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THE LUCK 
 
 ROARING CAMP 
 
 AND OTHER SKETCHES. 
 
 BY 
 
 BRET HARTE, \ 
 
 an Entroimrtion anU Glossary 
 TOM HOOD. 
 
 LONDON: 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, 
 
 THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. 
 
 5 '41- 
 
,\ 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WOODFALL AND KINDER, 
 MILFOED LAKE, STRAND, W.a 
 
Bancroft Librarr 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION iv 
 
 A GOSSIPING GLOSSARY ........ i 
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 7 
 
 SKETCHES. 
 
 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP 9 
 
 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT 26 
 
 MIGGLES 43 
 
 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER 61 
 
 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH 76 
 
 BROWN OF CALAVERAS 92 
 
 HIGH-WATER MARK . . . . ** 109 
 
 A LONELY RIDE 122 
 
 THE MAN OF No ACCOUNT 132 
 
 STORIES. 
 
 MLISS 141 
 
 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER 182 
 
 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD 195 
 
 BOHEMIAN PAPERS. 
 
 THE MISSION DOLORES 231 
 
 JOHN CHINAMAN 235 
 
 FROM A BACK WINDOW 240 
 
 BOONDER 245 
 
 ADDITIONAL SKETCHES. 
 
 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL 251 
 
 THE ILIAD OF SANEY BAR ..... 264 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 T7 ARLY in the January of 'sixty-nine, I received 
 a batch of new magazines, which on inspec- 
 tion proved to be the first five numbers of " The 
 Overland Monthly," which had been started at 
 San Francisco in the July preceding. I had been 
 for some time acquainted v/ith that most clever 
 and audacious print, " The San Francisco News- 
 letter," and was therefore prepared to find merits 
 in the new periodical. Nevertheless, to eyes 
 accustomed to the gorgeous covers and superfine 
 getting-up of our English magazines, the appear- 
 ance of the new-comer was not attractive. It was 
 printed on paper seemingly related to that species 
 in which Beauty puts away her ringlets for the 
 night, and its brown wrapper was of texture and 
 tint suggestive of parcels of grocery. The title, 
 plainly set forth in ordinary type, ran " The Over- 
 land Monthly, devoted to the Development of the 
 Country," with a small vignette of a grizzly bear 
 crossing a railway track. But if the exterior was 
 unpretentious, the contents were attractive enough. 
 The magazine had, as it were, a fragrance of its 
 
Introduction. V 
 
 own, like " a spray of Western pine." The articles 
 were fresh and original, the subjects they treated 
 of were novel and interesting. I believe I read 
 every page of those five numbers, and looked 
 forward anxiously for the arrival of the sixth. 
 
 One feature in the magazine I commend to the 
 consideration of Editors generally. Each monthly 
 number had its table of contents, wherein the 
 articles were anonymous : but in the Index in the 
 sixth, and last in each volume, the names of the 
 authors were given. It gave a peculiar relish to 
 one's reading, after one became acquainted with 
 the various styles of the writers, to guess the 
 authors, and compare conjectures with the Index. 
 
 The Editor's name did not appear, but in a 
 gossip entitled " Etc." at the end of each number, 
 he from time to time inserted little bits of verse, 
 that had a local flavour that was very agreeable. 
 In the " Etc." of Number One appeared the " Mud 
 Flat " poem. The second number contained " The 
 Luck of Roaring Camp." The critiques on new < 
 books here and there betrayed his hand. The 
 " Etc." in Number Five opened with a quaint men- 
 tion of " an earth-wave, which, passing under San 
 Francisco, had left its record upon some sheets of 
 the number, by the falling of the roof of the build- 
 ing in which they were stored," and asking readers, 
 it having been too late to reprint, to pardon " any 
 blemishes on those signatures to which the great 
 earthquake had added its mark." 
 
 The sixth number arrived, and turning to the 
 
 B 
 
vi Introduction. 
 
 Index, I found that the authors' names were given 
 there, and that the writer of the articles which had 
 interested me most was " F. B. Harte." With 
 the first number of the second volume, " the Holi- 
 day Number," he resumed the " Roaring Camp " 
 vein, in "The Outcasts of Poker Flat." 
 
 From that time he became a writer to be looked 
 for, and he never disappointed me. In prose or 
 verse he was sure to be good, whether he was 
 humorous or pathetic. In Vol. 3, the Index made 
 a further revelation of his name as "Fr. Bret 
 Harte." 
 
 In the number for September, 1870, appeared, 
 not the best, but the most popular of his writings, 
 " Plain Language from Truthful James," or, as it 
 is now called, "The Heathen Chinee." It came 
 at a time when all America was debating "the 
 Chinese cheap labour " question, some of the dis- 
 putants appealing to such strong arguments as 
 brickbats and revolvers. But the poem had a 
 vitality beyond the mere timeliness of its appear- 
 ance, or it would scarcely have achieved the imme- 
 diate success which it won in England. 
 
 At the close of 1870, Bret Harte's connection 
 with " The Overland " came to an end. It was 
 hardly to be expected that a genius so distinc- 
 tively American, could escape being drawn to the 
 intellectual capital of the country. Messrs. Osgood 
 and Company (late Ticknor and Fields), of Boston, 
 lost no time in securing the new writer's exclusive 
 services, and " Tjbe Atlantic Monthly " is enriched 
 
Introduction. vii 
 
 by his pen. Bret Harte is a native of the state of 
 New York, and was born, I believe, in Albany. 
 While still a young man, he went out West, and 
 became connected with a San Francisco paper. 
 When " The Overland Monthly " was started by 
 Messrs. Roman & Co., he was installed in the 
 Editorial chair ; from which we may fairly con- 
 clude that he had made his mark while working 
 on the paper, or at any rate had shewn to the 
 experienced the promise that was in him. I do 
 not think that as yet the public had discovered 
 him ; for Joaquin Miller, when in London, told me 
 a volume of his poems entitled " The Lost Gal- 
 leon," published in 1867, had not met the success 
 it deserved. 
 
 It was for the journal I have mentioned that 
 if rumour tells truth " The Heathen Chinee " was 
 written, but the printer's foreman * protested 
 against its being thrown away on a daily paper, 
 and it was accordingly transferred to the maga- 
 zine, to establish its writer's reputation and for- 
 tune. As he is still a young man (hardly thirty, 
 I am told), we have reason to expect even greater 
 things, and to regard him with a liberal gratitude 
 for favours to come. 
 
 The genius of Bret Harte is distinct and origi- 
 nal. Its most marked characteristic is its dramatic 
 
 * It is to be noted, that many American writers have worked at case, 
 and served their apprenticeship to literature in the composing-room. 
 Artemus Ward had been a "type-sticker," and Mr. Leland's know- 
 ledge of the mystery is clearly shown in his famous "Battle in the 
 Printing Office." 
 
 B 2 
 
viii Introduction. 
 
 vividness. As in "Jim," the few lines of apo- 
 strophe or " aside " to the bar-keeper, put before us 
 at once the effect which the news of his friend's 
 death has on the speaker ; so in his other writings, 
 a few happy words here and there paint a picture 
 to the mind's eye, which it would take others a page 
 to conjure up. In " Brown of Calaveras " not 
 before published in England, I believe this 
 dramatic vigour is strongly evidenced. I may 
 note -also, that the "Iliad of Sandy Bar" and 
 "Mr. Thompson's Prodigal," will be found new 
 to English readers. 
 
 I must, in concluding this brief Preface, acknow- 
 ledge my indebtedness for the chief facts in it to 
 my friend Mr. Justin McCarthy, who on his recent 
 return from America, brought a few pleasant 
 words from Bret Harte to me, in allusion to my 
 having been one of the first to take note of his work 
 in England, a fact due rather to my good luck in 
 receiving early copies of " The Overland," than to 
 any merit in recognizing what any one who read 
 his contributions must have recognized the un- 
 doubted genius of Bret Harte. 
 
 T. H. 
 
A GOSSIPING GLOSSARY. 
 
 P H E remarkably miscellaneous assemblage 
 which Bret Harte describes as sitting out- 
 side the cabin of Cherokee Sal, in the first story 
 in this volume, comes opportunely, as at once the 
 figure and the reason of the strange varieties of 
 slang which occur in these pages. Almost every 
 nation and almost every human pursuit, as they 
 gave individuals to the gold-seeking, contributed, 
 like the visitors of the new-born Tommy Luck, 
 something towards the support of the infant 
 language. The technical phrases of the miner, 
 and the formulae of the gambler, are the most 
 liberal subscribers ; the travellers of a very loco- 
 motive race have given their mite ; and the French 
 settlers of Canada, and the Spanish settlers of 
 Mexico, flung in a few foreign coins to the general 
 pile. The result of the accumulation is a lan- 
 guage very rich and very vivid in a word, 
 thoroughly poetical. For. after all, if the lan- 
 guage of poetry is, as it is defined, essentially 
 picturesque and figurative, slang is decidedly the 
 language of poetry ! But, seriously, it is the 
 
2 A Gossiping 1 Glossary. 
 
 happy use of a bit of slang which often gives 
 such force to Bret Harte's poems. 
 
 It seems to me that the simplest way of getting 
 over the ground will be to take the slang of each 
 various source as it flows from its native fount ; 
 and that of course " mining ' should have the 
 place of honour. 
 
 The localities of mining are described in these 
 tales as " Flats," low-lying alluvial lands ; " Bars," 
 of which no definition seems necessary ; and 
 " Gulches," that is to say " Gorges " (which words 
 oddly enough in their first meaning apply to the 
 throat) wherein gold is deposited. It is worked 
 by "flumes,", or washing in "ditches" ("flumes," 
 or watercourses, apparently being at times rough 
 wooden aqueducts), or in " tunnels." The gold 
 may be found in " streaks," or in " pockets," both 
 self-explanatory terms. The " sluice-robber " is 
 the man who helps himself to the gold in his 
 neighbour's "ditch," from which, at the end of 
 work, the water is " let out " when the " clean-up," 
 has given its contribution to the " pile." To 
 "strike a lead" is to find indications which lead 
 to a discovery of gold ; whereon the miner " goes 
 for it," "goes through it," and "strikes luck." 
 The nuggets or dust he procures are "specimens." 
 After a longer or shorter time, he gets down to 
 the " bed-rock ; " that is, exhausts the find, which 
 then "peters out," a term which seems to point 
 to a derivation (probably through the Spanish) 
 from petra. Of course, when the ditch is ex- 
 
A Gossiping Glossary. 3 
 
 hausted, it "dries up." I don't know whether I 
 am right in also attributing the frequent use of 
 the word " mean," as a depreciatory adjective, to 
 the miner's opinion of Mother Earth's conduct in 
 withholding her wealth. 
 
 Another not uncommon operation in mining 
 was "jumping a claim." The adventurer was 
 allowed to stake off the amount of unoccupied 
 land he meant to work ; but it was possible for 
 the unscrupulous either to move the stakes, and 
 encroach on his " lot," or to possess themselves of 
 it in any way by fraud. But this was a perilous 
 game, in such disodour as to be punishable (by 
 Judge Lynch and a Vigilance Committee) with 
 death. 
 
 Gambling, with its two chief games at cards, 
 " Euchre," which is a sort of Piquet, and " Poker," 
 which is a sort of Brag (not to name Rondo, a sort 
 of roulette), supplies much Californese. In the 
 latter game, the covering of the last player's stake 
 throws a light upon the motive of the gentleman 
 who "saw the pin, and went two diamonds 
 better," as it also explains how a street in Roar- 
 ing Camp could " lay over," i.e., cover, a street in 
 Red Dog. To " give a show " is to take a hand, 
 in which a "bower" is the best card of a suit, 
 a " right bower " the best card in the best suit. I 
 think " laying for a man and fetching him " must 
 also owe its origin to the finesse of gambling. 
 " Playing it low down " on any one certainly does. 
 The horse of Mr. Oakhurst who is a portrait from 
 
4 A Gossiping Glossary. 
 
 life, as I am informed is called " Five Spot," 
 after the cinque. As the song says : 
 
 " Oh, the five spot takes the four, 
 
 And the four spot takes the three ; 
 And since we all are gathered here, 
 We'll drink in company ! " 
 
 Apropos of the nag, I may mention that " bucking 
 against faro " is a horsey metaphor, due, no doubt, 
 to the rough-riding of " mustangs," or wild-horses, 
 who are, of course, accomplished buck-jumpers. 
 
 Travelling gives us first of all derived from pre- 
 steam days, when goods were carried on pack- 
 saddles by mules the expression, " I packed him 
 on my back." The Pacific Railway has abolished 
 the mule, but it was preceded by the expression 
 " sending in your checks ;" in other words, claiming 
 your baggage and finishing your journey. 
 
 " Running free," used by Tennessee's pardner, 
 is a nautical term, which deserting ships' crews 
 carried to the gold-fields, as it is probable they did 
 also the word " rum " as a generic term for liquor. 
 
 To the Spanish language are due " corral," the 
 enclosure for cattle ; "canon" (pronounced canyon), 
 a water- worn gorge with perpendicular sides ; 
 " ranch," a farm ; " casa," a house ; " vaquero," an 
 oxherd ; " riata," a lasso ; and " coyote," the grey 
 prairie wolf the ciiip-che-pu-kos of the Indians. 
 " Tule " is the swamp grass which overruns the 
 marshes. " Las mariposas," literally " butterflies," 
 give a name to a district and a flower. 
 From the French we can trace " cache" d." for 
 
A Gossiping" Glossary. 5 
 
 "hidden," due to the days when explorers concealed 
 from Indians and other wild animals, on their out- 
 ward course, stores for their home voyage. " Savey," 
 as meaning " sense," is also obviously French. 
 
 Foot-hills to come at last to terms which do 
 not range themselves under any particular head- 
 ing are not lowlands at the foot of the hills, but 
 '-baby-hills lying below the loftier eminences. They 
 are distinctive features in the Californian landscape, 
 I am informed by Mr. Kingston, to whom I am 
 otherwise indebted for information in these pages. 
 
 A " Grocery " in America does not confine itself 
 to tea, but combines a bar with the counter, as a 
 rule, especially when it is a " corner grocery." A 
 "stated preacher" is the regularly appointed 
 minister, as distinguished from irregular and un- 
 ordained holders-forth. Saleratus is " digger " for 
 " Sal aeratus," a preparation of soda, used in lieu 
 of yeast for the saving of time in baking, and seem- 
 ingly also employed in the teapot to soften the 
 spring-water of the mines. The "Buckeye" (which 
 gives its name to Ohio and the natives thereof) is 
 the horse-chestnut. " Greaser " is an opprobrious 
 name for the sleek, but not clean, Mexican. A 
 " Derringer," it is hardly necessary to say, is a 
 revolver. " Nigger-luck," which means as one 
 would scarcely guess "good luck," owes its origin 
 to the fact that " nought is never in danger," and 
 a negro can fall from the top of a house, and alight 
 on his head with perfect impunity. " To go back 
 upon " a man, means to betray him, after having 
 
6 A Gossiping' Glossary. 
 
 been in his confidence, and to become, in Ameri- 
 can phrase, " States' "not Queen's" Evidence." 
 It so clearly depicts the encouraging of the victim 
 up to a certain point, and then the desertion of him, 
 that I don't attempt to trace it to " mining " or 
 " gambling," but lay it to the general account of 
 human nature. 
 
 Tharfks to the notorious Fisk and his doings, 
 few will need to be told the meaning of a " Ring " 
 in politics or finance. Thence comes the verb; and 
 when Roaring Camp thought Red Dog, if entrusted 
 with the baby, would " ring in somebody else upon 
 it," it meant, "would by combination and fraud 
 impose somebody else upon it." 
 
 " Skeesicks " the word Yuba Bill applies to 
 Miggles's Jim is a word whose derivation no one 
 knows. Mr. C. G. Leland, who has kindly given 
 me the aid of that universal knowledge of lan- 
 guages whereof " Hans Breitmann " makes only a 
 partial revelation, tells me it shows " a good- 
 natured contempt," and that it made its first ap- 
 pearance in the following story : " At a political 
 meeting, a noisy fellow continued to bawl for '' 
 * Smith ! Smith ! ' ' Why, that's Smith now speak- 
 ing,' said a by-stander. ' He be darned,' was the 
 reply ; ' why, that's the little skeesicks who told me 
 to holler for Smith.' " 
 
 I trust the reader will find in this desultory 
 gossip a key to the dialect in which Bret Harte 
 writes. 
 
 T. H. 
 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 A SERIES of designs suggested, I think, by Ho- 
 garth's familiar cartoons of the Industrious and 
 Idle Apprentices I remember as among the earliest 
 efforts at moral teaching in California. They represented 
 the respective careers of The Honest and Dissolute 
 Miners : the one, as I recall him, retrograding through 
 successive planes of dirt, drunkenness, disease, and 
 death; the other advancing by corresponding stages 
 to affluence and a white shirt. Whatever may have 
 been the artistic defects of these drawings, the moral 
 at least was obvious and distinct. That it failed, how- 
 ever, as it did, to produce the desired reform in 
 mining morality may have been owing to the fact that 
 the average miner refused to recognize himself in either 
 of these positive characters ; and that even he who 
 might have sat for the model of the Dissolute Miner 
 was perhaps dimly conscious of some limitations and 
 circumstances which partly relieved him from responsi- 
 bility. " Yer see," remarked such a critic to the writer, 
 in the untranslatable poetry of his class, " it ain't no 
 square game. They've just put up the keerds on that 
 chap from the start" 
 
8 Preface. 
 
 With this lamentable example before me, I trust that 
 in the following sketches I have abstained from any 
 positive moral. I might have painted my villains of 
 the blackest dye, so black, indeed, that the originals 
 thereof would have eontemplated them with the glow 
 of comparative virtue. I might have made it impossible 
 for them to have performed a virtuous or generous 
 action, and have thus avoided that moral confusion 
 which is apt to arise in the contemplation of mixed 
 motives and qualities. But I should have burdened 
 myself with the responsibility of their creation, which, 
 as a humble writer of romance and entitled to no par- 
 ticular reverence, I did not care to do. 
 
 I fear I cannot claim, therefore, any higher motive 
 than to illustrate an era of which Californian history has 
 preserved the incidents more often than the character of 
 the actors, an era which the panegyrist was too often 
 content to bridge over with a general compliment to 
 its survivors, an era still so recent that in attempting 
 to revive its poetry, I am conscious also of awakening 
 the more prosaic recollections of these same survivors, 
 and yet an era replete with a certain heroic Greek poetry, 
 of which perhaps none were more unconscious than the 
 heroes themselves. And I shall be quite content to 
 have collected here merely the materials for the Iliad 
 that is yet to be sung. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, December 24, 1869, 
 
SKETCHES. 
 
 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 HPHERE was commotion in Roaring Camp. It 
 could not have been a fight, for in 1850 that 
 was not novel enough to have called together the 
 entire settlement. The ditches and claims were 
 not only deserted, but " Turtle's grocery" had 
 contributed its gamblers, who, it will be remem- 
 bered, calmly continued their game the day that 
 French Pete and Kanaka Joe shot each other to 
 death over the bar in the front room. The whole 
 camp was collected before a rude cabin on the 
 outer edge of the clearing. Conversation was 
 carried on in a low tone, but the name of a 
 woman was frequently repeated. It was a name 
 familiar enough in the camp, " Cherokee Sal." 
 
 Perhaps the less said of her the better. She 
 was a coarse, and, it is to be feared, a very sinful 
 woman. But at that time she was the only 
 woman in Roaring Camp, and was just then lying 
 in sore extremity, when she most needed the 
 ministration of her own sex. Dissolute, aban- 
 doned, and irreclaimable, she was yet suffering a 
 martyrdom hard enough to bear even when veiled 
 by sympathizing womanhood, but now terrible in 
 
IO The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 her loneliness. The primal curse had come to her 
 in that original isolation which must have made 
 the punishment of the first transgression so dread- 
 ful. It was, perhaps, part of the expiation of her 
 sin, that, at a moment when she most lacked her 
 sex's intuitive tenderness and care, she met only 
 the half-contemptuous faces of her masculine 
 associates. Yet a few of the spectators were, I 
 think, touched by her sufferings. Sandy Tipton 
 thought it was " rough on Sal," and, in the con- 
 templation of her condition, for a moment rose 
 superior to the fact that he had an ace and two 
 bowers in his sleeve. 
 
