresist- 
 ing hand of the stranger, he half dragged, half led him, 
 brushing against the wall, into the open door of the 
 deserted bar-room he had just quitted, locked the inner 
 door, poured a glass of whiskey from a decanter, gave it 
 to him, and then watched him drain it at a single draught. 
 
298 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 The moon came out, and falling through the bare win- 
 dows full upon the stranger's face, revealed the artistic 
 but slightly disheveled curls and mustache of the fugi- 
 tive, Spencer Tucker. 
 
 Whatever may have been the real influence of this 
 unfortunate man upon his fellows, it seemed to find 
 expression in a singular unanimity of criticism. Patter- 
 son looked at him with a half dismal, half welcoming smile. 
 ** Well, you are a h — 11 of a fellow, ain't you ?" 
 
 Spencer Tucker passed his hand through his hair and 
 lifted it from his forehead, with a gesture at once emo- 
 tional and theatrical. *^ I am a man with a price on 
 me ! '' he said bitterly. " Give me up to the sheriff, and 
 you '11 get five thousand dollars. Help me, and you '11 
 get nothing. That 's my d — d luck, and yours too, I 
 suppose." 
 
 *' I reckon you 're right there," said Patterson gloomily. 
 " But I thought you got clean away, — went off in a 
 ship" — 
 
 " Went off in a boat to a ship," interrupted Tucker 
 savagely ; " went off to a ship that had all my things on 
 board — everything. The cursed boat capsized in a 
 squall just off the Heads. The ship, d — n her, sailed 
 away, the men thinking I was drowned, likely, and that 
 they'd make a good thing off my goods, I reckon." 
 
 ** But the girl, Inez, who was with you, did n't she 
 make a row?" 
 
 " Quien sabe ? " returned Tucker, with a reckless laugh. 
 '* Well, I hung on like grim death to that boat's keel until 
 one of those Chinese fishermen, in a 'dug-out,' hauled me 
 in opposite Saucelito. I chartered him and his dug-out 
 to bring me down here." 
 
 " Why here ? " asked Patterson, with a certain ostenta- 
 tious caution that ill concealed his pensive satisfaction. 
 
 " You may well ask," returned Tucker, with an equal 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 299 
 
 ostentation of bitterness, as he slightly waved his com- 
 panion away. " But I reckoned I could trust a white 
 man that I 'd been kind to, and who would n't go back 
 on me. No, no, let me go ! Hand me over to the 
 sheriff!" 
 
 Patterson had suddenly grasped both the hands of the 
 picturesque scamp before him, with an affection that for 
 an instant almost shamed the man who had ruined him. 
 But Tucker's egotism whispered that this affection was 
 only a recognition of his own superiority, and felt flat- 
 tered. He was beginning to believe that he was really 
 the injured party. 
 
 " What I have and what I have had is yours, Spence," 
 returned Patterson, with a sad and simple directness that 
 made any further discussion a gratuitous insult. " I only 
 wanted to know what you reckoned to do here." 
 
 " I want to get over across the Coast Range to Mon- 
 terey," said Tucker. " Once there, one of those coasting 
 schooners will bring me down to Acapulco, where the ship 
 will put in." 
 
 Patterson remained silent for a moment. " There's a 
 mustang in the corral you can take — leastways, I shan't 
 know that it 's gone — until to-morrow afternoon. In an 
 hour from now," he added, looking from the window, 
 "these clouds will settle down to business. It will rain ; 
 there will be light enough for you to find your way by the 
 regular trail over the mountain, but not enough for any 
 one to know you. If you can't push through to-night, 
 you can lie over at the posada on the summit. Them 
 greasers that keep it won't know you, and if they did 
 they won't go back on you. And if they did go back on 
 you, nobody would believe them. It's mighty curious," 
 he added, with gloomy philosophy, but I reckon it 's the 
 reason why Providence allows this kind of cattle to live 
 among white men and others made in his image. Take 
 
300 A Blue Grass Pe^ielope. 
 
 a piece of pie, won't you ? " he continued, abandoning 
 this abstract reflection and producing half a flat pumpkin 
 pie from the bar. Spencer Tucker grasped the pie with 
 one hand and his friend's fingers with the other, and for 
 a few moments was silent from the hurried deglutition of 
 viand and sentiment. " You ^re a white man, Patterson, 
 any way," he resumed. " I Ul take your horse, and put 
 it down in our account at your own figure. As soon as 
 this cursed thing is blown over, I '11 be back here and see 
 you through, you bet ! I don't desert my friends, how- 
 ever rough things go with me." 
 
 " I see you don't," returned Patterson, with an uncon- 
 scious and serious simplicity that had the effect of the 
 most exquisite irony. " I was only just saying to the 
 sheriff that if there was anything I could have done for 
 you, you would n't have cut away without letting me 
 know." Tucker glanced uneasily at Patterson, who con- 
 tinued, "Ye ain't wanting anything else?" Then ob- 
 serving that his former friend and patron was roughly 
 but newly clothed, and betrayed no trace of his last es- 
 capade, he added, " I see you 've got a fresh harness." 
 
 *'That d — d Chinaman bought me these at the land- 
 ing. They 're not much in style or fit," he continued, 
 trying to get a moonlight view of himself in the mirror 
 behind the bar, "but that don't matter here." He filled 
 another glass of spirits, jauntily settled himself back in 
 his chair, and added, " I don't suppose there are any 
 girls around, anyway." 
 
 " 'Cept your wife ; she was down here this afternoon," 
 said Patterson meditatively. 
 
 Mr. Tucker paused with the pie in his hand. " Ah, 
 yes ! " He essayed a reckless laugh, but that evident 
 simulation failed before Patterson's melancholy. With 
 an assumption of falling in with his friend's manner, 
 rather than from any personal anxiety, he continued, 
 " Well ? " 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 301 
 
 " That man Poindexter was down here with her. Put 
 her in the hacienda to hold possession afore the news 
 xame out." 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Tucker, rising hastily. " It don't 
 belong — that is " — he hesitated. 
 
 " Yer thinking the creditors '11 get it, mebbe,'' returned 
 Patterson, gazing at the floor. " Not as long as she 's in 
 it j no sir ! Whether it 's really hers, or she 's only keep- 
 ing house for Poindexter, she 's a fixture, you bet. They 
 are a team when they pull together, they are ! " 
 
 The smile slowly faded ^from Tucker's face, that now 
 looked quite rigid in the moonlight. He put down his 
 glass and walked to the window as Patterson gloomily 
 continued : " But that 's nothing to you. You Ve got 
 ahead of 'em both, and had your revenge by going off 
 with the gal. That 's what I said all along. When folks 
 — specially women folks — wondered how you could leave 
 a woman like your wife, and go off with a scallawag like 
 that gal, I allers said they 'd find out there was a reason. 
 And when your wife came flaunting down here with 
 Poindexter before she 'd quite got quit of you, I reckon 
 they began to see the whole little game. No, sir ! I 
 knew it was n't on account of the gal ! Why, when you 
 came here to-night and told me quite nat'ral-like and easy 
 how she went off in the ship, and then calmly ate your 
 pie and drank your whiskey after it, I knew you did n't 
 care for her. There 's my hand, Spence ; you 're a trump, 
 even if you are a little looney, eh 1 Why, what 's up ? " 
 
 Shallow and selfish as Tucker was, Patterson's words 
 seemed like a revelation that shocked him as profoundly 
 as it might have shocked a nobler nature. The simple 
 vanity and selfishness that made him unable to conceive 
 any higher reason for his wife's loyalty than his own per- 
 sonal popularity and success, now that he no longer 
 possessed that eclat^ made him equally capable of the 
 
302 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 lowest suspicions. He was a dishonored fugitive, broken 
 in fortune and reputation — why should she not desert 
 him ? He had been unfaithful to her from wildness, from 
 caprice, from the effect of those fascinating qualities; it 
 seemed to him natural that she should be disloyal from 
 more deliberate motives, and he hugged himself with that 
 belief. Yet there was enough doubt, enough of haunting 
 suspicion, that he had lost or alienated a powerful affec- 
 tion, to make him thoroughly miserable. He returned 
 his friend's grasp convulsively and buried his face upon 
 his shoulder. But he was above feeling a certain exulta- 
 tion in the effect of his misery upon the dog-like, unrea- 
 soning affection of Patterson, nor could he entirely re- 
 frain from slightly posing his affliction before that sym- 
 pathetic but melancholy man. Suddenly he raised his 
 head, drew back, and thrust his hand into his bosom with 
 a theatrical gesture. 
 
 " What 's to keep me from killing Poindexter in his 
 tracks ? " he said wildly. 
 
 " Nothin' but his shooting first," returned Patterson, 
 with dismal practicality. ** He 's mighty quick, like all 
 them army men. It 's about even, I reckon, that he donH 
 get me first," he added in an ominous voice. 
 
 ** No ! " returned Tucker, grasping his hand again. 
 " This is not your affair, Patterson ; leave him to me 
 when I come back." 
 
 " If he ever gets the drop on me, I reckon he won't 
 wait," continued Patterson lugubriously. " He seems to 
 object to my passin^ criticism on your wife, as if she was 
 a queen or an angel." 
 
 The blood came to Spencer's cheek, and he turned 
 uneasily to the window. *' It 's dark enough now for a 
 start," he said hurriedly, "and if I could get across the 
 mountain without lying over at the summit, it would be a 
 day gained." 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 303 
 
 Patterson arose without a word, filled a flask of spirit, 
 handed it to his friend, and silently led the way through 
 the slowly falling rain and the now settled darkness. 
 The mustang was quickly secured and saddled ; a heavy 
 poncho afforded Tucker a disguise as well as a protection 
 from the rain. With a few hurried, disconnected words, 
 and an abstracted air, he once more shook his friend's 
 hand and issued cautiously from the corral. When out 
 of earshot from the house he put spurs to the mustang, 
 and dashed into a gallop. 
 
 To intersect the mountain road he was obliged to trav- 
 erse part of the highway his wife had walked that after- 
 noon, and to pass within a mile of the casa where she was. 
 Long before he reached that point his eyes were straining 
 the darkness in that direction for some indication of the 
 house which was to him familiar. Becoming now accus- 
 tomed to the even obscurity, less trying to the vision than 
 the alternate light and shadow of cloud or the full glare 
 of the moonlight, he fancied he could distinguish its low 
 walls over the monotonous level. One of those impulses 
 which had so often taken the place of resolution in his 
 character suddenly possessed him to diverge from his 
 course and approach the house. Why, he could not have 
 explained. It was not from any feeling of jealous sus- 
 picion or contemplated revenge — that had passed with 
 the presence of Patterson ; it was not from any vague 
 lingering sentiment for the woman he had wronged — he 
 would have shrunk from meeting her at that moment. 
 But it was full of these and more possibilities by which 
 he might or might not be guided, and was at least a 
 movement towards some vague end, and . a distraction 
 from certain thoughts he dared not entertain and could 
 not entirely dismiss. Inconceivable and inexplicable to 
 human reason, it might have been acceptable to the Di- 
 vine omniscience for its predestined result. 
 
304 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 He left the road at a point where the marsh encroached 
 upon the meadow, familiar to him already as near the 
 spot where he had debarked from the Chinaman's boat 
 the day before. He remembered that the walls of the 
 hacienda were distinctly visible from the tules where he 
 had hidden all day, and he now knew that the figures he 
 had observed near the building, which had deterred his 
 first attempts at landing, must have been his wife and his 
 friend. He knew that a long tongue of the slough filled 
 by the rising tide followed the marsh, and lay between 
 him and the hacienda. The sinking of his horse's hoofs 
 in the spongy soil determined its proximity, and he made 
 a detour to the right to avoid it. In doing so, a light 
 suddenly rose above the distant horizon ahead of him, 
 trembled faintly, and then burned with a steady lustre. 
 It was a light at the hacienda. Guiding his horse half 
 abstractedly in this direction, his progress was presently 
 checked by the splashing of the animal's hoofs in the 
 water. But the turf below was firm, and a salt drop that 
 had spattered to his lips told him that it was only the 
 encroaching of the tide in the meadow. With his eyes 
 on the light, he again urged his horse forward. The rain 
 lulled^ the clouds began to break, the landscape alter- 
 nately lightened and grew dark ; the outlines of the crum- 
 bling hacienda walls that enshrined the light grew more 
 visible. A strange and dreamy resemblance to the long 
 blue-grass plain before his wife's paternal house, as seen 
 by him during his evening rides to courtship, pressed it- 
 self upon him. He remembered, too, that she used to 
 put a light in the window to indicate her presence. Fol- 
 lowing this retrospect, the moon came boldly out, 
 sparkled upon the overflow of silver at his feet, seemed 
 to show the dark, opaque meadow beyond for a moment, 
 and then disappeared. It was dark now, but the lesser 
 earthly star still shone before him as a guide, and push- 
 ing towards it, he passed in the all-embracing shadow. 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 305 
 
 IV. 
 
 As Mrs. Tucker, erect, white, and rigid, drove away 
 from the tienda, it seemed to her to sink again into the 
 monotonous plain, with all its horrible realities. Except 
 that there was now a new and heart-breaking significance 
 to the solitude and loneliness of the landscape, all that 
 had passed might have been a dream. But as the blood 
 came back to her cheek, and little by little her tingling 
 consciousness returned, it seemed as if her life had been 
 the dream, and this last scene the awakening reality. 
 With eyes smarting with the moisture of shame, the 
 scarlet blood at times dyeing her very neck and temples, 
 she muffled her lowered crest in her shawl and bent over 
 the reins. Bit by bit she recalled, in Poindexter's mys- 
 terious caution and strange allusions, the corroboration of 
 her husband's shame and her own disgrace. This was 
 why she was brought hither — the deserted wife, the 
 abandoned confederate ! The mocking glitter of the 
 concave vault above her, scoured by the incessant wind, 
 the cold stare of the shining pools beyond, the hard out- 
 lines of the Coast Range, and the jarring accompaniment 
 of her horse's hoofs and rattling buggy-wheels, alternately 
 goaded and distracted her. She found herself repeating 
 " No ! no ! no ! " with the dogged reiteration of fever. 
 She scarcely knew when or how she reached the hacienda. 
 She was only conscious that as she entered the patio the 
 dusky solitude that had before filled her with unrest now 
 came to her like balm. A benumbing peace seemed to 
 fall from the crumbling walls ; the peace of utter seclusion, 
 isolation, oblivion, death! Nevertheless, an hour later, 
 when the jingle of spurs and bridle were again heard in 
 the road, she started to her feet with bent brows and a 
 kindling eye, and confronted Captain Poindexter in the 
 corridor. 
 
3o6 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 " I would not have intruded upon you so soon again," 
 he said gravely, "but I thought I might perhaps spare 
 you a repetition of the scene of this morning. Hear me 
 6ut, please," he added, with a gentle, half deprecating 
 gesture, as she lifted the beautiful scorn of her eyes to 
 his. " I have just heard that your neighbor, Don Jose 
 Santierra, of Los Gatos, is on his way to this house. He 
 once claimed this land, and hated your husband, who 
 bought of the rival claimant, whose grant was confirmed. 
 I tell you this,'* he added, slightly flushing as Mrs. Tucker 
 turned impatiently away, " only to show you that legally 
 he has no rights, and you need not see him unless you 
 choose. I could not stop his coming without perhaps 
 doing you more harm than good ; but when he does come, 
 my presence under this roof as your legal counsel will 
 enable you to refer him to me." He stopped. She was 
 pacing the corridor with short, impatient steps, her arms 
 dropped, and her hands clasped rigidly before her. " Have 
 I your permission to stay 1 " 
 
 She suddenly stopped in her walk, approached him 
 rapidly, and fixing her eyes oh his, said : 
 
 " Do I know all^ now • — everything 1 " 
 
 He could only reply that she had not yet told him what 
 she had heard. 
 
 " Well," she said scornfully, " that my husband has 
 been cruelly imposed upon — imposed upon by some 
 wretched woman, who has made him sacrifice his pro- 
 perty, his friends, his honor — everything but me ! " 
 
 " Everything but whom 1 " gasped Poindexter. 
 
 " But ME ! " 
 
 Poindexter gazed at the sky, the air, the deserted cor- 
 ridor, the stones of iho, patio itself, and then at the inex- 
 plicable woman before him. Then he said gravely, " I 
 think you know everything." 
 
 " Then if my husband has left me all he could — this 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 307 
 
 property," she went on rapidly, twisting her handker- 
 chief between her fingers, " I can do with it what I like, 
 can^t I ? " 
 
 "You certainly can." 
 
 " Then sell it," she said, with passionate vehemence. 
 " Sell it — all ! everything ! And sell these." She darted 
 into her bedroom, and returned with the diamond rings 
 she had torn from her fingers and ears when she entered 
 the house. " Sell them for anything they '11 bring, only 
 sell them at once." 
 
 ** But for what ? " asked Poindexter, with demure lips 
 but twinkling eyes. 
 
 " To pay the debts that this — this — woman has led 
 him into ; to return the money she has stolen ! " she 
 went on rapidly ; " to keep him from sharing infamy ! 
 Can't you understand ? " 
 
 *^ But, my dear madam," began Poindexter, " even if 
 this could be done " — 
 
 " Don't tell me ^ if it could ' — it must be done. Do 
 you think I could sleep under this roof, propped up by the 
 timbers of that ruined tienda ? Do you think I could 
 wear those diamonds again, while that termagant shop- 
 woman can say that her money bought them ? No ! If 
 you are my husband's friend you will do this — for — for 
 his sake." -She stopped, locked and interlocked her cold 
 fingers before her, and said, hesitating and mechanically, 
 *'You meant well, Captain Poindexter, in bringing me 
 here, I know ! You must not think that I blame you for 
 it, or for the miserable result of it that you have just wit- 
 nessed. But if I have gained anything by it, for God's 
 sake let me reap it quickly, that I may give it to these peo- 
 ple and go ! I have a friend who can aid me to get to 
 my husband or to my home in Kentucky, where Spencer 
 will yet find me, I know. I want nothing more." She 
 stopped again. With another woman the pause would 
 
3o8 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 have been one of tears. But she kept her head above 
 the flood that filled her heart, and the clear eyes fixed 
 upon Poindexter, albeit pained, were undimmed. 
 
 " But this would require time," said Poindexter, with 
 a smile of compassionate explanation \ " you could not 
 sell now, nobody would buy. You are safe to hold this 
 property while you are in actual possession, but you are 
 not strong enough to guarantee it to another. There may 
 still be litigation ; your husband has other creditors than 
 these people you have talked with. But while nobody 
 could oust you — the wife who would have the sympathies 
 of judge and jury — it might be a different case with any 
 one who derived title from you. Any purchaser would 
 know that you could not sell, or if you did, it would be at 
 a ridiculous sacrifice." 
 
 She listened to him abstractedly, walked to the end of 
 the corridor, returned, and without looking up, said : 
 
 " I suppose you know her ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon ? " 
 
 " This woman. You have seen her ? " 
 
 " Never, to my knowledge." 
 
 " And you are his friend ! That 's strange." She 
 raised her eyes to his. "Well," she continued impa- 
 tiently, " who is she ? and what is she } You know that 
 surely." 
 
 " I know no more of her than what I have said," said 
 Poindexter. " She is a notorious woman." 
 
 The swift color came to Mrs. Tucker^s face as if the 
 epithet had been applied to herself. " I suppose," she 
 said in a dry voice, as if she were asking a business ques- 
 tion, but with an eye that showed her rising anger, — "I 
 suppose there is some law by which creatures of this kind 
 can be followed and brought to justice — some law that 
 would keep innocent people from suffering for their 
 crimes 1 " 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 309 
 
 "I am afraid,'' said Poindexter, ** that arresting her 
 would hardly help these people over in the tienda,^^ 
 
 " I am not speaking of them," responded Mrs. Tucker, 
 with a sudden sublime contempt for the people whose 
 cause she had espoused ; " I am talking of my husband." 
 
 Poindexter bit his lip. " You 'd hardly think of bring- 
 ing back the strongest witness against him," he said 
 bluntly. 
 
 Mrs. Tucker dropped her eyes and was silent. A sud- 
 den shame suffused Poindexter's cheek ; he felt as if he 
 had struck that woman a blow. ** I beg your pardon," he 
 said hastily ; " I am talking like a lawyer to a lawyer." 
 He would have taken any other woman by the hand in 
 the honest fullness of his apology, but something re- 
 strained him here. He only looked down gently on her 
 lowered lashes, and repeated his question if he should 
 remain during the coming interview with Don Jose. " I 
 must beg you to determine quickly," he added, " for I 
 already hear him entering the gate." 
 
 " Stay," said Mrs. Tucker, as the ringing of spurs and 
 clatter of hoofs came from the corral. " One moment." 
 She looked up suddenly, and said, " How long had he 
 known her ? " But before he could reply there was a 
 step in the doorway, and the figure of Don Jose Santierra 
 emerged from the archway. 
 
 He was a man slightly past middle age, fair, and well 
 shaven, wearing a black broadcloth serape, the deeply 
 embroidered opening of which formed a collar of silver 
 rays around his neck, while a row of silver buttons down 
 the side seams of his riding-trousers, and silver spurs 
 completed his singular equipment. Mrs. Tucker's swift 
 feminine glance took in these details, as well as the deep 
 salutation, more formal than the exuberant frontier polite- 
 ness she was accustomed to, with which he greeted her. 
 It was enough to arrest her first impulse to retreat. She 
 
3IO A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 hesitated and stopped as Poindexter stepped forward, 
 partly interposing between them, acknowledging Don 
 Jose's distant recognition of himself with an ironical 
 accession of his usual humorous tolerance. The Span- 
 iard did not seem to notice it, but remained gravely 
 silent before Mrs. Tucker, gazing at her with an expres- 
 sion of intent and unconscious absorption. 
 
 " You are quite right, Don Jose,'' said Poindexter, with 
 ironical concern, •* it is Mrs. Tucker. Your eyes do" not 
 deceive you. She will be glad to do the honors of her 
 house," he continued, with a simulation of appealing to 
 her, " unless you visit her on business, when I need not 
 say /shall be only too happy to attend you, as before." 
 
 Don Jose, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, allowed 
 himself to become conscious of the lawyer's meaning. 
 ** It is not of business that I come to kiss the Senora's 
 hand to-day," he replied, with a melancholy softness ; " it 
 is as her neighbor, to put myself at her disposition. Ah ! 
 what have we here fit for a lady ? " he continued, raising 
 his eyes in deprecation of the surroundings ; " a house of 
 nothing, a place of winds and dry bones, without refresh- 
 ments, or satisfaction, or delicacy. The Senora will not 
 refuse to make us proud this day to send her of that which 
 we have in our poor home at Los Gatos, to make her more 
 complete. Of what shall it be ? Let her make choice. 
 Or if she would commemorate this day by accepting of 
 our hospitality at Los Gatos, until she shall arrange 
 herself the more to receive us here, we shall have too 
 much honor." 
 
 " The Senora would only find it the more difficult to 
 return to this humble roof again, after once leaving it for 
 Don Jose's hospitality," said Poindexter, with a demure 
 glance at Mrs. Tucker. But the innuendo seemed to 
 lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and the stranger. 
 Raising her eyes with a certain timid dignity which Don 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 311 
 
 Jose's presence seemed to have called out, she addressed 
 herself to him. 
 
 "You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, 
 and I thank you. I know that my husband " — she let 
 the clear beauty of her translucent eyes rest full on both 
 men — " would thank you too. But I shall not be here 
 long enough to accept your kindness in this house nor in 
 your own. I have but one desire and object now. It is 
 to dispose of this property, and indeed all I possess, to 
 pay the debt of my husband. It is in your power, per- 
 haps, to help me. I am told that you wish to possess 
 Los Cuervos," she went on, equally oblivious of the 
 consciousness that appeared in Don Jose's face, and a 
 humorous perplexity on the brow of Poindexter. " If you 
 can arrange it with Mr. Poindexter, you will find me a 
 liberal vendor. That much you can do, and I know you 
 will believe I shall be grateful. You can do no more, 
 unless it be to say to your friends that Mrs. Belle Tucker 
 remains here only for that purpose, and to carry out what 
 she knows to be the wishes of her husband." She 
 paused, bent her pretty crest, dropped a quaint curtsey 
 to the superior age, the silver braid, and the gentlemanly 
 bearing of Don Jose, and with the passing sunshine of a 
 smile disappeared from the corridor. 
 
 The two men remained silent for a moment, Don Jose 
 gazing abstractedly on the door through which she had 
 vanished, until Poindexter, with a return of his tolerant 
 smile, said, " You have heard the views of Mrs. Tucker. 
 You know the situation as well as she does." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; possibly better." 
 
 Poindexter darted a quick glance at the grave, sallow 
 face of Don Jose, but detecting no unusual significance in 
 his manner, continued, " As you see, she leaves this 
 matter in my hands. Let us talk like business men. 
 Have you any idea of purchasing this property ? " 
 
312 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 "Of purchasing? ah, no." 
 
 Poindexter bent his brows, but quickly relaxed them 
 with a smile of humorous forgiveness. " If you have any 
 other idea, Don Jose, I ought to warn you, as Mrs. Tuck- 
 er's lawyer, that she is in legal possession here, and that 
 nothing but her own act can change that position." 
 
 "Ah, so." 
 
 Irritated at the shrug which accompanied this, Poin- 
 dexter continued haughtily, " If I am to understand, you 
 have nothing to say " — 
 
 " To say, ah, yes, possibly. But " — he glanced to- 
 ward the door of Mrs. Tucker's room — " not here." He 
 stopped, appeared to recall himself, and with an apolo- 
 getic smile and a studied but graceful gesture of invita- 
 tion, he motioned to the gateway, and said, " Will you 
 ride ? " 
 
 " What can the fellow be up to ? " muttered Poindexter, 
 as with an assenting nod he proceeded to remount his 
 horse. " If he was n't an old hidalgo^ I 'd mistrust him. 
 No matter ! here goes ! " 
 
 The Don also remounted his half -broken mustang; 
 they proceeded in solemn silence through the corral, and 
 side by side emerged on the open plain. Poindexter 
 glanced round ; no other being was in sight. It was not 
 until the lonely hacienda had also sunk behind them that 
 Don Jose broke the silence. 
 
 " You say just now we shall speak as business men. I 
 say no, Don Marco ; I will not. I shall speak, we shall 
 speak, as gentlemen." 
 
 "Go on," said Poindexter, who was beginning to be 
 amused. 
 
 " I say just now I will not purchase the rancho from 
 the Senora. And why? Look you, Don Marco;" he 
 reined in his horse, thrust his hand under his scrape^ and 
 drew out a folded document : " this is why." 
 
A Blue Gi^ass Penelope, 313 
 
 With a smile, Poindexter took the paper from his hand 
 and opened it. But the smile faded from his lips as he 
 read. With blazing eyes he spurred his horse beside the 
 Spaniard, almost unseating him, and said sternly, " What 
 does this mean ? " 
 
 " What does it mean ? " repeated Don Jose, with equally 
 flashing eyes ; " I '11 tell you. It means that your client, 
 this man Spencer Tucker, is a Judas, a traitor ! It means 
 that he gave Los Cuervos to his mistress a year ago, and 
 that she sold it to me — to me, you hear! — me, Jose 
 Santierra, the day before she left ! It means that the 
 coyote of a Spencer, the thief, who bought these lands of 
 a thief and gave them to a thief, has tricked you all. 
 Look,'' he said, rising in his saddle, holding the paper 
 like a baton, and defining with a sweep of his arm the 
 whole level plain, '' all these lands were once mine, they 
 are mine again to-day. Do I want to purchase Los 
 Cuervos ? you ask, for you will speak of the business. 
 Well, listen. I have purchased Los Cuervos, and here is 
 the deed." 
 
 "But it has never been recorded," said Poindexter, 
 with a carelessness he was far from feeling. 
 
 " Of a verity, no. Do you wish that I should record 
 it? " asked Don Jose, with a return of his simple gravity. 
 
 Poindexter bit his lip. " You said we were to talk like 
 gentlemen," he returned. " Do you think you have come 
 into possession of this alleged deed like a gentleman ? " 
 
 Don Jose shrugged his shoulders. '' I found it tossed 
 in the lap of a harlot. I bought it for a song. Eh, what 
 would you ? " 
 
 " Would you sell it again for a song ? " asked Poin- 
 dexter. 
 
 " Ah ! what is this .^ " said Don Jose, lifting his iron- 
 gray brows j " but a moment ago we would sell every- 
 thing, for any money. Now we would buy. Is it so ? " 
 
314 ^ Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 "One moment, Don Jose'/' said Poindexter, with a 
 baleful light in his dark eyes. " Do I understand that 
 you are the ally of Spencer Tucker and his mistress, that 
 you intend to turn this doubly betrayed wife from the 
 only roof she has to cover her ? " 
 
 *" Ah, I comprehend not. You heajd her say she wished 
 to go. Perhaps it may please me to distribute largess to 
 these cattle yonder, I do not say no. More she does not 
 ask. But you^ Don Marco, of whom are you advocate? 
 You abandon your client's mistress for the wife, is it 
 so?" 
 
 " What I may do you will learn hereafter," said Poin- 
 dexter, who had regained his composure, suddenly reining 
 up his horse. " As our paths seem likely to diverge, they 
 had better begin now. Good morning." 
 
 " Patience, my friend, patience ! Ah, blessed St. An- 
 thony, what these Americans are ! Listen. For what 
 you shall do, I do not inquire. The question is to me 
 what I " — he emphasized the pronoun by tapping him- 
 self on the breast — "I, Jose Santierra, will do. Well, I 
 shall tell you. To-day, nothing. To-morrow, nothing. 
 For a week, for a month, nothing! After, we shall see." 
 
 Poindexter paused thoughtfully. "Will you give your 
 word, Don Jose, that you will not press the claim for a 
 month ? " 
 
 " Truly, on one condition. Observe ! I do not ask 
 you for an equal promise, that you will not take this time 
 to defend yourself." He shrugged his shoulder. " No ! 
 It is only this. You shall promise that during that time 
 the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of this docu- 
 ment." 
 
 Poindexter hesitated a moment. " I promise," he said 
 at last. 
 
 " Good. Adios, Don Marco." 
 
 "Adios, Don Jos^." 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 315 
 
 The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off 
 in the direction of Los Gatos. The lawyer remained for 
 a moment gazing on his retreating but victorious figure. 
 For the first time the old look of humorous toleration 
 with which Mr. Poindexter was in the habit of regarding 
 all human infirmity gave way to something like bitterness. 
 " I might have guessed it," he said, with a slight rise of 
 color. "He *s an old fool ; and she — well, perhaps it's 
 all the better for her ! " He glanced backwards almost 
 tenderly in the direction of Los Cuervos, and then turned 
 his head towards the embarcadero. 
 
 As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox- 
 cart arrived at Los Cuervos, bearing several articles of 
 furniture, and some tasteful ornaments from Los Gatos, 
 at the same time that a young Mexican girl mysteriously 
 appeared in the kitchen, as a temporary assistant to the 
 decrepit Concha. These were both clearly attributable 
 to Don Jose, whose visit was not so remote but that these 
 delicate attentions might have been already projected be- 
 fore Mrs. Tucker had declined them, and she could not, 
 without marked discourtesy, return them now. She did 
 not wish to seem discourteous ; she would like to have 
 been more civil to this old gentleman, who still retained 
 the evidences of a picturesque and decorous past, and a 
 repose so different from the life that was perplexing her. 
 Reflecting that if he bought the estate these things would 
 be ready to his hand, and with a woman's instinct recog- 
 nizing their value in setting off the house to other pur- 
 chasers' eyes, she took a pleasure in tastefully arranging 
 them, and even found herself speculating how she might 
 have enjoyed them herself had she been able to keep 
 possession of the property. After all, it would not have 
 been so lonely if refined and gentle neighbors, like this 
 old man, would have sympathized with her ; she had an 
 instinctive feeling that, in their own hopeless decay and 
 
3i6 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 hereditary unfitness for this new civilization, they would 
 have been more tolerant of her husband's failure than his 
 own kind. She could not believe that Don Jose really 
 hated her husband for buying of the successful claimant, 
 as there was no other legal title. Allowing herself to be- 
 come interested in the guileless gossip of the new hand- 
 maiden, proud of her broken English, she was drawn into a 
 sympathy with the grave simplicity of Don Josefs character, 
 a relic of that true nobility which placed this descendant 
 of the Castilians and the daughter of a free people on the 
 same level. 
 
 In this way the second day of her occupancy of Los 
 Cuervos closed, with dumb clouds along the gray horizon, 
 and the paroxysms of hysterical wind growing fainter and 
 fainter outside the walls ; with the moon rising after 
 nightfall, and losing itself in silent and mysterious con- 
 fidences with drifting scud. She went to bed early, but 
 woke past midnight, hearing, as she thought, her own 
 name called. The impression was so strong upon her 
 that she rose, and, hastily enwrapping herself, went to the 
 dark embrasures of the oven-shaped windows, and looked 
 out. The dwarfed oak beside the window was still drop- 
 ping from a past shower, but the level waste of marsh and 
 meadow beyond seemed to advance and recede with the 
 coming and going of the moon. Again she heard her 
 name called, and this time in accents so strangely familiar 
 that with a slight cry she ran into the corridor, crossed 
 the patio ^ and reached the open gate. The darkness that 
 had, even in this brief interval, again fallen upon the pros- 
 pect she tried in vain to pierce with eye and voice. A 
 blank silence followed. Then the veil was suddenly with- 
 drawn ; the vast plain, stretching from the mountain to 
 the sea, shone as clearly as in the light of day ; the mov- 
 ing current of the channel glittered like black pearls, the 
 stagnant pools like molten lead ; but not a sign of life nor 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 317 
 
 motion broke the monotony of the broad expanse. She 
 must have surely dreamed it. A chill wind drove her 
 back to the house again ; she entered her bedroom, and 
 in half an hour she was in a peaceful sleep. 
 