 It will be seen, also, that the situation was 
 novel. Deaths were by no means uncommon in 
 Roaring Camp, but a birth was a new thing. 
 People had been dismissed the camp effectively, 
 finally, and with no possibility of return ; but this 
 was the first time that anybody had been intro- 
 duced db initio. Hence the excitement. 
 
 "You go in there, Stumpy," said a prominent 
 citizen known as " Kentuck," addressing one of 
 the loungers. " Go in there, and see what you 
 kin do. You've had experience in them things." 
 
 Perhaps there was a fitness in the selection. 
 Stumpy, in other climes, had been the putative 
 head of two families ; in fact, it was owing to 
 some legal informality in these proceedings that 
 Roaring Camp a city of refuge was indebted for 
 his company. The crowd approved the choice, and 
 Stumpy was wise enough to bow to the majority. 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. II 
 
 The door closed on the extempore surgeon and 
 midwife, and Roaring Camp sat down outside, 
 smoked its pipe, and awaited the issue. :i 
 
 The assemblage numbered about a hundred 
 men. One or two of these were actual fugitives 
 from justice, some were criminal, and all were 
 reckless. Physically, they exhibited no indication 
 of their past lives and character. The greatest 
 scamp had a Raphael face, with a profusion of 
 blond hair ; Oakhurst, a gambler, had the melan- 
 choly air and intellectual abstraction of a Hamlet ; 
 the coolest and most courageous man was scarcely 
 over five feet in height, with a soft voice and an 
 embarrassed, timid manner. The term " roughs " 
 applied to them was a distinction rather than a 
 definition. Perhaps in the minor details of fingers, 
 toes, ears, &c., the camp may have been deficient, 
 but these slight omissions did not detract from 
 their aggregate force. The strongest man had 
 but three fingers on his right hand ; the best shot 
 had but one eye. 
 
 Such was the physical aspect of the men that 
 were dispersed around the cabin. The camp lay 
 in a triangular valley, between two hills and a 
 river. The only outlet was a steep trail over the 
 summit of a hill that faced the cabin, now illumi- 
 nated by the rising moon. The suffering woman 
 might have seen it from the rude bunk whereon 
 she lay, seen it winding like a silver thread until 
 it was lost in the stars above. 
 
 A fire of withered pine-boughs added sociability 
 
12 The Liick of Roaring Camp. 
 
 to the gathering. By degrees the natural levity of 
 Roaring Camp returned. Bets were freely offered 
 and taken regarding the result. Three to five . 
 that " Sal would get through with it " ; even, that 
 the child would survive ; side bets as to the sex 
 and complexion of the coming stranger. In the 
 midst of an excited discussion an exclamation 
 came from those nearest the door, and the camp 
 stopped to listen. Above the swaying and moan- 
 ing of the pines, the swift rush of the river, and 
 the crackling of the fire, rose a sharp, querulous 
 cry, a cry unlike anything heard before in the 
 camp. The pines stopped moaning, the river 
 ceased to rush, and the fire to crackle. It seemed 
 as if Nature had stopped to listen too. 
 
 The camp rose to its feet as one man ! It was 
 proposed to explode a barrel of gunpowder, but, 
 in consideration of the situation of the mother, 
 better counsels prevailed, and only a few revolvers 
 were discharged ; for, whether owing to the rude 
 surgery of the camp, or some other reason, 
 Cherokee Sal was sinking fast. Within an hour 
 she had climbed, as it were, that rugged road that 
 led to the stars, and so passed out of Roaring 
 Camp, its sin and shame forever. I do not think 
 that the announcement disturbed them much, 
 except in speculation as to the fate of the child. 
 " Can he live now?" was asked of Stumpy. The 
 answer was doubtful. The only other being of 
 Cherokee Sal's sex and maternal condition in the 
 settlement was an ass. There was some con- 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 13 
 
 jecture as to fitness, but the experiment was tried. 
 It was less problematical than the ancient treat- 
 ment of Romulus and Remus, and apparently as 
 successful. 
 
 When these details were completed, which ex- 
 hausted another hour, the door was opened, and 
 the anxious crowd of men who had already formed 
 themselves into a queue, entered in single file. 
 Beside the low bunk or shelf, on which the figure 
 of the mother was starkly outlined below the 
 blankets, stood a pine table. On this a candle-box 
 was placed, and within it, swathed in staring red 
 flannel, lay the last arrival at Roaring Camp. Be- 
 side the candle-box was placed a hat. Its use 
 was soon indicated. " Gentlemen," said Stumpy, 
 with a singular mixture of authority and ex officio 
 complacency, " Gentlemen will please pass in at 
 the front door, round the table, and out at the 
 back door. Them as wishes to contribute any- 
 thing toward the orphan will find a hat handy." 
 The first man entered with his hat on ; he un- 
 covered, however, as he looked about him, and so, 
 unconsciously, set an example to the next. In 
 such communities good and bad actions are catch- 
 ing. As the procession filed in, comments were 
 audible, criticisms addressed, perhaps, rather to 
 Stumpy, in the character of showman, " Is that 
 him?" " mighty small specimen;" "hasn't mor'n 
 got the color ; " " ain't bigger nor a derringer." 
 The contributions were as characteristic : A silver 
 | tobacco-box ; a doubloon ; a navy revolver, silver 
 
 c 
 
14 The Lttck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 mounted ; a gold specimen ; a very beautifully 
 embroidered lady's handkerchief (from Oakhurst 
 the gambler) ; a diamond breastpin ; a diamond 
 ring (suggested by the pin with the remark from 
 the giver that he "saw that pin and went two 
 diamonds better ") ; a slung shot ; a Bible (con- 
 tributor not detected) ; a golden spur ; a silver 
 teaspoon (the initials, I regret to say, were not the 
 giver's) ; a pair of surgeon's shears ; a lancet ; a 
 Bank of England note for $ ; and about $200 in 
 loose gold and silver coin. During these proceed- 
 ings Stumpy maintained a silence as impassive as 
 the dead on his left, a gravity as inscrutable as 
 that of the newly born on his right. Only one 
 incident occurred to break the monotony of the 
 curious procession. As Kentuck bent over the 
 candle-box half curiously, the child turned, and, 
 in a spasm of pain, caught at his groping finger, 
 and held it fast for a moment. Kentuck looked 
 foolish and embarrassed. Something like a blush 
 tried to assert itself in his weather-beaten cheek. 
 " The d d little cuss ! " he said, as he extricated 
 his finger, with, perhaps, more tenderness and care 
 than he might have been deemed capable of show- 
 ing. He held that finger a little apart from its 
 fellows as he went out, and examined it curiously. 
 The examination provoked the same original re- 
 mark in regard to the child. In fact, he seemed 
 to enjoy repeating it. " He rastled with my 
 finger," he remarked to Tipton, holding up the 
 member, " the d d little cuss ! " 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 15 
 
 It was four o'clock before the camp sought repose. 
 A light burnt in the cabin where the watchers sat, 
 for Stumpy did not go to bed that night. Nor 
 did Kentuck. He drank quite freely, and related 
 with great gusto his experience, invariably ending 
 with his characteristic condemnation of the new- 
 comer. It seemed to relieve him of any unjust 
 implication of sentiment, and Kentuck had the 
 weaknesses of the nobler sex. When everybody 
 else had gone to bed, he walked down to the river, 
 and whistled reflectingly. Then he walked up the 
 gulch, past the cabin, still whistling with demon- 
 strative unconcern. At a large redwood tree he 
 paused and retraced his steps, and again passed 
 the cabin. Half-way down to the river's bank he 
 again paused, and then returned and knocked at 
 the door. It was opened by Stumpy. " How 
 goes it ? " said Kentuck, looking past Stumpy 
 towards the candle-box. "All serene," replied 
 Stumpy. "Anything up?" "Nothing." There 
 was a pause an embarrassing one Stumpy still 
 holding the door. Then Kentuck had recourse to 
 his finger, which he held up to Stumpy. " Rastled 
 with it, the d d little cuss," he said, and retired. 
 
 The next day Cherokee Sal had such rude 
 sepulture as Roaring Camp afforded. After her 
 body had been committed to the hillside, there 
 was a formal meeting of the camp to discuss what 
 should be done with her infant. A resolution to 
 adopt it was unanimous and enthusiastic. But an 
 animated discussion in regard to the manner and 
 
 C 2 
 
1 6 The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 feasibility of providing for its wants at once sprung 
 up. It was remarkable that the argument partook 
 of none of those fierce personalities with which 
 discussions were usually conducted at Roaring 
 Camp. Tipton proposed that they should send the 
 child to Red Dog, a distance of forty miles, 
 where female attention could be procured. But 
 the unlucky suggestion met with fierce and unani- 
 mous opposition. It was evident that no plan 
 which entailed parting from their new acquisition 
 would for a moment be entertained. " Besides," 
 said Tom Ryder, "them fellows at Red Dog 
 would swap it, and ring in somebody else on us." 
 A disbelief in the honesty of other camps prevailed 
 at Roaring Camp as in other places. 
 
 The introduction of a female nurse in the camp 
 also met with objection. It was argued that no 
 decent woman could be prevailed to accept Roar- 
 ing Camp as her home, and the speaker urged 
 that "they didn't want any more of the other 
 kind." This unkind allusion to the defunct mother, 
 harsh as it may seem, was the first spasm of pro- 
 priety, the first symptom of the camp's regene- 
 ration. Stumpy advanced nothing. Perhaps he 
 felt a certain delicacy in interfering with the 
 selection of a possible successor in office. But 
 when questioned, he averred stoutly that he and 
 "Jinny" the mammal before alluded to could 
 manage to rear the child. There was something 
 original, independent, and heroic about the plan 
 that pleased the camp. Stumpy was retained. 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 17 
 
 Certain articles were sent for to Sacramento. 
 " Mind," said the treasurer, as he pressed a bag of 
 gold-dust into the expressman's hand, " the best 
 that can be got, lace, you know, and filigree-work 
 and frills, d the cost ! " 
 
 Strange to say, the child thrived. Perhaps the 
 invigorating climate of the mountain camp was 
 compensation for material deficiencies. Nature 
 took the foundling to her broader breast. In that 
 rare atmosphere of the Sierra foot-hills, that air 
 pungent with balsamic odour, that ethereal cordial 
 at once bracing and exhilarating, he may have 
 found food and nourishment, or a subtle chemistry 
 that transmuted asses' milk to lime and phos- 
 phorus. Stumpy inclined to the belief that it was 
 the latter and good nursing. " Me and that ass," 
 he would say, "has been father and mother to 
 him ! Don't you," he would add, apostrophizing 
 the helpless bundle before him, " never go back on 
 us." 
 
 By the time he was a month old, the necessity 
 of giving him a name became apparent. He had 
 generally been known as "the Kid," "Stumpy's 
 boy," "the Cayote" (an allusion to his vocal 
 powers), and even by Kentuck's endearing diminu- 
 tive of " the d d little cuss." But these were felt 
 to be vague and unsatisfactory, and were at last 
 dismissed under another influence. Gamblers and 
 adventurers are generally superstitious, and Oak- 
 hurst one day declared that the baby had brought 
 " the luck " to Roaring Camp. It was certain that 
 
1 8 The Liick of Roaring Camp, 
 
 of late they had been successful. "Luck" was 
 the name agreed upon, with the prefix of Tommy 
 for greater convenience. No allusion was made to 
 the mother, and the father was unknown. "It's 
 better," said the philosophical Oakhurst, "to take 
 a fresh deal all round. Call him Luck, and start 
 him fair." A day was accordingly set apart for 
 the christening. What was meant by this cere- 
 mony the reader may imagine, who has already 
 gathered some idea of the reckless irreverence of 
 Roaring Camp. The master of ceremonies was 
 one "Boston," a noted wag, and the occasion 
 seemed to promise the greatest facetiousness. 
 This ingenious satirist had spent two days in pre- 
 paring a burlesque of the church service, with 
 pointed local allusions. The choir was properly 
 trained, and Sandy Tipton was to stand godfather. 
 But after the procession had marched to the grove 
 with music and banners, and the child had been 
 deposited before a mock altar, Stumpy stepped 
 before the expectant crowd. " It ain't my style to 
 spoil fun, boys," said the little man, stoutly, eyeing 
 the faces around him, " but it strikes me that this 
 thing ain't exactly on the squar. It's playing it 
 pretty low down on this yer baby to ring in fun 
 on him that he ain't going to understand. And 
 ef there's going to be any godfathers round, I'd 
 like to see who's got any better rights than me." 
 A silence followed Stumpy's speech. To the 
 credit of all humorists be it said, that -the first man 
 to acknowledge its justice was the satirist, thus 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 19 
 
 stopped of his fun. " But," said Stumpy, quickly, 
 following up his advantage, "we're here for a 
 christening, and we'll have it. I proclaim you 
 Thomas Luck, according to the laws of the 
 United States and the State of California, so help 
 me God." It was the first time that the name of 
 the Deity had been uttered otherwise than pro- 
 fanely in the camp. The form of christening was 
 perhaps even more ludicrous than the satirist had 
 conceived ; but, strangely enough, nobody saw it 
 and nobody laughed. " Tommy " was christened 
 as seriously as he would have been under a Chris- 
 tian roof, and cried and was comforted in as ortho- 
 dox fashion. 
 
 And so the work of regeneration began in Roar- 
 ing Camp. Almost imperceptibly a change came 
 over the settlement. The cabin assigned to 
 "Tommy Luck" or "The Luck," as he was 
 more frequently called first showed signs of im- 
 provement. It was kept scrupulously clean and 
 whitewashed. Then it was boarded, clothed, and 
 papered. The rosewood cradle packed eighty 
 miles by mule had, in Stumpy's way of putting 
 it, " sorter killed the rest of the furniture." So 
 the rehabilitation of the cabin became a necessity- 
 Trie men who were in the habit of lounging in at 
 Stumpy's to see " how The Luck got on " seemed 
 to appreciate the change, and, in self-defence, the 
 rival establishment of " Tuttle's grocery " bestirred 
 itself, and imported a carpet and mirrors. The 
 reflections of the latter on the appearance of 
 
2O The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 Roaring Camp tended to produce stricter habits 
 of personal cleanliness. Again, Stumpy imposed 
 a kind of quarantine upon those who aspired to 
 the honor and privilege of holding "The Luck." 
 It was a cruel mortification to Kentuck who, in 
 the carelessness of a large nature and the habits 
 of frontier life, had begun to regard all garments 
 as a second cuticle, which, like a snake's, only 
 sloughed off through decay to be debarred this 
 privilege from certain prudential reasons. Yet 
 such was the subtle influence of innovation that 
 he thereafter appeared regularly every afternoon 
 in a clean shirt, and face still shining from his 
 ablutions. Nor were moral and social sanitary 
 laws neglected. " Tommy," who was supposed to 
 spend his whole existence in a persistent attempt 
 to repose, must not be disturbed by noise. The 
 shouting and yelling which had gained the camp 
 its infelicitous title were not permitted within 
 hearing distance of Stumpy's. The men conversed 
 in whispers, or smoked with Indian gravity. Pro- 
 fanity was tacitly given up in these sacred pre- 
 cincts, and throughout the camp a popular form of 
 expletive, known as " D n the luck ! " and " Curse 
 the luck ! " was abandoned, as having a new per- 
 sonal bearing. Vocal music was not interdicted, 
 being supposed to have a soothing, tranquillizing 
 quality, and one song, sung by " Man-o'-War 
 Jack," an English sailor, from Her Majesty's 
 Australian colonies, was quite popular as a lullaby. 
 It was a lugubrious recital of the exploits of " the 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 21 
 
 Arethusa, Seventy-four/' in a muffled minor, end- 
 ing with a prolonged dying fall at the burden of 
 each verse, " On b-o-o-o-ard of the Arethusa." It 
 was a fine sight to see Jack holding The Luck, 
 rocking from side to side as if with the motion of 
 a ship, and crooning forth this naval ditty. Either v 
 through the peculiar rocking of Jack or the length \ 
 of his song, it contained ninety stanzas, and was 
 continued with conscientious deliberation to the 
 bitter end, the lullaby generally had the desired 
 effect. At such times the men would lie at full 
 length under the trees, in the soft summer twilight, 
 smoking their pipes and drinking in the melodious 
 utterances. An indistinct idea that this was pas- 
 toral happiness pervaded the camp. "This 'ere 
 kind o' think," said the Cockney Simmons, medi- 
 tatively reclining on his elbow, "is 'evingly." It 
 reminded him of Greenwich. 
 
 On the long summer days The Luck was 
 usually carried to the gulch, from whence the 
 golden store of Roaring Camp was taken. There, 
 on a blanket spread over pine-boughs, he would 
 lie while the men were working in the ditches 
 below. Latterly, there was a rude attempt to 
 decorate this bower with flowers and sweet-smell- 
 ing shrubs, and generally some one would bring 
 him a cluster of wild honeysuckles, azaleas, or the 
 painted blossoms ot Las Mariposas. The men 
 had suddenly awakened to the fact that there 
 were beauty and significance in these trifles, which 
 they had so long trodden carelessly beneath their 
 
22 The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 feet. A flake of glittering mica, a fragment of 
 variegated quartz, a bright pebble from the bed of 
 the creek, became beautiful to the eyes thus 
 cleared and strengthened, and were invariably put 
 aside for "The Luck." It was wonderful how 
 many treasures the woods and hillsides yielded 
 that "would do for Tommy." Surrounded by 
 playthings such as never child out of fairy-land 
 had before, it is to be hoped that Tommy was 
 content. He appeared to be securely happy, 
 albeit there was an infantine gravity about him, 
 a contemplative light in his round gray eyes, that 
 sometimes worried Stumpy. He was always tract- 
 able and quiet, and it is recorded that once, 
 having crept beyond his " corral," a hedge of 
 tessellated pine-boughs, which surrounded his bed, 
 he dropped over the bank on his head in the 
 soft earth, and remained with his mottled legs in 
 the air in that position for at least five minutes 
 with unflinching gravity. He was extricated with- 
 out a murmur. I hesitate to record the many 
 other instances of his sagacity, which rest, unfor- 
 tunately, upon the statements of prejudiced friends. 
 Some of them were not without a tinge of super- 
 stition. " I crep' up the bank just now," said Ken- 
 tuck one day, in a breathless state of excitement, 
 " and dern my skin if he wasn't a talking to a jay- 
 bird as was a sittin' on his lap. There they was, 
 just as free and sociable as anything you please, 
 a jawin' at each other just like two cherry-bums." 
 Howbeit, whether creeping over the pine-boughs 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 23 
 
 or lying lazily on his back blinking at the leaves 
 above him, to him the birds sang, the squirrels 
 chattered, and the flowers bloomed. Nature was 
 his nurse and playfellow. For him she would let 
 slip between the leaves golden shafts of sunlight 
 that fell just within his grasp ; she would send 
 wandering breezes to visit him with the balm of 
 bay and resinous gums ; to him the tall redwoods 
 nodded familiarly and sleepily, the bumble-bees 
 buzzed, and the rooks cawed a slumbrous accom- 
 paniment. 
 
 Such was the golden summer of Roaring Camp. 
 They were " flush times," and the Luck was wrth 
 them. The claims had yielded enormously. The 
 camp was jealous of its privileges and looked sus- 
 piciously on strangers. No encouragement was 
 given to emigration, and, to make their seclusion 
 more perfect, the land on either side of the moun- 
 tain wall that surrounded the camp they duly' 
 pre-empted. This, and a reputation for singular 
 proficiency with the revolver, kept the reserve of 
 Roaring Camp inviolate. The expressman their 
 only connecting link with the surrounding world 
 sometimes told wonderful stones of the camp. 
 He would say, "They've a street up there in 
 ' Roaring/ that would lay over any street in Red 
 Dog. They've got vines and flowers round their 
 houses, and they wash themselves twice a day. 
 But they're mighty rough on strangers, and they 
 Worship an Ingin baby." 
 
 With the prosperity of the camp came a desire 
 
24 The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 for further improvement. It was proposed to 
 build a hotel in the following spring, and to invite 
 one or two decent families to reside there for the 
 sake of " The Luck," who might perhaps profit 
 by female companionship. The sacrifice that this 
 concession to sex cost these men, who were fiercely 
 sceptical in regard to its general virtue and use- 
 fulness, can only be accounted for by their affection 
 for Tommy. A few still held out. But the resolve 
 could not be carried into effect for three months, 
 and the minority meekly yielded in the hope 
 that something might turn up to prevent it. And 
 it did. 
 