 The two men kept their secret. Mr. Poindexter con- 
 vinced Mrs. Tucker that the sale of Los Cuervos could 
 not be effected until the notoriety of her husband's flight 
 had been fairly forgotten, and she was forced to accept 
 her fate. The sale of her diamonds, which seemed to her 
 to have realized a singularly extravagant sum, enabled 
 her to quietly reinstate the Pattersons in the tienda and 
 to discharge in full her husband's liabilities to the ran- 
 cheros and his humbler retainers. 
 
 Meanwhile the winter rains had ceased. It seemed 
 to her as if the clouds had suddenly one night struck 
 their white tents and stolen away, leaving the unvan- 
 quished sun to mount the vacant sky the next morning 
 alone, and possess it thenceforward unchallenged. One 
 afternoon she thought the long sad waste before her win- 
 dow had caught some tint of grayer color from the sun- 
 set ; a week later she found it a blazing landscape of pop- 
 pies, broken here and there by blue lagoons of lupine, by 
 pools of daisies, by banks of dog-roses, by broad outlying 
 shores of dandelions that scattered their lavish gold to 
 the foot of the hills, where the green billows of wild oats 
 carried it on and upwards to the darker crests of pines. 
 For two months she was dazzled and bewildered with 
 color. She had never before been face to face with this 
 spendthrift Californian Flora, in her virgin wastefulness, 
 her more than goddess-like prodigality. The teeming 
 earth seemed to quicken and throb beneath her feet ; the 
 
3i8 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 few circuits of a plow around the outlying corral were 
 enough to call out a jungle growth of giant grain that al- 
 most hid the low walls of the hacienda. In this glorious 
 fecundity of the earth, in this joyous renewal of life and 
 color, in this opulent youth and freshness of soil and sky, 
 it alone remained, the dead and sterile Past, left in the 
 midst of buoyant rejuvenescence and resurrection, like an 
 empty churchyard skull upturned on the springing turf. 
 Its bronzed adobe walls mocked the green vine that em- 
 braced them, the crumbling dust of its courtyard re- 
 mained ungerminating and unfruitful ; to the thousand 
 stirring voices without, its dry lips alone remained mute, 
 unresponsive, and unchanged. 
 
 During this time Don Jose had become a frequent vis- 
 itor at Los Cuervos, bringing with him at first his niece 
 and sister in a stately precision of politeness that was not 
 lost on the proud Blue Grass stranger. She returned 
 their visit at Los Gatos, and there made the formal ac- 
 quaintance of Don Jose's grandmother, a lady who still 
 regarded the decrepit Concha as a giddy muchacha^ and 
 who herself glittered as with the phosphorescence of re- 
 fined decay. Through this circumstance she learned that 
 Don Jose was not yet fifty, and that his gravity of man- 
 ner and sedateness was more the result of fastidious iso- 
 lation and temperament than years. She could not tell 
 why the information gave her a feeling of annoyance, but 
 it caused her to regret the absence of Poindexter, and to 
 wonder, also somewhat nervously, why he had lately 
 avoided her presence. The thought that he might be 
 doing so from a recollection of the innuendoes of Mrs. 
 Patterson caused a little tremor of indignation in her 
 pulses. " As if '' — but she did not finish the sentence 
 even to herself, and her eyes filled with bitter tears. 
 
 Yet she had thought of the husband who had so cruelly 
 wronged her less feverishly, less impatiently than before. 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 319 
 
 For she thought she loved him now the more deeply, be- 
 cause, although she was not reconciled to his absence, it 
 seemed to keep alive the memory of what he had been 
 before his one wild act separated them. She had never 
 seen the reflection of another woman's eyes in his ; the 
 past contained no haunting recollection of waning or 
 alienated affection ; she could meet him again, and, clasp- 
 ing her arms around him, awaken as if from a troubled 
 dream without reproach or explanation. Her strong be- 
 lief in this made her patient ; she no longer sought to 
 know the particulars of his flight, and never dreamed that 
 her passive submission to his absence was partly due to a 
 fear that something in his actual presence at that moment 
 would have destroyed that belief forever. 
 
 For this reason the delicate reticence of the people at 
 Los Gatos, and their seclusion from the world which knew 
 of her husband's fault, had made her encourage the visits 
 of Don Jose, until from the instinct already alluded to 
 she one day summoned Poindexter to Los Cuervos, on 
 the day that Don Jose usually called. But to her surprise 
 the two men met more or less awkwardly and coldly, and 
 her tact as hostess was tried to the utmost to keep their 
 evident antagonism from being too apparent. The effort 
 to reconcile their mutual discontent, and some other feel- 
 ing she did not quite understand, produced a nerv^ous ex- 
 citement which called the blood to her cheek and gave a 
 dangerous brilliancy to her eyes, two circumstances not 
 unnoticed nor unappreciated by her two guests. But in- 
 stead of reuniting them, the prettier Mrs. Tucker became, 
 the more distant and reserved grew the men, until Don 
 Jose rose before his usual hour, and with more than usual 
 ceremoniousness departed. 
 
 " Then my business does not seem to be with him 1 " 
 said Poindexter, with quiet coolness, as Mrs. Tucker 
 turned her somewhat mystified face towards him. " Or 
 have you anything to say to me about him in private 1 " 
 
320 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 " I am sure I don't know what you both mean," she re- 
 turned with a slight tremor of voice. " I had no idea 
 you were not on good terms. I thought you were ! It's 
 very awkward." Without coquetry and unconsciously she 
 raised her blue eyes under her lids until the clear pupils 
 coyly and softly hid themselves in the corners of the 
 brown lashes, and added, " You have both been so kind 
 to me." 
 
 " Perhaps that is the reason," said Poindexter, gravely. 
 But Mrs. Tucker refused to accept the suggestion with 
 equal gravity, and began to laugh. The laugh, which was 
 at first frank, spontaneous, and almost child-like, w^as be- 
 coming hysterical and nervous as she went on, until it 
 was suddenly checked by Poindexter. 
 
 " I have had no difficulties with Don Jose Santierra," 
 he said, somewhat coldly ignoring her hilarity, " but per- 
 haps he is not inclined to be as polite to the friend of the 
 husband as he*is to the wife." 
 
 " Mr. Poindexter ! " said Mrs. Tucker quickly, her face 
 becoming pale again. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ! " said Poindexter, flushing ; 
 "but" — 
 
 "You want to say," she interrupted coolly, "that you 
 are not friends, I see. Is that the reason why you have 
 avoided this house ? " she continued gently. 
 
 " I thought I could be of more service to you else- 
 where," he replied evasively. " I have been lately follow- 
 ing up a certain clue rather closely. I think I am on the 
 track of a confidante of — of — that woman." 
 
 A quick shadow passed over Mrs. Tucker's face. " In- 
 deed ! " she said coldly. " Then I am to believe that you 
 prefer to spend your leisure moments in looking after 
 that creature to calling here 1 " 
 
 Poindexter was stupefied. Was this the woman who 
 only four months ago was almost vindictively eager to 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 321 
 
 pursue her husband's paramour ! There could be but 
 one answer to it — Don Jose ! Four months ago he would 
 have smiled compassionately at it from his cynical pre- 
 eminence. Now he managed with difficulty to stifle the 
 bitterness of his reply. 
 
 " If you do not wish the inquiry carried on," he began, 
 " of course " — 
 
 " I ? What does it matter to me ? '' she said coolly. 
 " Do as you please." 
 
 Nevertheless, half an hour later, as he was leaving, she 
 said, with a certain hesitating timidity, " Do not leave me 
 so much alone here, and let that woman go." 
 
 This was not the only unlooked-for sequel to her inno- 
 cent desire to propitiate her best friends. Don Jose did 
 not call again upon his usual day, but in his place came 
 Dona Clara, his younger sister. When Mrs. Tucker had 
 politely asked after the absent Don Jose, Dona Clara 
 wound her swarthy arms around the fair American's waist 
 and replied, " But why did you send for the abogado Poin- 
 dexter when my brother called ? " 
 
 " But Captain Poindexter calls as one of my friends," 
 said the amazed Mrs. Tucker. " He is a gentleman, and 
 has been a soldier and an officer," she added with some 
 warmth. 
 
 " Ah, yes, a soldier of the law, what you call an oficial de 
 policia, a chief of gendarmes, my sister, but not a gentle- 
 man — a camarero to protect a lady." 
 
 Mrs. Tucker would have uttered a hasty reply, but the 
 perfect and good-natured simplicity of Dona Clara with- 
 held her. Nevertheless, she treated Don Jose with a 
 certain reserve at their next meeting, until it brought the 
 simple-minded Castilian so dangerously near the point of 
 demanding an explanation which implied too much that 
 she was obliged to restore him temporarily to his old 
 footing. Meantime she had a brilliant idea. She would 
 
32 2 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 write to Calhoun Weaver, whom she had avoided since 
 that memorable day. She would say she wished to con- 
 sult him. He would come to Los Cuervos; he might 
 suggest something to lighten this weary waiting ; at least 
 she would show them all that she had still old friends. 
 Yet she did not dream of returning to her Blue Grass 
 home ; her parents had died since she left ; she shrank 
 from the thought of dragging her ruined life before the 
 hopeful youth of her girlhood's companions. 
 
 Mr. Calhoun Weaver arrived promptly, ostentatiously, 
 oracularly, and cordially, but a little coarsely. He had 
 — did she remember t — expected this from the first. 
 Spencer had lost his head through vanity, and had at- 
 tempted too much. It required foresight and firmness, 
 as he himself — who had lately made successful " combi- 
 nations " which she might perhaps have heard of — well 
 knew. But Spencer had got the ''big head." "As to 
 that woman — a devilish handsome woman too! — well, 
 everybody knew that Spencer always had a weakness 
 that way, and he would say — but if she did n't care to 
 hear any more about her — well, perhaps she was right. 
 That was the best way to take it." Sitting before her, 
 prosperous, weak, egotistical, incompetent, unavailable, 
 and yet filled with a vague kindliness of intent, Mrs. 
 Tucker loathed him. A sickening perception of her own 
 weakness in sending for him, a new and aching sense of 
 her utter isolation and helplessness, seemed to para- 
 lyze her. 
 
 " Nat'rally you feel bad," he continued, with the large 
 air of a profound student of human nature. " Nat'rally, 
 nat'rally you 're kept in an uncomfortable state, not know- 
 ing jist how you stand. There ain't but one thing to do. 
 Jist rise up, quiet like, and get a divorce agin Spencer. 
 Hold on ! There ain't a judge or jury in California that 
 would n't give it to you right off the nail, without asking 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 323 
 
 questions. Why, you 'd get it by default if you wanted 
 to ; you 'd just have to walk over the course ! And then, 
 Belle," he drew his chair still nearer her, "when youVe 
 settled down again — well ! — I don't mind renewing that 
 offer I once made ye, before Spencer ever came round ye 
 — I don't mind, Belle, I swear I don't ! Honest Injin ! 
 I 'm in earnest, there 's my hand." 
 
 Mrs. Tucker's reply has not been recorded. Enough 
 that half an hour later Mr. Weaver appeared in the court- 
 yard with traces of tears on his foolish face, a broken 
 falsetto voice, and other evidence of mental and moral 
 disturbance. His cordiality and oracular predisposition 
 remained sufficiently to enable him to suggest the magi- 
 cal words " Blue Grass " mysteriously to Concha, with an 
 indication of his hand to the erect figure of her pale 
 mistress in the doorway, who waved to him a silent but 
 half compassionate farewell. 
 
 At about this time a slight change in her manner was 
 noticed by the few who saw her more frequently. Her 
 apparently invincible girlishness of spirit had given way 
 to a certain matronly seriousness. She applied herself 
 to her household cares and the improvement of the 
 hacienda with a new sense of duty and a settled earnest- 
 ness, until by degrees she wrought into it not only her 
 instinctive delicacy and taste, but part of her own indi- 
 viduality. Even the rude ra?icheros and tradesmen who 
 were permitted to enter the walls in the exercise of their 
 calling began to speak mysteriously of the beauty of this 
 garden of the almarjaL She went out but seldom, and 
 then accompanied by one or the other of her female ser- 
 vants, in long drives on unfrequented roads. On Sun- 
 days she sometimes drove to the half ruined mission 
 church of Santa Inez, and hid herself, during mass, in 
 the dim monastic shadows of the choir. Gradually the 
 poorer people whom she met in these journeys began to 
 
324 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 show an almost devotional reverence for her, stopping in 
 the roads with uncovered heads for her to pass, or making 
 way for her in the tienda or plaza of the wretched town 
 with dumb courtesy. She began to feel a strange sense 
 of widowhood, that, while it at times brought tears to her 
 eyes, was not without a certain tender solace. In the 
 sympathy and simpleness of this impulse she went as far 
 as to revive the mourning she had worn for her parents, 
 but with such a fatal accenting of her beauty, and dan- 
 gerous misinterpreting of her condition to eligible bach- 
 elors strange to the country, that she was obliged to put 
 it off again. Her reserved and dignified manner caused 
 others to mistake her nationality for that of the Santier- 
 ras, and in " Dona Bella " the simple Mrs. Tucker was 
 for a while forgotten. At times she even forgot it her- 
 self. Accustomed now almost entirely to the accents of 
 another language and the features of another race, she 
 would sit for hours in the corridor, whose massive bronzed 
 enclosure even her tasteful care could only make an 
 embow^ered mausoleum of the Past, or gaze abstractedly 
 from the dark embrasures of her windows across the 
 stretching almarjal to the shining lagoon beyond that 
 terminated the estuary. She had a strange fondness for 
 this tranquil mirror, which under sun or stars always 
 retained the passive reflex of the sky above, and seemed 
 to rest her weary eyes. She had objected to one of the 
 plans projected by Poindexter to redeem the land and 
 deepen the water at the embarcadero^ as it would have 
 drained the lagoon, and the lawyer had postponed the 
 improvement to gratify her fancy. So she kept it through 
 the long summer unchanged save by the shadows of 
 passing wings or the lazy files of sleeping sea-fowl. 
 
 On one of these afternoons she noticed a slowly moving 
 carriage leave the highroad and cross the almarjal skirt- 
 ing the edge of the lagoon. If it contained visitors for 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 325 
 
 Los Cuervos they had evidently taken a shorter cut with- 
 out waiting to go on to the regular road which intersected 
 the highway at right angles a mile farther on. It was 
 with some sense of annoyance and irritation that she 
 watched the trespass, and finally saw the vehicle approach 
 the house. A few moments later the servant informed 
 her that Mr. Patterson would like to see her alone. 
 When she entered the corridor, which in the dry season 
 served as a reception hall, she was surprised to see that 
 Patterson was not alone. Near him stood a well-dressed 
 handsome woman, gazing about her with good-humored 
 admiration of Mrs. Tucker's taste and ingenuity. 
 
 " It don't look much like it did two years ago," said 
 the stranger cheerfully. " You Ve improved it wonder- 
 fully." 
 
 Stiffening slightly, Mrs. Tucker turned inquiringly to 
 Mr. Patterson. But that gentleman's usual profound 
 melancholy appeared to be intensified by the hilarity of 
 his companion. He only sighed deeply and rubbed his 
 leg with the brim of his hat in gloomy abstraction. 
 
 " Well ! go on, then," said the woman, laughing and 
 nudging him. " Go on — introduce me — can't you ? 
 Don't stand there like a tombstone. You won't t Well, 
 I '11 introduce myself." She laughed again, and then, 
 with an excellent imitation of Patterson's lugubrious ac- 
 cents, said, ** Mr. Spencer Tucker's wife that is^ allow me 
 to introduce you to Mr. Spencer Tucker's sweetheart that 
 was \ Hold on ! I said that was. For true as I stand 
 here, ma'am — and I reckon I would n't stand here if it 
 was n't true — I have n't set eyes on him since the day he 
 left you." 
 
 "It's the gospel truth, every word," said Patterson, 
 stirred into a sudden activity by Mrs. Tucker's white and 
 rigid face. " It 's the frozen truth, and I kin prove it. 
 For I kin swear that when that there young woman was 
 
326 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 sailin* outer the Golden Gate, Spencer Tucker was in 
 my bar-room ; I kin swear that I fed him, lickered him, 
 give him a hoss and set him in his road to Monterey that 
 very night." 
 
 *' Then, where is he now ? " said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly 
 facing them. 
 
 They looked at each other, and then looked at Mrs. 
 Tucker. Then both together replied slowly and in per- 
 fect unison, " That 's — what — we — want — to — know.'' 
 They seemed so satisfied with this effect that they as delib- 
 erately repeated, " Yes — that 's — what — we — want — 
 to — know." 
 
 Between the shock of meeting the partner of her hus- 
 band's guilt and the unexpected revelation to her inex- 
 perience, that in suggestion and appearance there was 
 nothing beyond the recollection of that guilt that was 
 really shocking in the woman — between the extravagant 
 extremes of hope and fear suggested by their words, there 
 w^as something so grotesquely absurd in the melodramatic 
 chorus that she with difficulty suppressed an hysterical 
 laugh. 
 
 "That's the way to take it," said the woman, putting 
 her own good-humored interpretation upon Mrs. Tucker's 
 expression. " Now, look here ! I '11 tell you all about it." 
 She carefully selected the most comfortable chair, and 
 sitting down, lightly crossed her hands in her lap. " Well, 
 I left here on the 13th of last January on the ship Argo^ 
 calculating that your husband would join the ship just in- 
 side the Heads. That was our arrangement, but if any- 
 thing happened to prevent him, he was to join me at 
 Acapulco. Well ! he did n't come aboard, and we sailed 
 without him. But it appears now he did attempt to join 
 the ship, but his boat was capsized. There now, don't 
 be alarmed ! he was n't drowned, as Patterson can swear 
 to — no, catch him I not a hair of him was hurt. But / — 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 327 
 
 /was bundled off to the end of the earth in Mexico 
 alone, without a cent to bless me. For true as you live, 
 that hound of a captain, when he found, as he thought, 
 that Spencer was nabbed, he just confiscated all his 
 trunks and valuables and left me in the lurch. If I had 
 not met a man down there that offered to marry me and 
 brought me here, I might have died there, I reckon. But 
 I did, and here I am. I went down there as your hus- 
 band's sweetheart, I Ve come back as the wife of an 
 honest man, and I reckon it 's about square ! " 
 
 There was something so startlingly frank, so hopelessly 
 self-satisfied, so contagiously good-humored in the wo- 
 man's perfect moral unconsciousness, that even if Mrs. 
 Tucker had been less preoccupied her resentment would 
 have abated. But her eyes were fixed on the gloomy 
 face of Patterson, who was beginning to unlock the sep- 
 ulchers of his memory and disinter his deeply buried 
 thoughts. 
 
 " You kin bet your whole pile on what this Mrs. Cap- 
 ting Baxter — ez used to be French Inez of New Orleans 
 — hez told ye. Ye kin take everything she's onloaded. 
 And it 's only doin' the square thing to her to say, she 
 hain't done it out o' no cussedness, but just to satisfy 
 herself, now she 's a married woman and past such fool- 
 ishness. But that ain't neither here nor there. The gist 
 of the whole matter is that Spencer Tucker was at the 
 tienda the day after she sailed and after his boat capsized." 
 He then gave a detailed account of the interview, with 
 the unnecessary but truthful minutise of his class, adding 
 to the particulars already known that the following week 
 he visited the Summit House and was surprised to find 
 that Spencer had never been there, nor had he ever sailed 
 from Monterey. 
 
 "But why was this not told to me before ? " said Mrs. 
 Tucker, suddenly. " Why not at the time ? Why," she 
 
328 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 demanded almost fiercely, turning from the one to the 
 other, " has this been kept from me ? " 
 
 " I '11 tell ye why," said Patterson, sinking with crushed 
 submission into a chair. " When I found he was n't 
 where he ought to be, I got to lookin* elsewhere. I knew 
 the track of the hoss I lent him by a loose shoe. I ex- 
 amined, and found he had turned off the highroad some- 
 where beyond the lagoon, jist as if he was makin' a bee 
 line here." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Tucker breathlessly. 
 
 " Well," said Patterson, with the resigned tone of an 
 accustomed martyr, " mebbe I 'm a God-forsaken idiot, 
 but I reckon he did come yer. And mebbe I 'm that 
 much of a habitooal lunatic, but thinking so, I calkilated 
 you 'd know it without tellin'." 
 
 With their eyes fixed upon her, Mrs. Tucker felt the 
 quick blood rush to her cheeks, although she knew not 
 why. But they were apparently satisfied with her igno- 
 rance, for Patterson resumed, yet more gloomily : 
 
 " Then if he was n't hidin' here beknownst to you, he 
 must have changed his mind agin and got away by the 
 embarcadero. The only thing wan tin' to prove that idea 
 is to know how he got a boat, and what he did with the 
 hoss. And thar's one more idea, and ez that can't be 
 proved," continued Patterson, sinking his voice still 
 lower, " mebbe it 's accordin' to God's laws." 
 
 Unsympathetic to her as the speaker had always been 
 and still was, Mrs. Tucker felt a vague chill creep over 
 her that seemed to be the result of his manner more than 
 his words. " And that idea is — ? " she suggested with 
 pale lips. 
 
 " It 's this ! Fust, I don't say it means much to any- 
 body but me. I 've heard of these warnings afore now, 
 ez comin' only to folks ez hear them for themselves alone, 
 and I reckon I kin stand it, if it 's the will o' God. The 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 329 
 
 idea is then — that — Spencer Tucker — was drownded in 
 that boat ; the idea is *' — his voice was almost lost in a 
 hoarse whisper — " that it was no living man that kern 
 to me that night, but a spirit that kem out of the dark- 
 ness and went back into it ! No eye saw him but mine 
 — no ears heard him but mine. I reckon it were n't in- 
 tended it should." He paused, and passed the flap of 
 his hat across his eyes. " The pie, you '11 say, is agin it,'' 
 he continued in the same tone of voice, — " the whiskey 
 is agin it — a few cuss words that dropped from him, ac- 
 cidental like, may have been agin it. All the same they 
 mout have been only the little signs and tokens that* it 
 was him." 
 
 But Mrs. Baxter's ready laugh somewhat rudely dis- 
 pelled the infection of Patterson's gloom. " I reckon 
 the only spirit was that which you and Spencer con- 
 sumed," she said, cheerfully. "I don't wonder you're 
 a little mixed. Like as not you 've misunderstood his 
 plans." 
 
 Patterson shook his head. " He '11 turn up yet, alive 
 and kicking ! Like as not, then, Poindexter knows where 
 he is all the time." 
 
 " Impossible ! He would have told me," said Mrs. 
 Tucker, quickly. 
 
 Mrs. Baxter looked at Patterson without speaking. 
 Patterson replied by a long lugubrious whistle. 
 
 " I don't understand you," said Mrs. Tucker, drawing 
 back with cold dignity. 
 
 " You don't ? " returned Mrs. Baxter. " Bless your in- 
 nocent heart ! Why was he so keen to hunt me up at 
 first, shadowing my friends and all that, and why has he 
 dropped it now he knows I 'm here, if he did n't know 
 where Spencer was t " 
 
 " I can explain that," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, hastily, 
 with a blush of confusion. " That is — I " — 
 
330 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 " Then mebbe you kin explain too," broke in Patterson 
 with gloomy significance, " why he has bought up most 
 of Spencer's debts himself, and perhaps you 're satisfied 
 it is 7i't to hold the whip hand of him and keep him from 
 coming back openly. Pr'aps you know why he 's movin' 
 heaven and earth to make Don Jose Santierra sell the 
 ranch, and why the Don don't see it all." 
 
 " Don Jose sell Los Cuervos ! Buy it, you mean ? " 
 said Mrs. Tucker. " /offered to sell it to him." 
 
 Patterson arose from the chair, looked despairingly 
 around him, passed his hand sadly across his forehead, 
 and said : " It 's come ! I knew it would. It 's the warn- 
 ing! It 's suthing betwixt jim-jams and doddering idjiocy. 
 Here I 'd hev been willin' to swear that Mrs. Baxter here 
 told me skehad sold this yer ranch nearly two years ago 
 to Don Jose, and now you " — 
 
 " Stop ! " said Mrs. Tucker, in a voice that chilled 
 them. 
 
 She was standing upright and rigid, as if stricken to 
 stone. *^ I command you to tell me what this means ! " 
 she said, turning only her blazing eyes upon the woman. 
 
 Even the ready smile faded from Mrs. Baxter's lips 
 as she replied hesitatingly and submissively : '^ I thought 
 you knew already that Spencer had given this ranch to 
 me. I sold it to Don Jose to get the money for us to go 
 away with. It was Spencer's idea " — 
 
 " You lie ! " said Mrs. Tucker. 
 
 There was a dead silence. The wrathful blood that 
 had quickly mounted to Mrs. Baxter's cheek, to Patter- 
 son's additional bewilderment, faded as quickly. She 
 did not lift her eyes again to Mrs. Tucker's, but, slowly 
 raising herself from her seat, said, " I wish to God I did 
 lie ; but it 's true. And it 's true that I never touched a 
 cent of the money, but gave it all to him ! " She laid her 
 hand on Patterson's arm, and said, " Come ! let us go," 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 331 
 
 and led him a few steps toward the gateway. But here 
 Patterson paused, and again passed his hand over his 
 melancholy brow. The necessity of coherently and logi- 
 cally closing the conversation impressed itself upon his 
 darkening mind. " Then you don't happen to have heard 
 anything of Spencer ? '' he said sadly, and vanished with 
 Mrs. Baxter through the gate. 
 
 Left alone to herself, Mrs. Tucker raised her hands 
 above her head with a little cry, interlocked her rigid 
 fingers, and slowly brought her palms down upon her up- 
 turned face and eyes, pressing hard as if to crush out all 
 light and sense of life before her. She stood thus for a 
 moment motionless and silent, with the rising wind whis- 
 pering without and flecking her white morning dress with 
 gusty shadows from the arbor. Then, with closed eyes, 
 dropping her hands to her breast, still pressing hard, she 
 slowly passed them down the shapely contours of her 
 figure to the waist, and with another cry cast them off as 
 if she were stripping herself of some loathsome garment. 
 Then she walked quickly to the gateway, looked out, re- 
 turned to the corridor, unloosening and taking off her 
 wedding-ring from her finger as she walked. Here she 
 paused, then slowly and deliberately rearranged the chairs 
 and adjusted the gay-colored rugs that draped them, and 
 quietly reentered her chamber. 
 
 Two days afterwards the sweating steed of Captain 
 Poindexter was turned loose in the corral, and a moment 
 later the captain entered the corridor. Handing a letter 
 to the decrepit Concha, who seemed to be utterly dis- 
 organized by its contents and the few curt words with 
 which it was delivered, he gazed silently upon the vacant 
 bower, still fresh and redolent with the delicacy and per- 
 fume of its graceful occupant, until his dark eyes filled 
 with unaccustomed moisture. But his reverie was inter- 
 
332 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 rupted by the sound of jingling spurs without, and the 
 old humor struggled back into his eyes as Don Jose im- 
 petuously entered. The Spaniard started back, but in- 
 stantly recovered himself. 
 
 " So, I find you here. Ah ! it is well ! '' he said pas- 
 sionately, producing a letter from his bosom. " Look ! 
 Do you call this honor ? Look how you keep your com- 
 pact ! " 
 
 Poindexter coolly took the letter. It contained a few 
 words of gentle dignity from Mrs. Tucker, informing Don 
 Jose that she had only that instant learned of his just 
 claims upon Los Cuervos, tendering him her gratitude 
 for his delicate intentions, but pointing out with respect- 
 ful firmness that he must know that a moment's further 
 acceptance of his courtesy was impossible. 
 
 " She has gained this knowledge from no word of 
 mine," said Poindexter, calmly. " Right or wrong, I 
 have kept my promise to you. I have as much reason 
 to accuse you of betraying my secret in this," he added 
 coldly, as he took another letter from his pocket and 
 handed it to Don Jose. - 
 
 It seemed briefer and colder, but was neither. It re- 
 minded Poindexter that as he had again deceived her she 
 must take the government of her affairs in her own hands 
 henceforth. She abandoned all the furniture and im- 
 provements she had put in Los Cuervos to him, to whom 
 she now knew she was indebted for them. She could not 
 thank him for what his habitual generosity impelled him 
 to do for any woman, but she could forgive him for mis- 
 understanding her like any other woman, perhaps she 
 should say, like a child. When he received this she 
 would be already on her way to her old home in Ken- 
 tucky, where she still hoped to be able by her own efforts 
 to amass enough to discharge her obligations to him. 
 
 " She does not speak of her husband, this woman," 
 
A Blue Grass Penelope. 333 
 
 said Don Jose, scanning Poindexter's face. " It is pos- 
 sible she rejoins him, eh ? '^ 
 
 " Perhaps in one way she has never left him, Don 
 Jose," said Poindexter, with grave significance. 
 
 Don Jose's face flushed, but he returned carelessly, 
 " And the rancho^ naturally you will not buy it now ? " 
 
 "On the contrary, I shall abide by my offer,'' said 
 Poindexter, quietly. 
 
 Don Jose eyed him narrowly, and then said, " Ah, we 
 shall consider of it." 
 
 He did consider it, and accepted the offer. With the 
 full control of the land. Captain Poindexter's improve- 
 ments, so indefinitely postponed, were actively pushed 
 forward. The thick walls of the hacienda were the first 
 to melt away before them ; the low lines of corral were 
 effaced, and the early breath of the summer trade winds 
 swept uninterruptedly across the now leveled plain to the 
 embarcadero, where a newer structure arose. A more 
 vivid green alone marked the spot where the crumbling 
 adobe walls of the casa had returned to the parent soil 
 that gave it. The channel was deepened, the lagoon 
 was drained, until one evening the magic mirror that had 
 so long reflected the weary waiting of the Blue Grass 
 Penelope lay dull, dead, lusterless, an opaque quagmire 
 of noisome corruption and decay to be put away from the 
 sight of man forever. On this spot the crows, the titular 
 tenants of Los Cuervos, assembled in tumultuous con- 
 gress, coming and going in mysterious clouds, or laboring 
 in thick and writhing masses, as if they were continuing 
 the work of improvement begun by human agency. So 
 well had they done the work that by the end of a week 
 only a few scattered white objects remained glittering on 
 the surface of the quickly drying soil. But they were the 
 bones of the missing outcast, Spencer Tucker ! 
 
334 ^ Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 The same spring a breath of war swept over a foul, 
 decaying quagmire of the whole land, before which such 
 passing deeds as these w^ere blown as vapor. It called 
 men of all rank and condition to battle for a nation's 
 life, and among the first to respond were those into 
 whose boyish hands had been placed the nation's honor. 
 It returned the epaulets to Poindexter's shoulder with 
 the addition of a double star, carried him triumphantly to 
 the front, and left him, at the end of a summer's day and 
 a hard-won fight, sorely wounded, at the door of a Blue 
 Grass farmhouse. And the woman who sought him out 
 and ministered to his wants said timidly, as she left her 
 hand in his, *' I told you I should live to repay you." 
 
left sDut on lone ^tav i^ountatn. 
 
 There was little doubt that the Lone Star claim was 
 " played out." Not dug out, worked out, washed out, but 
 ;played out. For two years its five sanguine proprietors 
 had gone through the various stages of mining enthusi- 
 asm ; had prospected and planned, dug and doubted. 
 They had borrowed money with hearty but unredeeming 
 frankness, established a credit with unselfish abnegation 
 of all responsibility, and had borne the disappointment 
 of their creditors with a cheerful resignation which only 
 the consciousness of some deep Compensating Future 
 could give. Giving little else, however, a singular dis- 
 satisfaction obtained with the traders, and, being accom- 
 panied with a reluctance to make further advances, at last 
 touched the gentle stoicism of the proprietors themselves. 
 The youthful enthusiasm which had at first lifted the 
 most ineffectual trial, the most useless essay, to the plane 
 of actual achievement, died out, leaving them only the 
 dull, prosaic record of half-finished ditches, purposeless 
 shafts, untenable pits, abandoned engines, and meaning- 
 less disruptions of the soil upon the Lone Star claim, and 
 empty flour sacks and pork barrels in the Lone Star 
 cabin. 
 
 They had borne their poverty, if that term could be ap- 
 plied to a light renunciation of all superfluities in food, 
 dress, or ornament, ameliorated by the gentle depreda- 
 tions already alluded to, with unassuming levity. More 
 
336 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 than that : having segregated themselves from their fellow- 
 miners of Red Gulch, and entered upon the possession of 
 the little manzanita-thicketed valley five miles away, the 
 failure of their enterprise had assumed in their eyes only 
 the vague significance of the decline and fall of a general 
 community, and to that extent relieved them of individual 
 responsibility. It was easier for them to admit that the 
 Lone Star claim was " played out " than confess to a per- 
 sonal bankruptcy. Moreover, they still retained the sacred 
 right of criticism of government, and rose superior in their 
 private opinions to their own collective wisdom. Each 
 one experienced a grateful sense of the entire responsibil- 
 ity of the other four in the fate of their enterprise. 
 
 On December 24, 1863, a gentle rain was still falling 
 over the length and breadth of the Lone Star claim. It 
 had been falling for several days, had already called a faint 
 spring color to the wan landscape, repairing with tender 
 touches the ravages wrought by the proprietors, or chari- 
 tably covering their faults. The ragged seams in gulch 
 and canon lost their harsh outlines, a thin green mantle 
 faintly clothed the . torn and abraded hillside. A few 
 weeks more, and a veil of forgetfulness would be drawn 
 over the feeble failures of the Lone Star claim. The 
 charming derelicts themselves, listening to the raindrops 
 on the roof of their little cabin, gazed philosophically 
 from the open door, and accepted the prospect as a moral 
 discharge from their obligations. Four of the five part- 
 ners were present. The Right and Left Bowers, Union 
 Mills, and the Judge. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say that not one of these 
 titles was the genuine name of its possessor. The Right 
 and Left Bowers were two brothers ; their sobriquets, a 
 cheerful adaptation from the favorite game of euchre, ex- 
 pressing their relative value in the camp. The mere fact 
 that Union Mills had at one time patched his trousers 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mou7itain. 337 
 
 with an old flour-sack legibly bearing that brand of its 
 fabrication, was a tempting baptismal suggestion that the 
 other partners could not forego. The Judge, a singu- 
 larly inequitable Missourian, with no knowledge whatever 
 of the law, was an inspiration of gratuitous irony. 
 