 The winter of 1851 will long be remembered in 
 the foot-hills. The snow lay deep on the Sierras, 
 and every mountain creek became a river, and 
 every river a lake. Each gorge and gulch was 
 transformed into a tumultuous watercourse that 
 descended the hillsides, tearing down giant trees 
 and scattering its drift and debris along the plain. 
 Red Dog had been twice under water, and Roar- 
 ing Camp had been forewarned. " Water put the 
 gold into them gulches," said Stumpy. " It's been 
 here once and will be here again ! " And that 
 night the North Fork suddenly leaped over its 
 banks, and swept up the triangular valley of Roar- 
 ing Camp. 
 
 In the confusion of rushing water, crushing trees, 
 and crackling timber, and the darkness which 
 seemed to flow with the water and blot out the 
 fair valley, but little could be done to collect the 
 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 2$ 
 
 scattered camp. When the morning broke, the 
 cabin of Stumpy nearest the river-bank was gone. 
 Higher up the gulch they found the body of its 
 unlucky owner ; but the pride, the hope, the joy, 
 the Luck, of Roaring Camp had disappeared. 
 They were returning with sad hearts, when a shout 
 from the bank recalled them. 
 
 It was a relief-boat from down the river. They 
 had picked up, they said, a man and an infant, 
 nearly exhausted, about two miles below. Did 
 anybody know them, and did they belong here ? 
 
 It needed but a glance to show them Kentuck 
 lying there, cruelly crushed and bruised, but still 
 holding the Luck of Roaring Camp in his arms. 
 As they bent over the strangely assorted pair, 
 they saw that the child was cold and pulseless. 
 "He is dead," said one. , Kentuck opened his 
 eyes. "Dead?" he repeated feebly. "Yes, my 
 man, and you are dying too." A smile lit the 
 eyes of the expiring Kentuck. "Dying," he re- 
 peated, " he's a taking me with him, tell the boys 
 I've got the Luck with me now ; " and the strong 
 man, clinging to the frail babe as a drowning man 
 is said to cling to a straw, drifted away into the 
 shadowy river that flows forever to the unknown 
 sea, 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 A S Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into 
 L the main street of Poker Flat on the morning 
 of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he was 
 conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere 
 since the preceding night. Two or three men, 
 conversing earnestly together, ceased as he ap- 
 proached, and exchanged significant glances. 
 There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a 
 settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked 
 ominous. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed 
 small concern in these indications. Whether he 
 was conscious of any predisposing cause, was 
 another question. "I reckon they're after some- 
 body," he reflected ; " likely it's me." He returned 
 to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had 
 been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat 
 from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his 
 mind of any further conjecture. 
 
 In point of fact, Poker Flat was "after some- 
 body." It had lately suffered the loss of several 
 thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a 
 prominent citizen. It was experiencing a spasm 
 of virtuo\is reaction, quite as lawless and ungovern- 
 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 27 
 
 able as any of the acts that had provoked it. A 
 secret committee had determined to rid the town 
 of all improper persons. This was done perma- 
 nently in regard of two men who were then hang- 
 ing from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, 
 and temporarily in the banishment of certain 
 other objectionable characters. I regret to say 
 that some of these were ladies. It is but due to 
 the sex, however, to state that their impropriety 
 was professional, and it was only in such easily 
 established standards of evil that Poker Flat ven- 
 tured to sit in judgment. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he 
 was included in this category. A few of the com- 
 mittee had urged hanging him as a possible ex- 
 ample, and a sure method of reimbursing them- 
 selves from his pockets of the sums he had won 
 from them. " It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, 
 " to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp 
 an entire stranger carry away our money." But 
 a crude sentiment of equity residing in the breasts 
 of those who had been fortunate enough to win 
 from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower local 
 prejudice. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philo- 
 sophic calmness, none the less coolly that he was 
 aware of the hesitation of his judges. He was too 
 much of a gambler not to accept Fate. With him 
 life was at best an uncertain game, and he recog- 
 nized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer. 
 
 A body of armed men accompanied the de- 
 
28 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 ported wickedness of Poker Flat to the outskirts 
 of the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was 
 known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose 
 intimidation the armed escort was intended, the 
 expatriated party consisted of a young woman 
 familiarly known as " The Duchess" ; another, who 
 had won the title of "Mother Shipton" ; and 
 " Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and con- 
 firmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked no 
 comments from the spectators, nor was any word 
 uttered by the escort. Only when the gulch 
 which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat 
 was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the 
 point. The exiles were forbidden to return at the 
 peril of their lives. 
 
 As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings 
 found vent in a few hysterical tears from the 
 Duchess, some bad language from Mother Ship- 
 ton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from 
 Uncle Billy. The philosophic Oakhurst alone re- 
 mained silent. He listened calmly to Mother 
 Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to 
 the repeated statements of the Duchess that 
 she would die in the road, and to the alarming 
 oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle 
 Billy as he rode forward. With the easy good- 
 humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon 
 exchanging his own riding-horse, " Five Spot," for 
 the sorry mule which the Duchess rode. But even 
 this act did not draw the party into any closer 
 sympathy. The young woman readjusted her 
 
T/te Outcasts of Poker Flat. 29 
 
 somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded 
 coquetry ; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor 
 of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle 
 Billy included the whole party in one sweeping 
 anathema. 
 
 The road to Sandy Bar a camp that, not 
 having as yet experienced the regenerating in- 
 fluences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to 
 offer some invitation to the emigrants lay over 
 a steep mountain range. It was distant a day's 
 severe travel. In that advanced season, the 
 party soon passed out of the moist, temperate 
 regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing 
 air of the Sierras. The trail was narrow and 
 difficult. At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her 
 saddle upon the ground, declared her intention 
 of going no farther, and the party halted. 
 
 The spot was singularly wild and impressive. 
 A wooden amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides 
 by precipitous cliffs of naked gr^mce, sloped 
 gently toward the crest of another precipir.e that 
 overlooked the valley. It was, undoubtedly, the 
 most suitable spot for a camp, had camping been 
 advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely 
 half the journey to Sandy Bar was accomplished, 
 and the party were not equipped or provisioned 
 for delay. This fact he pointed out to his ccm- 
 panions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on 
 the folly of " throwing up their hand before the 
 game was played out." But they were furnished 
 with liquor, which in this emergency stood them 
 
 D 
 
30 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience. In 
 spite of his remonstrances, it was not long before 
 they were more or less under its influence. Uncle 
 Billy passed rapidly from a bellicose state into one 
 of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and 
 Mother Shipton snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone 
 remained erect, leaning against a rock, calmly 
 surveying them. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with 
 a profession which required coolness, impassive- 
 ness, and presence of mind, and, in his own lan- 
 guage, he " couldn't afford it." As he gazed at 
 his recumbent fellow-exiles, the loneliness begot- 
 ten of his pariah-trade, his habits of life, his very 
 vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him. 
 He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, 
 washing his hands and face, and other acts charac- 
 teristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a 
 moment forgot his annoyance. The thought of 
 deserting his weaker and more pitiable companions 
 never perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could not 
 help feeling the want of that excitement which, 
 singularly enough, was most conducive to that 
 calm equanimity for which he was notorious. He 
 looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand 
 feet sheer above the circling pines around him ; 
 at the sky, ominously clouded ; at the valley be- 
 low, already deepening into shadow. And, doing 
 so, suddenly he heard his own name called. 
 
 A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the 
 fresh, open face of the new-comer Mr. Oakhurst 
 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 31 
 
 recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as " The 
 Innocent " of Sandy Bar. He had met him some 
 months before over a " little game," and had, with 
 perfect equanimity, won the entire fortune 
 amounting to some forty dollars of that guile- 
 less youth. After the game was finished, Mr. 
 Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behind the 
 door and thus addressed him : " Tommy, you're a 
 good little man, but you can't gamble worth a 
 cent. Don't try it over again." He then handed 
 him his money back, pushed him gently from 
 the room, and so made a devoted slave of Tom 
 Simson. 
 
 There was a remembrance of this in his boyish 
 and enthusiastic greeting of Mr. Oakhurst. He 
 had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to s^ek 
 his fortune. " Alone ? " No, not exactly alone ; 
 in fact (a giggle), he had run away with Piney 
 Woods. Didn't Mr. Oakhurst remember Piney ? 
 She that used to wait on the table at the Tem- 
 perance House ? They had been engaged a long 
 time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so 
 they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat 
 to be married, and here they were. And they were 
 tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a 
 place to camp and company. All this the Inno- 
 cent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely 
 damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine- 
 tree, where she had been blushing unseen, and rode 
 to the side of her lover. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sen- 
 
 D 2 
 
32 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 timent, still less with propriety ; but he had a 
 vague idea that the situation was not fortunate. 
 He retained, however, his presence of mind suffi- 
 ciently to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say 
 something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough to 
 recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power 
 that would not bear trifling. He then endeavored 
 to dissuade Tom Simson from delaying further, 
 but in vain. He even pointed out the fact that 
 there was no provision, nor means of making a 
 camp. But, unluckily, the Innocent met this 
 objection by assuring the party that he was pro- 
 vided with an extra mule loaded with provisions, 
 and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log- 
 house near the trail. " Piney can stay with Mrs. 
 Oakhurst," said the Innocent, pointing to the 
 Duchess, " and I can shift for myself." 
 
 Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot 
 saved Uncle Billy from bursting into a roar of 
 laughter. As it was, he felt compelled to retire 
 up the canon until he could recover his gravity. 
 There he confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, 
 with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, 
 and the usual profanity. But when he returned 
 to the party, he found them seated by a fire for 
 the air had grown strangely chill and the sky 
 overcast in apparently amicable conversation. 
 Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, girlish 
 fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an 
 interest and animation she had not shown for 
 many days. The Innocent was holding forth, ap- 
 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 33 
 
 parently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and 
 Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into 
 amiability. " Is this yer a d d picnic ? " said 
 Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the 
 sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the teth- 
 ered animals in the foreground. Suddenly an idea 
 mingled with the alcoholic fumes that disturbed 
 his brain. It was apparently of a jocular nature, 
 for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram 
 his fist into his mouth. 
 
 As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, 
 a slight breeze rocked the tops of the pine-trees, 
 and moaned through their long and gloomy aisles. 
 The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine- 
 boughs, was set apart for the ladies. As the lovers 
 parted, they unaffectedly exchanged a kiss, so 
 honest and sincere that it might have been heard 
 above the swaying pines. The frail Duchess and 
 the malevolent Mother Shipton were probably too 
 stunned to remark upon this last evidence of sim- 
 plicity, and so turned without a word to the hut. 
 The fire was replenished, the men lay down before 
 the door, and in a few minutes were asleep. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward 
 morning he awoke benumbed and cold. As he 
 stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now 
 blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which 
 caused the blood to leave it, snow. 
 
 He started to his feet with the intention of 
 awakening the sleepers, for there was no time to 
 lose. But turning to where Uncle Billy had been 
 
34 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 lying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to 
 his brain and a curse to his lips. He ran to the 
 spot where the mules had been tethered ; they 
 were no longer there. The tracks were already 
 rapidly disappearing in the snow. 
 
 The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oak- 
 hurst back to the fire with his usual calm. He did 
 not waken the sleepers. The Innocent slumbered 
 peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, 
 freckled face ; the virgin Piney slept beside her 
 frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by 
 celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his 
 blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches 
 and waited for the dawn. It came slowly in a 
 whirling mist of snow-flakes, that dazzled and 
 confused the eye. What could be seen of the 
 landscape appeared magically changed. He 
 looked over the valley, and summed up the 
 present and future in two words, " snowed in!" 
 
 A careful inventory of the provisions, which, 
 fortunately for the party, had been stored within 
 the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of 
 Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and 
 prudence they might last ten days longer. " That 
 is," said Mr. Oakhurst, sotto voce to the Inno- 
 cent, " if you're willing to board us. If you ain't 
 and perhaps you'd better not you can wait 
 till Uncle Billy gets back with provisions." For 
 some occult reason, Mr. Oakhurst could not bring 
 himself to disclose Uncle Billy's rascality, and so 
 offered the hypothesis that he had wandered from 
 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 35 
 
 the camp and had accidentally stampeded the 
 animals. He dropped a warning to the Duchess 
 and Mother Shipton, who of course knew the facts 
 of their associate's defection. "They'll find out 
 the truth about us all when they find out any- 
 thing," he added, significantly, " and there's no 
 good frightening them now." 
 
 Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at 
 the disposal of Mr. Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy 
 the prospect of their enforced seclusion. "We'll 
 have a good camp for a week, and then the snow'll 
 melt, and we'll all go back together." The cheer- 
 ful gayety of the young man, and Mr. Oakhurst's 
 calm infected the others. The Innocent, with the 
 aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the 
 roofless cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in 
 the rearrangement of the interior with a taste and 
 tact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial 
 maiden to their fullest extent. "I reckon now 
 you're used to fine things at Poker Flat," said 
 Piney. The Duchess turned away sharply to 
 conceal something that reddened her cheeks 
 through its professional tint, and Mother Shipton 
 requested Piney not to " chatter." But when Mr. 
 Oakhurst returned from a weary search for the 
 trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed 
 from the rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and 
 his thoughts first naturally reverted to the whiskey, 
 which he had prudently cached. " And yet it don't 
 somehow sound like whiskey," said the gambler. 
 It was not until he caught sight of the blazing fire 
 
36 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 through the still-blinding storm and the group 
 around it that he settled to the conviction that it 
 was " square fun." 
 
 Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cached his cards 
 with the whiskey as something debarred the free 
 access of the community, I cannot say. It was 
 certain that, in Mother Shipton's words, he " didn't 
 say cards once" during that evening. Haply the 
 time was beguiled by an accordion, produced 
 somewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his 
 pack. Notwithstanding some difficulties attending 
 the manipulation of this instrument, Piney Woods 
 managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from 
 its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent 
 on a pair of bone castinets. But the crowning 
 festivity of the evening was reached in a rude 
 camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining 
 hands, sang with great earnestness and vocife- 
 ration. I fear that a certain defiant tone and 
 Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any 
 devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the 
 others, who at last joined in the refrain : 
 
 " I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, 
 And I'm bound to die in His army." 
 
 The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled 
 above the miserable group, and the flames of their 
 altar leaped heavenward, as if in token of the 
 vow. 
 
 At midnight the storm abated, the rolling 
 clouds parted, and the stars glittered keenly 
 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 37 
 
 above the sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whose 
 professional habits had enabled him to live on the 
 smallest possible amount of sleep, in dividing the 
 watch with Tom Simson, somehow managed to 
 take upon himself the greater part of that duty. 
 He excused himself to the Innocent, by saying 
 that he had " often been a week without sleep." 
 "Doing what?" asked Tom. "Poker!" replied 
 Oakhurst, sententiously ; " when a man gets a 
 streak of luck, nigger-luck, he don't get tired. 
 The luck gives in first. Luck," continued the 
 gambler, reflectively, "is a mighty queer thing. 
 All you know about it for certain is that it's 
 bound to change. And it's finding out when it's 
 going to change that makes you. We've had a 
 streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat, you 
 come along, and slap you get into it, too. If you 
 can hold your cards right along you're all right. 
 For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrele- 
 vance, 
 
 " * I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, 
 And I'm bound to die in His army.' " 
 
 The third day came, and the sun, looking 
 through the white-curtained valley, saw the out- 
 casts divide their slowly decreasing store of pro- 
 visions for the morning meal. It was one of the 
 peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays 
 diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry land- 
 scape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past. 
 But it revealed drift on drift of snow piled high 
 
38 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 around the hut, a hopeless, uncharted, trackless 
 sea of white lying below the rocky shores to which 
 the castaways still clung. Through the marvel- 
 lously clear air the smoke of the pastoral village 
 of Poker Flat rose miles away. Mother Shipton 
 saw it, and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky 
 fastness, hurled in that direction a final maledic- 
 tion. It was her last vituperative attempt, and per- 
 haps for that reason was invested with a certain 
 degree of sublimity. It did her good, she private- 
 ly informed the Duchess. " Just you go out there 
 and cuss, and see." She then set herself to the 
 task of amusing "the child," as she and the 
 Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Piney was 
 no chicken, but it was a soothing and original 
 theory of the pair thus to account for the fact 
 that she didn't swear and wasn't improper. 
 
 When night crept up again through the gorges, 
 the reedy notes of the accordion rose and fell in 
 fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the flicker- 
 ing camp-fire. But music failed to fill entirely the 
 aching void left by insufficient food, and a new 
 diversion was proposed by Piney, story-telling. 
 Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companions 
 caring to relate their personal experiences, this 
 plan would have failed, too, but for the Innocent. 
 Some months before he had chanced upon a stray 
 copy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the 
 Iliad. He now proposed to narrate the principal 
 incidents of that poem having thoroughly mas- 
 tered the argument and fairly forgotten the words 
 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 39 
 
 in the current vernacular of Sandy Bar. And 
 so for the rest of that night the Homeric demi- 
 gods again walked the earth. Trojan bully and 
 wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great 
 pines in the canon seemed to bow to the wrath of 
 the son of Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened with 
 quiet satisfaction. Most especially was he inte- 
 rested in the fate of " Ash-heels," as the Inno- 
 cent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed 
 Achilles." 
 
 So with small food and much of Homer and the 
 accordion, a week passed over the heads of the 
 outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and again 
 from leaden skies the snow-flakes were sifted over 
 the land. Day by day closer around them drew 
 the snowy circle, until at last they looked from 
 their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, 
 that towered twenty feet above their heads. It 
 became more and more difficult to replenish their 
 fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now 
 half hidden in the drifts. And yet no one com- 
 plained. The lovers turned from the dreary pros- 
 pect and looked into each other's eyes, and were 
 happy. Mr. Oakhurst settled himself coolly to 
 the losing game before him. The Duchess, more 
 cheerful than she had been, assumed the care of 
 Piney. Only Mother Shipton once the strongest 
 of the party seemed to sicken and fade. At 
 midnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to 
 her side. " I'm going," she said, in a voice of 
 querulous weakness, " but don't say anything 
 
40 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 about it. Don't waken the kids. Take the 
 Bundle from under my head and open it." Mr. 
 Oakhurst did so. It contained Mother Shipton's 
 rations for the last week, untouched. " Give 'em 
 to the child," she said, pointing to the sleeping 
 Piney. " You've starved yourself," said the gam- 
 bler. " That's what they call it," said the woman, 
 querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning 
 her face to the wall, passed quietly away. 
 
 The accordion and the bones were put aside that 
 day, and Homer was forgotten. When the body 
 of Mother Shipton had been committed to the 
 snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and 
 showed him a pair of snow-shoes, which he had 
 fashioned from the old pack-saddle. " There's 
 one chance in a hundred to save her yet," he said, 
 pointing to Piney ; " but it's there," he added, 
 pointing toward Poker Flat. " If you can reach 
 there in two days she's safe." " And you ?" asked 
 Tom Simson. "I'll stay here," was 122e curt 
 reply. 
 
 The lovers parted with a long embrace. " You 
 are not going too ?" said the Duchess, as she saw 
 Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompany 
 him. "As far as the canon," he replied. He 
 turned suddenly, and kissed the Duchess, leaving 
 her pallid face aflame, and her trembling limbs 
 rigid with amazement. 
 
 Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought 
 the storm again and the whirling snow. Then the 
 Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some one had 
 
The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 41 
 
 quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a 
 few days longer. The tears rose to her eyes, but 
 she hid them from Piney. 
 
 The women slept but little. In the morning, 
 looking into each other's faces, they read their 
 fate. Neither spoke ; but Piney, accepting the 
 position of the stronger, drew near and placed 
 her arm around the Duchess's waist. They kept 
 this attitude for the rest of the day. That night 
 the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending 
 asunder the protecting pines, invaded the very 
 hut. 
 
 Toward morning they found themselves unable 
 to feed the fire, which gradually died away. As 
 the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept 
 closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many 
 hours : " Piney, can you pray ? " " No, dear," said 
 Piney, simply. The Duchess, without knowing 
 exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head 
 upon Piney 's shoulder, spoke no more. And so 
 reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the 
 head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, 
 they fell asleep. 
 
 The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. 
 Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine- 
 boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled 
 about them as they slept. The moon through the 
 rifted clouds looked down upon what had been the 
 camp. But all human stain, all trace of earthly 
 travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle 
 mercifully flung from above. 
 
42 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 They slept all that day and the next, nor did 
 they waken when voices and footsteps broke the 
 silence of the camp. And when pitying fingers 
 brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could 
 scarcely have told from the equal peace that dwelt 
 upon them, which was she that had sinned. Even 
 the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned 
 away, leaving them still locked in each other's 
 arms. 
 
 But at the head of the gulch, on one of the 
 largest pine-trees, they found the deuce of clubs 
 pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It bore 
 the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand : 
 
 t 
 
 BENEATH THIS TREE 
 LIBS THE BODY 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN OAKHURST, 
 
 WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK 
 ON THE 230 OF NOVEMBER, 1850, 
 
 AND 
 
 HANDED IN HIS CHECKS 
 ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850. 
 
 And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his 
 side and a bullet in his heart, though still calm as 
 in life, beneath the snow lay he who was at once 
 the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts 
 of Poker Flat. 
 
HIGGLES. 
 
 "\1 J"E were eight, including the driver. We 
 had not spoken during the passage of the 
 last six miles, since the jolting of the heavy vehi- 
 cle over the roughening road had spoiled the 
 Judge's last poetical quotation. The tall man be- 
 side the Judge was asleep, his arm passed through 
 the swaying strap and his head resting upon it, 
 altogether a limp, helpless-looking object, as if he 
 had hanged himself and been cut down too late. 
 The French lady on the back seat was asleep, too, 
 yet in a half-conscious propriety of attitude, shown 
 even in the disposition of the handkerchief which 
 she held to her forehead and which partially veiled 
 her face. The lady from Virginia City, travelling 
 with her husband, had long since lost all indi- 
 viduality in a wild confusion of ribbons, veils, 
 furs, and shawls. There was no sound but the 
 rattling of wheels and the dash of rain upon the 
 roof. Suddenly the stage stopped and we became 
 dimly aware of voices. The driver was evidently 
 in the midst of an exciting colloquy with some 
 one in the road, a colloquy of which such frag- 
 ments as " bridge gone," " twenty feet of water," 
 " can't pass," were occasionally distinguishable 
 
44 Higgles. 
 
 above the storm. Then came a lull, and a myste- 
 rious voice from the road shouted the parting ad- 
 juration, 
 
 " Try Miggles's." 
 
 We caught a glimpse of our leaders as the vehi- 
 cle slowly turned, of a horseman vanishing through 
 the rain, and we were evidently on our way to 
 Miggles's. 
 
 Who and where was Miggles ? The Judge, our 
 authority, did not remember the name, and he 
 knew the country thoroughly. The Washoe tra- 
 veller thought Miggles must keep a hotel. We 
 only knew that we were stopped by high water in 
 front and rear, and that Miggles was our rock of 
 refuge. A ten minutes' splashing through a tan- 
 gled by-road, scarcely wide enough for the stage, 
 and we drew up before a barred and boarded gate 
 in a wide stone wall or fence about eight feet high. 
 Evidently Miggles's, and evidently Miggles did not 
 keep a hotel. 
 
 The driver got down and tried the gate. It was 
 securely locked. 
 
 " Miggles ! O Miggles ! " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Migg-ells ! You Miggles ! " continued the 
 driver, with rising wrath. 
 
 ' Migglesy ! " joined in the expressman, persua- 
 sively. " O Miggy ! Mig ! " 
 
 But no reply came from the apparently insen- 
 sate Miggles. The Judge, who had finally got the 
 window dawn, put his head out and propounded a 
 

 Higgles. 45 
 
 series of questions, which if answered categorically 
 would have undoubtedly elucidated the whole 
 mystery, but which the driver evaded by replying 
 that " if we didn't want to sit in the coach all 
 night, we had better rise up and sing out for 
 Higgles." 
 
 So we rose up and called on Higgles in chorus ; 
 then separately. And when we had finished, a 
 Hibernian fellow-passenger from the roof called 
 for " Maygells ! " whereat we all laughed. While 
 we were laughing, the driver cried " Shoo !" 
 
 We listened. To our infinite amazement the 
 chorus of " Higgles " was repeated from the other 
 side of the wall, even to the final and supplemen- 
 tal " Maygells." 
 
 " Extraordinary echo," said the Judge. 
 
 " Extraordinary d d skunk! " roared the driver, 
 contemptuously. " Come out of that, Higgles, 
 and show yourself ! Be a man, Higgles ! Don't 
 hide in the dark ; I wouldn't if I were you, 
 Higgles," continued Yuba Bill, now dancing about 
 in an excess of fury. 
 
 " Higgles !" continued the voice, "O Higgles !" 
 
 " Hy good man ! Hr. Hyghail ! " said the Judge, 
 softening the asperities of the name as much as 
 possible. " Consider the inhospitality of refusing 
 shelter from the inclemency of the weather to help- 
 less females. Really, my dear sir " But a 
 
 succession of "Higgles," ending in a burst of 
 laughter, drowned his voice. 
 
 Yuba Bill hesitated no longer. Taking a heavy 
 
 E 
 
46 Miggles. 
 
 stone from the road, he battered down the gate, 
 and with the expressman entered the enclosure. 
 We followed. Nobody was to be seen. In the 
 gathering darkness all that we could distinguish 
 was that we were in a garden from the rosebushes 
 that scattered over us a minute spray from their 
 dripping leaves and before a long, rambling 
 wooden building. 
 
 " Do you know this Miggles ? " asked the Judge 
 of Yuba Bill. 
 
 " No, nor don't want to," said Bill, shortly, who 
 felt the Pioneer Stage Company insulted in his 
 person by the contumacious Miggles. 
 
 " But, my dear sir," expostulated the Judge, as 
 he thought of the barred gate. 
 
 " Lookee here," said Yuba Bill, with fine irony, 
 " hadn't you better go back and sit in the coach 
 till yer introduced ? I'm going in," and he pushed 
 open the door of the building. 
 
 A long room lighted only by the embers of a 
 fire that was dying on the large hearth at its fur- 
 ther extremity ; the walls curiously papered, and 
 the flickering firelight bringing out its grotesque 
 pattern ; somebody sitting in a large arm-chair 
 by the fireplace. All this we saw as we crowded 
 together into the room, after the driver and ex- 
 pressman. 
 
 "Hello, be you Miggles I" said Yuba Bill to 
 the solitary occupant. 
 
 The figure neither spoke nor stirred. Yuba Bill 
 walked wrathfully toward it, and turned the eye 
 
Higgles. 47 
 
 of his coach-lantern upon its face. It was a man's 
 face, prematurely old and wrinkled, with very large 
 eyes, in which there was that expression of per- 
 fectly gratuitous solemnity which I had sometimes 
 seen in an owl's. The large eyes wandered from 
 Bill's face to the lantern, and finally fixed their 
 gaze on that luminous object, without further 
 recognition. 
 
 Bill restrained himself with an effort. 
 
 " Higgles ! Be you deaf ? You ain't dumb 
 anyhow, you know " ; and Yuba Bill shook the 
 insensate figure by the shoulder. 
 
 To our great dismay, as Bill removed his hand, 
 the venerable stranger apparently collapsed, 
 sinking into half his size and an undistinguishable 
 heap of clothing. 
 
 " Well, dern my skin," said Bill, looking ap- 
 pealingly at us, and hopelessly retiring from the 
 contest. 
 
 The Judge now stepped forward, and we lifted 
 the mysterious invertebrate back into his original 
 position. Bill was dismissed with the lantern to 
 reconnoitre outside, for it was evident that from 
 the helplessness of this solitary man there must be 
 attendants near at hand, and we all drew around 
 the fire. The Judge, who had regained his au- 
 thority, and had never lost his conversational 
 amiability, standing before us with his back to 
 the hearth, charged us, as an imaginary jury, as 
 follows : 
 
 " It is evident that either our distinguished 
 
 E 2 
 
43 Higgles. 
 
 friend here has reached that condition described by 
 Shakespeare as ' the sere and yellow leaf/ or has 
 suffered some premature abatement of his mental 
 and physical faculties. Whether he is really the 
 Higgles " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by " Higgles ! O Hig- 
 gles ! Higglesy ! Hig ! " and, in fact, the whole 
 chorus of Higgles in very much the same key as 
 it had once before been delivered unto us. 
 
 We gazed at each other for a moment in some 
 alarm. The Judge, in particular, vacated his posi- 
 tion quickly, as the voice seemed to come directly 
 over his shoulder. The cause, however, was soon 
 discovered in a large magpie who was perched 
 upon a shelf over the fireplace, and who imme- 
 diately relapsed into a sepulchral silence, which 
 contrasted singularly with his previous volubility. 
 It was, undoubtedly, his voice which we had heard 
 in the road, and our friend in the chair was not 
 responsible for the discourtesy. Yuba Bill, who 
 re-entered the room after an unsuccessful search, 
 was loath to accept the explanation, and still eyed 
 the helpless sitter with suspicion. He had found 
 a shed in which he had put up his horses, but he 
 came back dripping and sceptical. "Thar ain't 
 nobody but him within ten mile of the shanty, 
 and that 'ar d d old skeesicks knows it." 
 
 But the faith of the majority proved to be 
 securely based. Bill had scarcely ceased growling 
 before we heard a quick step upon the porch, the 
 trailing of a wet skirt, the door was flung open, 
 
Higgles. 49 
 
 and with a flash of white teeth, a sparkle of dark 
 eyes, and an utter absence of ceremony or diffi- 
 dence, a young woman entered, shut the door, 
 and, panting, leaned back against it. 
 
 " O, if you please, I'm 'Higgles ! " 
 
 And this was Higgles ! this bright-eyed, full- 
 throated, young woman, whose wet gown of coarse 
 blue stuff could not hide the beauty of the femi- 
 nine curves to which it clung ; from the chestnut 
 crown of whose head, topped by a man's oil-skin 
 sou'wester, to the little feet and ankles, hidden 
 somewhere in the recesses of her boy's brogans, 
 all was grace ; this was Higgles, laughing at us, 
 too, in the most airy, frank, off-hand manner 
 imaginable. 
 
 " You see, boys," said she, quite out of breath, 
 and holding one little hand against her side, quite 
 unheeding the speechless discomfiture of our 
 party, or the complete demoralization of Yuba 
 Bill, whose features had relaxed into an expres- 
 sion of gratuitous and imbecile cheerfulness, 
 " you see, boys, I was mor'n two miles away when 
 you passed down the road. I thought you might 
 pull up here, and so I ran the whole way, know- 
 ing nobody was home but Jim, and and I'm 
 out of breath and that lets me out." 
 
 And here Higgles caught her dripping oil-skin 
 hat from her head, with a mischievous swirl that 
 scattered a shower of rain-drops over us; at- 
 tempted to put back her hair ; dropped two hair- 
 pins in the attempt ; laughed and sat down beside 
 
5O Higgles. 
 
 Yuba Bill, with her hands crossed lightly on her 
 lap. 
 
 The Judge recovered himself first, and essayed 
 an extravagant compliment. 
 
 " I'll trouble you for that thar har-pin," said 
 Higgles, gravely. Half a dozen hands were eagerly 
 stretched forward ; the missing hair-pin was re- 
 stored to its fair owner ; and Miggles, crossing the 
 room, looked keenly in the face of the invalid. 
 The solemn eyes looked back at hers with an ex- 
 pression we had never seen before. Life and in- 
 telligence seemed to struggle back into the rugged 
 face. Miggles laughed again, it was a singularly 
 eloquent laugh, and turned her black eyes and 
 white teeth once more toward us. 
 
 "This afflicted person is " hesitated the 
 
 Judge. 
 
 "Jim," said Miggles. 
 
 "Your father?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Brother ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Husband?" 
 
 Miggles darted a quick, half-defiant glance at 
 the two lady passengers who I had noticed did 
 not participate in the general masculine admira- 
 tion of Miggles, and said, gravely, "No; it's 
 Jim." 
 
 There was an awkward pause. The lady pas- 
 sengers moved closer to each other ; the Washoe 
 husband looked abstractedly at the fire ; and the 
 
Miggles. 51 
 
 tall man apparently turned his eyes inward for 
 self-support at this emergency. But Miggles's 
 laugh, which was very infectious, broke the silence. 
 " Come," she said briskly, " you must be hungry. 
 Who'll bear a hand to help me get tea?" 
 
 She had no lack of volunteers. In a few mo- 
 ments Yuba Bill was engaged like Caliban in 
 bearing logs for this Miranda ; the expressman 
 was grinding coffee on the veranda ; to myself, 
 the arduous duty of slicing bacon was assigned ; 
 and the Judge lent each man his good-humored 
 and voluble counsel. And when Miggles, assisted 
 by the Judge and our Hibernian " deck passen- 
 ger," set the table with all the available crockery, 
 we had become quite joyous, in spite of the 
 rain that beat against windows, the wind that 
 whirled down the chimney, the two ladies who 
 whispered together in the corner, or the magpie 
 who uttered a satirical and croaking commentary 
 on their conversation from his perch above. In 
 the now bright, blazing fire we could see that 
 the walls were papered with illustrated journals, 
 arranged with feminine taste and discrimination. 
 The furniture was extemporized, and adapted 
 from candle-boxes and packing-cases, and covered 
 with gay calico, or the skin of some animal. The 
 arm-chair of the lelpless Jim was an ingenious 
 variation of a flour-barrel. There was neatness, 
 and even a taste for the picturesque, to be seen in 
 the few details of the long low room. 
 
 The meal was a culinary success. But more, it 
 
52 Higgles. 
 
 was a social triumph, chiefly, I think, owing to 
 the rare tact of Higgles in guiding the conversa- 
 tion, asking all the questions herself, yet bearing 
 throughout a frankness that rejected the idea of 
 any concealment on her own part, so that we 
 talked of ourselves, of our prospects, of the 
 journey, of the weather, of each other, of every- 
 thing but our host and hostess. It must be con- 
 fessed that Miggles's conversation was never ele- 
 gant, rarely grammatical, and that at times she 
 employed expletives, the use of which had gene- 
 rally been yielded to our sex. But they were 
 delivered with such a lighting up of teeth and 
 eyes, and were usually followed by a laugh a 
 laugh peculiar to Miggles so frank and honest 
 that it seemed to clear the moral atmosphere. 
 
 Once, during the meal, we heard a noise like 
 the rubbing of a heavy body against the outer 
 walls of the house. This was shortly followed by a 
 scratching and sniffling at the door. " That's Joa- 
 quin," said Miggles, in reply to our questioning 
 glances ; " would you like to see him ? " Before we 
 could answer she had opened the door, and dis- 
 closed a half-grown grizzly, who instantly raised 
 himself on his haunches, with his forepaws hang- 
 ing down in the popular attitude of mendicancy, 
 and looked admiringly at Miggles, with a very 
 singular resemblance in his manner to Yuba Bill. 
 " That's my watch-dog," said Miggles, in explana- 
 tion. " O, he don't bite," she added, as the two 
 lady passengers fluttered into a corner. " Does he. 
 
Miggtes. 53 
 
 old Toppy ? " (the latter remark being addressed 
 directly to the sagacious Joaquin.) " I tell you 
 what, boys," continued Higgles, after she had fed 
 and closed the door on Ursa Minor, " you were in 
 ! big luck that Joaquin wasn't hanging round when 
 you dropped in to-night/' " Where was he ?" asked 
 the Judge. "With me," said Miggles. "Lord 
 love you ; he trots round with me nights like as 
 if he was a man." 
 
 We were silent for a few moments, and lis- 
 tened to the wind. Perhaps we all had the same 
 picture before us, of Miggles walking through 
 the rainy woods, with her savage guardian at her 
 side. The Judge, I remember, said something 
 about Una and her lion ; but Miggles received it 
 as she did other compliments, with quiet gravity. 
 Whether she was altogether unconscious of the 
 admiration she excited, she could hardly have 
 been oblivious of Yuba Bill's adoration, I know 
 not ; but her very frankness suggested a perfect 
 sexual equality that was cruelly humiliating to the 
 younger members of our party. 
 
 The incident of the bear did not add anything 
 in Miggles's favor to the opinions of those of her 
 own sex who were present. In fact, the repast 
 over, a dullness radiated from the two lady pas- 
 sengers that no pine-boughs brought in by Yuba 
 Bill and cast as a sacrifice upon the hearth could 
 wholly overcome. Miggles felt it ; and, suddenly 
 declaring that it was time to " turn in," offered to 
 show the ladies to their bed in an adjoining room. 
 
54 Higgles. 
 
 " You, boys, will have to camp out here by the 
 fire as well as you can," she added, " for thar ain't 
 but the one room." 
 
 Our sex by which, my dear sir, I allude of 
 course to the stronger portion of humanity has 
 been generally relieved from the imputation of 
 curiosity, or a fondness for gossip. Yet I am con- 
 strained to say, that hardly had the door closed on 
 Higgles than we crowded together, whispering, 
 snickering, smiling, and exchanging suspicions, 
 surmises, and a thousand speculations in regard to 
 our pretty hostess and her singular companion. I 
 fear that we even hustled that imbecile paralytic, 
 who sat like a voiceless Memnon in our midst, 
 gazing with the serene indifference of the Past in 
 his passionless eyes upon our wordy counsels. In 
 the midst of an exciting discussion the door opened 
 again, and Higgles re-entered. 
 
 But not, apparently, the same Miggles who a 
 few hours before had flashed upon us. Her eyes 
 were downcast, and as she hesitated for a moment 
 on the threshold, with a blanket on her arm, she 
 seemed to have left behind her the frank fearless- 
 ness which had charmed us a moment before. 
 Coming into the room, she drew a low stool beside 
 the paralytic's chair, sat down, drew the blanket 
 over her shoulders, and saying, " If it's all the same 
 to you, boys, as we're rather crowded, I'll stop 
 here to-night," took the invalid's withered hand in 
 her own, and turned her eyes upon the dying fire. 
 An instinctive feeling that this was only premoni- 
 
Higgles. 55 
 
 tory to more confidential relations, and perhaps 
 some shame at our previous curiosity, kept us 
 silent. The rain still beat upon the roof, wander- 
 ing gusts of wind stirred the embers into momen- 
 tary brightness, until, in a lull of the elements, 
 Higgles suddenly lifted up her head, and, throw- 
 ing her hair over her shoulder, turned her face 
 upon the group and asked, 
 
 " Is there any of you that knows me ? " 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "Think again! I lived at Marysville in '53. 
 Everybody knew me there, and everybody had the 
 right to know me. I kept the Polka Saloon until 
 I came to live with Jim. That's six years ago. 
 Perhaps I've changed some." 
 
 The absence of recognition may have discon- 
 certed her. She turned her head to the fire again, 
 and it was some seconds before she again spoke, 
 and then more rapidly : 
 
 " Well, you see I thought some of you must 
 have known me. There's no great harm done, 
 anyway. What I was going to say was this : Jim 
 here " she took his hand in both of hers as she 
 spoke " used to know me, if you didn't, and 
 spent a heap of money upon me. I reckon he 
 spent all he had. And one day it's six years 
 ago this winter Jim came into my back room, 
 sat down on my sofy, like as you see him in that 
 chair, and never moved again without help. He 
 was struck all of a heap, and never seemed to 
 know what ailed him. The doctors came and said 
 
56 Higgles. 
 
 as how it was caused all along of his way of life, 
 for Jim was mighty free and wild like, and 
 that he would never get better, and couldn't last 
 long anyway. They advised me to send him to 
 Frisco to the hospital, for he was no good to any 
 one and would be a baby all his life. Perhaps it 
 was something in Jim's eye, perhaps it was that I 
 never had a baby, but I said ' No.' I was rich 
 then, for I was popular with everybody, gentle- 
 men like yourself, sir, came to see me, and I 
 sold out my business and bought this yer place, 
 because it was sort of out of the way of travel, you 
 see, and I brought my baby here." 
 
 With a woman's intuitive tact and poetry, she 
 had, as she spoke, slowly shifted her position so as 
 to bring the mute figure of the ruined man be. 
 tween her and her audience, hiding in the shadow 
 behind it, as if she offered it as a tacit apology 
 for her actions. Silent and expressionless, it yet 
 spoke for her ; helpless, crushed, and smitten with 
 the Divine thunderbolt, it still stretched an in- 
 visible arm around her. 
 