 Union Mills, who had been for some time sitting 
 placidly on the threshold with one leg exposed to the 
 rain, from a sheer indolent inability to change his posi- 
 tion, finally withdrew that weather-beaten member, and 
 stood up. The movement more or less deranged the 
 attitudes of the other partners, and was received with 
 cynical disfavor. It was somewhat remarkable that, al- 
 though generally giving the appearance of healthy youth 
 and perfect physical condition, they one and all simulated 
 the decrepitude of age and invalidism, and after limping 
 about for a few moments, settled back again upon their 
 bunks and stools in their former positions. The Left 
 Bower lazily replaced a bandage that he had worn around 
 his ankle for weeks without any apparent necessity, and 
 the Judge scrutinized with tender solicitude the faded 
 cicatrix of a scratch upon his arm. A passive hypochon- 
 dria, born of their isolation, was the last ludicrously 
 pathetic touch of their situation. 
 
 The immediate cause of this commotion felt the neces- 
 sity of an explanation. 
 
 "It would have been just as easy for you to have 
 stayed outside with your business leg, instead of dragging 
 it into private life in that obtrusive way," retorted the 
 Right Bower ; " but that exhaustive effort is n't going to 
 fill the pork barrel. The grocery man at Dalton says — 
 what 's that he said ? " he appealed lazily to the Judge. 
 
 '* Said he reckoned the Lone Star was about played 
 out, and he did n't want any more in his — thank you 1" 
 repeated the Judge with a mechanical effort of memory 
 utterly devoid of personal or present interest. 
 
338 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 " I always suspected that man. after Grimshaw begun 
 to deal with him," said the Left Bower. ** They 're just 
 mean enough to join hands against us." It was a fixed 
 belief of the Lone Star partners that they were pursued 
 by personal enmities. 
 
 " More than likely those new strangers over in the 
 Fork have been paying cash and filled him up with con- 
 ceit," said Union Mills, trying to dry his leg by alter- 
 nately beating it or rubbing it against the cabin wall. 
 "Once begin wrong with that kind of snipe and you 
 drag everybody down with you." 
 
 This vague conclusion was received with dead silence. 
 Everybody had become interested in the speaker's pecul- 
 iar method of drying his leg, to the exclusion of the pre- 
 vious topic. A few offered criticism, no one assistance. 
 
 " Who did the grocery man say that to .? " asked the 
 Right Bower, finally returning to the question. 
 
 " The Old Man," answered the Judge. 
 
 " Of course," ejaculated the Right Bower sarcastically. 
 
 " Of course," echoed the other partners together. 
 " That 's like him. The Old Man all over ! " 
 
 It did not appear exactly what was like the Old Man, 
 or why it was like him, but generally that he alone was 
 responsible for the grocery man's defection. It was put 
 more concisely by Union Mills. 
 
 " That comes of letting him go there ! It 's just a fair 
 provocation to any man to have the Old Man sent to 
 him. They can't, sorter, restrain themselves at him. 
 He 's enough to spoil the credit of the Rothschilds." 
 
 " That 's so," chimed in the Judge. " And look at his 
 prospecting. Why, he was out two nights last week, all 
 night, prospecting in the moonlight for blind leads, just 
 out of sheer foolishness." 
 
 " It was quite enough forme," broke in the Left Bower, 
 " when the other day, you remember when, he proposed 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 339 
 
 to us white men to settle down to plain ground sluicing, 
 making ' grub ' wages just like any Chinaman. It just 
 showed his idea of the Lone Star claim." 
 
 " Well, I never said it afore," added Union Mills, "but 
 when that one of the Mattison boys came over here to 
 examine the claim with an eye to purchasin', it was the 
 Old Man that took the conceit out of him. He just as 
 good as admitted that a lot of work had got to be done 
 afore any pay ore could be realized. Never even asked 
 him over to the shanty here to jine us in a friendly game ; 
 just kept him, so to speak, to himself. And naturally 
 the Mattisons did n*t see it." 
 
 A silence followed, broken only by the rain monoto- 
 nously falling on the roof, and occasionally through the 
 broad adobe chimney, where it provoked a retaliating hiss 
 and splutter from the dying embers of the hearth. The 
 Right Bower, with a sudden access of energy, drew the 
 empty barrel before him, and taking a pack of well-worn 
 cards from his pocket, began to make a " solitaire " upon 
 the lid. The others gazed at him with languid interest. 
 
 " Makin' it for anythin' ? " asked Mills. 
 
 The Right Bower nodded. 
 
 The Judge and Left Bower, who were partly lying in 
 their respective bunks, sat up to get a better view of the 
 game. Union Mills slowly disengaged himself from the 
 wall and leaned over the " solitaire " player. The Right 
 Bower turned the last card in a pause of almost thrilling 
 suspense, and clapped it down on the lid with fateful 
 emphasis. 
 
 " It went ! " said the Judge in a voice of hushed respect. 
 " What did you make it for ? " he almost whispered. 
 
 " To know if we *d make the break we talked about and 
 vamose the ranch. It 's the fifth time to-day," continued 
 the Right Bower in a voice of gloomy significance. " And 
 it went agin bad cards too." 
 
340 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 " I ain't superstitious," said the Judge, with awe and 
 fatuity beaming from every line of his credulous face, 
 " but it 's flyin' in the face of Providence to go agin such 
 signs as that.'' 
 
 " Make it again, to see if the Old Man must go," sug- 
 gested the Left Bower. 
 
 The suggestion was received with favor, the three men 
 gathering breathlessly around the player. Again the 
 fateful cards were shuffled deliberately, placed in their 
 mysterious combination, with the same ominous result. 
 Yet everybody seemed to breathe more freely, as if 
 relieved from some responsibility, the Judge accepting 
 this manifest expression of Providence with resigned self- 
 righteousness. 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen," resumed the Left Bower, serenely, 
 as if a calm legal decision had just been recorded, " we 
 must not let any foolishness or sentiment get mixed up 
 with this thing, but look at it like business men. The 
 only sensible move is to get up and get out of the camp." 
 
 " And the Old Man t " queried the Judge. 
 
 " The Old Man — hush ! he 's coming." 
 
 The doorway was darkened by a slight lissome shadow. 
 It was the absent partner, otherwise known as " the Old 
 Man." Need it be added that he was a boy of nineteen, 
 with a slight down just clothing his upper lip ! 
 
 " The creek is up over the ford, and I had to ^ shin ' up 
 a willow on the bank and swing myself across," he said, 
 with a quick, frank laugh ; " but all the same, boys, it 's 
 going to clear up in about an hour, you bet. It 's break- 
 ing away over Bald Mountain, and there 's a sun-flash on 
 a bit of snow on Lone Peak. Look ! you can see it from 
 here. It 's for all the world like Noah's dove just landed 
 on Mount Ararat. It 's a good omen." 
 
 From sheer force of habit the men had momentarily 
 brightened up at the Old Man's entrance. But the un- 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 341 
 
 blushing exhibition of degrading superstition shown in 
 the last sentence recalled their just severity. They 
 exchanged meaning glances. Union Mills uttered hope- 
 lessly to himself : " Hell 's full of such omens.'' 
 
 Too occupied with his subject to notice this ominous 
 reception, the Old Man continued : " I reckon I struck 
 a fresh lead in the new grocery man at the Crossing. He 
 says he '11 let the Judge have a pair of boots on credit, 
 but he can't send them over here ; and considering that 
 the Judge has got to try them anyway, it don't seem to 
 be asking too much for the Judge to go over there. He 
 says he '11 give us a barrel of pork and a bag of flour if 
 we '11 give him the right of using our tail-race and clean 
 out the lower end of it." 
 
 " It 's the work of a Chinaman, and a four days' job," 
 broke in the Left Bower. 
 
 " It took one white man only two hours to clean out a 
 third of it," retorted the Old Man triumphantly, "for / 
 pitched in at once with a pick he let me have on credit, 
 and did that amount of work this morning, and told him 
 the rest of you boys would finish it this afternoon." 
 
 A slight gesture from the Right Bower checked an 
 angry exclamation from the Left. The Old Man did 
 not notice either, but, knitting his smooth young brow in 
 a paternally reflective fashion, went on : " You '11 have to 
 get a new pair of trousers, Mills, but as he does n't keep 
 clothing, we '11 have to get some canvas and cut you out 
 a pair. I traded off the beans he let me have for some 
 tobacco for the Right Bower at the other shop, and got 
 them to throw in a new pack of cards. These are about 
 played out. We '11 be wanting some brushwood for the 
 fire ; there 's a heap in the hollow. Who 's going to 
 bring it in ? It 's the Judge's turn, is n't it ? Why, what's 
 the matter with you all ? " 
 
 The restraint and evident uneasiness of his companions 
 
342 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 had at last touched him. He turned his frank young 
 eyes upon them ; they glanced helplessly at each other. 
 Yet his first concern was for them, his first instinct pa- 
 ternal and protecting. He ran his eyes quickly over 
 them ; they were all there and apparently in their usual 
 condition. " Anything wrong with the claim ? '' he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 Without looking at him the Right Bower rose, leaned 
 against the open door with his hands behind him and his 
 face towards the landscape, and said, apparently to the 
 distant prospect : " The claim 's played out, the partner- 
 ship 's played out, and the sooner we skedaddle out of this 
 the better. If," he added, turning to the Old Man, 
 *'^\i you want to stay, if you want to do Chinaman's work 
 at Chinaman's wages, if you want to hang on to the 
 charity of the traders at the Crossing, you can do it, and 
 enjoy the prospects and the Noah's doves alone. But 
 we 're calculatin' to step out of it." 
 
 " But I have n't said I wanted to do it alone^^^ protested 
 the Old Man with a gesture of bewilderment. 
 
 " If these are your general ideas of the partnership," 
 continued the Right Bower, clinging to the established 
 hypothesis of the other partners for support, *'it ain't 
 ours, and the only way we can prove it is to stop the fool- 
 ishness right here. We calculated to dissolve the part- 
 nership and strike out for ourselves elsewhere. You 're 
 no longer responsible for us, nor we for you. And we 
 reckon it 's the square thing to leave you the claim and 
 the cabin and all it contains. To prevent any trouble 
 with the traders, we Ve drawn up a paper here " — 
 
 " With a bonus of fifty thousand dollars each down, 
 and the rest to be settled on my children," interrupted 
 the Old Man, with a half uneasy laugh. "Of course. 
 But " — he stopped suddenly, the blood dropped from 
 his fresh cheek, and he again glanced quickly round the 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 343 
 
 group. "I don't think — I — I quite sabe^ boys," he 
 added, with a slight tremor of voice and lip. " If it 's a 
 conundrum, ask me an easier one." 
 
 Any lingering doubt he might have had of their mean- 
 ing was dispelled by the Judge. " It 's about the softest 
 thing you kin drop into. Old Man," he said confidentially ; 
 "if /had n't promised the other boys to go with them, 
 and if I did n't need the best medical advice in Sacra- 
 mento for my lungs, I 'd just enjoy staying with you." 
 
 " It gives a sorter freedom to a young fellow like you. 
 Old Man, like goin' into the world on your own capital, 
 that every Californian boy has n't got," said Union Mills, 
 patronizingly. 
 
 " Of course it 's rather hard papers on us, you know, 
 givin' up everything, so to speak ; but it 's for your good, 
 and we ain't goin' back on you," said the Left Bower, 
 " are we, boys ? " 
 
 The color had returned to the Old Man's face a little 
 more quickly and freely than usual. He picked up the 
 hat he had cast down, put it on carefully over his brown 
 curls, drew the flap down on the side towards his compan- 
 ions, and put his hands in his pockets. "All right," he 
 said, in a slightly altered voice. " When do you go ? " 
 
 " To-day," answered the Left Bower. " We calculate 
 to take a moonlight /<3:j'^^r over to the Cross Roads and 
 meet the down stage at about twelve to-night. There 's 
 plenty of time yet," he added, with a slight laugh; "it 's 
 only three o'clock now." 
 
 There was a dead silence. Even the rain withheld its 
 continuous patter, a dumb, gray film covered the ashes of 
 the hushed hearth. For the first time the Right Bower 
 exhibited some slight embarrassment. 
 
 " I reckon it 's held up for a spell," he said, ostenta- 
 tiously examining the weather, " and we might as well 
 take a run round the claim to see if we 've forgotten noth- 
 
344 ^^f^ O^^^ ^^^ Lone Star Mountam. 
 
 ing. Of course, we '11 be back again," he added hastily, 
 without looking at the Old Man, " before we go, you 
 know." 
 
 The others began to look for their hats, but so awk- 
 wardly and with such evident preoccupation of mind that 
 it was not at first discovered that the Judge had his al- 
 ready on. This raised a laugh, as did also a clumsy 
 stumble of Union Mills against the pork barrel, although 
 that gentleman took refuge from his confusion and se- 
 cured a decent retreat by a gross exaggeration of his 
 lameness, as he limped after the Right Bower. The Judge 
 whistled feebly. The Left Bower, in a more ambitious 
 effort to impart a certain gayety to his exit, stopped on 
 the threshold and said, as if in arch confidence to his 
 companions, " Darned if the Old Man don't look two 
 inches higher since he became a proprietor," laughed pat- 
 ronizingly, and vanished. 
 
 If the newly-made proprietor had increased in stature, 
 he had not otherwise changed his demeanor. He re- 
 mained in the same attitude until the last figure disap- 
 peared behind the fringe of buckeye that hid the distant 
 highway. Then he walked slowly to the fireplace, and, 
 leaning against the chimney, kicked the dying embers to- 
 gether with his foot. Something dropped and spattered in 
 the film of hot ashes. Surely the rain had not yet ceased ! 
 
 His high color had already fled except for a spot on 
 either cheekbone that lent a brightness to his eyes. He 
 glanced around the cabin. It looked familiar and yet 
 strange. Rather, it looked strange because still familiar, 
 and therefore incongruous with the new atmosphere that 
 surrounded it — discordant with the echo of their last 
 meeting, and painfully accenting the change. There 
 were the four " bunks," or sleeping berths, of his compan- 
 ions, each still bearing some traces of the individuality of 
 its late occupant with a dumb loyalty that seemed to 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain, 345 
 
 make their light-hearted defection monstrous. In the 
 dead ashes of the Judge's pipe, scattered on his shelf, still 
 lived his old fire ; in the whittled and carved edges of the 
 Left Bower's bunk still were the memories of bygone 
 days of delicious indolence ; in the bullet-holes clustered 
 round a knot of one of the beams there was still the rec- 
 ord of the Right Bower's old-time skill and practice ; in 
 the few engravings of female loveliness stuck upon each 
 headboard there were the proofs of their old extravagant 
 devotion — all a mute protest to the change. 
 
 He remembered how, a fatherless, truant schoolboy, he 
 had drifted into their adventurous, nomadic life, itself a life 
 of grown-up truancy like his own, and became one of that 
 gypsy family. How they had taken the place of relations 
 and household in his boyish fancy, filling it with the un- 
 substantial pageantry of a child's play at grown-up Ex- 
 istence, he knew only too well. But how, from being a 
 pet and protege^ he had gradually and unconsciously as- 
 serted his own individuality and taken upon his younger 
 shoulders not only a poet's keen appreciation of that life, 
 but its actual responsibilities and half-childish burdens, 
 he never suspected. He had fondly believed that he 
 was a neophyte in their ways, a novice in their charming 
 faith and indolent creed, and they had encouraged it ; 
 now their renunciation of that faith could only be an ex- 
 cuse for a renunciation of him. The poetry that had for 
 two years invested the material and sometimes even mean 
 details of their existence was too much a part of himself 
 to be lightly dispelled. The lesson of those ingenuous 
 moralists failed, as such lessons are apt to fail ; their dis- 
 cipline provoked but did not subdue ; a rising indigna- 
 tion, stirred by a sense of injury, mounted to his cheek 
 and eyes. It was slow to come, but was none the less 
 violent that it had been preceded by the benumbing 
 shock of shame and pride. 
 
346 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 I hope I shall not prejudice the reader's sympathies if 
 my duty as a simple chronicler compels me to state, there- 
 fore, that the sober second thought of this gentle poet was 
 to burn down the cabin on the spot with all its contents. 
 This yielded to a milder counsel — waiting for the return 
 of the party, challenging the Right Bower, a duel to the 
 death, perhaps himself the victim, with the crushing ex- 
 planation in extremis^ " It seems we are one too many. 
 No matter ; it is settled now. Farewell ! '^ Dimly remem- 
 bering, however, that there was something of this in the 
 last well-worn novel they had read together, and that his 
 antagonist might recognize it, or even worse, anticipate 
 it himself, the idea was quickly rejected. Besides, the 
 opportunity for an apotheosis of self-sacrifice was past. 
 Nothing remained now but to refuse the proffered bribe 
 of claim and cabin by letter, for he must not wait their 
 return. He tore a leaf from a blotted diary, begun and 
 abandoned long since, and essayed to write. Scrawl after 
 scrawl was torn up, until his fury had cooled down to 
 a frigid third personality. " Mr. John Ford regrets to in- 
 form his late partners that their tender of house, of furni- 
 ture," however, seemed too inconsistent with the pork- 
 barrel table he was writing on ; a more eloquent renuncia- 
 tion of their offer became frivolous and idiotic from a 
 caricature of Union Mills, label and all, that appeared 
 suddenly on the other side of the leaf ; and when he at 
 last indited a satisfactory and impassioned exposition of 
 his feelings, the legible addendum of " Oh, ain't you glad 
 you 're out of the wilderness ! " — the forgotten first line 
 of a popular song, which no scratching would erase — 
 seemed too like an ironical postscript to be thought of 
 for a moment. He threw aside his pen and cast the dis- 
 cordant record of past foolish pastime into the dead ashes 
 of the hearth. 
 
 How quiet it was ! With the cessation of the rain the 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 347 
 
 wind too had gone down, and scarcely a breath of air 
 came through the open door. He walked to the threshold 
 and gazed on the hushed prospect. In this listless atti- 
 tude he was faintly conscious of a distant reverberation, a 
 mere phantom of sound — perhaps the explosion of a 
 distant blast in the hills — that left the silence more 
 marked and oppressive. As he turned again into the 
 cabin a change seemed to have come over it. It already 
 looked old and decayed. The loneliness of years of 
 desertion seemed to have taken possession of it ; the at- 
 mosphere of dry rot was in the beams and rafters. To 
 his excited fancy the few disordered blankets and articles 
 of clothing seemed dropping to pieces ; in one of the 
 bunks there was a hideous resemblance in the longitudi- 
 nal heap of clothing to a withered and mummied corpse. 
 So it might look in after-years when some passing stranger 
 
 — but he stopped. A dread of the place was beginning 
 to creep over him \ a dread of the days to come, when 
 the monotonous sunshine should lay bare the loneliness 
 of these walls ; the long, long days of endless blue and 
 cloudless, overhanging solitude ; summer days when the 
 wearying, incessant trade winds should sing around that 
 empty shell and voice its desolation. He gathered to- 
 gether hastily a few articles that were especially his own 
 
 — rather that the free communion of the camp, from in- 
 difference or accident, had left wholly to him. He hesi- 
 tated for a moment over his rifle, but, scrupulous in his 
 wounded pride, turned away and left the familiar weapon 
 that in the dark days had so often provided the dinner 
 or breakfast of the little household. Candor compels me 
 to state that his equipment was not large nor eminently 
 practical. His scant pack was a light weight for even 
 his young shoulders, but I fear he thought more of get- 
 ting away from the Past than providing for the Future. 
 
 With this vague but sole purpose he left the cabin, and 
 
348 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 almost mechanically turned his steps towards the creek 
 he had crossed that morning. He knew that by this 
 route he would avoid meeting his companions ; its diffi- 
 culties and circuitousness would exercise his feverish 
 limbs and give him time for reflection. He had deter- 
 mined to leave the claim, but whence he had not yet con- 
 sidered. He reached the bank of the creek where he 
 had stood two hours before ; it seemed to him two years. 
 He looked curiously at his reflection in one of the broad 
 pools of overflow, and fancied he looked older. He 
 watched the rush and outset of the turbid current hurry- 
 ing to meet the South Fork, and to eventually lose itself 
 in the yellow Sacramento. Even in his preoccupation he 
 was impressed with a likeness to himself and his com- 
 panions in this flood that had burst its peaceful bounda- 
 ries. In the drifting fragments of one of their forgotten 
 flumes washed from the bank, he fancied he saw an 
 omen of the disintegration and decay of the Lone Star 
 claim. 
 
 The strange hush in the air that he had noticed before 
 — a calm so inconsistent with that hour and the season 
 as to seem portentous — became more marked in con- 
 trast to the feverish rush of the turbulent watercourse. 
 A few clouds lazily huddled in the west apparently had 
 gone to rest with the sun on beds of somnolent poppies. 
 There was a gleam as of golden water everywhere along 
 the horizon, washing out the cold snow-peaks, and drown- 
 ing even the rising moon. The creek caught it here and 
 there, until, in grim irony, it seemed to bear their broken 
 sluice-boxes and useless engines on the very Pactolian 
 stream they had been hopefully created to direct and 
 carry. But by some peculiar trick of the atmosphere 
 the perfect plenitude of that golden sunset glory was 
 lavished on the rugged sides and tangled crest of the 
 Lone Star Mountain. That isolated peak, the landmark 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 349 
 
 of their claim, the gaunt monument of their folly, trans, 
 figured in the evening splendor, kept its radiance un- 
 quenched long after the glow had fallen from the encom- 
 passing skies, and when at last the rising moon, step by 
 step, put out the fires along the winding valley and plains, 
 and crept up the bosky sides of the canon, the vanishing 
 sunset was lost only to reappear as a golden crown* 
 
 The eyes of the young man were fixed upon it with 
 more than a momentary picturesque interest. It had been 
 the favorite ground of his prospecting exploits, its lowest 
 flank had been scarred in the old enthusiastic days with 
 hydraulic engines, or pierced with shafts, but its central 
 position in the claim and its superior height had always 
 given it a commanding view of the extent of their valley 
 and its approaches, and it was this practical preeminence 
 that alone attracted him at that moment. He knew that 
 from its crest he would be able to distinguish the figures 
 of his companions, as they crossed the valley near the 
 cabin, in the growing moonlight. Thus he could avoid 
 encountering them on his way to the highroad, and yet 
 see them, perhaps, for the last time. Even in his sense 
 of injury there was a strange satisfaction in the thought. 
 
 The ascent was toilsome, but familiar. All along the 
 dim trail he was accompanied by gentler memories of the 
 past, that seemed, like the faint odor of spiced leaves 
 and fragrant grasses wet with the rain and crushed beneath 
 his ascending tread, to exhale the sweeter perfume in his 
 effort to subdue or rise above them. There was the 
 thicket of manzanita, where they had broken noonday 
 bread together ; here was the rock beside their maiden 
 shafts, where they had poured a wild libation in boyish 
 enthusiasm of success ; and here the ledge where their 
 first flag, a red shirt heroically sacrificed, was displayed 
 from a long-handled shovel to the gaze of admirers below. 
 When he at last reached the summit, the mysterious hush 
 
350 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 was still in the air, as if in breathless sympathy with his 
 expedition. In the west, the plain was faintly illuminated, 
 but disclosed no moving figures. He turned towards the 
 rising moon, and moved slowly to the eastern edge. Sud- 
 denly he stopped. Another step would have been his 
 last ! He stood upon the crumbling edge of a precipice. 
 A landslip had taken place on the eastern flank, leaving 
 the gaunt ribs and fleshless bones of Lone Star Mountain 
 bare in the moonlight. He understood now the strange 
 rumble and reverberation he had heard ; he understood 
 now the strange hush of bird and beast in brake and 
 thicket ! 
 
 Although a single rapid glance convinced him that the 
 slide had taken place in an unfrequented part of the 
 mountain, above an inaccessible canon, and reflection 
 assured him his companions could not have reached that 
 distance when it took place, a feverish impulse led him to 
 descend a few rods in the track of the avalanche. The 
 frequent recurrence of outcrop and angle made this com- 
 paratively easy. Here he called aloud ; the feeble echo 
 of his own voice seemed only a dull impertinence to the 
 significant silence. He turned to reascend ; the furrowed 
 flank of the mountain before him lay full in the moon- 
 light. To his excited fancy a dozen luminous star-like 
 points in the rocky crevices started into life as he faced 
 them. Throwing his arm over the ledge above him, he 
 supported himself for a moment by what appeared to be 
 a projection of the solid rock. It trembled slightly. As 
 he raised himself to its level, his heart stopped beating. 
 It was simply a fragment detached from the outcrop, 
 lying loosely on the ledge but upholding him by its own 
 weight only. He examined it with trembling fingers ; the 
 encumbering soil fell from its sides and left its smoothed 
 and worn protuberances glistening in the moonlight. It 
 was virgin gold ! 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 351 
 
 Looking back upon that moment afterwards, he re- 
 membered that he was not dazed, dazzled, or startled. 
 It did not come to him as a discovery or an accident, a 
 stroke of chance or a caprice of fortune. He saw it all 
 in that supreme moment ; Nature had worked out their 
 poor deduction. What their feeble engines had essayed 
 spasmodically and helplessly against the curtain of soil 
 that hid the treasure, the elements had achieved with 
 mightier but more patient forces. The slow sapping of 
 the winter rains had loosened the soil from the auriferous 
 rock, even while the swollen stream was carrying their 
 impotent and shattered engines to the sea. What mat- 
 tered that his single arm could not lift the treasure he 
 had found ; what mattered that to unfix those glittering 
 stars would still tax both skill and patience ! The work 
 was done, the goal was reached ! even his boyish impa- 
 tience was content with that. He rose slowly to his feet, 
 unstrapped his long-handled shovel from his back, se- 
 cured it in the crevice, and quietly regained the summit. 
 
 It was all his own ! His own by right of discovery 
 under the law of the land, and without accepting a favor 
 from them. He recalled even the fact that it was his 
 prospecting on the mountain that first suggested the ex- 
 istence of gold in the outcrop and the use of the hy- 
 draulic. He had never abandoned that belief, whatever 
 the others had done. He dwelt somewhat indignantly 
 to himself on this circumstance, and half unconsciously 
 faced defiantly towards the plain below. But it was 
 sleeping peacefully in the full sight of the moon, without 
 life or motion. He looked at the stars, it was still far 
 from midnight. His companions had no doubt long since 
 returned to the cabin to prepare for their midnight 
 journey. They were discussing him, perhaps laughing at 
 him, or worse, pitying him and his bargain. Yet here 
 was his bargain ! A slight laugh he gave vent to here 
 
352 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 startled him a little, it sounded so hard and so unmirth- 
 ful, and so unlike, as he oddly fancied what he really 
 thought. But what did he think ? 
 
 Nothing mean or revengeful ; no, they never would say 
 that. When he had taken out all the surface gold and 
 put the mine in working order, he would send them each 
 a draft for a thousand dollars. Of course, if they were 
 ever ill or poor he would do more. One of the first, 
 the very first things he should do would be to send them 
 each a handsome gun and tell them that he only asked 
 in return the old-fashioned rifle that once was his. Look- 
 ing back at the moment in after-years, he wondered that, 
 with this exception, he made no plans for his own future, 
 or the way he should dispose of his newly acquired 
 wealth. This w^as the more singular as it had been the 
 custom of the five partners to lie awake at night, audibly 
 comparing with each other what they would do in case 
 they made a strike. He remembered how, Alnaschar-like, 
 they nearly separated once over a difference in the dis- 
 posal of a hundred thousand dollars that they never had, 
 nor expected to have. He remembered how Union Mills 
 always began his career as a millionaire by a "square 
 meal '' at Delmonico's ; how the Right Bower's initial 
 step was always a trip home " to see his mother ; " how 
 the Left Bower would immediately placate the parents of 
 his beloved with priceless gifts (it may be parenthetically 
 remarked that the parents and the beloved one were as 
 hypothetical as the fortune) \ and how the Judge would 
 make his first start as a capitalist by breaking a certain 
 faro bank in Sacramento. He himself had been equally 
 eloquent in extravagant fancy in those penniless days, he 
 who now was quite cold and impassive beside the more 
 extravagant reality. 
 
 How different it might have been ! If they had only 
 waited a day longer ! if they had only broken their resolves 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 353 
 
 to him kindly and parted in good will ! How he would 
 long ere this have rushed to greet them with the joyful 
 news ! How they would have danced around it, sung 
 themselves hoarse, laughed down their enemies, and run 
 up the flag triumphantly on the summit of the Lone Star 
 Mountain ! How they would have crowned him " the 
 Old Man," " the hero of the camp ! " How he would 
 have told them the whole story ; how some strange in- 
 stinct had impelled him to ascend the summit, and how 
 another step on that summit would have precipitated him 
 into the canon ! And how — but what if somebody else, 
 Union Mills or the Judge, had been the first discoverer ? 
 Might they not have meanly kept the secret from him ; 
 have selfishly helped themselves and done — 
 
 " ^\i2Xyou are doing now.'' 
 
 The hot blood rushed to his cheek, as if a strange voice 
 were at his ear. For a moment he could not believe that 
 it came from his own pale lips until he found himself 
 speaking. He rose to his feet, tingling with shame, and 
 began hurriedly to descend the mountain: 
 
 He would go to them, tell them of his discovery, let 
 them give him his share, and leave them forever. It was 
 the only thing to be done, strange that he had not thought 
 of it at once. Yet it was hard, very hard and cruel, to 
 be forced to meet them again. What had he done to 
 suffer this mortification ? For a moment he actually 
 hated this vulgar treasure that had forever buried under 
 its gross ponderability the light and careless past, and 
 utterly crushed out the poetry of their old, indolent, 
 happy existence. 
 
 He was sure to find them waiting at the Cross Roads 
 where the coach came past. It was three miles away, 
 yet he could get there in time if he hastened. It was a 
 wise and practical conclusion of his evening's work, a lame 
 and impotent conclusion to his evening's indignation. 
 
354 ^^fi ^^^ ^^ Lone Star Mountam. 
 
 No matter. They would perhaps at first think he had 
 come to weakly follow them, perhaps they would at first 
 doubt his story. No matter. He bit his lips to keep down 
 the foolish rising tears, but still went blindly forward. 
 
 He saw not the beautiful night, cradled in the dark 
 hills, swathed in luminous mists, and hushed in the awe 
 of its own loveliness ! Here and there the moon had 
 laid her calm face on lake and overflow, and gone to sleep 
 embracing them, until the whole plain seemed to be lifted 
 into infinite quiet. Walking on as in a dream, the black, 
 impenetrable barriers of skirting thickets opened and 
 gave way to vague distances that it appeared impossible 
 to reach, dim vistas that seemed unapproachable. Grad- 
 ually he seemed himself to become a part of the myste- 
 rious night. He was becoming as pulseless, as calm, as 
 passionless. 
 
 What was that ? A shot in the direction of the cabin 1 
 yet so faint, so echoless, so ineffective in the vast silence, 
 that he would have thought it his fancy but for the strange 
 instinctive jar upon his sensitive nerves. Was it an ac- 
 cident, or was it an intentional signal to him } He 
 stopped ; it was not repeated, the silence reasserted it- 
 self, but this time with an ominous deathlike suggestion. 
 A sudden and terrible thought crossed his mind. He 
 cast aside his pack and all encumbering weight, took a 
 deep breath, lowered his head, and darted like a deer in 
 the direction of the challenge. 
 
 II. 
 
 The exodus of the seceding partners of the Lone Star 
 claim had been scarcely an imposing one. For the first 
 five minutes after quitting the cabin the procession was 
 straggling and vagabond. Unwonted exertion had exag- 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 355 
 
 gerated the lameness of some, and feebleness of moral 
 purpose had predisposed the others to obtrusive musical 
 exhibition. Union Mills limped and whistled with affected 
 abstraction ; the Judge whistled and limped with affected 
 earnestness. The Right Bower led the way with some 
 show of definite design j the Left Bower followed with 
 his hands in his pockets. The two feebler natures, drawn 
 together in unconscious sympathy, looked vaguely at each 
 other for support. 
 
 "You see," said the Judge, suddenly, as if triumphantly 
 concluding an argument, " there ain't anything better for 
 a young fellow than independence. Nature, so to speak, 
 points the way. Look at the animals." 
 
 " There 's a skunk hereabouts," said Union Mills, who 
 was supposed to be gifted with aristocratically sensitive 
 nostrils, " within ten miles of this place ; like as not 
 crossing the Ridge. It 's always my luck to happen out 
 just at such times. I don't see the necessity anyhow of 
 trapesing round the claim now, if we calculate to leave it 
 to-night." 
 
 Both men waited to observe if the suggestion was taken 
 up by the Right and Left Bower moodily plodding ahead. 
 No response following, the Judge shamelessly abandoned 
 his companion. 
 
 " You would n't stand snoopin' round instead of lettin' 
 the Old Man get used to the idea alone ? No ; I could 
 see all along that he was takin' it in, takin' it in kindly 
 but slowly, and I reckoned the best thing for us to do 
 was to git up and git until he 'd got round it." The 
 Judge's voice was slightly raised for the benefit of the 
 two before him. 
 
 " Did n't he say," remarked the Right Bower, stopping 
 suddenly and facing the others, " did n't he say that that 
 new trader was goin' to let him have some provisions any- 
 way ? " 
 
356 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 Union Mills turned appealingly to the Judge ; that 
 gentleman was forced to reply, " Yes \ I remember dis- 
 tinctly he said it. It was one of the things I was partic- 
 ular about on his account/' responded the Judge, with the 
 air of having arranged it all himself with the new trader. 
 " I remember I was easier in my mind about it." 
 
 ** But did n't he say," queried the Left Bower, also 
 stopping short, "suthin' about its being contingent on 
 our doing some work on the race ? " 
 
 The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, how- 
 ever, under the hollow pretense of preparing for a long 
 conference, had luxuriously seated himself on a stump. 
 The Judge sat down also, and replied, hesitatingly, 
 " Well, yes ! Us or him." 
 
 "Us or him," repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy 
 irony. " And you ain't quite clear in your mind, are you, 
 \i you have n't done the work already? You're just kill- 
 ing yourself wdth this spontaneous, promiscuous, and pre- 
 mature overwork ; that 's what 's the matter with you." 
 
 " I reckon I heard somebody say suthin' about its 
 being a Chinaman's three-day job," interpolated the Left 
 Bower, with equal irony, " but I ain't quite clear in my 
 mind about that." 
 
 "It'll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man," said 
 Union Mills, feebly, — " kinder take his mind off his 
 loneliness." 
 
 Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, Union 
 Mills stretched out his legs more comfortably and took 
 out his pipe. He had scarcely done so when the Right 
 Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off in the direction of the 
 creek. The Left Bower, after a slight pause, followed 
 without a word. The Judge, wisely conceiving it better 
 to join the stronger party, ran feebly after him, and left 
 Union Mills to bring up a weak and vacillating rear. 
 
 Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 357 
 
 them now directly to the bend of the creek, the base of 
 their old ineffectual operations. Here was the beginning 
 of the famous tail - race that skirted the new trader's 
 claim, and then lost its way in a swampy hollow. It was 
 choked with debris ; a thin, yellow stream that once ran 
 through it seemed to have stopped work when they did, 
 and gone into greenish liquidation. 
 
 They had scarcely spoken during this brief journey, 
 and had received no other explanation from the Right 
 Bower, who led them, than that afforded by his mute ex- 
 ample when he reached the race. Leaping into it with- 
 out a word, he at once began to clear away the broken 
 timbers and drift-wood. Fired by the spectacle of what 
 appeared to be a new and utterly frivolous game, the 
 men gayly leaped after him, and were soon engaged in a 
 fascinating struggle with the impeded race. The Judge 
 forgot his lameness in springing over a broken sluice- 
 box ; Union Mills forgot his whistle in a happy imitation 
 of a Chinese coolie^s song. Nevertheless, after ten min- 
 utes of this mild dissipation, the pastime flagged ; Union 
 Mills was beginning to rub his leg, when a distant rumble 
 shook the earth. The men looked at each other ; the 
 diversion was complete ; a languid discussion of the pro- 
 babilities of its being an earthquake or a blast followed, 
 in the midst of which the Right Bower, who was working 
 a little in advance of the others, uttered a warning cry 
 and leaped from the race. His companions had barely 
 time to follow before a sudden and inexplicable rise in 
 the waters of the creek sent a swift irruption of the flood 
 through the race. In an instant its choked and impeded 
 channel was cleared, the race was free, and the scattered 
 debris of logs and timber floated upon its easy current. 
 Quick to take advantage of this labor-saving phenomenon, 
 the Lone Star partners sprang into the water, and by dis- 
 entangling and directing the eddying fragments completed 
 their work. 
 
358 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 *' The Old Man oughter been here to see this/' said the 
 Left Bower ; ** it 's just one o' them climaxes of poetic 
 justice he 's always huntin' up. It 's easy to see what 's 
 happened. One o' them high-toned shrimps over in the 
 Excelsior claim has put a blast in too near the creek. 
 He *s tumbled the bank into the creek and sent the back 
 water down here just to wash out our race. That's what 
 I call poetical retribution." 
 
 *^ And who was it advised us to dam the creek below 
 the race and make it do the thing 1 " asked the Right 
 Bowser, moodily. 
 
 " That was one of the Old Man's ideas, I reckon," said 
 the Left Bower, dubiously. 
 
 *' And you remember," broke in the Judge with anima- 
 tion, *^ I alius said, * Go slow, go slow. You just hold on 
 and suthin' will happen.' And," he added, triumphantly, 
 "you see suthin' has happened. I don't want to take 
 credit to myself, but I reckoned on them Excelsior boys 
 bein' fools, and took the chances." 
 
 '' And what if I happen to know that the Excelsior 
 boys ain't blastin' to-day.? " said the Right Bower, sarcas- 
 tically. 
 
 As the Judge had evidently based his hypothesis on the 
 alleged fact of a blast, he deftly evaded the point. "' I 
 ain't sayin' the Old Man's head ain't level on some things ; 
 he wants a little more sabe of the world. He 's improved 
 a good deal in euchre lately, and in poker — well ! he 's 
 got that sorter dreamy, listenin'-to-the-angels kind o' way 
 that you can't exactly tell whether he 's bluffin' or has 
 got a full hand. Has n't he .? " he asked, appealing to 
 Union Mills. 
 
 But that gentleman, who had been watching the dark 
 face of the Right Bower, preferred to take what he 
 believed to be his cue from him. " That ain't the ques- 
 tion," he said virtuously ; " we ain't takin' this step to 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 359 
 
 make a card sharp out of him. We 're not doin' China- 
 men's work in this race to-day for that. No, sir ! We 're 
 teachin' him to paddle his own canoe." Not finding the 
 sympathetic response he looked for in the Right Bower's 
 face, he turned to the Left. 
 
 ** I reckon we were teachin' him our canoe was too full," 
 was the Left Bower's unexpected reply. " That 's about 
 the size of it." 
 
 The Right Bower shot a rapid glance under his brows 
 at his brother. The latter, with his hands in his pockets, 
 stared unconsciously at the rushing water, and then 
 quietly turned away. The Right Bower followed him. 
 " Are you goin' back on us ? " he asked. 
 
 " Are you ? " responded the other. 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " No, then it is," returned the Left Bower quietly. The 
 elder brother hesitated in half-angry embarrassment. 
 
 " Then what did you mean by saying we reckoned our 
 canoe was too full ? " 
 
 " Was n't that our idea ? " returned the Left Bower, 
 indifferently. Confounded by this practical expression 
 of his own unformulated good intentions, the Right Bower 
 was staggered. 
 
 " Speakin' of the Old Man," broke in the Judge, with 
 characteristic infelicity, " I reckon he '11 sort o' miss us, 
 times like these. We were allers runnin' him and bedev- 
 ilin' him, after work, just to get him excited and amusin', 
 and he '11 kinder miss that sort o' stimulatin'. I reckon 
 we '11 miss it too, somewhat. Don't you remember, boys, 
 the night we put up that little sell on him and made him 
 believe we 'd struck it rich in the bank of the creek, and 
 got him so conceited, he wanted to go off and settle all 
 our debts at once ? " 
 
 " And how I came bustin' into the cabin with a pan full 
 of iron pyrites and black sand," chuckled Union Mills, 
 
360 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 continuing the reminiscences, " and how them big gray 
 eyes of his nearly bulged out of his head. Well, it 's 
 some satisfaction to know we did our duty by the young 
 fellow even in those little things/' He turned for confir- 
 mation of their general disinterestedness to the Right 
 Bower, but he was already striding away, uneasily con- 
 scious of the lazy following of the Left Bower, like a 
 laggard conscience at his back. This movement again 
 threw Union Mills and the Judge into feeble complicity 
 in the rear, as the procession slowly straggled homeward 
 from the creek. 
 
 Night had fallen. Their way lay through the shadow 
 of Lone Star Mountain, deepened here and there by the 
 slight, bosky ridges that, starting from its base, crept 
 across the plain like vast roots of its swelling trunk. The 
 shadows were growing blacker as the moon began to 
 assert itself over the rest of the valley, when the Right 
 Bower halted suddenly on one of these ridges. The Left 
 Bower lounged up to him and stopped also, while the two 
 others came up and completed the group. 
 
 "There 's no light in the shanty," said the Right 
 Bower in a low voice, half to himself and half in answer 
 to their inquiring attitude. The men followed the direc- 
 tion of his finger. In the distance the black outline of 
 the Lone Star cabin stood out distinctly in the illumined 
 space. There was the blank, sightless, external glitter 
 of moonlight on its two windows that seemed to reflect 
 its dim vacancy, empty alike of light and warmth and 
 motion. 
 
 "That 's sing'lar," said the Judge in an awed whisper. 
 
 The Left Bower, by simply altering the position of his 
 hands in his trousers^ pockets, managed to suggest that 
 he knew perfectly the meaning of it, had always known 
 it; but that being now, so to speak, in the hands of 
 Fate, he was callous to it. This much, at least, the elder 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. .361 
 
 brother read in his attitude. But anxiety at that moment 
 was the controlling impulse of the Right Bower, as a 
 certain superstitious remorse was the instinct of the two 
 others, and without heeding the cynic, the three started at 
 a rapid pace for the cabin. 
 
 They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high 
 in the heavens, seemed to touch it with the tender grace 
 and hushed repose of a tomb. It was with something of 
 this feeling that the Right Bower softly pushed open the 
 door j it was with something of this dread that the two 
 others lingered on the threshold, until the Right Bower, 
 after vainly trying to stir the dead embers on the hearth 
 into life with his foot, struck a match and lit their solitary 
 candle. Its flickering light revealed the familiar interior 
 unchanged in aught but one thing. The bunk that the 
 Old Man had occupied was stripped of its blankets ; the 
 few cheap ornaments and photographs were gone ; the 
 rude poverty of the bare boards and scant pallet looked 
 up at them unrelieved by the brigl^ face and gracious 
 youth that had once made them tolerable. In the grim 
 irony of that exposure, their own penury was doubly 
 conscious. The little knapsack, the tea-cup and coffee-pot 
 that had hung near his bed, were gone also. The most 
 indignant protest, the most pathetic of the letters he had 
 composed and rejected, whose torn fragments still littered 
 the floor, could never have spoken with the eloquence of 
 this empty space ! The men exchanged no words ; the 
 solitude of the cabin, instead of drawing them together, 
 seemed to isolate each one in selfish distrust of the others. 
 Even the unthinking garrulity of Union Mills and the 
 Judge was checked. A moment later, when the Left 
 Bower entered the cabin, his presence was scarcely 
 noticed. 
 
 The silence was broken by a joyous exclamation from 
 the Judge. He had discovered the Old Man's rifle in the 
 
362 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 corner, where it had been at first overlooked. " He ain't 
 gone yet, gentlemen — for yer 's his rifle," he broke in, 
 with a feverish return of volubility, and a high excited 
 falsetto. " He would n't have left this behind. No ! I 
 knowed it from the first. He 's just outside a bit, forag- 
 ing for wood and water. No, sir ! Coming along here I 
 said to Union Mills — did n't I ? — ' Bet your life the Old 
 Man 's not far off, even if he ain't in the cabin.' Why, 
 the moment I stepped foot " — 
 
 " And I said coming along," interrupted Union Mills, 
 with equally reviving mendacity, * Like as not he 's hang- 
 in' round yer and lyin' low just to give us a surprise.' He ! 
 ho!" 
 
 " He 's gone for good, and he left that rifle here on 
 purpose," said the Left Bower in a low voice, taking the 
 weapon almost tenderly in his hands. 
 
 " Drop it, then ! " said the Right Bower. The voice 
 was that of his brother, but suddenly changed with pas- 
 sion. The two othey partners drew back in alarm. 
 
 " I '11 not leave it here for the first comer," said the 
 Left Bower, calmly, " because we 've been fools and he 
 too. It 's too good a weapon for that." 
 
 " Drop it, I say ! " said the Right Bower, with a savage 
 stride towards him. 
 
 The younger brother brought the rifle to a half charge 
 with a white face but a steady eye. 
 
 " Stop where you are ! " he said collectedly. " Don't 
 row with 7ne^ because you have n't either the grit to stick 
 to your ideas or the heart to confess them wrong. We 've 
 followed your lead, and — here we are ! The camp 's 
 broken up — the Old Man 's gone — and we 're going. 
 And as for the d — d rifle " — 
 
 " Drop it, do you hear ! " shouted the Right Bower, 
 clinging to that one idea with the blind pertinacity of 
 rage and a losing cause. " Drop it ! " 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 363 
 
 The Left Bower drew back, but his brother had seized 
 the barrel with both hands. There was a momentary 
 struggle, a flash through the half-lighted cabin, and a 
 shattering report. The two men fell back from each 
 other ; the rifle dropped on the floor between them. 
 
 The whole thing was over so quickly that the other 
 two partners had not had time to obey their common im- 
 pulse to separate them, and consequently even now could 
 scarcely understand what had passed. It was over so 
 quickly that the two actors themselves walked back to 
 their places, scarcely realizing their own act. 
 
 A dead silence followed. The Judge and Union Mills 
 looked at each other in dazed astonishment, and then 
 nervously set about their former habits, apparently in that 
 fatuous belief common to such natures, that they were 
 ignoring a painful situation. The Judge drew the barrel 
 towards him, picked up the cards, and began mechanically 
 to "make a patience," on which Union Mills gazed with 
 ostentatious interest, but with eyes furtively conscious of 
 the rigid figure of the Right Bower by the chimney and 
 the abstracted face of the Left Bower at the door. Ten 
 minutes had passed in this occupation, the Judge and 
 Union Mills conversing in the furtive whispers of chil- 
 dren unavoidably but fascinatedly present at a family 
 quarrel, when a light step was heard upon the crackling 
 brushwood outside, and the bright panting face of the Old 
 Man appeared upon the threshold. There was a shout 
 of joy ; in another moment he was half-buried in the 
 bosom of the Right Bower's shirt, half-dragged into the 
 lap of the Judge, upsetting the barrel, and completely en- 
 compassed by the Left Bower and Union Mills. With 
 the enthusiastic utterance of his name the spell was 
 broken. 
 
 Happily unconscious of the previous excitement that 
 had provoked this spontaneous unanimity of greeting, the 
 
364 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 Old Man, equally relieved, at once broke into a feverish 
 announcement of his discovery. He painted the details 
 with, I fear, a slight exaggeration of coloring, due partly 
 to his own excitement, and partly to justify their own. 
 But he was strangely conscious that these bankrupt men 
 appeared less elated with their personal interest in their 
 stroke of fortune than with his own success. " I told 
 you he'd do it," said the Judge, with a reckless unscru- 
 pulousness of the statement that carried everybody with 
 it ; " look at him ! the game little pup." " Oh, no ! he 
 ain't the right breed, is he ? " echoed Union Mills with 
 arch irony, while the Right and Left Bower, grasping 
 either hand, pressed a proud but silent greeting that 
 was half new to him, but wholly delicious. It was not 
 without difficulty that he could at last prevail upon 
 them to return with him to the scene of his discovery, 
 or even then restrain them from attempting to carry him 
 thither on their shoulders on the plea of his previous 
 prolonged exertions. Once only there was a momentary 
 embarrassment. " Then you fired that shot to bring me 
 back ? " said the Old Man, gratefully. In the awkward 
 silence that followed, the hands of the two brothers sought 
 and grasped each other, penitently. "Yes," interposed 
 the Judge with delicate tact, " ye see the Right and Left 
 Bower almost quarreled to see which should be the first 
 to fire for ye. I disremember which did" — *' I never 
 touched the trigger," said the Left Bower, hastily. With 
 a hurried backward kick, the Judge resumed, " It went 
 off sorter spontaneous." 
 
 The difference in the sentiment of the procession that 
 once more issued from the Lone Star cabin did not fail 
 to show itself in each individual partner according to his 
 temperament. The subtle tact of Union Mills, however, 
 in expressing an awakened respect for their fortunate 
 partner by addressing him, as if unconsciously, as " Mr. 
 
Left Out on Lone Star Mountain. .365 
 
 Ford " was at first discomposing, but even this was for- 
 gotten in their breathless excitement as they neared the 
 base of the mountain. When they had crossed the creek 
 the Right Bower stopped reflectively. 
 
 " You say you heard the slide come down before you 
 left the cabin t '* he said, turning to the Old Man. 
 
 " Yes ; but I did not know then what it was. It was 
 about an hour and a half after you left," was the reply. 
 
 "Then look here, boys,'' continued the Right Bower 
 with superstitious exultation ; " it was the slide that tum- 
 bled into the creek, overflowed it, and helped us clear out 
 the race ! " 
 
 It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the part- 
 ners of the Lone Star directly in hand that they faced the 
 toilsome ascent of the mountain with the assurance of 
 conquerors. They paused only on the summit to allow 
 the Old Man to lead the way to the slope that held their 
 treasure. He advanced cautiously to the edge of the 
 crumbling cliff, stopped, looked bewildered, advanced 
 again, and then remained white and immovable. In an 
 instant the Right Bower was at his side. 
 
 " Is anything the matter ? Don't — don't look so, Old 
 Man, for God's sake ! " 
 
 The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of 
 the mountain, without a crag, break, or protuberance, and 
 said with ashen lips : 
 
 "It's gone!" 
 
 And it was gone ! A second slide had taken place, 
 stripping the flank of the mountain, and burying the 
 treasure and the weak implement that had marked its 
 side deep under a chaos of rock and debris at its base. 
 
 " Thank God ! " The blank faces of his companions 
 turned quickly to the Right Bower. " Thank God ! " he 
 repeated, with his arm round the neck of the Old Man. 
 
366 Left Out 07i Lone Star Mountam. 
 
 ** Had he stayed behind he would have been buried too." 
 He paused, and, pointing solemnly to the depths below, 
 said, "' And thank God for showing us where we may yet 
 labor for it in hope and patience like honest men." 
 
 The men silently bowed their heads and slowly de- 
 scended the mountain. But when they had reached the 
 plain, one of them called out to the others to watch a star 
 that seemed to be rising and moving towards them over 
 the hushed and sleeping valley. 
 
 "It's only the stage-coach, boys," said the Left Bower, 
 smiling ; " the coach that was to take us away." 
 
 In the security of their new-found fraternity they re- 
 solved to wait and see it pass. As it swept by with flash 
 of light, beat of hoofs, and jingle of harness, the only 
 real presence in the dreamy landscape, the driver shouted 
 a hoarse greeting to the phantom partners, audible only 
 to the Judge, who was nearest the vehicle. 
 
 " Did you hear — did you hear what he said, boys ? " 
 hp gasped, turning to his companions. " No ? Shake 
 hands all round, boys ! God bless you all, boys ! To 
 think we did n't know it all this while ! " 
 
 " Know what ? " 
 
 " Merry Christmas ! " 
 
a mip oe '49* 
 
 It had rained so persistently in San Francisco during 
 the first week of January, 1854, that a certain quagmire 
 in the roadway of Long Wharf had become impassable, 
 and a plank was thrown over its dangerous depth. In- 
 deed, so treacherous was the spot that it was alleged, on 
 good authority, that a hastily embarking traveler had 
 once hopelessly lost his portmanteau, and was fain to 
 dispose of his entire interest in it for the sum of two dol- 
 lars and fifty cents to a speculative stranger on the wharf. 
 As the stranger's search was rewarded afterwards only 
 by the discovery of the body of a casual Chinaman, who 
 had evidently endeavored wickedly to anticipate him, a 
 feeling of commercial insecurity was added to the other 
 eccentricities of the locality. 
 
 The plank led to the door of a building that was a 
 marvel even in the chaotic frontier architecture of the 
 street. The houses on either side — irregular frames of 
 wood or corrugated iron — bore evidence of having been 
 quickly thrown together, to meet the requirements of the 
 goods and passengers who were once disembarked on 
 what was the muddy beach of the infant city. But the 
 building in question exhibited a certain elaboration of 
 form and design utterly inconsistent with this idea. The 
 structure obtruded a bowed front to the street, with a 
 curving line of small windows, surmounted by elaborate 
 carvings and scroll work of vines and leaves, while be- 
 low, in faded gilt letters, appeared the legend " Pontiac 
 — Marseilles." T^q effect of this incongruity was start- 
 
368 A Ship of '49. 
 
 ling. It is related that an inebriated miner, impeded by 
 mud and drink before its door, was found gazing at its 
 remarkable fagade with an expression of the deepest 
 despondency. " I hev lived a free life, pardner," he ex- 
 plained thickly to the Samaritan who succored him, " and 
 every time since I Ve been on this six weeks' jamboree 
 might have kalkilated it would come to this. Snakes 
 I Ve seen afore now, and rats I 'm not unfamiliar with, 
 but when it comes to the starn of a ship risin' up out of 
 the street, I reckon it's time to pass in my checks." 
 
 "It is a ship, you blasted old soaker," said the Sama- 
 ritan curtly. 
 
 It was indeed a ship. A ship run ashore and aban- 
 doned on the beach years before by her gold-seeking crew, 
 with the debris of her scattered stores and cargo, over- 
 taken by the wild growth of the strange city and the rec- 
 lamation of the muddy flat, wherein she lay hopelessly 
 imbedded ; her retreat cut off by wharves and quays and 
 breakwater, jostled at first by sheds, and then impacted 
 in a block of solid warehouses and dwellings, her rudder, 
 port, and counter boarded in, and now gazing hopelessly 
 through her cabin windows upon the busy street before 
 her. But still a ship despite her transformation. The 
 faintest line of contour yet left visible spoke of the buoy- 
 ancy of another element ; the balustrade of her roof was 
 unmistakably a taffrail. The rain slipped from her swell- 
 ing sides with a certain lingering touch of the sea ; the 
 soil around her was still treacherous with its suggestions, 
 and even the wind whistled nautically over her chimney. 
 If, in the fury of some southwesterly gale, she had one 
 night slipped her strange moorings and left a shining 
 track through the lower town to the distant sea, no one 
 would have been surprised. 
 
 Least of all, perhaps, her present owner and possessor, 
 Mr. Abner Nott. For by the irony ofgcircumstances, Mr. 
 
A Skip of '4g. 369 
 
 Nott was a Far Western farmer who had never seen a 
 ship before, nor a larger stream of water than a tributary 
 of the Missouri River. In a spirit, half of fascination, 
 half of speculation, he had bought her at the time of her 
 abandonment, and had since mortgaged his ranch at 
 Petaluma with his live stock, to defray the expenses of 
 filling in the land where she stood, and the improve- 
 ments of the vicinity. He had transferred his household 
 goods and his only daughter to her cabin, and had di- 
 vided the space " between decks " and her hold into 
 lodging-rooms, and lofts for the storage of goods. It 
 could hardly be said that the investment had been pro- 
 fitable. His tenants vaguely recognized that his occu- 
 pancy was a sentimental rather than a commercial specu- 
 lation, and often generously lent themselves to the illusion 
 by not paying their rent. Others treated their own ten- 
 ancy as a joke, — a quaint recreation born of the child- 
 like familiarity of frontier intercourse. A few had left j 
 carelessly abandoning their unsalable goods to their land- 
 lord, with great cheerfulness and a sense of favor. Oc- 
 casionally Mr. Abner Nott, in a practical relapse, raged 
 against the derelicts, and talked of dispossessing them, 
 or even dismantling his tenement, but he was easily 
 placated by a compliment to the "dear old ship," or an 
 effort made by some tenant to idealize his apartment. 
 A photographer who had ingeniously utilized the fore- 
 castle for a gallery (accessible from the bows in the next 
 street), paid no further tribute than a portrait of the 
 pretty face of Rosey Nott. The superstitious reverence 
 in which Abner Nott held his monstrous fancy was nat- 
 urally enhanced by his purely bucolic exaggeration of its 
 real functions and its native element. " This yer keel 
 has sailed, and sailed, and sailed," he would explain with 
 some incongruity of illustration, " in a bee line, makin' 
 tracks for days runnin\ I reckon more storms and bliz- 
 
370 A Ship of Vi- 
 
 zards hez tackled her than you ken shake a stick at. 
 She 's stampeded whales afore now, and sloshed round 
 with pirates and freebooters in and outer the Spanish 
 Main, and across lots from Marcelleys where she was 
 rared. And yer she sits peaceful-like just ez if she *d 
 never been outer a pertater patch, and had n't ploughed 
 the sea with fo'sails and studdin' sails and them things 
 cavortin' round her masts.'^ 
 
 Abner Nott's enthusiasm was shared by his daughter, 
 but with more imagination, and an intelligence stimulated 
 by the scant literature of her father's emigrant wagon and 
 the few books found on the cabin shelves. But to her 
 the strange shell she inhabited suggested more of the 
 great world than the rude, chaotic civilization she saw 
 from the cabin windows or met in the persons of her fa- 
 ther's lodgers. Shut up for days in this quaint tenement, 
 she had seen it change from the enchanted playground 
 of her childish fancy to the theater of her active maiden- 
 hood, but without losing her ideal romance in it. She 
 had translated its history in her own way, read its quaint 
 nautical hieroglyphics after her own fashion, and pos- 
 sessed herself of its secrets. She had in fancy made 
 voyages in it to foreign lands, had heard the accents of a 
 softer tongue on its decks, and on summer nights, from 
 the roof of the quarter-deck, had seen mellower constella- 
 tions take the place of the hard metallic glitter of the 
 Californian skies. Sometimes, in her isolatioUj the long, 
 cylindrical vault she inhabited seemed, like some vast 
 sea-shell, to become musical with the murmurings of the 
 distant sea. So completely had it taken the place of the 
 usual instincts of feminine youth that she had forgotten 
 she was pretty, or that her dresses were old in fashion 
 and scant in quantity. After the first surprise of admira- 
 tion her father's lodgers ceased to follow the abstracted 
 nymph except with their eyes, — partly respecting her 
 
A Ship of '4g. 371 
 
 spiritual shyness, partly respecting the jealous supervi- 
 sion of the paternal Nott. She seldom penetrated the 
 crowded center of the growing city \ her rare excursions 
 were confined to the old ranch at Petaluma, whence she 
 brought flowers and plants, and even extemporized a 
 hanging-garden on the quarter-deck. 
 
 It was still raining, and the wind, which had increased 
 to a gale, was dashing the drops against the slanting 
 cabin windows with a sound like spray when Mr. Abner 
 Nott sat before a table seriously engaged with his ac- 
 counts. For it was " steamer night,*' — as that momen- 
 tous day of reckoning before the sailing of the regular 
 mail -steamer was briefly known to commercial San Fran- 
 cisco, — and Mr. Nott was subject at such times to 
 severely practical relapses. A swinging light seemed to 
 bring into greater relief that peculiar encased casket-like 
 security of the low-timbered, tightly-fitting apartment, 
 with its toy-like utilities of space, and made the pretty 
 oval face of Rosey Nott appear a characteristic ornament. 
 The sliding door of the cabin communicated with the 
 main deck, now roofed in and partitioned off so as to 
 form a small passage that led to the open starboard gang- 
 way, where a narrow, enclosed staircase built on the ship's 
 side took the place of the ship's ladder under her coun- 
 ter, and opened in the street. 
 
 A dash of rain against the window caused Rosey to lift 
 her eyes from her book. 
 
 "It 's much nicer here than at the ranch, father," she 
 said coaxingly, " even leaving alone its being a beautiful 
 ship instead of a shanty ; the wind don't whistle through 
 the cracks and blow out the candle when you 're reading, 
 nor the rain spoil your things hung up against the wall. 
 And you look more like a gentleman sitting in his own 
 — ship — you know, looking over his bills and getting 
 ready to give his orders." 
 
372 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 Vague and general as Miss Rosey's compliment was, 
 it had its full effect upon her father, who was at times 
 dimly conscious of his hopeless rusticity and its incon- 
 gruity with his surroundings. " Yes," he said awkwardly, 
 with a slight relaxation of his aggressive attitude ; " yes, 
 in course it 's more bang-up style, but it don't pay — 
 Rosey — it don't pay. Yer 's the Pontiac that oughter be 
 bringin' in, ez rents go, at least three hundred a month, 
 don't make her taxes. I bin thinkin' seriously of sellin' 
 her." 
 
 As Rosey knew her father had experienced this serious 
 contemplation on the first of every month for the last two 
 years, and cheerfully ignored it the next day, she only 
 said, " I 'm sure the vacant rooms and lofts are all rented, 
 father." 
 
 " That 's it," returned Mr. Nott thoughtfully, plucking 
 at his bushy whiskers with his fingers and thumb as if he 
 were removing dead and sapless incumbrances in their 
 growth, *' that's just what it is — them's ez in it them- 
 selves don't pay, and them ez haz left their goods — the 
 goods don't pay. The feller ez stored them iron sugar 
 kettles in the forehold, after trying to get me to make 
 another advance on 'em, sez he believes he '11 have to 
 sacrifice 'em to me after all, and only begs I 'd give him 
 a chance of buying back the half of 'em ten years from 
 now, at double what I advanced him. The chap that left 
 them five hundred cases of hair dye 'tween decks and 
 then skipped out to Sacramento, met me the other day 
 in the street and advised me to use a bottle ez an adver- 
 tisement, or try it on the starn of the Pontiac for fire- 
 proof paint. That foolishness ez all he 's good for. And 
 yet thar might be suthin' in the paint, if a feller had 
 nigger luck. Ther 's that New York chap ez bought up 
 them damaged boxes of plug terbakker for fifty dollars a 
 thousand, and sold 'em for foundations for that new 
 
A Ship of Vp. 373 
 
 building in Sansome Street at a thousand clear profit. 
 It 's all luck, Rosey/' 
 
 The girl's eyes had wandered again to the pages of her 
 book. Perhaps she was already familiar with the text of 
 her father's monologue. But recognizing an additional 
 querulousness in his voice, she laid the book aside and 
 patiently folded her hands in her lap. 
 
 " That 's right — for I Ve suthin' to tell ye. The fact 
 is Sleight wants to buy the Pontiac out and out just 
 ez she stands with the two fifty vara lots she stands on." 
 
 " Sleight wants to buy her t Sleight ? " echoed Rosey 
 incredulously. 
 
 " You bet ! Sleight — the big financier, the smartest 
 man in 'Frisco.'* 
 
 "What does he want to buy her for?" asked Rosey, 
 knitting her pretty brows. 
 
 The apparently simple question suddenly puzzled Mr. 
 Nott. He glanced feebly at his daughter's face, and 
 frowned in vacant irritation. " That 's so," he said, 
 drawing a long breath ; " there 's suthin' in that." 
 
 "What did he say ^" continued the young girl, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "Not much. * You've got the Pontiac, Nott,' sez he. 
 * You bet ! ' sez I. * What '11 you take for her and the lot 
 she stands on ? ' sez he, short and sharp. Some fellers, 
 Rosey," said Nott, with a cunning smile, " would hev 
 blurted out a big ^ggtx and been cotched. That ain't my 
 style. I just looked at him. ' I '11 wait fur your figgers 
 until next steamer day,' sez he, and off he goes like a 
 shot. He 's awfully sharp, Rosey." 
 
 " But if he is sharp, father, and he really wants to buy 
 the ship," returned Rosey, thoughtfully, "it's only be- 
 cause he knows it 's valuable property, and not because 
 he likes it as we do. He can't take that value away even 
 if we don't sell it to him, and all the while we have the 
 comfort of the dear old Pontiac, don't you see ? " 
 
374 ^ ^^^^P ^f 49* 
 
 This exhaustive commercial reasoning was so sympa- 
 thetic to Mr. Nott's instincts that he accepted it as con- 
 clusive. He, however, deemed it wise to still preserve his 
 practical attitude. "But that don't make it pay by the 
 month, Rosey. Suthin' must be done. I 'm thinking I '11 
 clean out that photographer." 
 
 " Not just after he 's taken such a pretty view of the 
 cabin front of the Pontiac from the street, father ! No ! 
 He 's going to give us a copy, and put the other in a 
 shop window in Montgomery Street." 
 
 ^* That 's so," said Mr. Nott, musingly ; " it 's no slouch 
 of an advertisement. * The Pontiac,' the property of A. 
 Nott, Esq., of St. Jo, Missouri. Send it on to your aunt 
 Phoebe ; sorter make the old folks open their eyes — oh? 
 Well, seein' he 's been to some expense fittin' up an 
 entrance from the other street, we '11 let him slide. But 
 as to that d — d old Frenchman Ferrers, in the next loft, 
 with his stuck-up airs and high-falutin style, we must get 
 quit of him ; he 's regularly gouged me in that ere horse- 
 hair spekilation." 
 
 " How can you say that, father ! " said Rosey, with a 
 slight increase of color. " It was your own offer. You 
 know those bales of curled horsehair were left behind 
 by the late tenant to pay his rent. When Mr. De Fer- 
 rieres rented the room afterwards, you told him you 'd 
 throw them in in the place of repairs and furniture. It 
 was your own offer." 
 
 " Yes, but I did n't reckon ther 'd ever be a big price 
 per pound paid for the darned stuff for sofys and cushions 
 and sich." 
 
 " How do you know he knew it, father ? " responded 
 Rosey. 
 
 *' Then why did he look so silly at first, and then put 
 on airs when I joked him about it, eh ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he did n't understand your joking, father. 
 
A Ship of '49. 375 
 
 He 's a foreigner, and shy and proud, and — not like the 
 others. I don't think he knew what you meant then, any 
 more than he believed he was making a bargain before. 
 He may be poor, but I think he 's been — a — a — gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 The young girl's animation penetrated even Mr. Nott^s 
 slow comprehension. Her novel opposition, and even 
 the prettiness it enhanced, gave him a dull premonition 
 of pain. His small round eyes became abstracted, his 
 mouth remained partly open, even his fresh color slightly 
 paled. 
 
 " You seem to have been takin^ stock of this yer man, 
 Rosey," he said, with a faint attempt at archness ; " if 
 he war n't ez old ez a crow, for all his young feathers, I 'd 
 think he was makin' up to you." 
 
 But the passing glow had faded from her young cheeks, 
 and her eyes wandered again to her book. " He pays 
 his rent regularly every steamer night," she said, quietly, 
 as if dismissing an exhausted subject, " and he '11 be here 
 in a moment, I dare say." She took up her book, and 
 leaning her head on her hand, once more became absorbed 
 in its pages. 
 
 An uneasy silence followed. The rain beat against 
 the windows, the ticking of a clock became audible, but 
 still Mr. Nott sat with vacant eyes fixed on his daughter's 
 face, and the constrained smile on his lips. He was con- 
 scious that he had never seen her look so pretty before, 
 yet he could not tell why this was no longer an unalloyed 
 satisfaction. Not but that he had always accepted the 
 admiration of others for her as a matter of course, but for 
 the first time he became conscious that she not only had 
 an interest in others, but apparently a superior knowledge 
 of them. How did she know these things about this 
 man, and why had she only now accidentally spoken of 
 them ? He would have done so. All this passed so 
 
376 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 vaguely through his unreflective mind, that he was unable 
 to retain any decided impression, but the far-reaching 
 one that his lodger had obtained some occult influence 
 over her through the exhibition of his baleful skill in the 
 horsehair speculation. ** Them tricks is likely to take a 
 young girl's fancy. I must look arter her," he said to 
 himself softly. 
 