 Hidden in the darkness, but still holding his 
 hand she went on : 
 
 " It was a long time before I could get the hang 
 of things about yer, for I was used to company 
 and excitement. I couldn't get any woman to 
 help me, and a man I dursent trust ; but what 
 with the Indians hereabout, who'd do odd jobs for 
 me, and having everything sent from the North 
 Fork, Jim and I managed to worry through. The 
 
Higgles. 57 
 
 Doctor would run up from Sacramento once in a 
 while. He'd ask to see * Miggles's baby,' as he 
 called Jim, and when he'd go away, he'd say, 
 ' Miggles ; you're a trump, God bless you ' ; and 
 it didn't seem so lonely after that. But the last 
 time he was here he said, as he opened the door to 
 go, ' Do you know, Miggles, your baby will grow 
 up to be a man yet and an honor to his mother ; 
 but not here, Miggles, not here!' And I thought 
 he went away sad, and and " and here Mig- 
 gles's voice and head were somehow both lost 
 completely in the shadow. 
 
 " The folks about here are very kind," said Mig- 
 gles, after a pause, coming a little into the light 
 again. " The men from the fork used to hang 
 around here, until they found they wasn't wanted, 
 and the women are kind, and don't call. I was 
 pretty lonely until I picked up Joaquin in the 
 woods yonder one day, when he wasn't so high, 
 and taught him to beg for his dinner ; and then 
 thar's Polly that's the magpie she knows no 
 end of tricks, and makes it quite sociable of even- 
 ings with her talk, and so I don't feel like as I was 
 the only living being about the ranch. And Jim 
 here," said Miggles, with her old laugh again, and 
 coming out quite into the firelight, "Jim why, 
 boys, you would admire to see how much he knows 
 for a man like him. Sometimes I bring him 
 flowers, and he looks at 'em just as natural as if he 
 knew 'em ; and times, when we're sitting alone, I 
 read him those things on the wall. Why, Lord ! " 
 
58 Higgles. 
 
 said Higgles, with her frank laugh, " I've read him 
 that whole side^of the house this winter. There 
 never was such a man for reading as Jim." 
 
 " Why," asked the Judge, " do you not marry 
 this man to whom you have devoted your youthful 
 life?" 
 
 "Well, you see," said Miggles, "it would be 
 playing it rather low down on Jim, to take advan- 
 tage of his being so helpless. And then, too, if 
 we were man and wife, now, we'd both know that 
 I was bound to do what I do now of my own 
 accord." 
 
 " But you are young yet and attractive " 
 
 " It's getting late," said Miggles, gravely, " and 
 you'd better all turn in. Good-night, boys " ; and, 
 throwing the blanket over her head, Miggles laid 
 herself down beside Jim's chair, her head pillowed 
 on the low stool that held his feet, and spoke no 
 more. The fire slowly faded from the hearth ; we 
 each sought our blankets in silence ; and presently 
 there was no sound in the long room but the pat- 
 tering of the rain upon the roof, and the heavy 
 breathing of the sleepers. 
 
 It was nearly morning when I awoke from a 
 troubled dream. The storm had passed, the stars 
 were shining, and through the shutterless window 
 the full moon, lifting itself over the solemn pines 
 without, looked into the room. It touched the 
 lonely figure in the chair with an infinite compas- 
 sion, and seemed to baptize with a shining flood 
 the lowly head of the woman whose hair, as in 
 
Higgles. 59 
 
 the sweet old story, bathed the feet of him she 
 loved. It even lent a kindly poetry to the rugged 
 outline of Yuba Bill, half reclining on his elbow 
 between them and his passengers, with savagely 
 patient eyes keeping watch and ward. And then 
 I fell asleep and only woke at broad day, with 
 Yuba Bill standing over me, and "All aboard" 
 ringing in my ears. 
 
 Coffee was waiting for us on the table, but 
 Higgles was gone. We wandered about the house 
 and lingered long after the horses were harnessed, 
 but she did not return. It was evident that she 
 wished to avoid a formal leave-taking, and had so 
 left us to depart as we had come. After we had 
 helped the ladies into the coach, we returned to the 
 house and solemnly shook hands with the paralytic 
 Jim, as solemnly settling him back into position 
 after each hand-shake. Then we looked for the 
 last time around the long low room, at the stool 
 where Higgles had sat, and slowly took our seats 
 in the waiting coach. The whip cracked, and we 
 were off! 
 
 But as we reached the high-road, Bill's dexterous 
 hand laid the six horses back on their haunches, 
 and the stage stopped with a jerk. For there, 
 on a little eminence beside the road, stood Higgles, 
 her hair flying, her eyes sparkling, her white hand- 
 kerchief waving, and her white teeth flashing a 
 last " good-by." We waved our hats in return. 
 And then Yuba Bill, as if fearful of further fasci- 
 nation, madly lashed his horses forward, and we 
 
60 Higgles. 
 
 sank back in our -seats. We exchanged not a 
 word until we reached the North Fork, and the 
 stage drew up at the Independence House. Then, 
 the Judge leading, we walked into the bar-room 
 and took our places gravely at the bar. 
 
 "Are your glasses charged, gentlemen?" said 
 the Judge, solemnly taking off his white hat. 
 
 They were. 
 
 "Well, then, here's to Higgles, GOD BLESS 
 HER!" 
 
 Perhaps He had. Who knows? 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 T DO not think that we ever knew his real name. 
 Our ignorance of it certainly never gave us 
 any social inconvenience, for at Sandy Bar in 1854 
 most men were christened anew. Sometimes 
 these appellatives were derived from some distinc- 
 tiveness of dress, as in the case of " Dungaree 
 Jack " ; or from some peculiarity of habit, as 
 shown in " Saleratus Bill," so called from an 
 undue proportion of that chemical in his daily 
 bread ; or from some unlucky slip, as exhibited in 
 "The Iron Pirate," a mild, inoffensive man, who 
 earned that baleful title by his unfortunate mis- 
 pronunciation of the term " iron pyrites." Perhaps 
 this may have been the beginning of a rude 
 heraldry ; but I am constrained to think that it 
 was because a man's real name in that day rested 
 solely upon his own unsupported statement. " Call 
 yourself Clifford, do you ?" said Boston, address- 
 ing a timid new-comer with infinite scorn ; " hell 
 is full of such Cliffords!" He then introduced 
 the unfortunate man, whose name happened to be 
 really Clifford, as " Jay-bird Charley," an unhal- 
 lowed inspiration of the moment that clung to him 
 ever after. 
 
 F 
 
62 Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 But to return to Tennessee's Partner, whom we 
 never knew by any other than this relative title ; 
 that he had ever existed as a separate and distinct 
 individuality we only learned later. It seems that 
 in 1853 he left Poker Flat to go to San Francisco, 
 ostensibly to procure a wife. He never got any 
 farther than Stockton. At that place he was at- 
 tracted by a young person who waited upon the 
 table at the hotel where he took his meals. One 
 morning he said something to her which caused 
 her to smile not unkindly, to somewhat coquet- 
 tishly break a plate of toast over his upturned, 
 serious, simple face, and to retreat to the kitchen. 
 He followed her, and emerged a few moments 
 later, covered with more toast and victory. That 
 day week they were married by a Justice of the 
 Peace, and returned to Poker Flat. I am aware 
 that something more might be made of this epi- 
 sode, but I prefer to tell it as it was current at 
 Sandy Bar, in the gulches and bar-rooms, 
 where all sentiment was modified by a strong 
 sense of humor. 
 
 Of their married felicity but little is known, 
 perhaps for the reason that Tennessee, then living 
 with his partner, one day took occasion to say 
 something to the bride on his own account, at 
 which, it is said, she smiled not unkindly and 
 chastely retreated, this time as far as Marysville, 
 where Tennessee followed her, and where they 
 went to housekeeping without the aid of a Justice 
 of the Peace. Tennessee's Partner took the loss 
 
Tennessee's Partner. 63 
 
 of his wife simply and seriously, as was his fashion. 
 But to everybody's surprise, when Tennessee one 
 day returned from Marysville, without his part- 
 ner's wife, she having smiled and retreated with 
 somebody else, Tennessee's Partner was the first 
 man to shake his hand and greet him with affec- 
 tion. The boys who had gathered in the canon 
 to see the shooting were naturally indignant. 
 Their indignation might have found vent in sar- 
 casm, but for a certain look in Tennessee's Part- 
 ner's eye that indicated a lack of humorous 
 appreciation. In fact, he was a grave man, with 
 a steady application to practical detail which was 
 unpleasant in a difficulty. 
 
 Meanwhile a popular feeling against Tennessee 
 had grown up on the Bar. He was known to be 
 a gambler ; he was suspected to be a thief. In 
 these suspicions Tennessee's Partner was equally 
 compromised ; his continued intimacy with Ten- 
 nessee after the affair above quoted could only be 
 accounted for on the hypothesis of a copartnership 
 of crime. At last Tennessee's guilt became fla- 
 grant. One day he overtook a stranger on his 
 way to Red Dog. The stranger afterward related 
 that Tennessee beguiled the time with interesting 
 anecdote and reminiscence, but illogically con- 
 cluded the interview in the following words : 
 "And now, young man, I'll trouble you for your 
 knife, your pistols, and your money. You see 
 your weppings might get you into trouble at Red 
 Dog, and your money's a temptation to the evilly 
 
 F 2 
 
64 Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 disposed. I think you said your address was San 
 Francisco. I shall endeavour to call." It may be 
 stated here that Tennessee had a fine flow of 
 humor, which no business preoccupation could 
 wholly subdue. 
 
 This exploit was his last. Red Dog and Sandy 
 Bar made common cause against the highwayman. 
 Tennessee was hunted in very much the same 
 fashion as his prototype, the grizzly. As the toils 
 closed around him, he made a desperate dash 
 through the Bar, emptying his revolver at the 
 crowd before the Arcade Saloon, and so on up 
 Grizzly Canon ; but at its farther extremity he 
 was stopped by a small man on a gray horse. 
 The men looked at each other a moment in si- 
 lence. Both were fearless, both self-possessed and 
 independent ; and both types of a civilization that 
 in the seventeenth century would have been called 
 heroic, but, in the nineteenth, simply "reckless." 
 "What have you got there? I call," said Ten- 
 nessee, quietly. "Two bowers and an ace," said 
 the stranger, as quietly, showing two revolvers 
 and a bowie-knife. " That takes me," returned 
 Tennessee ; and with this gamblers' epigram, he 
 threw away his useless pistol, and rode back with 
 his captor. 
 
 It was a warm night. The cool breeze which 
 usually sprang up with the going down of the sun 
 behind the c/iafiarral-crested mountain was that 
 evening withheld from Sandy Bar. The little 
 
Tennessee's Partner. 65 
 
 cafion was stifling with heated resinous odours, 
 and the decaying drift-wood on the Bar sent forth 
 faint, sickening exhalations. The feverishness of 
 day, and its fierce passions, still filled the camp. 
 Lights moved restlessly along the bank of the 
 river, striking no answering reflection from its 
 tawny current. Against the blackness of the 
 pines the windows of the old loft above the 
 express-office stood out staringly bright ; and 
 through their curtainless panes the loungers below 
 could see the forms of those who were even then 
 deciding the fate of Tennessee. And above all 
 this, etched on the dark firmament, rose the 
 Sierra, remote and passionless, crowned with re- 
 moter, passionless stars. 
 
 The trial of Tennessee was conducted as fairly 
 as was consistent with a judge and jury who felt 
 themselves to some extent obliged to justify, in 
 their verdict, the previous irregularities of arrest 
 and indictment. The law of Sandy Bar was im- 
 placable, but not vengeful. The excitement and 
 personal feeling of the chase were over ; with Ten- 
 nessee safe in their hands they were ready to listen 
 patiently to any defence, which they were already 
 satisfied was insufficient. There being no doubt 
 in their own minds, they were willing to give the 
 prisoner the benefit of any that might exist. 
 Secure in the hypothesis that he ought to be 
 hanged, on general principles, they indulged him 
 with more latitude of defence than his reckless 
 hardihood seemed to ask. . The Judge appeared to 
 
65 Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 be more anxious than the prisoner, who, otherwise 
 unconcerned, evidently took a grim pleasure in the 
 responsibility he had created. " I don't take any 
 hand in this yer game," had been his invariable, 
 but good-humored reply to all questions. The 
 Judge who was also his captor for a moment 
 vaguely regretted that he had not shot him "on 
 sight," that morning, but presently dismissed this 
 human weakness as unworthy of the judicial mind. 
 Nevertheless, when there was a tap at the door, 
 and it was said that Tennessee's Partner was there 
 on behalf of the prisoner, he was admitted at 
 once without question. Perhaps the younger 
 members of the jury, to whom the proceedings 
 were becoming irksomely thoughtful, hailed him 
 as a relief. 
 
 For he was not, certainly, an imposing figure. 
 Short and stout, with a square face, sunburned 
 into a preternatural redness, clad in a loose duck 
 "jumper," and trousers streaked and splashed 
 with red soil, his aspect under any circumstances 
 would have been quaint, and was now even ridicu- 
 lous. As he stooped to deposit at his feet a heavy 
 carpet-bag he was carrying, it became obvious, 
 from partially developed legends and inscriptions, 
 that the material with which his trousers had been 
 patched had been originally intended for a less 
 ambitious covering. Yet he advanced with great 
 gravity, and after having shaken the hand of each 
 person in the room with labored cordiality, he 
 wiped his serious, perplexed face on a red ban- 
 
Tennessee's Partner. 67 
 
 danna handkerchief, a shade lighter than his com- 
 plexion, laid his powerful hand upon the table to 
 steady himself, and thus addressed the Judge : 
 
 " I was passin' by," he began, by way of apology, 
 "and I thought I'd just step in and see how things 
 was gittin' on with Tennessee thar, my pardner. 
 It's a hot night. I disremember any sich weather 
 before on the Bar." 
 
 He paused a moment, but nobody volunteering 
 any other meteorological recollection, he again had 
 recourse to his pocket-handkerchief, and for some 
 moments mopped his face diligently. 
 
 " Have you anything to say in behalf of the 
 prisoner ? " said the Judge, finally. 
 
 " Thet's it," said Tennessee's Partner, in a tone 
 of relief. " I come yar as Tennessee's pardner,- 
 knowing him nigh on four year, off and on, wet 
 and dry, in luck and out o' luck. His ways ain't 
 allers my ways, but thar ain't any p'ints in that 
 young man, thar ain't any liveliness as he's been up 
 to, as I don't know. And you sez to me, sez you, 
 confidential-like, and between man and man, sez 
 you, ' Do you know anything in his behalf ? ' and 
 I sez to you, sez I, confidential-like, as between 
 man and man, * What should a man know of his 
 pardner ? ' " 
 
 " Is this all you have to say ? " asked the Judge, 
 impatiently, feeling, perhaps, that a dangerous 
 sympathy of humor was beginning to humanize 
 the Court. 
 
 " Thet's so," continued Tennessee's Partner. 
 
68 Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 " It ain't for me to say anything agin' him. And 
 now, what's the case ? Here's Tennessee wants 
 money, wants it bad, and doesn't like to ask it of 
 his old pardner. Well, what does Tennessee do ? 
 He lays for a stranger, and he fetches that stranger. 
 And you lays for him, and you fetches him ; and 
 the honors is easy. And I put it to you, bein' a 
 far-minded man, and to you, gentlemen, all, as 
 far-minded men, ef this isn't so." 
 
 " Prisoner," said the Judge, interrupting, "have 
 you any questions to ask this man ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! " continued Tennessee's Partner, 
 hastily. " I play this yer hand alone. To come 
 down to the bed-rock, it 's just this : Tennessee, 
 thar, has played it pretty rough and expensive- 
 like on a stranger, and on this yer camp. And 
 now, what's the fair thing? Some would say 
 more ; some would say less. Here's seventeen 
 hundred dollars in coarse gold and a watch, it's 
 about all my pile, and call it square ! " And 
 before a hand could be raised to prevent him, he 
 had emptied the contents of the carpet-bag upon 
 the table. 
 
 For a moment his life was in jeopardy. One or 
 two men sprang to their feet, several hands groped 
 for hidden weapons, and a suggestion to " throw 
 him from the window " was only overridden by a 
 gesture from the Judge. Tennessee laughed. And 
 apparently oblivious of the excitement, Tennes- 
 see's Partner improved the opportunity to mop his 
 face again with his handkerchief. 
 
Tennessee s Partner. 69 
 
 When order was restored, and the man was 
 made to understand, by the use of forcible figures 
 and rhetoric, that Tennessee's offence could not be 
 condoned by money, his face took a more serious 
 and sanguinary hue, and those who were nearest 
 to him noticed that his rough hand trembled 
 slightly on the table. He hesitated a moment as 
 he slowly returned the gold to the carpet-bag, as 
 if he had not yet entirely caught the elevated 
 sense of justice which swayed the tribunal, and 
 was perplexed with the belief that he had not 
 offered enough Then he turned to the Judge, 
 and saying, " This yer is a lone hand, played alone, 
 and without my pardner," he bowed to the jury 
 and was about to withdraw, when the Judge called 
 him back. " If you have anything to say to Ten- 
 nessee, you had better say it now." For the first 
 time that evening the eyes of the prisoner and his 
 strange advocate met. Tennessee smiled, showed 
 his white teeth, and, saying, " Euchred, old man ! " 
 held out his hand. Tennessee's Partner took it in 
 his own, and saying, " I just dropped in as I was 
 passin' to see how things was gittin' on," let the 
 hand passively fall, and adding that "it was a 
 warm night," again mopped his face with his hand- 
 kerchief, and without another word withdrew. 
 
 The two men never again met each other alive. 
 For the unparalleled insult of a bribe offered to 
 Judge Lynch who, whether bigoted, weak or 
 narrow, was at least incorruptible firmly fixed in 
 the mind of that mythical personage any wavering 
 
JO Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 determination of Tennessee's fate ; and at the break 
 of day he was marched, closely guarded, to meet 
 it at the top of Marley's Hill. 
 
 How he met it, how cool he was, how he refused 
 to say anything, how perfect were the arrangements 
 of the committee, were all duly reported, with the 
 addition of a warning moral and example to all 
 future evil-doers, in the Red Dog Clarion, by its 
 editor, who was present, and to whose vigorous 
 English I cheerfully refer the reader. But the 
 beauty of that midsummer morning, the blessed 
 amity of earth and air and sky, the awakened life 
 of the free woods and hills, the joyous renewal and 
 promise of Nature, and above all, the infinite 
 Serenity that thrilled through each, was not re- 
 ported, as not being a part of the social lesson. 
 And yet, when the weak and foolish deed was 
 done, and a life, with its possibilities and responsi- 
 bilities, had passed out of the misshapen thing 
 that dangled between earth and sky, the birds 
 sang, the flowers bloomed, the sun shone, as 
 cheerily as before ; and possibly the Red Dog 
 Clarion was right. 
 
 Tennessee's Partner was not in the group that 
 surrounded the ominous tree. But as they turned 
 to disperse attention was drawn to the singular 
 appearance of a motionless donkey-cart halted at 
 the side of the road. As they approached, they at 
 once recognized the venerable "Jenny" and the 
 two-wheeled cart as the property of Tennessee's 
 Partner, used by him in carrying dirt from his 
 
Tennessee's Partner. 71 
 
 claim ; and a few paces distant the owner of the 
 equipage himself, sitting under a buckeye-tree, 
 
 ; wiping the perspiration from his glowing face. In 
 answer to an inquiry, he said he had come for the 
 body of the " diseased," " if it was all the same to 
 
 i the committee." He didn't wish to " hurry any- 
 thing " ; he could " wait." He was not working 
 
 ' that day ; and when the gentlemen were done with 
 the " diseased," he would take him. " Ef thar is 
 any present," he added, in his simple, serious way, 
 
 i " as would care to jine in the fun'l, they kin come." 
 Perhaps it was from a sense of humor, which I 
 have already intimated was a feature of Sandy Bar, 
 perhaps it was from something even better than 
 that ; but two-thirds of the loungers accepted the 
 invitation at once. 
 