 A slow regular step in the gangway interrupted his pa- 
 ternal reflections. Hastily buttoning across his chest the 
 pea-jacket which he usually wore at home as a single con- 
 cession to his nautical surroundings, he drew himself up 
 with something of the assumption of a shipmaster, despite 
 certain bucolic suggestions of his boots and legs. The 
 footsteps approached nearer, and a tall figure suddenly 
 stood in the doorway. 
 
 It was a figure so extraordinary that even in the strange 
 masquerade of that early civilization it was remarkable ; 
 a figure with whom father and daughter were already fa- 
 miliar without abatement of wonder — the figure of a reju- 
 venated old man, padded, powdered, dyed, and painted to 
 the verge of caricature, but without a single suggestion of 
 ludicrousness or humor. A face so artificial that it seemed 
 almost a mask, but, like a mask, more pathetic than amus- 
 ing. He was dressed in the extreme of fashion of a 
 dozen years before; his pearl -gray trousers strapped 
 tightly over his varnished boots, his voluminous satin 
 cravat and high collar embraced his rouged cheeks and 
 dyed whiskers, his closely-buttoned frock coat clinging to 
 a waist that seemed accented by stays. 
 
 He advanced two steps into the cabin with an upright 
 precision of motion that might have hid the infirmities of 
 age, and said deliberately with a foreign accent : 
 
 " You-r-r ac-coumpt ? " 
 
 In the actual presence of the apparition Mr. Nott's 
 dignified resistance wavered. But glancing uneasily at 
 
A Ship of Vp. 377 
 
 his daughter and seeing her calm eyes fixed on the 
 speaker without embarrassment, he folded his arms 
 stiffly, and with a lofty simulation of examining the ceil- 
 ing, said : 
 
 " Ahem ! Rosa ! The gentleman's account." 
 It was an infelicitous action. For the stranger, who 
 evidently had not noticed the presence of the young girl 
 before, started, took a step quickly forward, bent stiffly 
 but profoundly over the little hand that held the account, 
 raised it to his lips, and with " a thousand pardons, ma- 
 demoiselle," laid a small canvas bag containing the rent 
 before the disorganized Mr. Nott and stiffly vanished. 
 
 The night was a troubled one to the simple-minded 
 proprietor of the good ship Pontiac. Unable to voice 
 his uneasiness by further discussion, but feeling that his 
 late discomposing interview with his lodger demanded 
 some marked protest, he absented himself on the plea of 
 business during the rest of the evening, happily to his 
 daughter's utter obliviousness of the reason. Lights were 
 burning brilliantly in counting-rooms and offices, the fe- 
 verish life of the mercantile city was at its height. With 
 a vague idea of entering into immediate negotiations 
 with Mr. Sleight for the sale of the ship — as a direct 
 way out of his present perplexity, he bent his steps 
 towards the financier's office, but paused and turned 
 back before reaching the door. He made his way to the 
 wharf and gazed abstractedly at the lights reflected in the 
 dark, tremulous, jelly-like water. But wherever he went 
 he was accompanied by the absurd figure of his lodger — 
 a figure he had hitherto laughed at or half pitied, but 
 which now, to his bewildered comprehension, seemed to 
 have a fateful significance. Here a new idea seized him, 
 and he hurried back to the ship, slackening his pace only 
 when he arrived at his own doorway. Here he paused 
 a moment and slowly ascended the staircase. When he 
 
378 A Ship of VP- 
 
 reached the passage he coughed slightly and paused 
 again. Then he pushed open the door of the darkened 
 cabin and called softly : 
 
 " Rosey ! '' 
 
 " What is it, father ? " said Rosey's voice from the 
 little state-room on the right — Rosey's own bower. 
 
 " Nothing ! " said Mr. Nott, with an affectation of lan- 
 guid calmness ; " I only wanted to know if you was com- 
 fortable. It 's an awful busy night in town." 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " I reckon thar 's tons o' gold goin' to the States to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 '' Pretty comfortable, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 " Well, I '11 browse round a spell, and turn in myself 
 soon." 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 Mr. Nott took down a hanging lantern, lighted it, and 
 passed out into the gangway. Another lamp hung from 
 the companion hatch to light the tenants to the lower 
 deck, whence he descended. This deck was divided fore 
 and aft by a partitioned passage, — the lofts or apart- 
 ments being lighted from the ports, and one or two by a 
 door cut through the ship's side communicating with an 
 alley on either side. This was the case with the loft oc- 
 cupied by Mr. Nott's strange lodger, which, besides a 
 door in the passage, had this independent communication 
 with the alley. Nott had never known him to make use 
 of the latter door; on the contrary, it was his regular 
 habit to issue from his apartment at three o'clock every 
 afternoon, dressed as he has been described, stride de- 
 liberately through the passage to the upper deck and 
 thence into the street, where his strange figure was a fea- 
 ture of the principal promenade for two or three hours, 
 
A Skip of '4g. 379 
 
 returning as regularly at eight o'clock to the ship and 
 the seclusion of his loft. Mr. Nott paused before the 
 door, under the pretense of throwing the light before him 
 into the shadows of the forecastle : all was silent within. 
 He was turning back when he was impressed by the reg- 
 ular recurrence of a peculiar rustling sound which he had 
 at first referred to the rubbing of the wires of the swing- 
 ing lantern against his clothing. He set down the light 
 and listened ; the sound was evidently on the other side 
 of the partition ; the sound of some prolonged, rustling, 
 scraping movement, with regular intervals. Was it due 
 to another of Mr. Nott's unprofitable tenants — the rats ? 
 No. A bright idea flashed upon Mr. Nott's troubled 
 mind. It was De Ferrieres snoring ! He smiled grimly. 
 " Wonder if Rosey 'd call him a gentleman if she heard 
 that," he chuckled to himself as he slowly made his way 
 back to the cabin and the small state-room opposite to 
 his daughter's. During the rest of the night he dreamed 
 of being compelled to give Rosey in marriage to his 
 lodger, who added insult to the outrage by snoring au- 
 dibly through the marriage service. 
 
 Meantime, in her cradle-like nest in her nautical bower, 
 Miss Rosey slumbered as lightly. Waking from a vivid 
 dream of Venice — a child's Venice — seen from the 
 swelling deck of the proudly-riding Pontiac, she was so 
 impressed as to rise and cross on tiptoe to the little slant- 
 ing port-hole. Morning was already dawning over the 
 flat, straggling city, but from every counting-house and 
 magazine the votive tapers of the feverish worshipers of 
 trade and mammon were still flaring fiercely. 
 
380 A Ship of VP' 
 
 II. 
 
 The day following " steamer night " was usually stale 
 and flat at San Francisco. The reaction from the fever- 
 ish exaltation of the previous twenty-four hours was 
 seen in the listless faces and lounging feet of prome- 
 naders, and was notable in the deserted offices and ware- 
 houses still redolent of last night's gas, and strewn with 
 the dead ashes of last night's fires. There was a brief 
 pause before the busy life which ran its course from 
 " steamer day " to steamer day was once more taken up. 
 In that interval a few anxious speculators and investors 
 breathed freely, some critical situation was relieved, or 
 some impending catastrophe momentarily averted. In par- 
 ticular, a singular stroke of good fortune that morning 
 befell Mr. Nott. He not only secured a new tenant, but, 
 as he sagaciously believed, introduced into the Pontiac a 
 counteracting influence to the subtle fascinations of De 
 Ferrieres. 
 
 The new tenant apparently possessed a combination 
 of business shrewdness and brusque frankness that 
 strongly impressed his landlord. " You see, Rosey," 
 said Nott, complacently describing the interview to his 
 daughter, " when I sorter intimated in a keerless kind o' 
 way that sugar kettles and hair dye was about played 
 out ez securities, he just planked down the money for two 
 months in advance. * There,' sez he, * that's j^'t?^/r secu- 
 rity — now where 's mine V * I reckon I don't hitch on, 
 pardner,' sez I ; ^ security what for ? ' * 'Spose you sell 
 the ship t ' sez he, * afore the two months is up. I 've 
 heard that old Sleight wants to buy her.' * Then you 
 gets back your money,' sez I. * And lose my room,' 
 sez he ; * not much, old man. You sign a paper that 
 whoever buys the ship inside o' two months hez to buy 
 
A Skip of '4g. 381 
 
 me ez a tenant with it ; that 's on the square.' So I sign 
 the paper. It was mighty cute in the young feller, 
 was n't it ? " he said, scanning his daughter's pretty 
 puzzled face a little anxiously ; *' and don't you see, ez 
 I ain't goin' to sell the Pontiac, it's just about ez cute 
 in me, eh ? He 's a contractor somewhere around yer, 
 and wants to be near his work. So he takes the room 
 next to the Frenchman, that that ship-captain quit for the 
 mines, and succeeds naterally to his chest and things. 
 He 's mighty peart-looking, that young feller, Rosey — 
 long black mustaches, all his own color, Rosey — and 
 he 's a regular high-stepper, you bet. I reckon he 's not 
 only been a gentleman, but ez now. Some o' them con- 
 tractors are very high-toned ! " 
 
 "I don't think we have any right to give him the cap- 
 tain's chest, father," said Rosey ; " there may be some 
 private things in it. There were some letters and photo- 
 graphs in the hair-dye man's trunk that you gave the pho- 
 tographer." 
 
 "That's just it, Rosey," returned Abner Nott with 
 sublime unconsciousness, "photographs and love letters 
 you can't sell for cash, and I don't mind givin' 'em away, 
 if they kin make a feller-creature happy." 
 
 " But, father, have we the right to give 'em away ? " 
 
 " They 're collateral security, Rosey," said her father 
 grimly. " Co-la-te-ral," he continued, emphasizing each 
 syllable by tapping the fist of one hand in the open palm 
 of the other. " Co-la-te-ral is the word the big business 
 sharps yer about call 'em. You can't get round that." 
 He paused a moment, and then, as a new idea seemed to 
 be painfully borne in his round eyes, continued cautiously : 
 " Was that the reason why you would n't touch any of 
 them dresses from the trunks of that opery gal ez ske- 
 daddled for Sacramento ? And yet them trunks I regu- 
 larly bought at auction — Rosey — at auction, on spec^ 
 and they did n't realize the cost of drayage." 
 
382 A Skip of Vp- 
 
 A slight color mounted to Rosey's face. " No," she 
 said, hastily, "not that." Hesitating a moment, she then 
 drew softly to his side, and, placing her arms around his 
 neck, turned his broad, foolish face towards her own. 
 " Father," she began, "when mother died, would you have 
 liked anybody to take her trunks and paw round her 
 things and wear them ? " 
 
 " When your mother died, just this side o' Sweetwater, 
 Rosey," said Mr. Nott, with beaming unconsciousness, 
 " she had n't any trunks. I reckon she had n't even an 
 extra gown hanging up in the wagin, 'cept the petticoat ez 
 she had wrapped around yer. It was about ez much ez 
 we could do to skirmish round with Injins, alkali, and 
 cold, and we sorter forgot to dress for dinner. She never 
 thought, Rosey, that you and me would live to be inhabit- 
 in' a paliss of a real ship. Ef she had she would have 
 died a proud woman." 
 
 He turned his small, loving, boar-like eyes upon her as 
 a preternaturally innocent and trusting companion of 
 Ulysses might have regarded the transforming Circe. 
 Rosey turned away with the faintest sigh. The habitual 
 look of abstraction returned to her eyes as if she had 
 once more taken refuge in her own ideal world. Unfor- 
 tunately the change did not escape either the sensitive 
 observation or the fatuous misconception of the sagacious 
 parent. " Ye '11 be mountin' a few furbelows and fixins, 
 Rosey, I reckon, ez only natural. Mebbee ye '11 have to 
 prink up a little now that we 've got a gentleman con- 
 tractor in the ship. I '11 see what I kin pick up in Mont- 
 gomery Street." And indeed he succeeded a few hours 
 later in accomplishing with equal infelicity his generous 
 design. When she returned from her household tasks 
 she found on her berth a purple velvet bonnet of extraor- 
 dinary make, and a pair of white satin slippers. " They '11 
 do for a start-off, Rosey," he explained, " and I got 'em 
 at my figgers." 
 
A Ship of '4g. 383 
 
 " But I go out so seldom, father ; and a bonnet " — 
 
 "That 's so," interrupted Mr. Nott, complacently, "it 
 might be jest ez well for a young gal like yer to appear ez 
 if she did go out, or would go out if she wanted to. So 
 you kin be wearin^ that ar headstall kinder like this even- 
 ing when the contractor 's here, ez if you 'd jest come in 
 from 2ipasear.^^ 
 
 Miss Rosey did not however immediately avail herself 
 of her father's purchase, but contented herself with the 
 usual scarlet ribbon that like a snood confined her brown 
 hair, when she returned to her tasks. The space between 
 the galley and the bulwarks had been her favorite resort in 
 summer when not actually engaged in household work. It 
 was now lightly roofed over with boards and tarpaulin 
 against the winter rain, but still afforded her a veranda- 
 like space before the galley door, where she could read or 
 sew, looking over the bow of the Pontiac to the tossing 
 bay or the farther range of the Contra Costa hills. 
 
 Hither Miss Rosey brought the purple prodigy, partly 
 to please her father, partly with a view of subjecting it to 
 violent radical changes. But after trying it on before the 
 tiny mirror in the galley once or twice, her thoughts wan- 
 dered away, and she fell into one of her habitual reveries 
 seated on a little stool before the galley door. 
 
 She was aroused from it by the slight shaking and rat- 
 tling of the doors of a small hatch on the deck, not a 
 dozen yards from where she sat. It had been evidently 
 fastened from below during the wet weather, but as she 
 gazed, the fastenings were removed, the doors were sud- 
 denly lifted, and the head and shoulders of a young man 
 emerged from the deck. Partly from her father's descrip- 
 tion, and partly from the impossibility of its being any- 
 body else, she at once conceived it to be the new lodger. 
 She had time to note that he was young and good-looking, 
 graver perhaps than became his sudden pantomimic 
 
384 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 appearance, but before she could observe him closely, he 
 had turned, closed the hatch with a certain familiar dex- 
 terity, and walked slowly towards the bows. Even in her 
 slight bewilderment she observed that his step upon the 
 deck seemed different to her father's or the photographer's, 
 and that he laid his hand on various objects with a half- 
 caressing ease and habit. Presently he paused and 
 turned back, and glancing at the galley door for the first 
 time encountered her wondering eyes. 
 
 It seemed so evident that she had been a curious spec- 
 tator of his abrupt entrance on deck that he was at first 
 disconcerted and confused. But after a second glance at 
 her he appeared to resume his composure, and advanced 
 a little defiantly towards the galley. 
 
 " I suppose I frightened you, popping up the fore hatch 
 just now ? '' 
 
 " The what ? " asked Rosey. 
 
 "The fore hatch,'' he repeated impatiently, indicating 
 it with a gesture. 
 
 " And that 's the fore hatch ? " she said abstractedly. 
 "You seem to know ships." 
 
 "Yes — a little," he said quietly. "I was below, and 
 unfastened the hatch to come up the quickest way and 
 take a look round. I 've just hired a room here," he 
 added explanatorily. 
 
 " I thought so," said Rosey simply ; " you 're the con- 
 tractor ? " 
 
 " The contractor ! — oh, yes ! You seem to know 
 it all." 
 
 " Father 's told me." 
 
 " Oh, he 's your father — Nott ? Certainly. I see 
 now," he continued, looking at her with a half repressed 
 smile. " Certainly, Miss Nott, good morning," he half 
 added and walked towards the companion-way. Some- 
 thing in the direction of his eyes as he turned away made 
 
A Skip of '49. 385 
 
 Rosey lift her hands to her head. She had forgotten to 
 remove her father's baleful gift. 
 
 She snatched it off and ran quickly to the compan- 
 ion-way. 
 
 " Sir ! " she called. 
 
 The young man turned half-way down the steps and 
 looked up. There was a faint color in her cheeks, and 
 her pretty brown hair was slightly disheveled from the 
 hasty removal of the bonnet. 
 
 " Father's very particular about strangers being on this 
 deck," she said a little sharply. 
 
 " Oh — ah — I 'm sorry I intruded." 
 
 "I — I — thought I 'd tell you," said Rosey, frightened 
 by her boldness into a feeble anti-climax. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 She came back slowly to the galley and picked up the 
 unfortunate bonnet with a slight sense of remorse. Why 
 should she feel angry with her poor father's unhappy 
 offering? And what business had this strange young man 
 to use the ship so familiarly ? Yet she was vaguely con- 
 scious that she and her father, with all their love and their 
 domestic experience of it, lacked a certain instinctive 
 ease in its possession that the half indifferent stranger 
 had shown on first treading its deck. She walked to the 
 hatchway and examined it with a new interest. Succeed- 
 ing in lifting the hatch, she gazed at the lower deck. As 
 she already knew the ladder had long since been removed 
 to make room for one of the partitions, the only way the 
 stranger could have reached it was by leaping to one of 
 the rings. To make sure of this she let herself down 
 holding on to the rings, and dropped a couple of feet to 
 the deck below. She was in the narrow passage her 
 father had penetrated the previous night. Before her was 
 the door leading to De Ferrieres' loft, always locked. It 
 was silent within : it was the hour when the old French- 
 
386 A Ship of '49. 
 
 man made his habitual promenade in the city. But the 
 light from the newly-opened hatch allowed her to see 
 more of the mysterious recesses of the forward bulkhead 
 than she had known before, and she was startled by ob- 
 serving another yawning hatchway at her feet from which 
 the closely-fitting door had been lifted, and which the new 
 lodger had evidently forgotten to close again. The young 
 girl stooped down and peered cautiously into the black 
 abyss. Nothing was to be seen, nothing heard but the 
 distant gurgle and click of water in some remoter depth. 
 She replaced the hatch and returned by way of the 
 passage to the cabin. 
 
 When her father came home that night she briefly re- 
 counted the interview with the new lodger, and her dis- 
 covery of his curiosity. She did this with a possible 
 increase of her usual shyness and abstraction, and ap- 
 parently more as a duty than a colloquial recreation. 
 But it pleased Mr. Nott also to give it more than his 
 usual misconception. " Looking round the ship, was he 
 — eh, Rosey ? '^ he said with infinite archness. " In 
 course, kinder sweepin' round the galley, and offerin' to 
 fetch you wood and water, eh 1 " Even when the young 
 girl had picked up her book with the usual faint smile of 
 affectionate tolerance, and then drifted away in its pages, 
 Mr. Nott chuckled audibly. " I reckon old Frenchy 
 did n't come by when the young one was bedevlin' you 
 there.'' 
 
 " What, father ? " said Rosey, lifting her abstracted eyes 
 to his face. 
 
 At the moment it seemed impossible that any human 
 intelligence could have suspected deceit or duplicity in 
 Rosey's clear gaze. But Mr. Nott's intelligence was su- 
 perhuman. " I was sayin' that Mr. Ferrieres did n't hap- 
 pen in while the young feller was there — eh .? '' 
 
 " No, father," answered Rosey, with an effort to follow 
 him out of the pages of her book. " Why } *' 
 
A Ship of '4g. 387 
 
 But Mr. Nott did not reply. Later in the evening he 
 awkwardly waylaid the new lodger before the cabin-door 
 as that gentleman would have passed on to his room. 
 
 " I 'm afraid," said the young man, glancing at Rosey, 
 "that I intruded upon your daughter to-day. I was a 
 little curious to see the old ship, and I did n't know w^hat 
 part of it was private." 
 
 " There ain't no private part to this yer ship — that ez, 
 'cepting the rooms and lofts," said Mr. Nott, authorita- 
 tively. Then, subjecting the anxious look of his daughter 
 to his usual faculty for misconception, he added, " Thar 
 ain't no place whar you have n't as much right to go ez 
 any other man ; thar ain't any man, furriner or Amerykan, 
 young or old, dyed or undyed, ez hev got any better 
 rights. You hear me, young fellow. Mr. Renshaw — 
 my darter. My darter — Mr. Renshaw. Rosey, give the 
 gentleman a chair. She 's only jest come in from a prom- 
 eynade, and hez jest taken off her bonnet," he added, 
 with an arch look at Rosey and a hurried look around 
 the cabin, as if he hoped to see the missing gift visible 
 to the general eye. " So take a seat a minit, won't ye ? " 
 
 But Mr. Renshaw, after an observant glance at the 
 young girl's abstracted face, brusquely excused himself. 
 " 1 've got a letter to write," he said, with a half bow to 
 Rosey. '' Good night." 
 
 He crossed the passage to the room that had been as- 
 signed to him, and closing the door gave way to some 
 irritability of temper in his efforts to light the lamp and 
 adjust his writing materials. For his excuse to Mr. Nott 
 was more truthful than most polite pretexts. He had, 
 indeed, a letter to write, and one that, being yet young in 
 duplicity, the near presence of his host rendered difficult. 
 For it ran as follows : — 
 
 Dear Sleight : As I found I could n't get a chance 
 
388 A Ship of '49. 
 
 to make any examination of the ship except as occasion 
 offered, I just went in to rent lodgings in her from the 
 God-forsaken old ass who owns her, and here I am a 
 tenant for two months. I contracted for that time in 
 case the old fool should sell out to some one else before. 
 Except that she 's cut up a little between decks by the 
 partitions for lofts that that Pike County idiot has put 
 into her, she looks but little changed, and htr fore-hold, 
 as far as I can judge, is intact. It seems that Nott 
 bought her just as she stands, with her cargo half out, 
 but he was n*t here when she broke cargo. If anybody 
 else had bought her but this cursed Missourian, who has 
 n't got the hayseed out of his hair, I might have found 
 out something from him, and saved myself this kind of 
 fooling, which is n't in my line. If I could get possession 
 of a^loft on the main deck, well forward, just over the 
 fore-kpld, I could satisfy myself in a few hours, but the 
 loft ^tegnted by that crazy Frenchman who parades 
 Montgomery Street every afternoon, and though old Pike 
 County wants to turn him out, I 'm afraid I can't get it 
 for a week to come. 
 
 If anything should happen to me, just you waltz down 
 here and corral my things at once, for this old frontier 
 pirate has a way of confiscating his lodgers' trunks. 
 
 Yours, Dick. 
 
 III. 
 
 If Mr. Renshaw indulged in any further curiosity re- 
 garding the interior of the Pontiac, he did not make his 
 active researches manifest to Rosey. Nor, in spite of 
 her father's invitation, did he again approach the galley 
 — a fact which gave her her first vague impression in his 
 favor. He seemed also to avoid the various advances 
 
A Skip of '4g. 389 
 
 which Mr. Nott appeared impelled to make, whenever 
 they met in the passage, but did so without seemingly 
 avoiding her, and marked his half contemptuous indiffer- 
 ence to the elder Nott by an increase of respect to the 
 young girl. She would have liked to ask him something 
 about ships, and was sure his conversation would have 
 been more interesting than that of old Captain Bower, to 
 whose cabin he had succeeded, who had once told her a 
 ship was the " devil's hencoop." She would have liked 
 also to explain to him that she was not in the habit of 
 wearing a purple bonnet. But her thoughts were pres- 
 ently engrossed by an experience which interrupted the 
 even tenor of her young life. 
 
 She had been, as she afterwards remembered, impressed 
 with a nervous restlessness one afternoon, which made 
 it impossible for her to perform her ordinary household 
 duties, or even to indulge her favorite recreation of read- 
 ing or castle-building. She wandered over the ship, and, 
 impelled by the same vague feeling of unrest, descended 
 to the lower deck and the forward bulkhead where she 
 had discovered the open hatch. It had not been again 
 disturbed, nor was there any trace of further exploration, 
 A little ashamed, she knew not why, of revisiting the 
 scene of Mr. Renshaw's researches, she was turning back 
 when she noticed that the door which communicated with 
 De Ferrieres' loft was partly open. The circumstance 
 was so unusual that she stopped before it in surprise. 
 There was no sound from within ; it was the hour when 
 its queer occupant was always absent ; he must have for- 
 gotten to lock the door, or it had been unfastened by other 
 hands. After a moment of hesitation she pushed it 
 further open and stepped into the room. 
 
 By the dim light of two port-holes she could see that 
 the floor was strewn and piled with the contents of a 
 broken bale of curled horse-hair, of which a few un- 
 
390 A Skip of '4g. 
 
 touched bales still remained against the wall. A heap of 
 morocco skins, some already cut in the form of chair- 
 cushion covers, and a few cushions unfinished and un- 
 stuffed, lay in the light of the ports, and gave the apart- 
 ment the appearance of a cheap workshop. A rude in- 
 strument for combining the horse -hair, awls, buttons, and 
 thread, heaped on a small bench, showed that active work 
 had been but recently interrupted. A cheap earthenware 
 ewer and basin on the floor, and a pallet made of an open 
 bale of horse-hair, on which a ragged quilt and blanket 
 were flung, indicated that the solitary worker dwelt and 
 slept beside his work. 
 
 The truth flashed upon the young girl's active brain, 
 quickened by seclusion and fed by solitary books. She 
 read with keen eyes the miserable secret of her father's 
 strange guest in the poverty-stricken walls, in the mute 
 evidences of menial handicraft performed in loneliness 
 and privation, in this piteous adaptation of an accident to 
 save the conscious shame of premeditated toil. She 
 knew now why he had stammeringly refused to receive her 
 father's offer to buy back the goods he had given him ; 
 she knew now how hardly gained was the pittance that 
 paid his rent and supported his childish vanity and gro- 
 tesque pride. From a peg in the corner hung the familiar 
 masquerade that hid his poverty — the pearl-gray trousers, 
 the black frock-coat, the tall shining hat — in hideous 
 contrast to the penury of his surroundings. But if they 
 were here, where was he^ and in what new disguise had 
 he escaped from his poverty t A vague uneasiness caused 
 her to hesitate and return to the open door. She had 
 nearly reached it when her eye fell on the pallet which it 
 partly illuminated. A singular resemblance in the ragged 
 heap made her draw closer. The faded quilt was a dress- 
 ing-gown, and clutching its folds lay a white, wasted 
 hand. 
 
A Ship of '4g. 391 
 
 The emigrant childhood of Rose Nott had been more 
 than once shadowed by scalping-knives, and she was ac- 
 quainted with Death. She went fearlessly to the couch, 
 and found that the dressing-gown was only an enwrapping 
 of the emaciated and lifeless body of De Ferrieres. She 
 did not retreat or call for help, but examined him closely. 
 He was unconscious, but not pulseless ; he had evidently 
 been strong enough to open the door for air or succor, 
 but had afterwards fallen into a fit on the couch. She 
 flew to her father's locker and the galley fire, returned, 
 and shut the door behind her, and by the skillful use of 
 hot water and whiskey soon had the satisfaction of seeing 
 a faint color take the place of the faded rouge in the 
 ghastly cheeks. She was still chafing his hands when he 
 slowly opened his eyes. With a start, he made a quick 
 attempt to push aside her hand and rise. But she gently 
 restrained him. 
 
 " Eh — what ! " he stammered, throwing his face back 
 from hers with an effort and trying to turn it to the wall. 
 
 " You have been ill,'' she said quietly. " Drink this." 
 
 With his face still turned away he lifted the cup to his 
 chattering teeth. When he had drained it he threw a 
 trembling glance round the room and at the door. 
 
 "There's no one been here but myself," she said 
 quickly. " I happened to see the door open as I passed. 
 I did n't think it worth while to call any one." 
 
 The searching look he gave her turned into an expres- 
 sion of relief, which, to her infinite uneasiness, again 
 feebly lightened into one of antiquated gallantry. He 
 drew the dressing-gown around him with an air. 
 
 " Ah ! it is a goddess, Mademoiselle, that has deigned 
 to enter the cell where — where — I amuse myself. It is 
 droll, is it not ? I came here to make — what you call 
 
 — the experiment of your father's fabric. I make myself 
 
 — ha ! ha ! — like a workman. Ah, bah ! the heat, the 
 
392 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 darkness, the plebeian motion make my head to go round. 
 I stagger, I faint, I cry out, I fall. But what of that? 
 The great God hears my cry and sends me an angel. 
 Voila.r' 
 
 He attempted an easy gesture of gallantry, but over- 
 balanced himself and fell sideways on the pallet with a 
 gasp. Yet there was so much genuine feeling mixed with 
 his grotesque affectation, so much piteous consciousness 
 of the ineffectiveness of his falsehood, that the young 
 girl, who had turned away, came back and laid her hand 
 upon his arm. 
 
 ** You must lie still and try to sleep," she said gently. 
 " I will return again. Perhaps," she added, " there is 
 some one I can send for t *^ 
 
 He shook his head violently. Then in his old manner 
 added, "After Mademoiselle — no one." 
 
 " I mean " — she hesitated ; " have you no friends ? " 
 
 "Friends, — ah! without doubt." He shrugged his 
 shoulders. " But Mademoiselle will comprehend " — 
 
 "You are better now," said Rosey quickly, "and no 
 one need know anything if you don't wish it. Try to 
 sleep. You need not lock the door when I go ; I will see 
 that no one comes in." 
 
 He flushed faintly and averted his eyes. " It is too 
 droll, Mademoiselle, is it not ? " 
 
 " Of course it is," said Rosey, glancing round the mis- 
 erable room. 
 
 " And Mademoiselle is an angel." 
 
 He carried her hand to his lips humbly — his first 
 purely unaffected action. She slipped through the door, 
 and softly closed it behind her. 
 
 Reaching the upper deck she was relieved to find her 
 father had not returned, and her absence had been 
 unnoticed. For she had resolved to keep De Ferrieres' 
 secret to herself from the moment that she had unwit- 
 
A Ship of '49. 393 
 
 tingly discovered it, and to do this and still be able to 
 watch over him without her father's knowledge required 
 some caution. She was conscious of his strange aversion 
 to the unfortunate man without understanding the reason, 
 but as she was in the habit of entertaining his caprices 
 more from affectionate tolerance of his weakness than 
 reverence of his judgment, she saw no disloyalty to him 
 in withholding a confidence that might be disloyal to 
 another. " It won't do father any good to know it," she 
 said to herself, " and if it didit ought n't to," she added 
 with triumphant feminine logic. But the impression 
 made upon her by the spectacle she had just witnessed 
 was stronger than any other consideration. The revela- 
 tion of De Ferrieres' secret poverty seemed a chapter 
 from a romance of her own weaving ; for a moment it 
 lifted the miserable hero out of the depths of his folly 
 and selfishness. She forgot the weakness of the man in 
 the strength of his dramatic surroundings. It partly 
 satisfied a craving she had felt j it was not exactly the 
 story of the ship, as she had dreamed it, but it was an 
 episode in her experience of it that broke its monotony. 
 That she should soon learn, perhaps from De Ferrieres' 
 own lips, the true reason of his strange seclusion, and 
 that it involved more than appeared to her now, she never 
 for a moment doubted. 
 
 At the end of an hour she again knocked softly at the 
 door, carrying some light nourishment she had prepared 
 for him. He was asleep, but she was astounded to find 
 that in the interval he had managed to dress himself com- 
 pletely in his antiquated finery. It was a momentary 
 shock to the allusion she had been fostering, but she for- 
 got it in the pitiable contrast between his haggard face 
 and his pomatumed hair and beard, the jauntiness of his 
 attire and the collapse of his invalid figure. When she 
 had satisfied herself that his sleep was natural, she busied 
 
394 -^ Ship of VP- 
 
 herself softly in arranging the miserable apartment. 
 With a few feminine touches she removed the slovenli- 
 ness of misery, and placed the loose material and osten- 
 tatious evidences of his work on one side. Finding that 
 he still slept, and knowing the importance of this natural 
 medication, she placed the refreshment she had brought 
 by his side and noiselessly quitted the apartment. Hur- 
 rying through the gathering darkness between decks, 
 she once or twice thought she heard footsteps, and paused, 
 but encountering no one, attributed the impression to her 
 over-consciousness. Yet she thought it prudent to go to 
 the galley first, where she lingered a few moments before 
 returning to the cabin. On entering she was a little 
 startled at observing a figure seated at her father's desk, 
 but was relieved at finding it was Mr. Renshaw. 
 
 He rose and put aside the book he had idly picked up. 
 " I am afraid I am an intentional intruder this time. Miss 
 Nott. But I found no one here, and I was tempted to 
 look into this ship-shape little snuggery. You see the 
 temptation got the better of me." 
 
 His voice and smile were so frank and pleasant, so free 
 from his previous restraint, yet still respectful, so youth- 
 ful yet manly, that Rosey was affected by them even in 
 her preoccupation. Her eyes brightened and then dropped 
 before his admiring glance. Had she known that the 
 excitement of the last few hours had brought a wonderful 
 charm into her pretty face, had aroused the slumbering 
 life of her half-wakened beauty, she would have been 
 more confused. As it w^as, she was only glad that the 
 young man should turn out to be " nice." Perhaps he 
 might tell her something about ships ; perhaps if she had 
 only known him longer she might, with De Ferrieres' per- 
 mission, have shared her confidence with him, and enlist- 
 ed his sympathy and assistance. She contented herself 
 with showing this anticipatory gratitude in her face as she 
 
A Ship of '4g. 395 
 
 begged him, with the timidity of a maiden hostess, to 
 resume his seat. 
 
 But Mr. Renshaw seemed to talk only to make her talk, 
 and I am forced to admit that Rosey found this almost 
 as pleasant. It was not long before he was in possession 
 of her simple history from the day of her baby emigra- 
 tion to California to the transfer of her childish life to 
 the old ship, and even of much of the romantic fancies 
 she had woven into her existence there. Whatever ulte- 
 rior purpose he had in view, he listened as attentively as if 
 her artless chronicle was filled with practical information. 
 Once, when she had paused for breath, he said gravely, 
 " I must ask you to show me over this wonderful ship 
 some day that I may see it with your eyes." 
 
 " But I think you know it already better than I do," 
 said Rosey with a smile. 
 
 Mr. Renshaw's brow clouded slightly. ** Ah," he said, 
 with a touch of his former restraint ; ** and why .? " 
 
 "Well," said Rosey timidly, " I thought you went round 
 and touched things in a familiar way as if you had handled 
 them before." 
 
 The young man raised his eyes to Rosey's and kept 
 them there long enough to bring back his gentler expres- 
 sion. " Then, because I found you trying on a very 
 queer bonnet the first day I saw you," he said, mischiev- 
 ously, " I ought to believe you were in the habit of wear- 
 ing one." 
 
 In the first flush of mutual admiration young people 
 are apt to find a laugh quite as significant as a sigh for 
 an expression of sympathetic communion, and this mas- 
 ter-stroke of wit convulsed them both. In the midst of it 
 Mr. Nott entered the cabin. But the complacency with 
 which he viewed the evident perfect understanding of the 
 pair was destined to suffer some abatement. Rosey, sud- 
 denly conscious that she was in some way participating 
 
396 A Skip of ' 4g. 
 
 in the ridicule of her father through his unhappy gift, 
 became embarrassed. Mr. Renshaw's restraint returned 
 with the presence of the old man. In vain, at first, Abner 
 Nott strove with profound levity to indicate his arch 
 comprehension of the situation, and in vain, later, becom- 
 ing alarmed, he endeavored, with cheerful gravity, to indi- 
 cate his utter obliviousness of any but a business signifi- 
 cance in their tete-a-tete. 
 
 " I ought n't to hev intruded, Rosey," he said, " when 
 you and the gentleman were talkin' of contracts, mebbee ; 
 but don't mind me. I 'm on the fly, anyhow, Rosey dear, 
 hevin' to see a man round the corner." 
 
 But even the attitude of withdrawing did not prevent 
 the exit of Renshaw to his apartment and of Rosey to 
 the galley. Left alone in the cabin, Abner Nott felt in 
 the knots and tangles of his beard for a reason. Glan- 
 cing down at his prodigious boots, which, covered with 
 mud and gravel, strongly emphasized his agricultural 
 origin, and gave him a general appearance of standing on 
 his own broad acres, he was struck with an idea. " It 's 
 them boots," he whispered to himself, softly; **they some- 
 how don't seem 'xactly to trump or follow suit in this yer 
 cabin ; they don't hitch into anythin' but jist slosh round 
 loose, and so to speak play it alone. And them young 
 critters nat'rally feels it and gets out o' the way." Acting 
 upon this instinct with his usual precipitate caution, he 
 at once proceeded to the nearest second-hand shop, and, 
 purchasing a pair of enormous carpet slippers, originally 
 the property of a gouty sea-captain, reappeared with a 
 strong suggestion of newly upholstering the cabin. The 
 improvement, however, was fraught with a portentous 
 circumstance. Mr. Nott's footsteps, which usually an- 
 nounced his approach all over the ship, became stealthy 
 and inaudible. 
 
 Meantime Miss Rosey had taken advantage of the ab- 
 
A Ship of VP- 397 
 
 sence of her father to visit her patient. To avoid at- 
 tracting attention she did not take a light, but groped her 
 way to the lower deck and rapped softly at the door. It 
 was instantly opened by De Ferrieres. He had ap- 
 parently appreciated the few changes she had already 
 made in the room, and had himself cleared away the pal- 
 let from which he had risen to make two low seats against 
 the wall. Two bits of candle placed on the floor illumi- 
 nated the beams above, the dressing-gown was artistically 
 draped over the solitary chair, and a pile of cushions 
 formed another seat. With elaborate courtesy he handed 
 Miss Rosey to the chair. He looked pale and weak, 
 though the gravity of the attack had evidently passed. 
 Yet he persisted in remaining standing. " If I sit,'' he 
 explained with a gesture, "I shall again disgrace myself 
 by sleeping in Mademoiselle's presence. Yes ! I shall 
 sleep — I shall dream — and wake to find her gone ! " 
 
 More embarrassed by his recovery than when he was 
 lying helplessly before her, she said hesitatingly that she 
 was glad he was better, and that she hoped he liked the 
 broth. 
 
 "It was manna from heaven, Mademoiselle. See, I 
 have taken it all — every precious drop. What else 
 could I have done for Mademoiselle's kindness ? " 
 
 , He showed her the empty bowl. A swift conviction 
 came upon her that the man had been suffering from 
 want of food. The thought restored her self-possession 
 even while it brought the tears to her eyes. " I wish 
 you would let me speak to father — or some one," she 
 said impulsively, and stopped. 
 
 A quick and half insane gleam of terror and suspicion 
 lit up his deep eyes. " For what. Mademoiselle ! For 
 an accident — that is nothing — absolutely nothing, for I 
 am strong and well now — see ! " he said tremblingly. 
 " Or for a whim — for a folly you may say, that they will 
 
398 A Ship of VP- 
 
 misunderstand. No, Mademoiselle is good, is wise. She 
 will say to herself, * I understand, my friend Monsieur de 
 Ferrieres for the moment has a secret. He would seem 
 poor, he would take the role of artisan, he would shut 
 himself up in these walls — perhaps I may guess why, 
 but it is his secret. I think of it no more.' " He caught 
 her hand in his with a gesture that he would have made 
 one of gallantry, but that in its tremulous intensity be- 
 came a piteous supplication. 
 
 " I have said nothing, and will say nothing, if you v/ish 
 it," said Rosey hastily; '*but others may find out how 
 you live here. This is not fit work for you. You seem 
 to be a — a gentleman. You ought to be a lawyer, or a 
 doctor, or in a bank," she continued timidly, with a vague 
 enumeration of the prevailing degrees of local gentility. 
 
 He dropped her hand. " Ah ! does not Mademoiselle 
 comprehend that it is because I am a gentleman that there 
 is nothing between it and this ? Look ! " he continued 
 almost fiercely. " What if I told you it is the lawyer, it is 
 the doctor, it is the banker that brings me, a gentleman, 
 to this, eh ? Ah, bah ! What do I say 1 This is honest, 
 what I do ! But the lawyer, the banker, the doctor, what 
 are they?" He shrugged his shoulders, and pacing the 
 apartment with a furtive glance at the half anxious, half 
 frightened girl, suddenly stopped, dragged a small port- 
 manteau from behind the heap of bales and opened it. 
 **Look, Mademoiselle," he said, tremulously lifting a 
 handful of worn and soiled letters and papers. " Look — 
 these are the tools of your banker, your lawyer, your doctor. 
 With this the banker will make you poor, the lawyer will 
 prove you a thief, the doctor will swear you are crazy, eh t 
 What shall you call the work of a gentleman — this" — 
 he dragged the pile of cushions forward — " or this ? " 
 
 To the young girl's observant eyes some of the papers 
 appeared to be of a legal or official character, and others 
 
A Ship of '4g. 399 
 
 like bills of lading, with which she was familiar. Their 
 half theatrical exhibition reminded her of some play she 
 had seen ; they might be the clue to some story, or the 
 mere worthless hoardings of some diseased fancy. What- 
 ever they were, De Ferrieres did not apparently care to 
 explain further ; indeed, the next moment his manner 
 changed to his old absurd extravagance. " But this is stupid 
 for Mademoiselle to hear. What shall we speak of ? Ah I 
 what should we speak of in Mademoiselle's presence ? " 
 
 " But are not these papers valuable ? '* asked Rosey, 
 partly to draw her host's thoughts back to their former 
 channel. 
 
 " Perhaps." He paused and regarded the young girl 
 fixedly. " Does Mademoiselle think so ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Rosey. " How should I ? " 
 
 " Ah ! if Mademoiselle thought so — if Mademoiselle 
 would deign " — He stopped again and placed his hand 
 upon his forehead. " It might be so ! " he muttered. 
 
 " I must go. now," said Rosey hurriedly, rising with an 
 awkward sense of constraint. " Father will wonder where 
 I am." 
 
 " I shall explain. I will accompany you. Mademoiselle." 
 
 " No, no," said Rosey, quickly ; " he must not know 
 I have been here ! " She stopped. The honest blush 
 flew to her cheek, and then returned again, because she 
 had blushed. 
 
 De Ferrieres gazed at her with an exalted look. Then 
 drawing himself to his full height, he said, with an exag- 
 gerated and indescribable gesture, " Go, my child, go. Tell 
 your father that you have been alone and unprotected in 
 the abode of poverty and suffering, but — that it was in 
 the presence of Armand de Ferrieres." 
 
 He threw open the door with a bow that nearly swept 
 the ground, but did not again offer to take her hand. At 
 once impressed and embarrassed at this crowning incon- 
 
400 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 gruity, her pretty lips trembled between a smile and a cry 
 as she said, ** Good- night," and slipped away into the 
 darkness. 
 
 Erect and grotesque De Ferrieres retained the same at- 
 titude until the sound of her footsteps was lost, when he 
 slowly began to close the door. But a strong arm arrested 
 it from without, and a large carpeted foot appeared at the 
 bottom of the narrowing opening. The door yielded, and 
 Mr. Abner Nott entered the room. 
 
 IV. 
 
 With an exclamation and a hurried glance around him, 
 De Ferrieres threw himself before the intruder. But 
 slowly lifting his large hand, and placing it on his lodger's 
 breast, he quietly overbore the sick man's feeble resist- 
 ance with an impact of power that seemed almost as 
 moral as it was physical. He did not appear to take 
 any notice of the room or its miserable surroundings ; in- 
 deed, scarcely of the occupant. Still pushing him, with 
 abstracted eyes and immobile face, to the chair that 
 Rosey had just quitted, he made him sit down, and then 
 took up his own position on the pile of cushions opposite. 
 His usually underdone complexion was of watery blue- 
 ness j but his dull, abstracted glance appeared to exercise 
 a certain dumb, narcotic fascination on his lodger. 
 
 " I mout," said Nott, slowly, "hev laid ye out here on 
 sight, without enny warnin', or dropped ye in yer tracks 
 in Montgomery Street, wherever there was room to work 
 a six-shooter in comf'ably ? Johnson, of Petaluny — him, 
 ye know, ez hed a game eye — fetched Flynn comin' outer 
 meetin' one Sunday, and it was only on account of his 
 wife, and she a s'econd-hand one, so to speak. There 
 was Walker, of Contra Costa, plugged that young Sacra- 
 
A Ship of '4g, 401 
 
 mento chap, whose name I disremember, full o' holes jest 
 ez he was sayin' * Good-by ' to his darter. I mout hev 
 done all this if it had settled things to please me. For 
 while you and Flynn and that Sacramento chap ez all 
 about the same sort o' men, Rosey 's a different kind from 
 their sort o' women." 
 
 " Mademoiselle is an angel ! " said De Ferrieres, sud- 
 denly rising, with an excess of extravagance. " A saint ! 
 Look ! I cram the lie, ha ! down his throat who chal- 
 lenges it." 
 
 "Ef by mam'selle ye mean my Rosey," said Nott, 
 quietly laying his powerful hands on De Ferrieres' shoul- 
 ders, and slowly pinning him down again upon his chair, 
 " ye Ve about right, though she ain't mam'selle yet. Ez I 
 was sayin', I might hev killed you off-hand ef I hed 
 thought it would hev been a good thing for Rosey." 
 
 " For her ? Ah, well ! Look, I am ready," interrupted 
 De Ferrieres, again springing to his feet, and throwing 
 open his coat with both hands. " See ! here at my heart — 
 fire ! " 
 
 " Ez I was sayin'," continued Nott, once more press- 
 ing the excited man down in his chair, "I might hev 
 wiped ye out — and mebbee ye wouldn't hev keered — 
 or you might hev wiped me out, and I mout hev said, 
 ' Thank 'ee,' but I reckon this ain't a case for what 's 
 comf 'able for you and me. It 's what 's good for Rosey, 
 And the thing to kalkilate is, what 's to be done." 
 
 His small round eyes for the first time rested on De 
 Ferrieres' face, and were quickly withdrawn. It was 
 evident that this abstracted look, which had fascinated his 
 lodger, was merely a resolute avoidance of De Ferrieres* 
 glance, and it became apparent later that this avoidance 
 was due to a ludicrous appreciation of De Ferrieres' at- 
 tractions. 
 
 "And after we've done that we must kalkilate what 
 
402 A Ship of ^p. 
 
 Rosey is^ and what Rosey wants. P'r'aps, ye allow, you 
 know what Rosey is? P'r'aps you've seen her prance 
 round in velvet bonnets and white satin slippers, and 
 sich. P'r'aps you Ve seen her readin' tracks and v'yages, 
 without waitin' to spell a word, or catch her breath. But 
 that ain't the Rosey ez / knows. It 's a little child ez 
 uster crawl in and out the tail-board of a Mizzouri wagon 
 on the alcali-pizoned plains, where there was n't another 
 bit of God's mercy on yearth to be seen for miles and 
 miles. It 's a little gal as uster hunger and thirst ez quiet 
 and mannerly ez she now eats and drinks in plenty ; whose 
 voice was ez steady with Injins yellin' round yer nest in 
 the leaves on Sweetwater ez in her purty cabin up yonder. 
 That 'i" the gal ez I knows ! That 's the Rosey ez my ole 
 woman puts into my arms one night arter we left Laramie 
 when the fever was high, and sez, * Abner,' sez she, *the 
 chariot is swingin' low for me to-night, but thar ain't 
 room in it for her or you to git in or hitch on. Take her 
 and rare her, so we kin all jine on the other shore,' sez 
 she. And I 'd knowed the other shore was n't no Kali- 
 forny. And that night, p'r'aps, the chariot swung lower 
 than ever before, and my ole woman stepped into it, and 
 left me and Rosey to creep on in the old wagon alone. 
 It's them kind o' things," added Mr. Nott thoughtfully, 
 " that seem to pint to my killin' you on sight ez the best 
 thing to be done. And yet Rosey might n't like it." 
 
 He had slipped one of his feet out of his huge carpet 
 slippers, and, as he reached down to put it on again, he 
 added calmly : " And ez to yer marrying her it ain't to 
 be done." 
 
 The utterly bewildered expression which transfigured 
 De Ferrieres' face at this announcement was unobserved 
 by Nott's averted eyes, nor did he perceive that his list- 
 ener the next moment straightened his erect figure and 
 adjusted his cravat. 
 
A Skip of '4g. 403 
 
 "Ef Rosey," he continued, "hez read in v'yages and 
 tracks in Eyetalian and French countries of such chaps 
 ez you and kalkilates you 're the right kind to tie to, 
 mebbee it mout hev done if you 'd been livin' over thar 
 in a pallis, but somehow it don't jibe in over here and 
 agree with a ship — and that ship lying comf 'able ashore 
 in San Francisco. You don't seem to suit the climate, 
 you see, and your general gait is likely to stampede the 
 other cattle. Agin," said Nott, with an ostentation of 
 looking at his companion but really gazing on vacancy, 
 "this fixed -up, antique style of yours goes better with 
 them ivy-kivered ruins in Rome and Palmyry that Rosey 's 
 mixed you up with, than it would yere. I ain't sayin'," 
 he added as De Ferrieres was about to speak, " I ain't 
 sayin' ez that child ain't smitten with ye. It ain't no use 
 to lie and say she don't prefer you to her old father, or 
 young chaps of her own age and kind. I 've seed it afor 
 now. I suspicioned it afor I seed her slip out o' this 
 place to-night. Thar ! keep your hair on, such ez it is ! " 
 he added, as De Ferrieres attempted a quick deprecatory 
 gesture. " I ain't askin' yer how often she comes here, 
 nor what she sez to you nor you to her. I ain't asked 
 her and I don't ask you. I '11 allow ez you 've settled all 
 the preliminaries and bought her the ring and sich ; I 'm 
 only askin' you now, kalkilatin' you 've got all the keerds 
 in your own hand, what you '11 take to step out and leave 
 the board ? " 
 
 The dazed look of De Ferrieres might have forced it- 
 self even upon Nott's one-idead fatuity, had it not been 
 a part of that gentleman's system delicately to look an- 
 other way at that moment so as not to embarrass his ad- 
 versary's calculation. "Pardon," stammered De Ferri- 
 eres, " but I do not comprehend ! " He raised his hand 
 to his head. " I am not w^U — I am stlipid. Ah, mon 
 Dieu ! " 
 
404 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 " I ain^t sayin'," added Nott more gently, " ez you 
 don't feel bad. It ^s nat'ral. But it ain't business. I 'm 
 asking you," he continued, taking from his breast-pocket 
 a large wallet, " how much you '11 take in cash now, and 
 the rest next steamer day, to give up Rosey and leave 
 the ship." 
 
 De Ferrieres staggered to his feet despite Nott's re- 
 straining hand. ^*To leave Mademoiselle and leave the 
 ship ? " he said huskily, " is it not t " 
 
 "In course. Yer can leave things yer just ez you 
 found 'em when you came, you know," continued Nott, 
 for the first time looking round the miserable apartment. 
 " It 's a business job. I '11 take the bales back agin, and 
 you kin reckon up what you 're out, countin' Rosey and 
 loss o' time." 
 
 " He wishes me to go — he has said," repeated De 
 Ferrieres to himself thickly. 
 
 " Ef you mean me when you say him^ and ez thar ain't 
 any other man around, I reckon you do — * yes ! ' " 
 
 " And he asks me — he — this man of the feet and the 
 daughter — asks me — De Ferrieres — what I will take," 
 continued De Ferrieres, buttoning his coat. ** No ! it is a 
 dream ! " He walked stiffly to the corner where his port- 
 manteau lay, lifted it, and going to the outer door, a cut 
 through the ship's side that communicated with the alley, 
 unlocked it and flung it open to the night. A thick mist 
 like the breath of the ocean flowed into the room. 
 
 " You ask me what I shall take to go," he said as he 
 stood on the threshold. " I shall take what yoti cannot 
 give. Monsieur, but what I would not keep if I stood here 
 another moment. I take my Honor, Monsieur, and — I 
 take my leave ! " 
 
 For a moment his grotesque figure was outlined in the 
 opening, and then disappeared as if he had dropped into 
 an invisible ocean below. Stupefied and disconcerted at 
 
A Skip of VP- 405 
 
 this complete success of his overtures, Abner Nott re- 
 mained speechless, gazing at the vacant space until a 
 cold influx of the mist recalled him. Then he rose and 
 shuffled quickly to the door. 
 
 "Hi! Ferrers! Look yer — Say! Wot 's your hurry, 
 pardner ? " 
 
 But there was no response. The thick mist, which hid 
 the surrounding objects, seemed to deaden all sound also. 
 After a moment's pause he closed the door, but did 
 not lock it, and retreating to the center of the room re- 
 mained blinking at the two candles and plucking some 
 perplexing problem from his beard. Suddenly an idea 
 seized him. Rosey ! Where was she ? Perhaps it had 
 been a preconcerted plan, and she had fled with him. 
 Putting out the lights he stumbled hurriedly through the 
 passage to the gangway above. The cabin - door was 
 open ; there was the sound of voices — Renshaw's and 
 Rosey's. Mr. Nott felt relieved but not unembarrassed. 
 He would have avoided his daughter's presence that 
 evening. But even while making this resolution with char- 
 acteristic infelicity he blundered into the room. Rosey 
 looked up with a slight start ; Renshaw's animated face 
 was changed to its former expression of inward discon- 
 tent. 
 
 " You came in so like a ghost, father," said Rosey with 
 a slight peevishness that was new to her. " And I thought 
 you were in town. Don't go, Mr. Renshaw." 
 
 But Mr. Renshaw intimated that he had already tres- 
 passed upon Miss Nott's time, and that no doubt her fa- 
 ther wanted to talk with her. To his surprise and annoy- 
 ance, however, Mr. Nott insisted on accompanying him 
 to his room, and without heeding Renshaw's cold ** Good- 
 night," entered and closed the door behind him. 
 
 "P'raps," said Mr. Nott with a troubled air, "you dis- 
 remember that when you first kem here you asked me if 
 
4o6 A Ship of '^g. 
 
 you could hev that 'er loft that the Frenchman had down- 
 stairs." 
 
 " No, I don't remember it," said Renshaw almost rudely. 
 ** But," he added, after a pause, with the air of a man 
 obliged to revive a stale and unpleasant memory, " if I 
 did — what about it ? " 
 
 " Nuthin', only that you kin hev it to-morrow, ez that 
 'ere Frenchman is movin' out," responded Nott. "I 
 thought you was sorter keen about it when you first 
 kem." 
 
 " Umph ! we '11 talk about it to-morrow." Something 
 in the look of wearied perplexity with which Mr. Nott 
 was beginning to regard his own mal apropos presence, 
 arrested the young man's attention. " What 's the reason 
 you did n't sell this old ship long ago, take a decent house 
 in the town, and bring up your daughter like a lady ? " he 
 asked, with a sudden blunt good-humor. But even this 
 implied blasphemy against the habitation he worshiped 
 did not prevent Mr. Nott from his usual misconstruction 
 of the question. 
 
 "I reckon, now, Rosey 's got high-flown ideas of livin' 
 in a castle with ruins, eh ? " he said cunningly. 
 
 " Have n't heard her say," returned Renshaw abruptly. 
 " Good-night." 
 
 Firmly convinced that Rosey had been unable to con- 
 ceal from Mr. Renshaw the influence of her dreams of a 
 castellated future with De Ferrieres, he regained the 
 cabin. Satisfying himself that his daughter had retired, 
 he sought his own couch. But not to sleep. The figure 
 of De Ferrieres, standing in the ship side and melting into 
 the outer darkness, haunted him, and compelled him in 
 dreams to rise and follow him through the alleys and by- 
 ways of the crowded city. Again, it was a part of his 
 morbid suspicion that he now invested the absent man 
 with a potential significance and an unknown power. 
 
A Ship of '4g. 407 
 
 What deep-laid plans might he not form to possess him- 
 self of Rosey, of which he, Abner Nott, would be igno- 
 rant ? Unchecked by the restraint of a father's roof, he 
 would now give full license to his power. " Said he 'd 
 take his Honor with him," muttered Abner to himself in 
 the dim watches of the night j " lookin* at that sayin' in 
 its right light, it looks bad." 
 
 The elaborately untruthful account which Mr. Nott 
 gave his daughter of De Ferrieres' sudden departure was 
 more fortunate than his usual equivocations. While it 
 disappointed and slightly mortified her, it did not seem 
 to her inconsistent with what she already knew of him. 
 " Said his doctor had ordered him to quit town under an 
 hour, owing to a comin' attack of hay fever, and he had 
 a friend from furrin parts waitin' him at the Springs, 
 Rosey," explained Nott, hesitating between his desire to 
 avoid his daughter's eyes and his wish to observe her 
 countenance. 
 
 " Was he worse ? — I mean did he look badly, father ? " 
 inquired Rosey, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I reckon not exactly bad. Kinder looked as if he 
 mout be worse soon ef he did n't hump hisself." 
 
 " Did you see him ? — in his room ? " asked Rosey 
 anxiously. Upon the answer to this simple question de- 
 pended the future confidential relations of father and 
 daughter. If her father had himself detected the means 
 by which his lodger existed, she felt that her own obliga- 
 tions to secrecy had been removed. But Mr. Nott's 
 answer disposed of this vain hope. It was a response 
 after his usual fashion to the question he imagined she 
 artfully wished to ask, /. e. if he had discovered their 
 
4o8 A Ship of VP- 
 
 rendezvous of the previous night. This it was part of his 
 peculiar delicacy to ignore. Yet his reply showed that 
 he had been unconscious of the one miserable secret that 
 he might have read easily. 
 
 "I was there an hour or so — him and me alone — 
 discussin' trade. I reckon he 's got a good thing outer 
 that curled horse-hair, for I see he 's got in an invoice o' 
 cushions. I 've stowed ^em all in the forrard bulkhead un- 
 til he sends for 'em, ez Mr. Renshaw hez taken the loft." 
 
 But although Mr. Renshaw had taken the loft, he did 
 not seem in haste to occupy it. He spent part of the 
 morning in uneasily pacing his room, in occasional sallies 
 into the street from which he purposelessly returned, and 
 once or twice in distant and furtive contemplation of 
 Rosey at work in the galley. This last observation was 
 not unnoticed by the astute Nott, who at once conceiving 
 that he was nourishing a secret and hopeless passion for 
 Rosey, began to consider whether it ^as not his duty to 
 warn the young man of her preoccupied affections. But 
 Mr. Renshaw's final disappearance obliged him to with- 
 hold his confidence till morning. 
 
 This time Mr. Renshaw left the ship with the evi- 
 dent determination of some settled purpose. He walked 
 rapidly until he reached the counting-house of Mr. 
 Sleight, when he was at once shown into a private office. 
 In a few moments Mr. Sleight, a brusque but passionless 
 man, joined him. 
 
 " Well,'* said Sleight, closing the door carefully. 
 " What news .> '' 
 
 "None," said Renshaw bluntly. "Look here. Sleight," 
 he added, turning to him suddenly, " Let me out of this 
 game. I don't like it." 
 
 " Does that mean you Ve found nothing ? " asked 
 Sleight, sarcastically. 
 
 " It means that I have n't looked for anything, and that 
 
A Ship of '4g. 409 
 
 I don't intend to without the full knowledge of that 
 d — d fool who owns the ship." 
 
 " You Ve changed your mind since you wrote that 
 letter," said Sleight coolly, producing from a drawer 
 the note already known to the reader. Renshaw me- 
 chanically extended his hand to take it. Mr. Sleight 
 dropped the letter back into the drawer, which he quietly 
 locked. The apparently simple act dyed Mr. Renshaw's 
 cheek with color, but it vanished quickly, and with it any 
 token of his previous embarrassment. He looked at 
 Sleight with the convinced air of a resolute man who had 
 at last taken a disagreeable step but was willing to stand 
 by the consequences. 
 
 " I have changed my mind," he said coolly. " I found 
 out that it was one thing to go down there as a skilled 
 prospector might go to examine a mine that was to be 
 valued according to his report of the indications, but that it 
 was entirely another thing to go and play the spy in a 
 poor deviPs house in order to buy something he did n't 
 know he was selling and would n't sell if he did." 
 
 " And something that the man he bought of did n't 
 think of selling j something he himself never paid for, and 
 never expected to buy," sneered Sleight. 
 
 " But something that we expect to buy from our knowl- 
 edge of all this, and it is that which makes all the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " But you knew all this before." 
 
 " I never saw it in this light before. I never thought 
 of it until I was living there face to face with the old fool 
 I was intending to overreach. I never was sure of it 
 until this morning, when he actually turned out one of his 
 lodgers that I might have the very room I required to 
 play off our little game in comfortably. When he did 
 that, I made up my mind to drop the whole thing, and 
 I 'm here to do it." 
 
4IO A Ship of '^g. 
 
 " And let somebody else take the responsibility — with 
 the percentage — unless you 've also felt it your duty to 
 warn Nott too/' said Sleight with a sneer. 
 
 " You only dare say that to me, Sleight," said Renshaw 
 quietly, " because you have in that drawer an equal evi- 
 dence of my folly and my confidence ; but if you are wise 
 you will not presume too far on either. Let us see how 
 we stand. Through the yarn of a drunken captain and a 
 mutinous sailor you became aware of an unclaimed ship- 
 ment of treasure, concealed in an unknown ship that 
 entered this harbor. You are enabled, through me, to 
 corroborate some facts and identify the ship. You pro- 
 posed to me, as a speculation, to identify the treasure if 
 possible before you purchased the ship. I accepted the 
 offer without consideration ; on consideration I now de- 
 cline it, but without prejudice or loss to any one but my- 
 self. As to your insinuation I need not remind you that 
 my presence here to-day refutes it. I would not require 
 your permission to make a much better bargain with a 
 good-natured fool like Nott than I could with you. Or if 
 I did not care for the business I could have warned the 
 girl-- 
 
 " The girl — what girl ? " 
 
 Renshaw bit his lip, but answered boldly : ** The old 
 man's daughter— a poor girl — whom this act would rob 
 as well as her father." 
 
 Sleight looked at his companion attentively. "You 
 might have said so at first, and let up on this camp-meet- 
 in' exhortation. Well then — admitting you've got the 
 old man and the young girl on the same string, and that 
 you 've played it pretty low down in the short time you 've 
 been there — I suppose, Dick Renshaw, I 've got to see 
 your bluff. Well, how much is it ? What 's the figure 
 you and she have settled on t " 
 
 For an instant Mr. Sleight was in physical danger. 
 
A Ship of '4g. 411 
 
 But before he had finished speaking Renshaw's quick 
 sense of the ludicrous had so far overcome his first indig- 
 nation as to enable him even to admire the perfect moral 
 insensibility of his companion. As he rose and walked 
 towards the door, he half wondered that he had ever 
 treated the affair seriously. With a smile he replied : 
 
 " Far from bluffing, Sleight, I am throwing my cards 
 on the table. Consider that I 've passed out. Let some 
 other man take my hand. Rake down the pot if you like, 
 old man, / leave for Sacramento to-night. Adios^ 
 
 When the door had closed behind him Mr. Sleight 
 summoned his clerk. 
 
 " Is that petition for grading Pontiac Street ready ? " 
 
 " I Ve seen the largest property holders, sir j they Ve 
 only waiting for you to sign first.*' Mr. Sleight paused 
 and then affixed his signature to the paper his clerk laid 
 before him. "Get the other names and send it up at 
 once." 
 
 " If Mr. Nott does n't sign, sir ? " 
 
 " No matter. He will be assessed all the same/' Mr. 
 Sleight took up his hat. 
 
 " The Lascar seaman that was here the other day has 
 been wanting to see you, sir. I said you were busy." 
 
 Mr. Sleight put down his hat. " Send him up." 
 
 Nevertheless Mr. Sleight sat down and at once ab- 
 stracted himself so completely as to be apparently in ut- 
 ter oblivion of the man who entered. He was lithe and 
 Indian-looking ; bearing in dress and manner the care- 
 less slouch without the easy frankness of a sailor. 
 
 " Well ! " said Sleight without looking up. 
 
 " I was only wantin' to know ef you had any news for 
 me, boss ? " 
 
 " News ? " echoed Sleight as if absently ; " news of 
 what ? " 
 
 "That little matter of the Pontiac we talked about, 
 
412 ^A Ship of Vp- 
 
 boss," returned the Lascar with an uneasy servility in the 
 whites of his teeth and eyes. 
 
 "Oh," said Sleight, "that's played out. It's a regu- 
 lar fraud. It 's an old forecastle yarn, my man, that you 
 can't reel off in the cabin." i» 
 
 The sailor's face darkened. 
 
 "The man who was looking into it has thrown the 
 whole thing up. I tell you it 's played out ! " repeated 
 Sleight, without raising his head. 
 
 "It's true, boss — every word," said the Lascar, with 
 an appealing insinuation that seemed to struggle hard 
 with savage earnestness. " You can swear me, boss ; I 
 would n't lie to a gentleman like you. Your man has n't 
 half looked, or else — it must be there, or " — 
 
 " That's just it," said Sleight slowly; "who's to know 
 that your friends have n't been there already — that seems 
 to have been your style." 
 
 " But no one knew it but me, until I told you, I swear 
 to God. I ain't lying, boss, and I ain't drunk. Say — 
 don't give it up, boss. That man of yours likely don't 
 believe it, because he don't know anything about it. I 
 //^— /could find it." 
 
 A silence followed. Mr. Sleight remained completely 
 absorbed in his papers for some moments. Then glanc- 
 ing at the Lascar, he took his pen, wrote a hurried note, 
 folded it, addressed it, and, holding it between his fingers, 
 leaned back in his chair. 
 
 " If you choose to take this note to my man, he may 
 give it another show. Mind, I don't say that he wilL 
 He 's going to Sacramento to-night, but you could go 
 down there and find him before he starts. He 's got a 
 room there, I believe. While you 're waiting for him, you 
 might keep your eyes open to satisfy yourself." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir," said the sailor, eagerly endeavoring to 
 catch the eye of his employer. But Mr. Sleight looked 
 straight before him, and he turned to go. 
 
A Skip of '4g. 413 
 
 " The Sacramento boat goes at nine/' said Mr. Sleight 
 quietly. 
 
 This time their glances met, and the Lascar's eye glis- 
 tened with subtle intelligence. The next moment he was 
 gone, and Mr. Sleight again became absorbed in his pa- 
 pers. 
 
 Meanwhile Renshaw was making his way back to the 
 Pontiac with that light-hearted optimism that had charac- 
 terized his parting with Sleight. It was this quality of his 
 nature, fostered perhaps by the easy civilization in which 
 he moved, that had originally drawn him into relations 
 with the man he just quitted; a quality that had been 
 troubled and darkened by those relations, yet, when they 
 were broken, at once returned. It consequently did not 
 occur to him that he had only selfishly compromised with 
 the difficulty ; it seemed to him enough that he had with- 
 drawn from a compact he thought dishonorable ; he was 
 not called upon to betray his partner in that compact 
 merely to benefit others. He had been willing to incur 
 suspicion and loss to reinstate himself in his self-respect, 
 more he could not do without justifying that suspicion. 
 The view taken by Sleight was, after all, that which most 
 business men would take — which even the unbusiness- 
 like Nott w^ould take — which the girl herself might be 
 tempted to listen to. Clearly he could do nothing but 
 abandon the Pontiac and her owner to the fate he could 
 not in honor avert. And even that fate was problemati- 
 cal. It did not follow that the treasure was still con- 
 cealed in the Pontiac, nor that Nott would be willing to 
 sell her. He would make some excuse to Nott — he 
 smiled to think he would probably be classed in the long 
 line of absconding tenants — he would say good-by to 
 Rosey, and leave for Sacramento that night. He ascended 
 the stairs to the gangway with a freer breast than when 
 he first entered the ship. 
 
414 -^ Ship of '4g. 
 
 Mr. Nott was evidently absent, and after a quick glance 
 at the half-open cabin-door, Renshaw turned towards the 
 galley. But Miss Rosey was not in her accustomed 
 haunt, and with a feeling of disappointment, which seemed 
 inconsistent with so slight a cause, he crossed the deck 
 impatiently and entered his room. He was about to close 
 the door when the prolonged rustle of a trailing skirt in 
 the passage attracted his attention. The sound was so 
 unlike that made by any garment worn by Rosey that he 
 remained motionless, with his hand on the door. The 
 sound approached nearer, and the next moment a white 
 veiled figure with a trailing skirt slowly swept past the 
 room. Renshaw's pulses halted for an instant in half 
 superstitious awe. As the apparition glided on and van- 
 ished in the cabin-door he could only see that it was the 
 form of a beautiful and graceful woman — but nothing 
 more. Bewildered and curious, he forgot himself so far 
 as to follow it, and impulsively entered the cabin. The 
 figure turned, uttered a little cry, threw the veil aside, 
 and showed the half troubled, half blushing face of 
 Rosey. 
 