 It was noon when the body of Tennessee was 
 delivered into the hands of his partner. As the 
 cart drew up to the fatal tree, we noticed that it 
 contained a rough, oblong box, apparently made 
 from a section of sluicing, and half filled with 
 bark and the tassels of pine. The cart was fur- 
 ther decorated with slips of willow, and made 
 fragrant with buckeye-blossoms. When the body 
 was deposited in the box, Tennessee's Partner drew 
 over it a piece of tarred canvas, and gravely 
 mounting the narrow seat in front, with his feet 
 upon the shafts, urged the little donkey forward. 
 The equipage moved slowly on, at that decorous 
 pace which was habitual with " Jenny " even under 
 less solemn circumstances. The men half curi- 
 
72 Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 ously, half jestingly, but all good-humoredly 
 strolled ak>ng beside the cart ; some in advance, 
 some a little in the rear of the homely catafalque. 
 But, whether from the narrowing of the road or 
 some preseut sense of decorum, as the cart passed 
 on, the company fell to the rear in couples, keeping 
 step, and otherwise assuming the external show of 
 a formal procession. Jack Folinsbee, who had at 
 the outset played a funeral march 'in dumb show 
 upon an imaginary trombone, desisted, from a lack 
 of sympathy and appreciation, not having, per- 
 haps, your true humorist's capacity to be content 
 with the enjoyment of his own fun. 
 
 The way led through Grizzly Canon, by this 
 time clothed in funereal drapery and shadows. 
 The redwoods, burying their moccasoned feet in 
 the red soil, stood in Indian-file along the track, 
 trailing an uncouth benediction from their bending 
 boughs upon the passing bier. A hare, surprised 
 into helpless inactivity, sat upright and pulsating 
 in the ferns by the roadside, as the cortege went by. 
 Squirrels hastened to gain a secure outlook from 
 higher boughs ; and the blue-jays, spreading their 
 wings, fluttered before them like outriders, until 
 the outskirts of Sandy Bar were reached, and the 
 solitary cabin of Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 Viewed under more favorable circumstances, it 
 would not have been a cheerful place. The unpic- 
 turesque site, the rude and unlovely outlines, the 
 unsavoury details, which distinguish the nest-build- 
 ing of the California miner, were all here, with the 
 
Tennessee's Partner. 73 
 
 dreariness of decay superadded. A few paces from 
 the cabin there was a rough enclosure, which, in 
 the brief days of Tennessee's Partner's matrimonial 
 felicity, had been used as a garden, but was now 
 overgrown with fern. As we approached it we 
 were surprised to find that what we had taken for 
 a recent attempt at cultivation was the broken soil 
 about an open grave. 
 
 The cart was halted before the enclosure ; and 
 rejecting the offers of assistance with the same air 
 of simple self-reliance he had displayed throughout, 
 Tennessee's Partner lifted the rough coffin on his 
 back, and deposited it, unaided, within the shallow 
 grave. He then nailed down the board which 
 served as a lid ; and mounting the little mound of 
 earth beside it, took off his hat, and slowly mopped 
 his face with his handkerchief. This the crowd 
 felt was a preliminary to speech ; and they disposed 
 themselves variously on stumps and boulders, and 
 sat expectant. 
 
 " When a man," began Tennessee's Partner, 
 slowly, " has been running free all day, what's the 
 natural thing for him to do ? Why, to come 
 home. And if he ain't in a condition to go home, 
 what can his best friend do ? Why, bring him 
 home ! And here's Tennessee has been running 
 free, and we brings him home from his wander- 
 ing." He paused, and picked up a fragment of 
 quartz, rubbed it thoughtfully on his sleeve, and 
 went on : " It ain't the first time that I've packed 
 him on my back, as you see'd me now. It ain't 
 
74 Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 the first time that I brought him to this yer cabin 
 when he couldn't help himself; it ain't the first 
 time that I and 'Jinny' have waited for him on 
 yon hill, and picked him up and so fetched him 
 home, when he couldn't speak, and didn't know 
 me. And now that it's the last time, why " he 
 paused, and rubbed the quartz gently on his sleeve 
 "you see it's sort of rough on his pardner. 
 And now, gentlemen," he added, abruptly, picking 
 up his long-handled shovel, " the fun'l's over ; 
 and my thanks, and Tennessee's thanks, to you 
 for your trouble." 
 
 Resisting any proffers of assistance, he began to 
 fill in the grave, turning his back upon the crowd, 
 that after a few moments' hesitation gradually 
 withdrew. As they crossed the little ridge that 
 hid Sandy Bar from view, some, looking back, 
 thought they could see Tennessee's Partner, his 
 work done, sitting upon the grave, his shovel 
 between his knees, and his face buried in his red 
 bandanna handkerchief. But it was argued by 
 others that you could n't tell his face from his 
 handkerchief at that distance ; and this point 
 remained undecided. 
 
 In the reaction that followed the feverish excite- 
 ment of that day, Tennessee's partner was not 
 forgotten. A secret investigation had cleared him 
 of any complicity in Tennessee's guilt, and left 
 only a suspicion of his general sanity. Sandy 
 Bar made a point of calling on him, and proffer- 
 
Tennessee's Partner. 75 
 
 ing various uncouth, but well-meant kindnesses. 
 But from that day his rude health and great 
 strength seemed visibly to decline ; and when the 
 rainy season fairly set in, and the tiny grass- 
 blades were beginning to peep from the rocky 
 mound above Tennessee's grave, he took to his 
 bed. 
 
 One night, when the pines beside the cabin 
 were swaying in the storm, and trailing their 
 slender fingers over the roof, and the roar and 
 rush of the swollen river were heard below, Ten- 
 nessee's Partner lifted his head from the pillow, 
 saying, " It is time to go for Tennessee ; I must 
 put ' Jinny ' in the cart " ; and would have risen 
 from his bed but for the restraint of his attendant. 
 Struggling, he still pursued his singular fancy: 
 " There, now, steady, ' Jinny,' steady, old girl. 
 How dark it is ! Look out for the ruts, and 
 look out for him, too, old gal. Sometimes, you 
 know, when he 's blind drunk, he drops down 
 right in the trail. Keep on straight up to the 
 pine on the top of the hill. Thar I told you so ! 
 thar he is, coming this way, too, all by him- 
 self, sober, and his face a-shining. Tennessee i 
 Pardner ! " 
 
 And so they met 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 O ANDY was very drunk. He was lying undei 
 an azalea-bush, in pretty much the same 
 attitude in which he had fallen some hours before. 
 How long he had been lying there he could not 
 tell, and did n't care ; how long he should lie 
 there was a matter equally indefinite and un- 
 considered. A tranquil philosophy, born of his 
 physical condition, suffused and saturated his moral 
 being. 
 
 The spectacle of a drunken man, and of this 
 drunken man in particular, was not, I grieve to 
 say, of sufficient novelty in Red Gulch to attract 
 attention. Earlier in the day some local satirist 
 had erected a temporary tombstone at Sandy's 
 head, bearing the inscription, " Effects of McCor- 
 kle's whiskey, kills at forty rods," with a hand 
 pointing to McCorkle's saloon. But this, I 
 imagine, was, like most local satire, personal ; 
 and was a reflection upon the unfairness of the 
 process rather than a commentary upon the 
 impropriety of the result. With this facetious 
 exception, Sandy had been undisturbed. A wan- 
 dering mule, released from his pack, had cropped 
 the scant herbage beside him, and sniffed curiously 
 
The Idyl of Red Gulch. 77 
 
 at the prostrate man ; a vagabond dog, with that 
 deep sympathy which the species have for drunken 
 men, had licked his dusty boots, and curled him- 
 self up at his feet, and lay there, blinking one 
 eye in the sunlight, with a simulation of dissipa- 
 tion that was ingenious and dog-like in its implied 
 flattery of the unconscious man beside him. 
 
 Meanwhile the shadows of the pine-trees had 
 slowly swung around until they crossed the road, 
 and their trunks barred the open meadow with 
 gigantic parallels of black and yellow. Little 
 puffs of red dust, lifted by the plunging hoofs of 
 passing teams, dispersed in a grimy shower upon 
 the recumbent man. The sun sank lower and 
 lower ; and still Sandy stirred not. And then the 
 repose of this philosopher was disturbed, as other 
 philosophers have been, by the intrusion of an 
 unphilosophical sex. 
 
 "Miss Mary," as she was known to the little 
 flock that she had just dismissed from the log 
 school-house beyond the pines, was taking her 
 afternoon walk. Observing an unusually fine 
 cluster of blossoms on the azalea-bush opposite, 
 she crossed the road to pluck it, picking her way 
 through the red dust, not without certain fierce lit- 
 tle shivers of disgust, and some feline circumlocu- 
 tion. And then she came suddenly upon Sandy ! 
 
 Of course she uttered the little staccato cry of 
 her sex. But when she had paid that tribute to 
 her physical weakness she became overbold, and 
 halted for a moment, at least six feet from this 
 
 G 
 
;8 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 prostrate monster, with her white skirts gathered 
 in her hand, ready for flight. But neither sound 
 nor motion came from the bush. With one little 
 foot she then overturned the satirical head-board, 
 and muttered " Beasts ! " an epithet which pro- 
 bably, at that moment, conveniently classified in 
 her mind the entire male population of Red Gulch. 
 For Miss Mary, being possessed of certain rigid 
 notions of her own, had not, perhaps, properly 
 appreciated the demonstrative gallantry for which 
 the Californian has been so justly celebrated by 
 his brother Californians, and had, as a new-comer, 
 perhaps, fairly earned the reputation of being 
 " stuck up." 
 
 As she stood there she noticed, also, that the 
 slant sunbeams were heating Sandy's head to what 
 she judged to be an unhealthy temperature, and 
 that his hat was lying uselessly at his side. To 
 pick it up and to place it over his face was a work 
 requiring some courage,- particularly as his eyes 
 were open. Yet she did it and made good her re- 
 treat. But she was somewhat concerned, on look- 
 ing back, to see that the hat was removed, and 
 that Sandy was sitting up and saying something. 
 
 The truth was, that in the calm depths of San- 
 dy's mind he was satisfied that the rays of the 
 sun were beneficial and healthful ; that from child- 
 hood he had objected to lying down in a hat ; 
 that no people but condemned fools, past redemp- 
 tion, ever wore hats ; and that his right to dispense 
 with them when he pleased was inalienable. This 
 
The Idyl of Red Gulch. 79 
 
 was the statement of his inner consciousness. 
 Unfortunately, its outward expression was vague, 
 being limited to a repetition of the following 
 formula, " Su'shine all ri' ! Wasser maar, eh ? 
 Wass up, su'shine ? " 
 
 Miss Mary stopped, and, taking fresh courage 
 from her vantage of distance, asked him if there 
 was anything that he wanted. 
 
 " Wass up ? Wasser maar ? " continued Sandy, 
 in a very high key. 
 
 " Get up, you horrid man ! " said Miss Mary, 
 now thoroughly incensed ; " get up, and go home." 
 . Sandy staggered to his feet. He was six feet 
 high, and Miss Mary trembled. He started for- 
 ward a few paces and then stopped. 
 
 " Wass I go home for ? " he suddenly asked, 
 with great gravity. 
 
 " Go and take a bath," replied Miss Mary, eyeing 
 his grimy person with great disfavor. 
 
 To her infinite dismay, Sandy suddenly pulled 
 off his coat and vest, threw them on the ground, 
 kicked off his boots, and, plunging wildly forward, 
 darted headlong over the hill, in the direction of 
 the river. 
 
 " Goodness Heavens ! the man will be 
 drowned ! " said Miss Mary ; and then, with femi- 
 nine inconsistency, she ran back to the school- 
 house, and locked herself in. 
 
 That night, while seated at supper with her 
 hostess, the blacksmith's wife, it came to Miss 
 Mary to ask, demurely if her husband ever got 
 
 G 2 
 
80 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 drunk. "Abner," responded Mrs. Stidger, re- 
 flectively, " let's see : Abner has n't been tight 
 since last 'lection." Miss Mary would have liked 
 to ask if he preferred lying in the sun on these 
 occasions, and if a cold bath would have hurt him ; 
 b it this would have involved an explanation, 
 which she did not then care to give. So she con- 
 tented herseh with opening her gray eyes widely 
 at xhe red-cheeked Mrs. Stidger, a fine specimen 
 Oi South western efflorescence, and then dis- 
 missed the subject altogether. The next day she 
 wrote to her dearest friend, in Boston : " I think 
 I find the intoxicated portion of this community,, 
 the least objectionable. I refer, my dear, to the 
 men, of course. I do not know anything that 
 could make the women tolerable." 
 
 In less than a week Miss Mary had forgotten 
 this episode, except that her afternoon walks took 
 thereafter, almost unconsciously, another direc- 
 tion. She noticed, however, that every morning 
 a fresh cluster of azalea-blossoms appeared among 
 the flowers on her desk. This was not strange, 
 as her little flock were aware of her fondness for 
 flowers, and invariably kept her desk bright with 
 anemones, syringas, and lupines ; but, on question- 
 ing them, they, one and all, professed ignorance of 
 the azaleas. A few days later, Master Johnny 
 Stidger, whose desk was nearest to the window, 
 was suddenly taken with spasms of apparently 
 gratuitous laughter, that threatened the discipline 
 of the school. All that Miss Mary could get 
 
The Idyl of Red Gulch. 8 1 
 
 from his was, that some one had been " looking 
 in the winder." Irate and indignant, she sallied 
 from her hive to do battle with the intruder. As 
 she turned the corner of the school-house she 
 came plump upon the quondam drunkard, now 
 perfectly sober, and inexpressibly sheepish and 
 guilty-looking. 
 
 These facts Miss Mary was not slow to take a 
 feminine advantage of, in her present humor. 
 But it was somewhat confusing to observe, also, 
 that the beast, despite some faint signs of past 
 dissipation, was amiable-looking, in fact, a kind 
 of blond Samson, whose corn-coloured, silken 
 beard apparently had never yet known the touch 
 of barber's razor or Delilah's shears. So that the 
 cutting speech which quivered on her ready tongue 
 died upon her lips, and she contented herself with 
 receiving his stammering apology with supercilious 
 eyelids and the gathered skirts of uncontamina- 
 tion. When she re-entered the schoolroom, her 
 eyes fell upon the azaleas with a new sense of 
 revelation. And then she laughed, and the little 
 people all laughed, and they were all unconsciously 
 very happy. 
 
 It was on a hot day and not long after this 
 that two short-legged boys came to grief on the 
 threshold of the school with a pail of water, which 
 they had laboriously brought from the spring, and 
 that Miss Mary compassionately seized the pail 
 and started for the spring herself. At the foot of 
 the hill a shadow crossed her path, and a blue- 
 
82 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 shirted arm dexterously but gently relieved hei 
 of her burden. Miss Mary was both embarrassed 
 and angry. "If you carried more of that for 
 yourself," she said, spitefully, to the blue arm, 
 without deigning to raise her lashes to its owner, 
 "you'd do better." In the submissive silence that 
 followed she regretted the speech, and thanked 
 him so sweetly at the door that he stumbled. 
 Which caused the children to laugh again, a 
 laugh in which Miss Mary joined, until the colour 
 came faintly into her pale cheek. The next day a 
 barrel was mysteriously placed beside the door, 
 and as mysteriously filled with fresh spring-water 
 every morning. 
 
 Nor was this superior young person without 
 other quiet attentions. " Profane Bill," driver of 
 the Slumgullion Stage, widely known in the news- 
 papers for his " gallantry " in invariably offering 
 the box-seat to the fair sex, had excepted Miss 
 Mary from this attention, on the ground that he 
 had a habit of " cussin' on up grades," and gave 
 her half the coach to herself. Jack Hamlin, a 
 gambler, having once silently ridden with her in 
 the same coach, afterward threw a decanter at 
 the head of a confederate for mentioning her 
 name in a bar-room. The over-dressed mother of 
 a pupil whose paternity was doubtful had often 
 lingered near this astute Vestal's temple, never 
 daring to enter its sacred precincts, but content to 
 worship the priestess from afar. 
 
 With such unconscious intervals the monotonous 
 
The Idyl of Red Gulch. 83 
 
 procession of blue skies, glittering sunshine, brief 
 twilights, and starlit nights passed over Red Gulch. 
 Miss Mary grew fond of walking in the sedate and 
 proper woods. Perhaps she believed, with Mrs. 
 Stidger, that the balsamic odors of the firs " did 
 her chest good," for certainly her slight cough was 
 less frequent and her step was firmer ; perhaps she 
 had learned the unending lesson which the patient 
 pines are never weary of repeating to heedful or 
 listless ears. And so, one day, she planned a 
 picnic on Buckeye Hill, and took the children 
 with her. Away from the dusty road, the strag- 
 gling shanties, the yellow ditches, the clamor of 
 restless engines, the cheap finery of shop-windows, 
 the deeper glitter of paint and coloured glass, 
 <and the thin veneering which barbarism takes 
 upon itself in such localities, what infinite relief 
 was theirs ! The last heap of ragged rock and 
 clay passed, the last unsightly chasm crossed, 
 how the waiting woods opened their long files to 
 receive them ! How the children perhaps be- 
 cause they had not yet grown quite away from 
 the breast of the bounteous Mother threw them- 
 selves face downward on her brown bosom with 
 uncouth caresses, filling the air with their laugh- 
 ter ; and how Miss Mary herself felinely fasti- 
 dious and intrenched as she was in the purity of 
 spotless skirts, collar, and cuffs forgot all, and 
 ran like a crested quail at the head of her brood, 
 until, romping, laughing, and panting, with a 
 loosened braid of brown hair, a hat hanging by a 
 
84 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 knotted ribbon from her throat, she came suddenly 
 and violently, in the heart of the forest, upon 
 the luckless Sandy ! 
 
 The explanations, apologies, and not overwise 
 conversation that ensued, need not be indicated 
 here. It would seem, however, that Miss Mary 
 had already established some acquaintance with 
 this ex-drunkard. Enough that he was soon ac- 
 cepted as one of the party ; that the children, with 
 that quick intelligence which Providence gives the 
 helpless, recognized a friend, and played with his 
 blond beard, and long silken mustache, and took 
 other liberties, as the helpless are apt to do. 
 And when he had built a fire against a tree, and 
 had shown them other mysteries of wood-craft, 
 their admiration knew no bounds. At the close 
 of two such foolish, idle, happy hours he found 
 himself lying at the feet of the schoolmistress, 
 gazing dreamily in her face, as she sat upon the 
 sloping hillside, weaving wreaths of laurel and 
 syringa, in very much the same attitude as he had 
 lain when first they met. Nor was the similitude 
 greatly forced. The weakness of an easy, sen- 
 suous nature, that had found a dreamy exaltation 
 in liquor, it is to be feared was now finding an 
 equal intoxication in love. 
 
 I think that Sandy was dimly conscious of this 
 himself. I know that he longed to be doing 
 something, slaying a grizzly, scalping a savage, 
 or sacrificing himself in some way for the sake of 
 this sallow-faced, gray-eyed schoolmistress. As I 
 
The Idyl of Red Gulch. 85 
 
 should like to present him in a heroic attitude, I 
 stay my hand with great difficulty at this moment, 
 being only withheld from introducing such an epi- 
 sode by a strong conviction that it does not 
 usually occur at such times. And I trust that my 
 fairest reader, who remembers that in a real crisis, 
 it is always some uninteresting stranger or unro- 
 mantic policeman, and not Adolphus, who rescues, 
 will forgive the omission. 
 
 So they sat there, undisturbed, the wood- 
 peckers chattering overhead, and the voices of the 
 children coming pleasantly from the hollow below. 
 What they said matters little. What they thought 
 which might have been interesting did not 
 transpire. The woodpeckers only learned how 
 Miss Mary was an orphan ; how she left her 
 uncle's house, to come to California, for the sake 
 of health and independence ; how Sandy was an 
 orphan, too ; how he came to California for excite- 
 ment ; how he had lived a wild life, and how he 
 was trying to reform ; and other details, which, 
 from a woodpecker's view-point, undoubtedly must 
 have seemed stupid, and a waste of time. But 
 even in such trifles was the afternoon spent ; and 
 when the children were again gathered, and 
 Sandy, with a delicacy which the schoolmistress 
 well understood, took leave of them quietly at the 
 outskirts of the settlement, it had seemed the 
 shortest day of her weary life. 
 
 As the long, dry summer withered to its roots, 
 the school term of Red Gulch to use a local 
 
86 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 euphuism "dried up" also. In another day Miss 
 Mary would be free ; and for a season, at least, 
 Red Gulch would know her no more. She was 
 seated alone in the school-house, her cheek resting 
 on her hand, her eyes half closed in one of those 
 day-dreams in which Miss Mary I fear, to the 
 danger of school discipline was lately in the 
 habit of indulging. Her lap was full of mosses, 
 ferns, and other woodland memories. She was so 
 preoccupied with these and her own thoughts 
 that a gentle tapping at the door passed unheard, 
 or translated itself into the remembrance of far- 
 off woodpeckers. When at last it asserted itself 
 more distinctly, she started up with a flushed 
 cheek and opened the door. On the threshold 
 stood a woman, the self-assertion and audacity of 
 whose dress were in singular contrast to her timid, 
 irresolute bearing. 
 
 Miss Mary recognized at a glance the dubious 
 mother of her anonymous pupil. Perhaps she 
 was disappointed, perhaps she was only fastidious ; 
 but as she coldly invited her to enter, she half un- 
 consciously settled her white cuffs and collar, and 
 gathered closer her own chaste skirts. It was, 
 perhaps, for this reason that the embarrassed 
 stranger, after a moment's hesitation, left her gor- 
 geous parasol open and sticking in the dust beside 
 the door, and then sat down at the farther end 
 of a long bench. Her voice was husky as she 
 began : 
 
 " I heerd tell that you were goin' down to the 
 
The Idyl of Red Gulch. 87 
 
 Bay to-morrow, and I could n't let you go until 
 I came to thank you for your kindness to my 
 Tommy." 
 
 Tommy, Miss Mary said, was a good boy, and 
 deserved more than the poor attention she could 
 give him. 
 
 " Thank you, miss ; thank ye ! " cried the stran- 
 ger, brightening even through the color which 
 Red Gulch knew facetiously as her " war paint," 
 and striving, in her embarrassment, to drag the 
 long bench nearer the schoolmistress. " I thank 
 you, miss, for that ! and if I am his mother, there 
 ain't a sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. 
 And if I ain't much as says it, thar ain't a sweeter, 
 dearer, angeler teacher lives than he 's got." 
 
 Miss Mary, sitting primly behind her desk, with 
 a ruler over her shoulder, opened her gray eyes 
 widely at this, but said nothing. 
 
 "It ain't for you to be complimented by the 
 like of me, I know," she went on, hurriedly. " It 
 ain't for me to be comin' here, in broad day, to 
 do it, either ; but I come to ask a favor, not 
 for me, miss, not for me, but for the darling 
 boy." 
 
 Encouraged by a look in the young schoolmis- 
 tress's eye, and putting her lilac-gloved hands to- 
 gether, the fingers downward, between her knees, 
 she went on, in a low voice : 
 
 " You see, miss, there 's no one the boy has any 
 claim on but me, and I ain't the proper person to 
 bring him up. I thought some, last year, of send- 
 
88 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 ing him away to 'Frisco to school, but when they 
 talked of bringing a schoolma'am here, I waited 
 till I saw you, and then I knew it was all right, 
 and I could keep my boy a little longer. And O, 
 miss, he loves you so much ; and if you could 
 hear him talk about you, in his pretty way, and if 
 he could ask you what I ask you now, you 
 couldn't refuse him. 
 
 " It is natural," she went on, rapidly, in a voice 
 that trembled strangely between pride and humi- 
 lity, "it's natural that he should take to you, 
 miss, for his father, when I first knew him, was a 
 gentleman, and the boy must forget me, sooner 
 or later, and so I ain't a goin* to cry about that. 
 For I come to ask you to take my Tommy, God 
 bless him for the bestest, sweetest boy that lives, 
 to to take him with you." 
 
 She had risen and caught the young girl's hand 
 in her own, and had fallen on her knees beside her. 
 
 " I've money plenty, and it's all yours and his. 
 Put him in some good school, where you can go 
 and see him, and help him to to to forget his 
 mother. Do with him what you like. The worst 
 you can do will be kindness to what he will learn 
 with me. Only take him out of this wicked life, 
 this cruel place, this home of shame and sorrow. 
 You will ; I know you will, won't you ? You 
 will you must not, you cannot say no ! You 
 will make him as pure, as gentle as yourself; and 
 when he has grown up, you will tell him his father's 
 name, the name that hasn't passed my lips for 
 
The Idyl of Red Gulch. 89 
 
 years, the name of Alexander Morton, whom 
 they call here Sandy ! Miss Mary ! do not take 
 your hand away ! Miss Mary, speak to me ! You 
 will take my boy? Do not put your face from 
 me. I know it ought not to look on such as me. 
 Miss Mary ! my God, be merciful ! she is leav- 
 ing me !" 
 
 Miss Mary had risen, and, in the gathering twi- 
 light, had felt her way to the open window. She 
 stood there, leaning against the casement, her eyes 
 fixed on the last rosy tints that were fading from 
 the western sky. There was still some of its light 
 on her pure young forehead, on her white collar, 
 on her clasped white hands, but all fading slowly 
 away. The suppliant had dragged herself, still on 
 her knees, beside her. 
 
 " I know it takes time to consider. I will wait 
 here all night ; but I cannot go until you speak. 
 Do not deny me now. You will ! I see it in your 
 sweet face, such a face as I have seen in my 
 dreams. I see it in your eyes, Miss Mary ! you 
 will take my boy!" 
 
 The last red beam crept higher, suffused Miss 
 Mary's eyes with something of its glory, flickered, 
 and faded, and went out. The sun had set on 
 Red Gulch. In the twilight and silence Miss 
 Mary's voice sounded pleasantly. 
 
 "I will take the boy. Send him to me to- 
 night." 
 
 The happy mother raised the hem of Miss 
 Mary's skirt to her lips. She would have buried 
 
90 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 her hot face in its virgin folds, but she dared not, 
 She rose to her feet. 
 
 " Does this man know of your intention ?" 
 asked Miss Mary, suddenly. 
 
 "No, nor cares. He has never even seen the 
 child to know it." 
 
 "Go to him at once, to-night, now! Tell 
 him what you have done. Tell him I have taken 
 his child, and tell him he must never see see 
 the child again. Wherever it may be, he must 
 not come ; wherever I may take it, he must not 
 follow! There, go now, please, I'm weary, and 
 have much yet to do ! " 
 
 They walked together to the door. On the 
 threshold the woman turned. 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 She would have fallen at Miss Ivtary's feet. But 
 at the same moment the young girl reached out 
 her arms, caught the sinful woman to her own pure 
 breast for one brief moment, and then closed and 
 locked the door. 
 
 It was with a sudden sense of great responsi- 
 bility that Profane Bill took the reins of the 
 Slumgullion Stage the next morning, for the 
 schoolmistress was one of his passengers. As he 
 entered the high-road, in obedience to a pleasant 
 voice from the " inside," he suddenly reined up his 
 horses and respectfully 'waited, as "Tommy" 
 hopped out at the command of Miss Mary. 
 
 " Not that bush, Tommy, the next," 
 
The Idyl of Red Gukh. 91 
 
 Tommy whipped out his new pocket-knife, and, 
 cutting a branch from a tall azalea-bush, returned 
 with it to Miss Mary. 
 
 "All right now?" 
 
 "All right." 
 
 And the stage-door closed on the Idyl of Red 
 Gulch. 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS, 
 
 A SUBDUED tone of conversation, and the ab- 
 ** sence of cigar-smoke and boot-heels at the 
 windows of the Wingdam stage-coach, made it 
 evident that one of the inside passengers was a 
 woman. A disposition on the part of loungers at 
 the stations to congregate before the window, and 
 some concern in regard to the appearance of coats, 
 hats, and collars, further indicated that she was 
 lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on the box- 
 seat, noted with the smile of cynical philosophy. 
 Not that he depreciated the sex, but that he recog- 
 nized therein a deceitful element, the pursuit of 
 which sometimes drew mankind away from the 
 equally uncertain blandishments of poker, of 
 which it may be remarked that Mr. Hamlin was a 
 professional exponent. 
 
 So that, when he placed his narrow boot on the 
 wheel and leaped down, he did not even glance at ' 
 the window from which a green veil was fluttering, 
 but lounged up and down with that listless and 
 grave indifference of his class, which was, perhaps, 
 the next thing to good-breeding. With his closely 
 buttoned figure and self-contained air he was a 
 marked contrast to the other passengers, with 
 
Brown of Calaveras. 93 
 
 their feverish restlessness, and boisterous emotion ; 
 and even Bill Masters, a graduate of Harvard, with 
 his slovenly dress, his overflowing vitality, his 
 intense appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism, 
 and his mouth filled with crackers and cheese, I 
 fear cut but an unromantic figure beside this lonely 
 calculator of chances, with his pale Greek face and 
 Homeric gravity. 
 
 The driver called " All aboard ! " and Mr. Ham- 
 lin returned to the coach. His foot was upon the 
 wheel, and his face raised to the level of the open 
 window, when, at the same moment, what appeared 
 to him to be the finest eyes in the world suddenly 
 met his. He quietly dropped down again, ad- 
 dressed a few words to one of the inside passen- 
 gers, effected an exchange of seats, and as quietly 
 took his place inside. Mr. Hamlin never allowed 
 his philosophy to interfere with decisive and prompt 
 action. 
 
 I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some 
 restraint upon the other passengers, particularly 
 those who were making themselves most agreeable 
 to the lady. One of them leaned forward, and 
 apparently conveyed to her information regarding 
 Mr. Hamlin's profession in a single epithet. 
 Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he 
 recognized in the informant a distinguished jurist, 
 from whom, but a few evenings before, he had won 
 several thousand dollars, I cannot say. His color- 
 less face betrayed no sign ; his black eyes, quietly 
 observant, glanced indifferently past the legal 
 
 H 
 
94 Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing 
 features of his neighbor. An Indian stoicism 
 said to be an inheritance from his maternal ances- 
 tor stood him in good service, until the rolling 
 wheels rattled upon the river-gravel at Scott's Ferry, 
 and the stage drew up at the International Hotel 
 for dinner. The legal gentleman and a member of 
 Congress leaped out, and stood ready to assist the 
 descending goddess, while Colonel Starbottle, of 
 Siskiyou, took charge of her parasol and shawl. 
 In this multiplicity of attention there was a 
 momentary confusion and delay. Jack Hamlin 
 quietly opened the opposite door of the coach, took 
 the lady's hand, with that decision and positive- 
 ness which a hesitating and undecided sex know 
 how to admire, and in an instant had dexterously 
 and gracefully swung her to the ground, and again 
 lifted her to the platform. An audible chuckle on 
 the box, I fear, came from that other cynic, " Yuba 
 Bill," the driver. " Look keerfully arter that bag- 
 gage, Kernel," said the expressman, with affected 
 concern, as he looked after Colonel Starbottle 
 gloomily bringing up the rear of the triumphant 
 procession to the waiting-room. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse 
 was already saddled, and awaiting him. He dashed 
 over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and out into the 
 dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one 
 leaving an unpleasant fancy behind him. The 
 inmates of dusty cabins by the roadside shaded 
 their eyes with their hands, and looked after him. 
 
Brown of Calaveras. 95 
 
 'recognizing the man by his horse, and speculating 
 what " was up with Comanche Jack." Yet much 
 of this interest centred in the horse, in a com- 
 munity where the time made by " French Pete's " 
 mare, in his run from the Sheriff of Calaveras, 
 eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that 
 worthy. 
 
 The sweating flanks of his gray at length re- 
 called him to himself. He checked his speed, and, 
 turning into a by-road, sometimes used as a cut-off, 
 trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly 
 from his ringers. As he rode on, the character 
 of the landscape changed, and became more 
 pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and syca- 
 more disclosed some rude attempts at cultivation, 
 a flowering vine trailed over the porch of one 
 cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under 
 the roses of another. A little farther on Mr. 
 Hamlin came upon some bare-legged children, 
 wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought upon 
 them with a badinage peculiar to himself, that 
 they were emboldened to climb up his horse's legs 
 and over his saddle, until he was fain to develop 
 an exaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to 
 escape, leaving behind some kisses and coin. And 
 then, advancing deeper into the woods, where all 
 signs of habitation failed, he began to sing, up- 
 lifting a tenor so singularly sweet, and shaded by 
 a pathos so subduing and tender, that I wot the 
 robins and linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlin's 
 voice was not cultivated ; the subject of his song 
 
 H 2 
 
96 Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 was some sentimental lunacy, borrowed from the 
 negro minstrels ; but there thrilled through all 
 some occult quality of tone and expression that 
 was unspeakably touching. Indeed, it was a 
 wonderful sight to see this sentimental blackleg, 
 with a pack of cards in his pocket and a revolver 
 at his back, sending his voice before him through 
 the dim woods with a plaint about his " Nelly's 
 grave," in a way that overflowed the eyes of the 
 listener. A sparrow-hawk, fresh from his sixth 
 victim, possibly recognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kin- 
 dred spirit, stared at him in surprise, and was fain 
 to confess the superiority of man. With a supe- 
 rior predatory capacity, he could n't sing. 
 
 But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again 
 on the high-road, and at his former pace. Ditches 
 and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps, 
 and decayed trunks of trees, took the place of 
 woodland and ravine, and indicated his approach 
 to civilization. Then a church-steeple came in 
 sight, and he knew that he had reached home. 
 In a few moments he was clattering down the 
 single narrow street, that lost itself in a chaotic 
 ruins of races, ditches, and tailings at the foot of 
 the hill, and dismounted before the gilded win- 
 dows of the " Magnolia " saloon. Passing through 
 the long bar-room, he pushed open a green-baize 
 door, entered a dark passage, opened another door 
 with a pass-key, and found himself in a dimly 
 lighted room, whose furniture, though elegant and 
 costly for the locality, showed signs of abuse. The 
 
Brown of Calaveras. 97 
 
 inlaid centre-table was overlaid with stained disks 
 that were not contemplated in the original design. 
 The embroidered arm-chairs were discolored, and 
 the green velvet lounge, on which Mr. Hamlin 
 threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the red 
 soil of Wingdam. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay 
 still, looking at a highly colored painting above 
 him, representing a young creature of opulent 
 charms. It occured to him then, for the first time, 
 that he had never seen exactly that kind of a 
 woman, and that, if he should, he would not, 
 probably, fall in love with her. Perhaps he was 
 thinking of another style of beauty. But just then 
 some one knocked at the door. Without rising, 
 he pulled a cord that apparently shot back a bolt, 
 for the door swung open, and a man entered. 
 
 The new-comer was broad-shouldered and ro- 
 bust, a vigor not borne out in the face, which, 
 though handsome, was singularly weak and dis- 
 figured by dissipation. He appeared to be also 
 under the influence of liquor, for he started on 
 seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, "I thought Kate 
 was here ; " stammered, and seemed confused and 
 embarrassed. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had be- 
 fore worn on the Wingdam coach, and sat up, 
 quite refreshed and ready for business. 
 
 " You didn't come up on the stage," continued 
 the new-comer, " did you ? " 
 
 "No/' replied Hamlin; "I left it at Scott's 
 
08 Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 Ferry. It isn't due for half an hour yet. But 
 how's luck, Brown ? " 
 
 " D bad/' said Brown, his face suddenly 
 
 assuming an expression of weak despair ; " I'm 
 cleaned out again, Jack," he continued, in a 
 whining tone, that formed a pitiable contrast 
 to his bulky figure, "can't you help me with 
 a hundred till to-morrow's clean-up ? You see 
 I've got to send money home to the old woman, 
 and you've won twenty times that amount from 
 me." ' 
 
 The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logi- 
 cal, but Jack overlooked it, and handed the sum 
 to his visitor. " The old woman business is about 
 played out, Brown," he added, by way of commen- 
 tary ; " why don't you say you want to buck agin' 
 faro ? You know you ain't married ! " 
 
 " Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity, 
 as if the mere contact of the gold with the palm 
 of the hand had imparted some dignity to his 
 
 frame. " I've got a wife a d good one, 
 
 too, if I do say it in the States. It's three 
 year since I've seen her, and a year since I've 
 writ to her. When things is about straight, and we 
 get down to the lead, I'm going to send for her." 
 
 "And Kate?" queried Mr. Hamlin, with his 
 previous smile. 
 
 Mr. Brown, of Calaveras, essayed an archness 
 of glance, to cover his confusion, which his weak 
 face and whiskey-muddled intellect but poorly 
 carried out, and said, 
 
Brown of Calaveras. 99 
 
 " D it, Jack, a man must have a little lib- 
 erty, you know. But come, what do you say to a 
 little game ? Give us a show to double this hun- 
 dred." 
 
 Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous 
 friend. Perhaps he knew that the man was pre- 
 destined to lose the money, and preferred that it 
 should flow back into his own coffers rather than 
 any other. He nodded his head, and drew his 
 chair toward the table. At the same moment 
 .there came a rap upon the door. 
 
 " It 's Kate," said Mr. Brown. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt, and the door 
 opened. But, for the first time in his life, he stag- 
 gered to his feet, utterly unnerved and abashed, 
 and for the first time in his life the hot blood 
 crimsoned his colorless cheeks to his " forehead. 
 For before him stood the lady he had lifted from 
 the Wingdam coach, whom Brown dropping his 
 cards with a hysterical laugh greeted as 
 
 " My old woman, by thunder ! " 
 
 They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears, and 
 reproaches of her husband. I saw her, in 1857, 
 at Marysville, and disbelieve the story. And 
 the Wingdam Chronicle, of the next week, under 
 the head of " Touching Reunion," said : " One of 
 those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar to 
 California life, occurred last week in our city. 
 The wife of one of Wingdam's eminent pioneers, 
 tired of the effete civilization of the East and its 
 inhospitable climate, resolved to join her noble 
 
IOO Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 husband upon these golden shores. Without in- 
 forming him of her intention, she undertook the 
 Jong journey, and arrived last week. The joy of 
 the husband may be easier imagined than de- 
 scribed. The meeting is said to have been inde- 
 scribably affecting. We trust her example may 
 be followed." 
 
 Whether owing to Mrs. Brown's influence, or to 
 some more successful speculations, Mr. Brown's 
 financial fortune from that day steadily improved. 
 He bought out his partners in the " Nip and 
 Tuck " lead, with money which was said to have 
 been won at poker, a week or two after his wife's 
 arrival, but which rumor, adopting Mrs. Brown's 
 theory that Brown had forsworn the gaming-table, 
 declared to have been furnished by Mr. Jack 
 Hamlin. He built and furnished the " Wingdam 
 House " which pretty Mrs. Brown's great popu- 
 larity kept overflowing with guests. He was 
 elected to the Assembly, and gave largess to 
 churches. A street in Wingdam was named in 
 his honor. 
 
 Yet it was noted that in proportion as he waxed 
 wealthy and fortunate, he grew pale, thin, and 
 anxious. As his wife's popularity increased, he 
 became fretful and impatient. The most uxorious 
 of husbands, he was absurdly jealous. If he did 
 not interfere with his wife's social liberty, it was 
 because it was maliciously whispered that his first 
 and only attempt was met by an outburst from 
 
Brown of Calaveras. IO1 
 
 Mrs. Brown that terrified him into silence. Much 
 of this kind of gossip came from those of her own 
 sex whom she had supplanted in the chivalrous 
 attentions of Wingdam, which, like most popular 
 chivalry, was devoted to an admiration of power, 
 whether of masculine force or feminine beauty. 
 It should be remembered, too, in her extenuation, 
 that, since her arrival, she had been the uncon- 
 scious priestess of a mythological worship, per- 
 haps not more ennobling to her womanhood than 
 that which distinguished an older Greek demo- 
 cracy. I think that Brown was dimly conscious 
 of this. But his only confidant was Jack Hamlin, 
 whose infelix reputation naturally precluded any 
 open intimacy with the family, and whose visits 
 were infrequent. 
 
 It was midsummer, and a moonlit night ; and 
 Mrs. Brown, very rosy, large-eyed, and pretty, sat 
 upon the piazza, enjoying the fresh incense of the 
 mountain breeze, and, it is to be feared, another 
 incense which was not so fresh, nor quite as inno- 
 cent. Beside her sat Colonel Starbottle and Judge 
 Boompointer, and a later addition to her court, in 
 i the shape of a foreign tourist. She was in good 
 spirits. 
 
 " What do you see down the road ? " inquired 
 the gallant Colonel, who had been conscious, for 
 the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown's attention 
 was diverted. 
 
 " Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. " Only 
 sister Anne's * flock of sheep.'" 
 