 "I — beg — your pardon,^' stammered Renshaw ; " I 
 did n't know it was you." 
 
 " I was trying on some things," said Rosey, recovering 
 her composure and pointing to an open trunk that seemed 
 to contain a theatrical wardrobe — " some things father 
 gave me long ago. I wanted to see if there was anything 
 I could use. I thought I was all alone in the ship, but 
 fancying I heard a noise forward I came out to see what 
 it was. I suppose it must have been you." 
 
 She raised her clear eyes to his, with a slight touch of 
 womanly reserve that was so incompatible with any vulgar 
 vanity or girlish coquetry that he became the more em- 
 barrassed. Her dress, too, of a slightly antique shape, 
 rich but simple, seemed to reveal and accent a certain 
 
A Ship of '4g. 415 
 
 repose of gentlewomanliness, that he was now wishing to 
 believe he had always noticed. Conscious of a superi- 
 ority in her that now seemed to change their relations 
 completely, he alone remained silent, awkward, and em- 
 barrassed before the girl who had taken care of his room, 
 and who cooked in the galley ! What he had thought- 
 lessly considered a merely vulgar business intrigue against 
 her stupid father, now to his extravagant fancy assumed 
 the proportions of a sacrilege to herself. 
 
 " You Ve had your revenge, Miss Nott, for the fright I 
 once gave you,*' he said a little uneasily, "for you quite 
 startled me just now as you passed. I began to think 
 the Pontiac was haunted. I thought you were a ghost. 
 I don't know why such a ghost s\iO\j\^ frighten anybody,'' 
 he went on with a desperate attempt to recover his posi- 
 tion by gallantry. " Let me see — that 's Donna Elvira's 
 dress — is it not ? " 
 
 ** I don't think that was the poor woman's name," said 
 Rosey simply ; " she died of yellow fever at New Orleans 
 as Signora Somebody." 
 
 Her ignorance seemed to Mr. Renshaw so plainly to 
 partake more of the nun than the provincial, that he hesi- 
 tated to explain to her that he meant the heroine of an 
 opera. 
 
 " It seems dreadful to put on the poor thing's clothes, 
 does n't it? " she added. 
 
 Mr. Renshaw's eyes showed so plainly that he thought 
 otherwise, that she drew a little austerely towards the door 
 of her state-room. 
 
 " I must change these things before any one comes," 
 she said dryly. 
 
 " That means I must go, I suppose. But could n't you 
 let me wait here or in the gangway until then. Miss 
 Nott ? I am going away to-night, and I may n't see you 
 again." He had not intended to say this, but it slipped 
 
4i6 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 from his embarrassed tongue. She stopped with her 
 hand on the door. 
 
 " You are going away ? " 
 
 "I — think — I must leave to-night. I have some im- 
 portant business in Sacramento." 
 
 She raised her frank eyes to his. The unmistakable 
 look of disappointment that he saw in them gave his 
 heart a sudden throb and sent the quick blood to his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " It 's too bad," she said, abstractedly. ** Nobody ever 
 seems to stay here long. Captain Bower promised to 
 tell me all about the ship, and he went away the second 
 week. The photographer left before he finished the pic- 
 ture of the Pontiac ; Monsieur de Ferrieres has only just 
 gone ; and now you are going." 
 
 " Perhaps, unlike them, I have finished my season of 
 usefulness here," he replied, with a bitterness he would 
 have recalled the next moment. But Rosey, with a faint 
 sigh, saying, '* I won't be long," entered the state-room 
 and closed the door behind her. 
 
 Renshaw bit his lip and pulled at the long silken 
 threads of his mustache until they smarted. Why had 
 he not gone at once ? Why was it necessary to say he 
 might not see her again — and if he had said it, why 
 should he add anything more ? What was he waiting for 
 now ? To endeavor to prove to her that he really bore 
 no resemblance to Captain Bower, the photographer, the 
 crazy Frenchman De Ferrieres ? Or would he be forced 
 to tell her that he was running away from a conspiracy to 
 defraud her father — merely for something to say ? Was 
 there ever such folly? Rosey was "not long," as she 
 had said, but he was beginning to pace the narrow cabin 
 impatiently when the door opened and she returned. 
 
 She had resumed her ordinary calico gown, but such 
 was the impression left upon Renshaw's fancy that she 
 
A Skip of '4g. 417 
 
 seemed to wear it with a new grace. At any other time 
 he might have recognized the change as due to a new 
 corset, which strict veracity compels me to record Rosey 
 had adopted for the first time that morning. Howbeit, 
 her slight coquetry seemed to have passed, for she closed 
 the open trunk with a return of her old listless air, and 
 sitting on it rested her elbows on her knees and her oval 
 chin in her hands. 
 
 " I wish you would do me a favor,'' she said after a 
 reflective pause. 
 
 " Let me know what it is and it shall be done,'' replied 
 Renshaw quickly. 
 
 " If you should come across Monsieur de Ferrieres, or 
 hear of him, I wish you would let me know. He was 
 very poorly when he left here, and I should like to know 
 if he was better. He did n't say where he was going. 
 At least, he did n't tell father ; but I fancy he and father 
 don't agree." 
 
 " I shall be very glad of having even that opportunity 
 of making you remember me. Miss Nott," returned 
 Renshaw with a faint smile. " I don't suppose either 
 that it would be very difficult to get news of your friend 
 — everybody seems to know him." 
 
 " But not as I did," said Rosey, with an abstracted little 
 sigh. 
 
 Mr. Renshaw opened his brown eyes upon her. Was 
 he mistaken? Was this romantic girl only a little co- 
 quette playing her provincial airs on him ? " You say 
 he and your father did n't agree ? That means, I sup- 
 pose, that you and he agreed ? — and that was the 
 result." 
 
 "I don't think father knew anything about it," said 
 Rosey simply. 
 
 Mr. Renshaw rose. And this was what he had been 
 waiting to hear ! " Perhaps," he said grimly, **you would 
 
41 8 A Skip of VP- 
 
 also like news of the photographer and Captain Bower, 
 or did your father agree with them better ? " 
 
 " No/' said Rosey quietly. She remained silent for a 
 moment, and lifting her lashes said, " Father always 
 seemed to agree with you, and that '' — she hesitated. 
 
 ^'That's v^hyyou don't." 
 
 ** I did n't say that," said Rosey, with an incongruous 
 increase of coldness and color. " I only meant to say 
 it was that which makes it seem so hard you should 
 go now." 
 
 Notwithstanding his previous determination Renshaw 
 found himself sitting down again. Confused and pleased, 
 wishing he had said more — or less — he said nothing, 
 and Rosey was forced to continue. 
 
 " It 's strange, is n't it — but father was urging me this 
 morning to make a visit to some friends at the old Ranch. 
 I did n't want to go. I like it much better here." 
 
 " But you cannot bury yourself here forever, Miss Nott," 
 said Renshaw, with a sudden burst of honest enthusiasm. 
 " Sooner or later you will be forced to go where you will 
 be properly appreciated, where you will be admired and 
 courted, where your slightest wish will be law. Believe 
 me, without flattery, you don't know your own power." 
 
 " It does n't seem strong enough to keep even the little 
 I like here," said Rosey, with a slight glistening of the 
 eyes. " But," she added hastily, "you don't know how 
 much the dear old ship is to me. It 's the only home I 
 think I ever had." 
 
 " But the Ranch ? " said Renshaw. 
 
 " The Ranch seemed to be only the old wagon halted in 
 the road. It was a very little improvement on out-doors," 
 said Rosey, with a little shiver. " But this is so cosy and 
 snug, and yet so strange and foreign. Do you know I 
 think I began to understand why I like it so since you 
 taught me so much about ships and voyages. Before 
 
A Skip of '4g. 419 
 
 that I only learned from books. Books deceive you, I 
 think, more than people do. Don't you think so ? ^* 
 
 She evidently did not notice the quick flush that cov- 
 ered his cheeks and apparently dazzled his troubled eye- 
 lids, for she went on confidentially : 
 
 " I was thinking of you yesterday. I was sitting by the 
 galley door, looking forward. You remember the first 
 day I saw you when you startled me by coming up out of 
 the hatch ? " 
 
 " I wish you would n't think of that," said Renshaw, 
 with more earnestness than he would have made ap- 
 parent. 
 
 " / don't want to, either," said Rosey, gravely, " for 
 I Ve had a strange fancy about it. I saw once, when I 
 was younger, a picture in a print shop in Montgomery 
 Street that haunted me. I think it was called ' The 
 Pirate.' There were a number of wicked-looking sailors 
 lying around the deck, and coming out of the hatch was 
 one figure, with his hands on the deck and a cutlass in his 
 mouth." 
 
 " Thank you," said Renshaw. 
 
 " You don't understand. He was horrid-looking, not 
 at all like you. I never thought of him when I first saw 
 you j but the other day I thought how dreadful it would 
 have been if some one like him and not like you had 
 come up then. That made me nervous sometimes of 
 being alone. I think father is too. He often goes about 
 stealthily at night, as if he was watching for something." 
 
 Renshaw's face grew suddenly dark. Could it be pos- 
 sible that Sleight had always suspected him, and set spies 
 to watch — or was he guilty of some double intrigue ? 
 
 " He thinks," continued Rosey, with a faint smile, 
 " that some one is looking round the ship, and talks of 
 setting bear-traps. I hope you 're not mad, Mr. Ren- 
 shaw," she added, suddenly catching sight of his changed 
 
420 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 expressio', '^ at my foolishness in saying you reminded me 
 of tbrpirate. I meant nothing." 
 
 •^I know you 're incapable of meaning anything but 
 good to anybody, Miss Nott, perhaps to me more than I 
 deserve," said Renshaw, with a sudden burst of feeling. 
 " I wish — I wish — you would do me a favor. You asked 
 me one just now." He had taken her hand. It seemed 
 so like a mere illustration of his earnestness, that she 
 did not withdraw it. " Your father tells you every- 
 thing. If he has any offer to dispose of the ship, will 
 you write to me at once before anything is concluded ? " 
 He winced a little — the sentence of Sleight, " What 's 
 the figure you and she have settled upon ? " flashed across 
 his mind. He scarcely noticed that Rosey had withdrawn 
 her hand coldly. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better speak to father, as it is his 
 business. Besides, I shall not be here. I shall be at the 
 Ranch." 
 
 " But you said you did n't want to go ? " 
 
 " I Ve changed my mind," said Rosey, listlessly. " I 
 shall go to-night." 
 
 She rose as if to indicate that the interview was ended. 
 With an overpowering instinct that his whole future hap- 
 piness depended upon his next act, he made a step 
 towards her, with eager outstretched hands. But she 
 slightly lifted her own with a warning gesture, " I hear 
 father coming — you will have a chance to talk business 
 with him," she said, and vanished into her state-room. 
 
 VL 
 
 The heavy tread of Abner Nott echoed in the passage. 
 Confused and embarrassed, Renshaw remained standing 
 at the door that had closed upon Rosey as her father 
 
A Skip of VP- 421 
 
 entered the cabin. Providence, which always fostered 
 Mr. Nott's characteristic misconceptions, left that per- 
 spicacious parent but one interpretation of the situation. 
 Rosey had evidently just informed Mr. Renshaw that she 
 loved another ! 
 
 " I was just saying good-by to Miss Nott," said Ren- 
 shaw, hastily regaining his composure with an effort. " I 
 am going to Sacramento to-night, and will not return. 
 I" — 
 
 " In course, in course," interrupted Nott, soothingly ; 
 " that *s wot you say now, and that 's wot you allow to do. 
 That 's wot they alius do." 
 
 " I mean," said Renshaw, reddening at what he con- 
 ceived to be an allusion to the absconding propensities 
 of Nott's previous tenants, — "I mean that you shall 
 keep the advance to cover any loss you might suffer 
 through my giving up the rooms." 
 
 " Certingly," said Nott, laying his hand with a large 
 sympathy on Renshaw's shoulder ; " but we '11 drop that 
 just now. We won't swap bosses in the middle of the 
 river. We '11 square up accounts in your room," he 
 added, raising his voice that Rosey might overhear him, 
 after a preliminary wink at the young man. "Yes, sir, 
 we '11 just square up and settle in there. Come along, 
 Mr. Renshaw." Pushing him with paternal gentleness 
 from the cabin, with his hand still upon his shoulder, he 
 followed him into the passage. Half annoyed at his 
 familiarity, yet not altogether displeased by this illustra- 
 tion of Rosey's belief of his preference, Renshaw wonder- 
 ingly accompanied him. Nott closed the door, and push- 
 ing the young man into a chair, deliberately seated himself 
 at the table opposite. " It 's jist as well that Rosey 
 reckons that you and me is settlin' our accounts," he be- 
 gan, cunningly, " and mebbee it 's just ez well ez she 
 should reckon you 're goin' away." 
 
42 2 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 "But I am going," interrupted Renshaw, impatiently. 
 " I leave to-night/^ 
 
 "Surely, surely," said Nott, gently, "that's wot you 
 kalkilate to do ; that 's just natural in a young feller. 
 That's about what I reckon /Vhev done to her mother 
 if anythin' like this hed ever cropped up, which it did n't. 
 Not but what Ahniry Jane had young fellers enough 
 round her, but, 'cept ole Judge Peter, ez was lamed in 
 the War of 1812, there ain't no similarity ez I kin see," 
 he added, musingly. 
 
 "I am afraid I can't see any similarity either, Mr. 
 Nott," said Renshaw, struggling between a dawning sense 
 of some impending absurdity and his growing passion for 
 Rosey. "For Heaven's sake, speak out if you've got 
 anything to say." 
 
 Mr. Nott leaned forward and placed his large hand on 
 the young man's shoulder. " That 's it. That 's what I 
 sed to myself when I seed how things were pintin'. 
 * Speak out,' sez I, ' Abner ! Speak out if you've got 
 anything to say. You kin trust this yer Mr. Renshaw. 
 He ain't the kind of man to creep into the bosom of a 
 man's ship for pupposes of his own. He ain't a man 
 that would hunt round until he discovered a poor man's 
 treasure, and then try to rob ' " — 
 
 " Stop ! " said Renshaw, with a set face and darkening 
 eyes. " What treasure ? what man are you speaking 
 of?" 
 
 "Why Rosey and Mr. Ferrers," returned Nott, simply. 
 
 Renshaw sank into his seat again. But the expression 
 of relief which here passed swiftly over his face gave way 
 to one of uneasy interest as Nott went on. 
 
 " P'r'aps it 's a little high-falutin' talkin' of Rosey ez a 
 treasure. But, considerin', Mr. Renshaw, ez she 's the 
 only prop'ty I 've kept by me for seventeen years ez hez 
 paid interest and increased in valoo, it ain't sayin' too 
 
A Ship of '4g. 423 
 
 much to call her so. And ez Ferrers knows this, he 
 oughter been content with gougin' me in that horse-hair 
 spec, without goin' for Rosey. P'r^aps yer surprised at 
 hearing me speak o' my own flesh and blood ez if I was 
 talkin' hoss-trade, but you and me is business men, Mr. 
 Renshaw, and we discusses ez such. We ain't goin' to 
 slosh round and slop over in po'try and sentiment," con- 
 tinued Nott, with a tremulous voice, and a hand that 
 slightly shook on Renshaw's shoulder. " We ain't goin' to 
 git up and sing, * Thou 'st larned to love another thou 'st 
 broken every vow we 've parted from each other and my 
 bozom 's lonely now oh is it well to sever such hearts as 
 ourn forever kin I forget thee never farewell farewell fare- 
 well.' Ye never happen'd to hear Jim Baker sing that at 
 the moosic hall on Dupont Street, Mr. Renshaw," con- 
 tinued Mr. Nott, enthusiastically, when he had recovered 
 from that complete absence of punctuation which alone 
 suggested verse to his intellect. " He sorter struck water 
 down here," indicating his heart, " every time." 
 
 " But what has Miss Nott to do with M. de Ferrieres ? " 
 asked Renshaw, with a faint smile. 
 
 Mr. Nott regarded him with dumb, round, astonished 
 eyes. *^ Hez n't she told yer ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 '* And she did n't let on anythin' about him ? " he con- 
 tinued, feebly. 
 
 " She said she 'd like to know where " — He stopped, 
 with the reflection that he was betraying her confidences. 
 
 A dim foreboding of some new form of deceit, to which 
 even the man before him was a consenting party, almost 
 paralyzed Nott's faculties. "Then she did n't tell yer 
 that she and Ferrers was sparkin' and keepin' kimpany 
 together; that she and him was engaged, and was kalki- 
 latin' to run away to furrin parts ; that she cottoned to him 
 more than to the ship or her father ? " 
 
424 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 " She certainly did not, and I should n't believe it," 
 said Renshaw, quickly. 
 
 Nott smiled. He was amused ; he astutely recognized 
 the usual trustfulness of love and youth. There was 
 clearly no deceit here ! Renshaw's attentive eyes saw 
 the smile, and his brow darkened. 
 
 " I like to hear yer say that, Mr. Renshaw," said Nott, 
 " and it 's no more than Rosey deserves, ez it 's suthing 
 onnat'ral and spell - like that 's come over her through 
 Ferrers. It ain't my Rosey. But it's Gospel truth, 
 whether she 's bewitched or not ; whether it 's them damn 
 fool stories she reads — and it 's like ez not he 's just the 
 kind o' snipe to write 'em hisself, and sorter advertise 
 hisself, don't yer see — she 's alius stuck up for him. 
 They 've had clandesent interviews, and when I taxed 
 him with it he ez much ez allowed it was so, and reck- 
 oned he must leave, so ez he could run her off, you know 
 — kinder stampede her with ^ honor.' Them 's his very 
 words." 
 
 " But that is all past ; he is gone, and Miss Nott does 
 not even know where he is ! " said Renshaw, with a laugh, 
 which, however, concealed a vague uneasiness. 
 
 Mr. Nott rose and opened the door carefully. When 
 he had satisfied himself that no one was listening, he 
 came back and said in a whisper, " That 's a lie. Not ez 
 Rosey means to lie, but it 's a trick he 's put upon that 
 poor child. That man, Mr. Renshaw, hez been hangin' 
 round the Pontiac ever since. I 've seed him twice with 
 my own eyes pass the cabin windys. More than that, 
 I Ve heard strange noises at night, and seen strange faces 
 ^in the alley over yer. And only jist now ez I kem in I 
 ketched sight of a furrin-lookin' Chinee nigger slinking 
 round the back door of what useter be Ferrers' loft." 
 
 " Did he look like a sailor ? " asked Renshaw quickly, 
 with a return of his former suspicion. 
 
A Ship of '4g. 425 
 
 "Not more than I do," said Nott, glancing compla- 
 cently at his pea-jacket. " He had rings on his yeers like 
 a wench." 
 
 Mr. Renshaw started. But seeing Nott's eyes fixed on 
 him, he said lightly, "" But what have these strange faces 
 and this strange man — probably only a Lascar sailor 
 out of a job — to do with Ferrieres ? " 
 
 " Friends o' his — feller furrin citizens — spies on 
 Rosey, don't you see 1 But they can't play the old man, 
 Mr. Renshaw. I 've told Rosey she must make a visit 
 to the old Ranch. Once I 've got her thar safe, I reckon 
 I kin manage Mr. Ferrers and any number of Chinee nig- 
 gers he kin bring along." 
 
 Renshaw remained for a few moments lost in thought. 
 Then rising suddenly, he grasped Mr. Nott's hand with a 
 frank smile but determined eyes. " I have n't got the 
 hang of this, Mr. Nott — the whole thing gets me ! I 
 only know that I 've changed my mind. I 'm not going 
 to Sacramento. I shall stay here, old man, until I see 
 you safe through the business, or my name 's not Dick 
 Renshaw. There 's my hand on it ! Don't say a word. 
 Maybe it is no more than I ought to do — perhaps not 
 half enough. Only remember, not a word of this to 
 your daughter. She must believe that I leave to-night. 
 And the sooner you get her out of this cursed ship the 
 better." 
 
 '* Deacon Flint's girls are goin' up in to-night's boat. 
 I '11 send Rosey with them," said Nott, with a cunning 
 twinkle. Renshaw nodded. Nott seized his hand with a 
 wink of unutterable significance. 
 
 Left to himself, Renshaw tried to review more calmly 
 the circumstances in these strange revelations that had 
 impelled him to change his resolution so suddenly. That 
 the ship was under the surveillance of unknown parties, 
 and that the description of them tallied with his own 
 
426 A Ship of '^g. 
 
 knowledge of a certain Lascar sailor, who was one of 
 Sleight's informants — seemed to be more than proba- 
 ble. That this seemed to point to Sleight's disloyalty 
 to himself while he was acting as his agent, or a double 
 treachery on the part of Sleight's informants, was in either 
 case a reason and an excuse for his own interference. 
 But the connection of the absurd Frenchman with the 
 case, which at first seemed a characteristic imbecility of 
 his landlord, bewildered him the more he thought of it. 
 Rejecting any hypothesis of the girl's affection for the 
 antiquated figure whose sanity was a question of public 
 criticism, he was forced to the equally alarming theory 
 that Ferrieres was cognizant of the treasure, and that 
 his attentions to Rosey were to gain possession of it by 
 marrying her. Might she not be dazzled by a picture of 
 this wealth ? Was it not possible that she was already 
 in part possession of the secret, and her strange attrac- 
 tion to the ship, and what he had deemed her innocent 
 craving for information concerning it, a consequence ? 
 Why had he not thought of this before ? Perhaps she 
 had detected his purpose from the first, and had deliber- 
 ately checkmated him. The thought did not increase his 
 complacency as Nott s^^ftly returned : 
 
 " It 's all right," he began with a certain satisfaction 
 in this rare opportunity for Machiavellian diplomacy, 
 " it 's all fixed now. Ro ' y tumbled to it at once, partik- 
 lerly when I said you was bound to go. * But wot makes 
 Mr. Renshaw go, father,' sez she ; * wot makes everybody 
 run away from the ship ? ' sez she, rather peart-like and 
 sassy for her. * Mr. Renshaw hez contractin' business,' 
 sez I j * got a big thing up in Sacramento that '11 make 
 his fortun',' sez I — for I was n't goin' to give yer away, 
 don't ye see ? * He had some business to talk to you 
 about the ship,' sez she, lookin' at me under the corner 
 of her pocket-handkerchief. * Lots o' business,' sez I. 
 
A Ship of '4g. 427 
 
 * Then I reckon he don't care to hev me write to him,' 
 sez she. * Not a bit/ sez I; * he wouldn't answer ye if 
 ye did. Ye '11 never hear from that chap agin.' " 
 
 " But what the devil " — interrupted the young man 
 impetuously. 
 
 " Keep yer hair on ! " remonstrated the old man with 
 dark intelligence. " Ef you 'd seen the way she flounced 
 into her state-room ! — she, Rosey, ez alius moves ez 
 softly ez a spirit — you 'd hev wished I 'd hev unloaded 
 a little more. No sir, gals is gals in some things all the 
 time." 
 
 Renshaw rose and paced the room rapidly. " Perhaps 
 I 'd better speak to her again before she goes," he said, 
 impulsively. 
 
 " P'r'aps you 'd better not," replied the imperturbable 
 Nott. 
 
 Irritated as he was, Renshaw could not avoid the re- 
 flection that the old man was right. What, indeed, could 
 he say to her with his present imperfect knowledge.'* 
 How could she write to him if that knowledge was cor- 
 rect ? 
 
 " Ef," said Nott, kindly, with a laying on of large bene- 
 dictory and paternal hands, " ef yc 're willin' to see Rosey 
 agin, without speakin' to her, I reckon I ken fix it for yer. 
 I 'm goin' to take her down to ^e boat in half an hour. 
 Ef yer should happen — mind, '~'' yer should happen to be 
 down there, seein' some friends off and sorter promenad- 
 in' up and down the wharf like them high-toned chaps on 
 Montgomery Street — ye might ketch her eye unconscious 
 like. Or, ye might do this ! " He rose after a moment's 
 cogitation and with a face of profound mystery opened 
 the door and beckoned Renshaw to follow him. Leading 
 the way cautiously, he brought the young man into an 
 open unpartitioned recess beside her state-room. It 
 seemed to be used as*a store-room, and Renshaw's eye 
 
428 A Skip of VP- 
 
 was caught by a trunk the size and shape of the one that 
 had provided Rosey with the materials of her masquerade. 
 Pointing to it, Mr. Nott said in a grave whisper : " This 
 yer trunk is the companion trunk to Rosey's. She ^s got 
 the things them opery women wears ; this yer contains the 
 he things, the duds and fixins o' the men o' the same 
 stripe." Throwing it open he continued : " Now, Mr. 
 Renshaw, gals is gals; it's nat'ral they should be took 
 by fancy dress and store clothes on young chaps as on 
 theirselves. That man Ferrers hez got the dead wood on 
 all of ye in this sort of thing, and hez been playing, so to 
 speak, a lone hand all along. And ef thar 's anythin' in 
 thar," he added, lifting part of a theatrical wardrobe, 
 "that you think you'd fancy — anythin' you 'd like to put 
 on when ye promenade the wharf down yonder — it's 
 yours. Don't ye be bashful, but help yourself." 
 
 It was fully a minute before Renshaw fairly grasped 
 the old man's meaning. But when he did — when the 
 suggested spectacle of himself arrayed a la Ferrieres, 
 gravely promenading the wharf as a last gorgeous appeal 
 to the affections of Rosey, rose before his fancy, he gave 
 way to a fit of genuine laughter. The nervous tension of 
 the past few hours relaxed ; he laughed until the tears 
 came into his eyes ; he was still laughing when the door of 
 the cabin suddenly opened and Rosey appeared cold and 
 distant on the threshold. 
 
 *^ I — beg your pardon," stammered Renshaw hastily. 
 " I did n't mean — to disturb you — I " — 
 
 Without looking at him Rosey turned to her father. 
 "I am ready," she said coldly, and closed the door again. 
 
 A glance of artful intelligence came into Nott's eyes, 
 which had remained blankly staring at Renshaw's appar- 
 ently causeless hilarity. Turning to him he winked sol- 
 emnly. " That keerless kind o' hoss-laff jist fetched her," 
 he whispered, and vanished before liis chagrined compan- 
 ion could reply. 
 
A Skip of '49. • 429 
 
 When Mr. Nott and his daughter departed, Renshaw 
 was not in the ship, neither did he make a spectacular 
 appearance on the wharf as Mr. Nott had fondly expected, 
 nor did he turn up again until after nine o'clock, when he 
 found the old man in the cabin awaiting his return with 
 some agitation. " A minit ago,'* he said, mysteriously 
 closing the door behind Renshaw, " I heard a voice in the 
 passage, and goin' out, who should I see agin but that 
 darned furrin nigger ez I told yer 'bout, kinder hidin' in 
 the dark, his eyes shinin' like a catamount. I was jist 
 reachin' for my weppins when he riz up with a grin and 
 handed me this yer letter. I told him I reckoned you 'd 
 gone to Sacramento, but he said he wez sure you was in 
 your room, and to prove it I went thar. But when I kem 
 back the d — d skunk had vamosed — got frightened I 
 reckon — and was n't nowhar to be seen." 
 
 Renshaw took the letter hastily. It contained only a 
 line in Sleight's hand. ** If you change your mind, the 
 bearer may be of service to you." 
 
 He turned abruptly to Nott. "You say it was the 
 same Lascar you saw before ? " 
 
 "It was." 
 
 " Then all I can say is, he is no agent of De Ferrieres'," 
 said Renshaw, turning away with a disappointed air. Mr. 
 Nott would have asked another question, but with an 
 abrupt " Good-night " the young man entered his room, 
 locked the door, and threw himself on his bed to reflect 
 without interruption. 
 
 But if he was in no mood to stand Nott's fatuous con- 
 jectures, he was less inclined to be satisfied with his own. 
 Had he been again carried away through his impulses 
 evoked by the caprices of a pretty coquette and the absurd 
 theories of her half imbecile father ? Had he broken faith 
 with Sleight and remained in the ship for nothing, and 
 would not his change of resolution appear to be the result 
 
430 A Skip of '^g. 
 
 of Sleight's note ? But why had the Lascar been haunt- 
 ing the ship before ? In the midst of these conjectures 
 he fell asleep. 
 
 VII. _ 
 
 Between three and four in the morning the clouds 
 broke over the Pontiac, and the moon, riding high, 
 picked out in black and silver the long hulk that lay 
 cradled between the iron shells and warehouses and the 
 wooden frames and tenements on either side. The gal- 
 ley and covered gangway presented a mass of undefined 
 shadow, against which the white deck shone brightly, 
 stretching to the forecastle and bows, where the tiny glass 
 roof of the photographer glistened like a gem in the 
 Pontiac's crest. So peaceful and motionless she lay 
 that she might have been some petrifaction of a past age 
 now first exhumed and laid bare to the cold light of the 
 stars. 
 
 Nevertheless, this calm security was presently invaded 
 by a sense of stealthy life and motion. What had seemed 
 a fixed shadow suddenly detached itself from the deck 
 and began to slip stanchion by stanchion along the bul- 
 warks toward the companion-way. At the cabin-door it 
 halted and crouched motionless. Then rising, it glided 
 forward with the same staccato movement until opposite 
 the slight elevation of the forehatch. Suddenly it darted 
 to the hatch, unfastened and lifted it with a swift, familiar 
 dexterity, and disappeared in the opening. But as the 
 moon shone upon its vanishing face, it revealed the whit- 
 ening eyes and teeth of the Lascar seaman. 
 
 Dropping to the lower deck lightly, he felt his way 
 through the dark passage between the partitions, evident- 
 ly less familiar to him, halting before each door to listen. 
 
A Ship of '4g. 431 
 
 Returning forward he reached the second hatchway that 
 had attracted Rosey's attention, and noiselessly unclosed 
 its fastenings. A penetrating smell of bilge arose from 
 the opening. Drawing a small bull's-eye lantern from his 
 breast he lit it, and unhesitatingly let himself down to the 
 further depth. The moving flash of his light revealed 
 the recesses of the upper hold, the abyss of the well 
 amidships, and glanced from the shining backs of moving 
 zigzags of rats that seemed to outline the shadowy beams 
 and transoms. Disregarding those curious spectators of 
 his movements, he turned his attention eagerly to the 
 inner casings of the hold, that seemed in one spot to have 
 been strengthened by fresh timbers. Attacking this 
 stealthily with the aid of some tools hidden in his oil-skin 
 clothing, in the light of the lantern he bore a fanciful 
 resemblance to the predatory animals around him. The 
 low continuous sound of rasping and gnawing of timber 
 which followed heightened the resemblance. At the end 
 of a few minutes he had succeeded in removing enough 
 of the outer planking to show that the entire filling of the 
 casing between the stanchions was composed of small 
 boxes. Dragging out one of them with feverish eagerness 
 to the light, the Lascar forced it open. In the rays of 
 the bulFs-eye, a wedged mass of discolored coins showed 
 with a lurid glow. The story of the Pontiac was true — 
 the treasure was there ! 
 
 But Mr. Sleight had overlooked the logical effect of this 
 discovery on the natural villainy of his tool. In the very 
 moment of his triumphant execution of his patron's sug- 
 gestions the idea of keeping the treasure to himself flashed 
 upon his mind. He had discovered it — why should 
 he give it up to anybody ? He had run all the risks ; if he 
 were detected at that moment, who would believe that his 
 purpose there at midnight was only to satisfy some one 
 else that the treasure was still intact t No. The circum- 
 
432 A Skip of '^p. 
 
 stances were propitious ; he would get the treasure out of 
 the ship at once, drop it over her side, hastily conceal it 
 in the nearest lot adjacent, and take it away at his con- 
 venience. Who would be the wiser for it? 
 
 But it was necessary to reconnoiter first. He knew 
 that the loft overhead was empty. He knew that it com- 
 municated with the alley, for he had tried the door that 
 morning. He would convey the treasure there and drop 
 it into the alley. The boxes were heavy. Each one 
 would require a separate journey to the ship's side, but he 
 would at least secure something if he were interrupted. 
 He stripped the casing, and gathered the boxes together 
 in a pile. 
 
 Ah, yes, it was funny too that he — the Lascar hound 
 — the d — d nigger — should get what bigger and bul- 
 lier men than he had died for ! The mate's blood was 
 on those boxes, if the salt water had not washed it out. 
 It was a hell of a fight when they dragged the captain — 
 Oh, what was that } Was it the splash of a rat in the bilge, 
 or what ? 
 
 A superstitious terror had begun to seize him at the 
 thought of blood. The stifling hold seemed again filled 
 with struggling figures he had known, the air thick with 
 cries and blasphemies that he had forgotten. He rose to 
 his feet, and running quickly to the hatchway, leaped to 
 the deck above. All was quiet. The door leading to the 
 empty loft yielded to his touch. He entered, and, gliding 
 through, unbarred and opened the door that gave upon 
 the alley. The cold air and moonlight flowed in silently ; 
 the way of escape was clear. Bah ! He would go back 
 for the treasure. 
 
 He had reached the passage when the door he had just 
 opened was suddenly darkened. Turning rapidly, he was 
 conscious of a gaunt figure, grotesque, silent, and erect, 
 looming on the threshold between him and the sky. Hid- 
 
A Ship of '49. 433 
 
 den in the shadow, he made a stealthy step towards it, 
 with an iron wrench in his uplifted hand. But the next 
 moment his eyes dilated with superstitious horror ; the 
 iron fell from his hand, and with a scream, like a fright- 
 ened animal, he turned and fled into the passage. In the 
 first access of his blind terror he tried to reach the deck 
 above through the forehatch, but was stopped by the 
 sound of a heavy tread overhead. The immediate fear 
 of detection now overcame his superstition ; he would 
 have even faced the apparition again to escape through 
 the loft ; but, before he could return there, other footsteps 
 approached rapidly from the end of the passage he would 
 have to traverse. There was but one chance of escape 
 left now — the forehold he had just quitted. He might 
 hide there until the alarm was over. He glided back to 
 the hatch, lifted it, and closed it softly over his head as 
 the upper hatch was simultaneously raised, and the small 
 round eyes of Abner Nott peered down upon it. The 
 other footsteps proved to be Renshaw's, but, attracted by 
 the open door of the loft, he turned aside and entered. 
 As soon as he disappeared Mr. Nott cautiously dropped 
 through the opening to the deck below, and, going to the 
 other hatch through which the Lascar had vanished, de- 
 liberately refastened it. In a few moments Renshaw re- 
 turned with a light, and found the old man sitting on the 
 hatch. 
 
 " The loft-door was open," said Renshaw. " There 's 
 little doubt whoever was here escaped that way." 
 
 " Surely," said Nott. There was a peculiar look of 
 Machiavellian sagacity in his face which irritated Ren- 
 shaw. 
 
 " Then you 're sure it was Ferrieres you saw pass by 
 your window before you called me ? " he asked. 
 
 Nott nodded his head with an expression of infinite 
 profundity. 
 
434 -^ ^^^P ^f VP- 
 
 " But you say he was going from the ship. Then it 
 could not have been he who made the noise we heard 
 down here." 
 
 "Mebbee no, and mebbee yes," returned Nott, cau- 
 tiously. 
 
 " But if he was already concealed inside the ship, as 
 that open door, which you say you barred from the inside, 
 would indicate, what the devil did he want with this t " 
 said Renshaw, producing the monkey - wrench he had 
 picked up. 
 
 Mr. Nott examined the tool carefully, and shook his 
 head with momentous significance. Nevertheless, his 
 eyes wandered to the hatch on which he was seated. 
 
 "Did you find anything disturbed there V said Ren- 
 shaw, following the direction of his eye. " Was that hatch 
 fastened as it is now ? " 
 
 "It was," said Nott, calmly. "But ye wouldn't mind 
 fetchin' me a hammer and some o' them big nails from 
 the locker, would yer, while I hang round here just so ez 
 to make sure against another attack." 
 
 Renshaw complied with his request ; but as Nott pro- 
 ceeded to gravely nail down the fastenings of the hatch, 
 he turned impatiently away to complete his examination 
 of the ship. The doors of the other lofts and their fasten- 
 ings appeared secure and undisturbed. Yet it was un- 
 deniable that a felonious entrance had been made, but 
 by whom or for what purpose, still remained uncertain. 
 Even now, Renshaw found it difficult to accept Nott's 
 theory that De Ferrieres was the aggressor and Rosey 
 the object, nor could he justify his own suspicion that 
 the Lascar had obtained a surreptitious entrance under 
 Sleight's directions. With a feeling that if Rosey had 
 been present he would have confessed all, and demanded 
 from her an equal confidence, he began to hate his feeble, 
 purposeless, and inefficient alliance with her father, who 
 
A Ship of '49. 435 
 
 believed but dared not tax his daughter with complicity 
 in this outrage. What could be done with a man whose 
 only idea of action at such a moment was to nail up an 
 undisturbed entrance in his invaded house ! He was so 
 preoccupied with these thoughts that when Nott rejoined 
 him in the cabin he scarcely heeded his presence, and 
 was entirely oblivious of the furtive looks which the old 
 man from time to time cast upon his face. 
 
 '*I reckon ye would n't mind," broke in Nott, sud- 
 denly, " ef I asked a favor of ye, Mr. Renshaw. Meb- 
 bee ye '11 allow it 's askin' too much in the matter of ex- 
 pense ; mebbee ye '11 allow it 's askin' too much in the 
 matter o' time. But / kalkilate to pay all the expense, 
 and if you 'd let me know what yer vally yer time at, I 
 reckon I could stand that. What I 'd be askin' is this. 
 Would ye mind takin' a letter from me to Rosey, and 
 bringin' back an answer ? " 
 
 Renshaw stared speechlessly at this absurd realization 
 of his wish of a moment before. " I don't think I un- 
 derstand you," he stammered. 
 
 " P'r'aps not," returned Nott, with great gravity. " But 
 that 's not so much matter to you ez your time and ex- 
 penses." 
 
 " I meant I should be glad to go if I can be of any 
 service to you," said Renshaw, hastily. 
 
 " You kin ketch the seven-o'clock boat this morning, 
 and you '11 reach San Rafael at ten " — 
 
 " But I thought Miss Rosey went to Petaluma," inter- 
 rupted Renshaw quickly. 
 
 Nott regarded him with an expression of patronizing 
 superiority. " That 's what we ladled out to the public 
 gin'rally, and to Ferrers and his gang in partickler. We 
 said Petalumey, but if you go to Madrono Cottage, San 
 Rafael, you '11 find Rosey than" 
 
 If Mr. Renshaw required anything more to convince 
 
436 A Ship of Vp- 
 
 him of the necessity of coming to some understanding 
 with Rosey at once it would have been this last evidence 
 of her father's utterly dark and supremely inscrutable 
 designs. He assented quickly, and Nott handed him a 
 note. 
 
 " Ye '11 be partickler to give this inter her own hands, 
 and wait for an answer," said Nott gravely. 
 
 Resisting the proposition to enter then and there into 
 an elaborate calculation of the value of his time and the 
 expenses of the trip, Renshaw found himself at seven 
 o'clock on the San Rafael boat. Brief as was the jour- 
 ney it gave him time to reflect upon his coming interview 
 with Rosey. He had resolved to begin by confessing 
 all ; the attempt of last night had released him from any 
 sense of duty to Sleight. Besides, he did not doubt that 
 Nott's letter contained some reference to this affair only 
 known to Nott's dark and tortuous intelligence. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Madrono Cottage lay at the entrance of a little Canada 
 already green with the early winter rains, and nestled in 
 a thicket of the harlequin painted trees that gave it a 
 name. The young man was a little relieved to find that 
 Rosey had gone to the post-office a mile away, and that 
 he would probably overtake her or meet her returning — 
 alone. The road — little more than a trail — wound 
 along the crest of the hill looking across the Canada to 
 the long, dark, heavily-wooded flank of Mount Tamalpais 
 that rose from the valley a dozen miles away. A cessa- 
 tion of the warm rain, a rift in the sky, and the rare spec- 
 tacle of cloud scenery, combined with a certain sense of 
 freedom, restored that light-hearted gayety that became 
 him most. At a sudden turn of the road he caught sight 
 
A Ship of '4g. 437 
 
 of Rosey's figure coming towards him, and quickened his 
 step with the impulsiveness of a boy. But she suddenly 
 disappeared, and when he again saw her she was on the 
 other side of the trail apparently picking the leaves of a 
 manzanita. She had already seen him. 
 
 Somehow the frankness of his greeting was checked. 
 She looked up at him with cheeks that retained enough 
 of their color to suggest why she had hesitated, and said, 
 " You here, Mr. Renshaw .? I thought you were in Sac- 
 ramento." 
 
 ** And I thought you were in Petaluma,'' he retorted 
 gayly. " I have a letter from your father. The fact is, 
 one of those gentlemen who has been haunting the ship 
 actually made an entry last night. Who he was, and 
 what he came for, nobody knows. Perhaps your father 
 gives you his suspicions." He could not help looking at 
 her narrowly as he handed her the note. Except that 
 her pretty eyebrows were slightly raised in curiosity she 
 seemed undisturbed as she opened the letter. Presently 
 she raised her eyes to his. 
 
 " Is this all father gave you ? " 
 
 « All." 
 
 " You 're sure you have n't dropped anything ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I have given you all he gave me." 
 
 "And that is all it is." She exhibited the missive, a 
 perfectly blank sheet of paper folded like a note ! 
 
 Renshaw felt the angry blood glow in his cheeks. 
 " This is unpardonable ! I assure you, Miss Nott, there 
 must be some mistake. He himself has probably forgot- 
 ten the inclosure," he continued, yet with an inward con- 
 viction that the act was perfectly premeditated on the 
 part of the old man. 
 
 The young girl held out her hand frankly. "Don't 
 think any more of it, Mr. Renshaw. Father is forgetful 
 at times. But tell me about last night." 
 
438 A Ship of '^9. 
 
 In a few words Mr. Renshaw briefly but plainly related 
 the details of the attempt upon the Pontiac, from the mo- 
 ment that he had been awakened by Nott, to his discovery 
 of the unknown trespasser's flight by the open door to 
 the loft. When he had finished, he hesitated, and then 
 taking Rosey's hand, said impulsively, "You will not be 
 angry with me if I tell you all .? Your father firmly be- 
 lieves that the attempt was made by the old Frenchman, 
 De Ferrieres, with a view of carrying you off." 
 
 A dozen reasons other than the one her father would 
 have attributed it to might have called the blood to her 
 face. But only innocence could have brought the look 
 of astonished indignation to her eyes as she answered 
 quickly : 
 
 " So that was what you were laughing at ? " 
 
 " Not that, Miss Nott," said the young man eagerly ; 
 " though I wish to God I could accuse myself of nothing 
 more disloyal. Do not speak, I beg," he added impa- 
 tiently, as Rosey was about to reply. " I have no right 
 to hear you ; I have no right to even stand in your pres- 
 ence until I have confessed everything. I came to the 
 Pontiac ; I made your acquaintance. Miss Nott, through 
 a fraud as wicked as anything your father charges to De 
 Ferrieres. I am not a contractor. I never was an hon- 
 est lodger in the Pontiac. I was simply a spy." 
 
 " But you did n't mean to be — it was some mistake, 
 was n't it 1 " said Rosey, quite white, but more from sym- 
 pathy with the offender's emotion than horror at the 
 offense. 
 
 " I am afraid I did mean it. But bear with me for 
 a few moments longer and you shall know all. It's a 
 long story. Will you walk on, and — take my arm } 
 You do not shrink from me. Miss Nott. Thank you. I 
 scarcely deserve the kindness." 
 
 Indeed so little did Rosey shrink that he was conscious 
 
A Ship of '4g. 439 
 
 of a slight reassuring pressure on his arm as they moved 
 forward, and for the moment I fear the young man felt 
 like exaggerating his offense for the sake of proportion- 
 ate sympathy. " Do you remember," he continued, ** one 
 evening when I told you some sea tales, you said you al- 
 ways thought there must be some story about the Pon- 
 tiac ? There was a story of the Pontiac, Miss Nott — 
 a wicked story — a terrible story — which I might have 
 told you, which I ought to have told you — which was 
 the story that brought me there. You were right, too, 
 in saying that you thought I had known the Pontiac be- 
 fore I stepped first on her deck that day. I had." 
 
 He laid his disengaged hand across lightly on Rosey's, 
 as if to assure himself that she was listening. 
 
 " I was at that time a sailor. I had been fool enough 
 to run away from college, thinking it a fine romantic thing 
 to ship before the mast for a voyage round the world. I 
 was a little disappointed, perhaps, but I made the best 
 of it, and in two years I was the second mate of a whaler 
 lying in a little harbor of one of the uncivilized islands of 
 the Pacific. While we were at anchor there a French 
 trading vessel put in, apparently for water. She had the 
 dregs of a mixed crew of Lascars and Portuguese, who 
 said they had lost the rest of their men by desertion, and 
 that the captain and mate had been carried off by fever. 
 There was something so queer m their story that our 
 skipper took the law in his own hands, and put me on 
 board of her with a salvage crew. But that night the 
 French crew mutinied, cut the cables, and would have 
 got to sea if we had not been armed and prepared, and 
 managed to drive them below. When we had got them 
 .under hatches for a few hours they parleyed, and offered 
 to go quietly ashore. As we were short of hands and un- 
 able to take them with us, and as we had no evidence 
 against them, we let them go, took the ship to Callao, 
 
440 A Ship of '^p. 
 
 turned her over to the authorities, lodged a claim for sal- 
 vage, and continued our voyage. When we returned 
 we found the truth of the story was known. She had 
 been a French trader from Marseilles, owned by her cap- 
 tain ; her crew had mutinied in the Pacific, killed their 
 officers and the only passenger — the owner of the cargo. 
 They had made away with the cargo and a treasure of 
 nearly half a million of Spanish gold for trading purposes 
 which belonged to the passenger. In course of time the 
 ship was sold for salvage and put into the South Ameri- 
 can trade until the breaking out of the Californian gold 
 excitement, when she was sent with a cargo to San Fran- 
 cisco. That ship was the Pontiac which your father 
 bought." 
 
 A slight shudder ran through the girl's frame. "I 
 wish — I wish you had n't told me," she said. " I shall 
 never close my eyes again comfortably on board of her, I 
 know." 
 
 " I would say that you had purified her of all stains of 
 her past — but there may be one that remains. And that 
 in most people's eyes would be no detraction. You look 
 puzzled. Miss Nott — but I am coming to the explanation 
 and the end of my story. A ship of war was sent to the 
 island to punish the mutineers and pirates, for such they 
 were, but they could not be found. A private expedition 
 was sent to discover the treasure which they were sup- 
 posed to have buried, but in vain. About two months ago 
 Mr. Sleight told me one of his shipmasters had sent 
 him a Lascar sailor who had to dispose of a valuable 
 secret regarding the Pontiac for a percentage. That 
 secret was that the treasure was never taken by the muti- 
 neers out of the Pontiac ! They were about to land and 
 bury it when we boarded them. They took advantage of 
 their imprisonment under hatches to bury it in the ship. 
 They hid it in the hold so securely and safely that it was 
 
A Ship of '4g. 441 
 
 never detected by us or the Callao authorities. I was 
 then asked, as one who knew the vessel, to undertake a 
 private examination of her, with a view of purchasing her 
 from your father without awakening his suspicions. I as- 
 sented. You have my confession now, Miss Nott. You 
 know my crime. I am at your mercy." 
 
 Rosey's arm only tightened around his own. Her eyes 
 sought his. " And you did n't find anything 1 " she 
 said. 
 
 The question sounded so oddly like Sleight's, that Ren- 
 shaw returned a little stiffly : 
 
 " I did n't look." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Rosey simply. 
 
 " Because," stammered Renshaw, with an uneasy con- 
 sciousness of having exaggerated his sentiment, " it 
 did n't seem honorable ; it did n't seem fair to you." 
 
 " Oh you silly ! you might have looked and told me.^^ 
 
 " But," said Renshaw, " do you think that would have 
 been fair to Sleight ? " 
 
 " As fair to him as to us. For, don't you see, it would n't 
 belong to any of us. It would belong to the friends or 
 the family of the man who lost it." 
 
 " But there were no heirs," replied Renshaw. " That 
 was proved by some impostor who pretended to be his 
 brother, and libelled the Pontiac at Callao, but the courts 
 decided he was a lunatic." 
 
 " Then it belongs to the poor pirates who risked their 
 own lives for it, rather than to Sleight, who did nothing." 
 She was silent for a moment, and then resumed with 
 energy, " I believe he was at the bottom of that attack 
 last night." 
 
 " I have thought so too," said Renshaw. 
 
 " Then I must go back at once," she continued, im- 
 pulsively. " Father must not be left alone." 
 
 " Nor must you^^^ said Renshaw, quickly. " Do let me 
 
442 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 return with you, and share with^you and your father the 
 trouble I have brought upon you. Do not/' he added 
 in a lower tone, " deprive me of the only chance of expi- 
 ating my offense, of making myself worthy your forgive- 
 ness." 
 
 " I am sure," said Rosey, lowering her lids and half 
 withdrawing her arm, " I am sure I have nothing to for- 
 give. You did not believe the treasure belonged to us 
 any more than to anybody else, until you knew me " — 
 
 " That is true," said the young man, attempting to take 
 her hand. 
 
 "I mean," said Rosey, blushing, and showing a dis- 
 tracting row of little teeth in one of her infrequent laughs, 
 *^oh, you know what I mean." She withdrew her arm 
 gently, and became interested in the selection of certain 
 wayside bay leaves as they passed along. **A11 the 
 same, I don't believe in this treasure," she said abruptly, 
 as if to change the subject. " I don't believe it ever was 
 hidden inside the Pontiac." 
 
 "That can be easily ascertained now," said Renshaw. 
 
 " But it 's a pity you did n't find it out while you were 
 about it," said Rosey. " It would have saved so much 
 talk and trouble." 
 
 " I have told you why I did n't search the ship," re- 
 sponded Renshaw, with a slight bitterness. "But it 
 seems I could only avoid being a great rascal by becoming 
 a great fool." 
 
 "You never intended to be a rascal," said Rosey, 
 earnestly, " and you could n't be a fool, except in heeding 
 what a silly girl says. I only meant if you had taken me 
 into your confidence it would have been better." 
 
 " Might I not say the same to you regarding your friend, 
 the old Frenchman ? " returned Renshaw. " What if I 
 were to confess to you that I lately suspected him of 
 knowing the secret, and of trying to gain your assist- 
 ance ? " 
 
A Ship of '4g. 443 
 
 Instead of indignantly repudiating the suggestion, to 
 the young man's great discomfiture, Rosey only knit her 
 pretty brows, and remained for some moments silent. 
 Presently she asked timidly : 
 
 " Do you think it wrong to tell another person's secret 
 for their own good ? " 
 
 " No,'' said Renshaw, promptly. 
 
 " Then I '11 tell you Monsieur de Ferrieres' ! But only 
 because I believe from what you have just said that he 
 will turn out to have some right to the treasure." 
 
 Then with kindling eyes, and a voice eloquent with 
 sympathy, Rosey told the story of her accidental discov- 
 ery of De Ferrieres' miserable existence in the loft. 
 Clothing it with the unconscious poetry of her fresh, 
 young imagination, she lightly passed over his antique 
 gallantry and grotesque weakness, exalting only his lonely 
 sufferings and mysterious wrongs. Renshaw listened, 
 lost between shame for his late suspicions and admira- 
 tion for her thoughtful delicacy, until she began to speak 
 of De Ferrieres' strange allusions to the foreign papers 
 in his portmanteau. " I think some were law papers, and 
 I am almost certain I saw the word Callao printed on one 
 of them." 
 
 " It may be so," said Renshaw, thoughtfully. " The old 
 Frenchman has always passed for a harmless, wandering 
 eccentric. I hardly think public curiosity has ever even 
 sought to know his name, much less his history. But had 
 we not better first try to find if there is any property 
 before we examine his claims to it ? " 
 
 "As you please," said Rosey, with a slight pout ; "but 
 you will find it much easier to discover him than his 
 treasure. It 's always easier to find the thing you 're 
 not looking for." 
 
 "Until you want it," said Renshaw, with sudden 
 gravity. 
 
444 ^ ^^^P of '49' 
 
 " How pretty it looks over there," said Rosey, turning 
 her conscious eyes to the opposite mountain. 
 
 " Very." 
 
 They had reached the top of the hill, and in the near 
 distance the chimney of Madrono Cottage was even now 
 visible. At the expected sight they unconsciously stopped 
 — unconsciously disappointed. Rosey broke the embar- 
 rassing silence. 
 
 ** There's another way home, but it's a roundabout 
 way," she said timidly. 
 
 *' Let us take it," said Renshaw. 
 
 She hesitated. " The boat goes at four, and we must 
 return to-night." 
 
 " The more reason why we should make the most of our 
 time now," said Renshaw with a faint smile. " To-mor- 
 row all things may be changed ; to-morrow you may find 
 yourself an heiress, Miss Nott. To-morrow," he added, 
 with a slight tremor in his voice, " I may have earned 
 your forgiveness, only to say farewell to you forever. Let 
 me keep this sunshine, this picture, this companionship 
 with you long enough to say now what perhaps I must 
 not say to-morrow." 
 
 They were silent for a moment, and then by a common 
 instinct turned together into a narrow trail, scarce wide 
 enough for two, that diverged from the straight practical 
 path before them. It was indeed a roundabout way home, 
 so roundabout, in fact, that as they wandered on it seemed 
 even to double on its track, occasionally lingering long 
 and becoming indistinct under the shadow of madrono 
 and willow ; at one time stopping blindly before a fallen 
 tree in the hollow, where they had quite lost it, and had 
 to sit down to recall it ; a rough way, often requiring 
 the mutual help of each other's hands and eyes to tread 
 together in security; an uncertain way, not to be found 
 without whispered consultation and concession, and yet 
 
A Ship of '4g. 445 
 
 a way eventually bringing them hand in hand, happy and 
 hopeful, to the gate of Madrono Cottage. And if there 
 was only just time for Rosey to prepare to take the boat, 
 it was due to the deviousness of the way. If a stray 
 curl was lying loose on Rosey's cheek, and a long hair 
 had caught in Renshaw's button, it was owing to the 
 roughness of the way ; and if in the tones of their voices 
 and in the glances of their eyes there was a maturer 
 seriousness, it was due to the dim uncertainty of the path 
 they had traveled, and would hereafter tread together. 
 
 IX. 
 
 When Mr. Nott had satisfied himself of Renshaw's 
 departure, he coolly bolted the door at the head of the 
 companion-way, thus cutting oif any communication with 
 the lower deck. Taking a long rifle from the rack above 
 his berth, he carefully examined the hammer and cap, and 
 then cautiously let himself down through the forehatch to 
 the deck below. After a deliberate survey of the still 
 intact fastenings of the hatch over the forehold, he pro- 
 ceeded quietly to unloose them again with the aid of the 
 tools that still lay there. When the hatch was once more 
 free he lifted it, and, withdrawing a few feet from the 
 opening, sat himself down, rifle in hand. A profound 
 silence reigned throughout the lower deck. 
 
 " Ye kin rize up out o' that," said Nott gently. 
 
 There was a stealthy rustle below that seemed to ap- 
 proach the hatch, and then with a sudden bound the Las- 
 car leaped on the deck. But at the same instant Nott 
 covered him with his rifle. A slight shade of disappoint- 
 ment and surprise had crossed the old man's face, and 
 clouded his small round eyes at the apparition of the 
 Lascar, but his hand was none the less firm upon the 
 
446 A Ship of '^p. 
 
 trigger as the frightened prisoner sank on his knees, with 
 his hands clasped in the attitude of supplication for 
 mercy. 
 
 " Ef you 're thinkin' o' skippin' afore I Ve done with 
 yer," said Nott with labored gentleness, " I oughter 
 warn ye that it 's my style to drop Injins at two hundred 
 yards, and this deck ain't anywhere more 'n fifty. It 's 
 an uncomfortable style, a nasty style — but it 's my style. 
 I thought I 'd tell yer, so yer could take it easy where you 
 air. Where 's Ferrers ? " 
 
 Even in the man's insane terror, his utter bewilderment 
 at the question was evident. " Ferrers ? " he gasped ; 
 " don't know him, I swear to God, boss." 
 
 "P'r'aps," said Nott, with infinite cunning, "yer don't 
 know the man ez kem into the loft from the alley last 
 night — p'r'aps yer did n't see an airy Frenchman with a 
 dyed mustache, eh } I thought that would fetch ye ! " he 
 continued, as the man started at the evidence that his 
 vision of last night was a living man. " P'r'aps you and 
 him did n't break into this ship last night, jist to run off 
 with my darter Rosey ? P'r'aps yer don't know Rosey, 
 eh 1 P'r'aps yer don't know ez Ferrers wants to marry 
 her, and hez been hangin' round yer ever since he left — 
 eh ? " 
 
 Scarcely believing the evidence of his senses that the 
 old man whose treasure he had been trying to steal was 
 utterly ignorant of his real offense, and yet uncertain of 
 the penalty of the other crime of which he was accuse^, 
 the Lascar writhed his body and stammered vaguely, 
 " Mercy ! Mercy ! " 
 
 " Well," said Nott, cautiously, " ez I reckon the hide 
 of a dead Chinee nigger ain't any more vallyble than that 
 of a dead Injin, I don't care ef I let up on yer — seein' 
 the cussedness ain't yours. But ef I let yer off this once, 
 you must take a message to Ferrers from me." 
 
A Ship of '4g. 447 
 
 " Let me off this time, boss, and I swear to God I will," 
 said the Lascar eagerly. 
 
 " Ye kin say to Ferrers — let me see " — deliberated 
 Nott, leaning on his rifle with cautious reflection. " Ye 
 kin say to Ferrers like this — sez you, * Ferrers,' sez you, 
 * the old man sez that afore you went away you sez to 
 him, sez you, '• I take my honor with me," sez you ' — 
 have you got that ? " interrupted Nott suddenly. 
 
 " Yes, boss." 
 
 " * I take my honor with me,' sez you," repeated Nott 
 slowly. " * Now,' sez you — * the old man sez, sez he — 
 tell Ferrers, sez he, that his honor havin' run away agin, 
 he sends it back to him, and ef he ever ketches it around 
 after this, he '11 shoot it on sight.' Hev yer got that ? " 
 
 " Yes," stammered the bewildered captive. 
 
 " Then git ! " 
 
 The Lascar sprang to his feet with the agility of a 
 panther, leaped through the hatch above him, and disap- 
 peared over the bow of the ship with an unhesitating 
 directness that showed that every avenue of escape had 
 been already contemplated by him. Slipping lightly from 
 the cutwater to the ground, he continued his flight, only 
 stopping at the private office of Mr. Sleight. 
 
 When Mr. Renshaw and Rosey Nott arrived on board 
 the Pontiac that evening, they were astonished to find 
 the passage before the cabin completely occupied with 
 trunks and boxes, and the bulk of their household goods 
 apparently in the process of removal. Mr. Nott, who 
 was superintending the work of two Chinamen, betrayed 
 not only no surprise at the appearance of. the young peo- 
 ple, but not the remotest recognition of their own be- 
 wilderment at his occupation. 
 
 " Kalkilatin'," he remarked casually to his daughter, 
 " you 'd rather look arter your fixins, Rosey ; I 've left 
 'em till the last P'r'aps yer and Mr. Repshaw would n't 
 
448 A Ship of '4^. 
 
 mind sittin' down on that locker until I Ve strapped this 
 yer box/' 
 
 " But what does it all mean, father ? " said Rosey, taking 
 the old man by the lappels of his pea-jacket, and slightly 
 emphasizing her question. " What in the name of good- 
 ness are you doing ? " 
 
 " Breakin' camp, Rosey dear, breakin' camp, jist ez we 
 uster," replied Nott with cheerful philosophy. " Kinder 
 like ole times, ain't it ? Lord, Rosey,'' he continued, 
 stopping and following up the reminiscence, with the end 
 of the rope in his hand as if it were a clue, " don't ye 
 mind that day we started outer Livermore Pass, and seed 
 the hull o' the Kaliforny coast stretchin' yonder — eh? 
 But don't ye be skeered, Rosey dear," he added quickly, 
 as if in recognition of the alarm expressed in her face. 
 ** I ain't turning ye outer house and home ; I 've jist hired 
 that 'ere Madrono Cottage from the Peters ontil we kin 
 look round." 
 
 " But you 're not leaving the ship, father," continued 
 Rosey, impetuously. "You have n't sold it to that man 
 Sleight?" 
 
 Mr. Nott rose and carefully closed the cabin -door. 
 Then drawing a large wallet from his pocket, he said, 
 " It 's sing'lar ye should hev got the name right the first 
 pop, ain't it, Rosey ? but it 's Sleight, sure enough, all the 
 time. This yer check," he added, producing a paper 
 from the depths of the wallet, " this yer check for 25,000 
 dollars is wot he paid for it only two hours ago." 
 
 " But," said Renshaw, springing to his feet furiously, 
 " you 're duped, swindled — betrayed ! " 
 
 " Young man," said Nott, throwing a certain dignity 
 into his habitual gesture of placing his hands on Ren- 
 shaw's shoulders, " I bought this yer ship five years ago 
 jist ez she stood for 8,000 dollars. Kalkilatin' wot she 
 cost me in repairs and taxes, and wot she brought me in 
 
A Ship of '4g. 449 
 
 since then, accordin' to my figgerin', I don't call a clear 
 profit of 15,000 dollars much of a swindle." 
 
 " Tell him all," said Rosey, quickly, more alarmed at 
 Renshaw's despairing face than at the news itself. " Tell 
 him everything, Dick — Mr. Renshaw ; it may not be too 
 late." 
 
 In a voice half choked with passionate indignation 
 Renshaw hurriedly repeated the story of the hidden treas- 
 ure, and the plot to rescue it, prompted frequently by 
 Rosey's tenacious memory and assisted by her deft and 
 tactful explanations. But to their surprise the imper- 
 turbable countenance of Abner Nott never altered ; a 
 slight moisture of kindly paternal tolerance of their ex- 
 travagance glistened in his little eyes, but nothing more. 
 
 " Ef there was a part o' this ship, a plank or a bolt, ez I 
 don't know, ez I hev n't touched with my own hand, and 
 looked into with my own eyes, thar might be suthin' in that 
 story. I don't let on to be a sailor like you, but ez I 
 know the ship ez a boy knows his first hoss, as a woman 
 knows her first babby, I reckon thar ain't no treasure 
 yer, onless it was brought into the Pontiac last night by 
 them chaps." 
 
 " But are you mad ? Sleight would not pay three times 
 the value of the ship to-day if he were not positive ! And 
 •that positive knowledge was gained last night by the vil- 
 lain who broke into the Pontiac — no doubt the Lascar." 
 
 " Surely," said Nott, meditatively. " The Lascar I 
 There 's suthin' in that. That Lascar I fastened down 
 in the hold last night unbeknownst to you, Mr. Renshaw, 
 and let him out again this morning ekally unbeknownst." 
 
 " And you let him carry his information to Sleight — 
 without a word ! " said Renshaw, with a sickening sense 
 of Nott's utter fatuity. 
 
 " I sent him back with a message to the man he kem 
 from," said Nott, winking both his eyes at Renshaw sig- 
 nificantly, and making signs behind his daughter's back. 
 
450 A Ship of Vp- 
 
 Rosey, conscious of her lover's irritation, and more 
 eager to soothe his impatience than from any faith in her 
 suggestion, interfered. " Why not examine the place 
 where he was concealed ? he may have left some traces 
 of his search." 
 
 The two men looked at each other. " Seein' ez I Ve 
 turned the Pontiac over to Sleight jist as it stands, I 
 don't know ez it 's 'zactly on the square," said Nott doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " You Ve a right to know at least what you deliver to 
 him," interrupted Renshaw, brusquely. " Bring a lan- 
 tern." 
 
 Followed by Rosey, Renshaw and Nott hurriedly 
 sought the lower deck and the open hatch of the forehold. 
 The two men leaped down first with the lantern, and then 
 assisted Rosey to descend. Renshaw took a step for- 
 ward and uttered a cry. 
 
 The rays of the lantern fell on the ship's side. The 
 Lascar had, during his forced seclusion, put back the 
 boxes of treasure and replaced the planking, yet not so 
 carefully but that the quick eye of Renshaw had discov- 
 ered it. The next moment he had stripped away the 
 planking again, and the hurriedly restored box which the 
 Lascar had found fell to the deck, scattering part of its 
 ringing contents. Rosey turned pale ; Renshaw's eyes 
 flashed fire ; only Abner Nott remained quiet and impas- 
 sive. 
 
 " Are you satisfied you have been duped ? " said Ren- 
 shaw, passionately. 
 
 To their surprise Mr. Nott stooped down, and pick- 
 ing up one of the coins handed it gravely to Renshaw. 
 *' Would ye mind heftin' that 'ere coin in your hand — 
 feelin' it, bitin' it, scrapin' it with a knife, and kinder 
 seein' how it compares with other coins ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Renshaw. 
 
A Ship of '4g. 451 
 
 " I mean that that yer coin — that all the coins in this 
 yer box, that all the coins in them other boxes — and 
 thar 's forty on 'em — is all and every one of 'em coun- 
 terfeits ! " 
 
 The piece dropped unconsciously from Renshaw's 
 hand, and striking another that lay on the deck gave out 
 a dull, suspicious ring. 
 
 " They waz counterfeits got up by them Dutch super- 
 cargo sharps for dealin' with the Injins and cannibals and 
 South Sea heathens ez bows down to wood and stone. It 
 satisfied them ez well ez them buttons ye puts in mission- 
 ary boxes, I reckon, and, 'cepting ez freight, don't cost 
 nothin'. I found 'em tucked in the ribs o' the old Pon- 
 tiac when I bought her, and I nailed 'em up in thar lest 
 they should fall into dishonest hands. It 's a lucky thing, 
 Mr. Renshaw, that they comes into the honest fingers of 
 a square man like Sleight — ain't it ? " 
 
 He turned his small, guileless eyes upon Renshaw with 
 such child-like simplicity that it checked the hysterical 
 laugh that was rising to the young man's lips. 
 
 " But did any one know of this but yourself ? " 
 
 " I reckon not. I once suspicioned that old Cap'en 
 Bowers, who was always foolin' round the hold yer, must 
 hev noticed the bulge in the casin', but when he took to 
 axin' questions I axed others — ye know my style, Rosey ? 
 Come." 
 
 He led the way grimly back to the cabin, the young 
 people following ; but turning suddenly at the companion 
 way he observed Renshaw's arm around the waist of his 
 daughter. He said nothing until they had reached the 
 cabin, when he closed the door softly, and looking at 
 them both gently, said with infinite cunning : 
 
 " Ef it is n't too late, Rosey, ye kin tell this young man 
 ez how I forgive him for havin' diskivered The Treasure 
 of the Pontiac." 
 
452 A Ship of '4g. 
 
 It was nearly eighteen months afterwards that Mr. Nott 
 one morning entered the room of his son-in-law at Man- 
 drono Cottage. Drawing him aside, he said with his old 
 air of mystery, " Now ez Rosey 's ailin' and don't seem to 
 be so eager to diskiver what 's become of Mr. Ferrers, I 
 don't mind tellin' ye that over a year ago I heard he died 
 suddenly in Sacramento. Thar was suthin' in the paper 
 about his bein' a lunatic and claimin' to be a relation to 
 somebody on the Pontiac ; but likes ez not it 's only the 
 way those newspaper fellows got hold of the story of his 
 wantin' to marry Rosey." 
 
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Standard and Popular Library Books. 13 
 
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