IO2 Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 The Colonel, whose literary recollections did 
 not extend farther back than last week's paper, 
 took a more practical view. " It ain't sheep," he 
 continued; "it's a horseman. Judge, ain't that 
 Jack Hamlin's gray ? " 
 
 But the Judge did n't know ; and, as Mrs. 
 Brown suggested the air was growing too cold 
 for further investigations, they retired to the 
 parlor. 
 
 Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally 
 retired after dinner. Perhaps it was to show his 
 contempt for his wife's companions ; perhaps, like 
 other weak natures, he found pleasure in the 
 exercise of absolute power over inferior animals. 
 He had a certain gratification in the training of a 
 chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as 
 pleased him, which he could n't do with Mrs. 
 Brown. It was here that he recognized a certain 
 gray horse which had just come in, and, looking a 
 little farther on, found his rider. Brown's greet- 
 ing was cordial and hearty ; Mr. Hamlin's some- 
 what restrained. But at Brown's urgent request, 
 he followed him up the back stairs to a narrow 
 corridor, and thence to a small room looking out 
 upon the stable-yard. It was plainly furnished 
 with a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for 
 guns and whips. 
 
 " This yer 's my home, Jack," said Brown, with 
 a sigh, as he threw himself upon the bed, and 
 motioned his companion to a chair. " Her room 's 
 t* other end of the hall. It 's more 'n six months 
 
Brown of Calaveras. 103 
 
 since we Ve lived together, or met, except at 
 meals. It 's mighty rough papers on the head of 
 the house, ain't it ? " he said, with a forced laugh. 
 
 " But I 'm glad to see you, Jack, d glad," and 
 
 he reached from the bed, and again shook the un- 
 responsive hand of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 " I brought ye up here, for I did n't want to 
 talk in the stable ; though, for the matter of that, 
 it's all found town. Don't strike a light. We 
 can talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet 
 on that winder, and sit here beside me. Thar 's 
 whiskey in that jug." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the infor- 
 mation. Brown, of Calaveras, turned his face to 
 the wall, and continued : 
 
 " If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't 
 mind. But it's loving her, and seeing her, day 
 arter day, goin' on at this rate, and no one to put 
 down the brake ; that's what gits me ! But I'm 
 glad to see ye, Jack, d glad." 
 
 In the darkness he groped about until he had 
 found and wrung his companion's hand again. He 
 would have detained it, but Jack slipped it into 
 the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, list- 
 lessly, " How long has this been going on ?" 
 
 " Ever since she came here ; ever since the day 
 she walked into the Magnolia. I was a fool then ; 
 Jack, I'm a fool now ; but I didn't know how 
 much I loved her till then. And she hasn't been 
 the same woman since. 
 
 "But that ain't all, Jack; and it's what I 
 
IO4 Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 wanted to see you about, and I'm glad you've 
 come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any 
 more ; it ain't that she fools with every chap that 
 comes along, for, perhaps, I staked her love and' 
 lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia ; 
 and, perhaps, foolin' is nateral to some women, 
 and thar ain't no great harm done, 'cept to the 
 fools. But, Jack, I think, I think she loves 
 somebody else. Don't move, Jack; don't move; 
 if your pistol hurts ye, take it off. 
 
 "It's been more'n six months now that she's 
 seemed unhappy and lonesome, and kinder ner- : 
 vous and scared like. And sometimes I've ketched 
 her lookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And 
 she writes to somebody. And for the last week 
 she's been gathering her own things, trinkets, 
 and furbelows, and jew'lry, and, Jack, I think 
 she's goin' off. I could stand all but that. To 
 have her steal away like a thief " He put his 
 face downward to the pillow, and for a few mo- 
 ments there was no sound but the ticking of a 
 clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and 
 moved to the open window. The moon no longer 
 shone into the room, and the bed and its occupant 
 were in shadow. "What shall I do, Jack?" said 
 the voice from the darkness. 
 
 The answer came promptly and clearly from the 
 window-side, "Spot the man, and kill him on 
 sight." 
 
 "But, Jack?" 
 
 " He's took the risk !" 
 
Brown of Calaveras. 105 
 
 "But will that bring her back ?" 
 
 Jack did not reply, but moved from the window 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Don't go yet, Jack ; light the candle, and sit 
 by the table. It's a comfort to see ye, if nothin* 
 else." 
 
 Jack hesitated, and then complied. He drew a 
 pack of cards from his pocket and shuffled them, 
 glancing at the bed. But Brown's face was turned 
 to the wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the 
 cards, he cut them, and dealt one card on the op- 
 posite side of the table and towards the bed, and 
 another on his side of the table for himself. The 
 first was a deuce ; his own card, a king. He then 
 shuffled and cut again. This time "dummy" had 
 a queen, and himself a four-spot. Jack brightened 
 up for the third deal. It brought his adversary a 
 deuce, and himself a king again. "Two out of 
 three," said Jack, audibly. 
 
 "What's that, Jack ?" said Brown. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Then Jack tried his hand with dice ; but he al- 
 ways threw sixes, and his imaginary opponent 
 aces. The force of habit is sometimes confusing. 
 
 Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. 
 Hamlin's presence, or the anodyne of liquor, or 
 both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brown slept. 
 Mr. Hamlin moved his chair to the window, and 
 looked out on the town of Wingdam, now sleeping 
 peacefully, its harsh outlines softened and sub- 
 dued, its glaring colors mellowed and sobered in 
 
106 Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 the moonlight that flowed over all. In the hush 
 he could hear the gurgling of water in the ditches, 
 and the sighing of the pines beyond the hill- 
 Then he looked up at the firmament, and as he 
 did so a star shot across the twinkling field. 
 Presently another, and then another. The phe- 
 nomenon suggested to Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. 
 If in another fifteen minutes another star should 
 fall He sat there, watch in hand, for twice that 
 time, but the phenomenon was not repeated. 
 
 The clock struck two, and Brown still slept, 
 Mr. Hamlin approached the table, and took from 
 his pocket a letter, which he read by the flickering 
 candle-light. It contained only a single line, writ- 
 ten in pencil, in a woman's hand, 
 
 " Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three." 
 
 The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. 
 "Are you there, Jack?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack, 
 dreamed of old times. I thought that Sue and 
 me was being married agin, and that the parson, 
 Jack, was who do you think ? you !" 
 
 The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the 
 bed, the paper still in his hand. 
 
 " It's a good sign, ain't it ?" queried Brown. 
 
 " I reckon. Say, old man, hadn't you better get 
 up?" 
 
 The " old man," thus affectionately appealed to, 
 rose, with the assistance of Hamlin's outstretched 
 hand. 
 
Brown of Calaveras. 107 
 
 "Smoke?" 
 
 Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar. 
 "Light?" 
 
 Jack had twisted the letter into a spiral, lit it, 
 and held it for his companion. He continued to 
 hold it until it was consumed, and dropped the 
 fragment a fiery star from the open window. 
 He watched it as it fell, and then returned to his 
 friend. 
 
 " Old man," he said, placing his hands upon 
 Brown's shoulders, " in ten minutes I'll be on the 
 road, and gone like that spark. We won't see each 
 other agin : but, before I go, take a fool's advice : 
 sell out all you've got, take your wife with you, 
 and quit the country. It ain't no place for you, 
 nor her. Tell her she must go ; make her go, if she 
 wont. Don't whine because you can't be a saint, 
 and she ain't an angel. Be a man, and treat her 
 
 like a woman. Don't be a d fool. Good by." 
 
 He tore himself from Brown's grasp, and leaped 
 down the stairs like a deer. At the stable-door he 
 collared the half-sleeping hostler, and backed him 
 against the wall. "Saddle my horse in two 
 
 minutes, or I'll " The ellipsis was frightfully 
 
 suggestive. 
 
 " The missis said you was to have the buggy/' 
 stammered the man. 
 "D n the buggy!" 
 
 The horse was saddled as fast as the nervous 
 hands of the astounded hostler could manipulate 
 buckle and strap. 
 
IO8 Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 " Is anything up, Mr. Hamlin ?" said the man, 
 who, like all his class, admired the elan of his fiery 
 patron, and was really concerned in his welfare. 
 
 " Stand aside ! " 
 
 The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and 
 clatter, Jack was into the road. In another moment, 
 to the man's half-awakened eyes, he was but a 
 moving cloud of dust in the distance, towards 
 which a star just loosed from its brethren was 
 trailing a stream of fire. 
 
 But early that morning the dwellers by the 
 Wingdam turnpike, miles away, heard a voice, pure 
 as a sky-lark's, singing afield. They who were 
 asleep turned over on their rude couches to dream 
 of youth and love and olden days. Hard-faced men 
 and anxious gold-seekers, already at work, ceased 
 their labors and leaned upon their picks, to listen 
 to a romantic vagabond ambling away against the 
 rosy sunrise. 
 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK 
 
 "f 1 7"HEN the tide was out on the Dedlow Marsh 
 its extended dreariness was patent. Its 
 spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools, 
 and tortuous sloughs, twisting their slimy way, eel- 
 like, toward the open bay, were all hard facts. So 
 were the few green tussocks, with their scant 
 blades, their amphibious flavor, and unpleasant 
 dampness. And if you choose to indulge your 
 fancy, although the flat monotony of the Dedlow 
 Marsh was not inspiring, the wavy line of scattered 
 drift gave an unpleasant consciousness of the 
 spent waters, and made the dead certainty of the 
 returning tide a gloomy reflection, which no present 
 sunshine could dissipate. The greener meadow- 
 land seemed oppressed with this idea, and no 
 positive attempt at vegetation until the work of 
 reclamation should be complete. In the bitter 
 fruit of the low cranberry-bushes one might fancy 
 he detected a naturally sweet disposition curdled 
 and soured by an injudicious course of too much 
 regular cold water. 
 
 The vocal expression of the Dedlow Marsh was 
 also melancholy and depressing. The sepulchral 
 boom of the bittern, the shriek of the curlew, the 
 
 I 
 
no High-Water Mark. 
 
 scream of passing brent, the wrangling of quarrel- 
 some teal, the sharp, querulous protest of the 
 startled crane, and syllabled complaint of the 
 <l killdeer" plover, were beyond the power of writ- 
 ten expression. Nor was the aspect of these 
 mournful fowls at all cheerful and inspiring. Cer- 
 tainly not the blue heron standing midleg deep 
 in the water, obviously catching cold in a reckless 
 disregard of wet feet and consequences ; nor the 
 mournful curlew, the dejected plover, or the low- 
 spirited snipe, who saw fit to join him in his suicidal 
 contemplation ; nor the impassive kingfisher an 
 ornithological Marius reviewing the desolate 
 expanse ; nor the black raven that went to and fro 
 over the face of the marsh continually, but evidently 
 couldn't make up his mind whether the waters had 
 subsided, and felt low-spirited in the reflection that, 
 after all this trouble, he wouldn't be able to give a 
 definite answer. On the contrary, it was evident 
 at a glance that the dreary expanse of Dedlow 
 Marsh told unpleasantly on the birds, and that the 
 season of migration was looked forward to with a 
 feeling of relief and satisfaction by the full-grown, 
 and of extravagant anticipation by the -callow, 
 brood. But if Dedlow Marsh was cheerless at the 
 slack of the low tide, you should have seen it when 
 the tide was strong and full. When the damp air 
 blew chilly over the cold, glittering expanse, and 
 came to the faces of those who looked seaward like 
 another tide ; when a steel-like glint marked the 
 low hollows and the sinuous line of slough ; when 
 
High- Water Mark. in 
 
 the great shell-incrusted trunks of fallen trees arose 
 again, and went forth on their dreary, purposeless 
 wanderings, drifting hither and thither, but getting 
 no farther toward any goal at the falling tide or the 
 day's decline than the cursed Hebrew in the legend ; 
 .when the glossy ducks swung silently, making 
 neither ripple nor furrow on the shimmering sur- 
 face ; when the fog came in with the tide and shut 
 out the blue above, even as the green below had 
 been obliterated ; when boatmen, lost in that fog, 
 paddling about in a hopeless way, started at what 
 seemed the brushing of mermen's fingers on the 
 boat's keel, or shrank from the tufts of grass spread- 
 ing around like the floating hair of a corpse, and 
 knew by these signs that they were lost upon Ded- 
 low Marsh, and must make a night of it, and a 
 gloomy one at that, then you might know some- 
 thing of Dedlow Marsh at high water. 
 
 Let me recall a story connected with this latter 
 view which never failed to recur to my mind in 
 my long gunning excursions upon Dedlow Marsh. 
 Although the event was briefly recorded in the 
 county paper, I had the story, in all its eloquent 
 detail, from the lips of the principal actor. I 
 cannot hope to catch the varying emphasis and 
 peculiar coloring of feminine delineation, for my 
 narrator was a woman ; but I'll try to give at least 
 its substance. 
 
 She lived midway of the great slough of 
 Dedlow Marsh and a good-sized river, which 
 debouched four miles beyond into an estuary 
 
 I 2 
 
1 1 2 High- Water Mark. 
 
 formed by the Pacific Ocean, on the long sandy 
 peninsula which constituted the south-western 
 boundary of a noble bay. The house in which 
 she lived was a small frame cabin raised from 
 the marsh a few feet by stout piles, and was three 
 miles distant from the settlements upon the river. 
 Her husband was a logger, a profitable business 
 in a county where the principal occupation was 
 the manufacture of lumber. 
 
 It was the season of early spring, when her 
 husband left on the ebb of a high tide, with a raft 
 of logs for the usual transportation to the lower 
 end of the bay. As she stood by the door of 
 the little cabin when the voyagers departed she 
 noticed a cold look in the south-eastern sky, and 
 she remembered hearing her husband say to his 
 companions that they must endeavor to complete 
 their voyage before the coming of the south- 
 westerly gale which he saw brewing. And that 
 night it began to storm and blow harder than 
 she had ever before experienced, and some great 
 trees fell in the forest by the river, and the house 
 rocked like her baby's cradle. 
 
 But however the storm might roar about the 
 little cabin, she knew that one she trusted had 
 driven bolt and bar with his own strong hand, and 
 that had he feared for her he would not have left 
 her. This, and her domestic duties, and the care 
 of her little sickly baby, helped to keep her mind 
 from dwelling on the weather, except, of course, 
 to hope that he was safely harbored with the logs 
 
High- Water Mark. 1 1 3 
 
 at Utopia in the dreary distance. But she noticed 
 that day, when she went out to feed the chickens 
 and look after the cow, that the tide was up to the 
 little fence of their garden-patch, and the roar of 
 the surf on the south beach, though miles away, 
 she could hear distinctly. And she began to 
 think that she would like to have some one to 
 talk with about matters, and she believed that 
 if it had not been so far and so stormy, and the 
 trail so impassable, she would have taken the 
 baby and have gone over to Ryckman's, her 
 nearest neighbor. But then, you see, he might 
 have returned in the storm, all wet, with no one 
 to see to him ; and it was a long exposure for 
 baby, who was croupy and ailing. 
 
 But that night, she never could tell why, she 
 didn't feel like sleeping or even lying down. The 
 storm had somewhat abated, but she still " sat 
 and sat," and even tried to read. I don't know 
 whether it was a Bible or some profane magazine 
 that this poor woman read, but most probably the 
 latter, for the words all ran together and made 
 such sad nonsense that she was forced at last to 
 put the book down and turn to that dearer volume 
 which lay before her in the cradle, with its white 
 initial leaf yet unsoiled, and try to look forward 
 to its mysterious future. And, rocking the cradle, 
 she thought of everything and everybody, but still 
 was wide awake as ever. 
 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock when she at last 
 laid down in her clothes. How long she slept 
 
1 14 High- Water Mark. 
 
 she could not remember, but she awoke with a 
 dreadful choking in her throat, and found herself 
 standing, trembling all over, in the middle of the 
 room, with her baby clasped to her breast, and 
 she was " saying something." The baby cried 
 and sobbed, and she walked up and down trying 
 to hush it, when she heard a scratching at the 
 door. She opened it fearfully, and was glad to 
 see it was only old Pete, their dog, who crawled, 
 dripping with water, into the room. She would 
 like to have looked out, not in the faint hope of 
 her husband's coming, but to see how things 
 looked ; but the wind shook the door so savagely 
 that she could hardly hold it. Then she sat down 
 a little while, and then she lay down again a little 
 while. Lying close by the wall of the little cabin, 
 she thought she heard once or twice something 
 scrape slowly against the clapboards, like the 
 scraping of branches. Then there was a little 
 gurgling sound, " like the baby made when it was 
 swallowing"; then something went "click-click" 
 and " cluck-cluck," so that she sat up in bed. 
 When she did so she was attracted by something 
 else that seemed creeping from the back door 
 towards the centre of the room. It wasn't much 
 wider than her little finger, but soon it swelled to 
 the width of her hand, and began spreading all 
 over the floor. It was water. 
 
 She ran to the front door and threw it wide 
 open, and saw nothing but water. She ran to the 
 back door and threw it open, and saw nothing but 
 
High- Water Mark. 115 
 
 water. She ran to the side window, and, throwing 
 that open, she saw nothing but water. Then she 
 remembered hearing her husband once say that 
 there was no danger in the tide, for that fell regu- 
 larly, and people could calculate on it, and that he 
 would rather live near the bay than the river, 
 whose banks might overflow at any time. But 
 was it the tide ? So she ran again to the back 
 door, and threw out a stick of wood. It drifted 
 away towards the bay. She scooped up some of 
 the water and put it eagerly to her lips. It was 
 fresh and sweet. It was the river, and not the 
 tide! 
 
 It was then O, God be praised for his good- 
 ness ! she did neither faint nor fall ; it was then 
 blessed be the Saviour, for it was his merciful hand 
 that touched and strengthened her in this awful 
 moment that fear dropped from her like a gar- 
 ment, and her trembling ceased. It was then and 
 thereafter that she never lost her self-command, 
 through all the trials of that gloomy night. 
 
 She drew the bedstead towards the middle of 
 the room, and placed a table upon it and on that 
 she put the cradle. The water on the floor was 
 already over her ankles, and the house once or 
 twice moved so preceptibly, and seemed to be 
 racked so, that the closet doors all flew upon. 
 Then she heard the same rasping and thumping 
 against the wall, and, looking out, saw that a large 
 uprooted tree, which had lain near the road at the 
 upper end of the pasture, had floated down to the 
 
1 1 6 High- Water Mark. 
 
 house. Luckily its long roots dragged in the soil 
 and kept it from moving as rapidly as the current, 
 for had it struck the house in its full career, even 
 the strong nails and bolts in the piles could not 
 have withstood the shock. The hound had leaped 
 upon its knotty surface, and crouched near the 
 roots shivering and whining. A ray of hope 
 flashed across her mind. She drew a heavy 
 blanket from the bed, and, wrapping it about the 
 babe, waded in the deepening waters to the door. 
 As the tree swung again, broadside on, making 
 the little cabin creak and tremble, she leaped on to 
 its trunk. By God's mercy she succeeded in obtain- 
 ing a footing on its slippery surface, and, twining 
 an arm about its roots, she held in the other her 
 moaning child. Then something cracked near the 
 front porch, and the whole front of the house she 
 had just quitted fell forward, just as cattle fall 
 on their knees before they lie down, and at the 
 same moment the great redwood-tree swung round 
 and drifted away with its living cargo into the 
 black night. 
 
 For all the excitement and danger, for all her 
 soothing of her crying babe, for all the whistling 
 of the wind, for all the uncertainty of her situa- 
 tion, she still turned to look at the deserted and 
 water-swept cabin. She remembered even then, 
 and she wonders how foolish she was to think of 
 it at that time, that she wished she had put on 
 another dress and the baby's best clothes ; and 
 she kept praying that the house would be spared 
 
High- Water Mark. 117 
 
 so that he, when he returned, would have some- 
 thing to come to, and it would n't be quite so 
 desolate, and how could he ever know what had 
 become of her and baby ? And at the thought 
 she grew sick and faint. But she had something 
 else to do besides worrying, for whenever the long 
 roots of her ark struck an obstacle, the whole 
 trunk made half a revolution, and twice dipped 
 her in the black water. The hound, who kept 
 distracting her by running up and down the tree 
 and howling, at last fell off at one of these colli- 
 sions. He swam for some time beside her, and she 
 tried to get the poor beast upon the tree, but he 
 "acted silly" and wild, and at last she lost sight of 
 him forever. Then she and her baby were left 
 alone. The light which had burned for a few 
 minutes in the deserted cabin was quenched sud- 
 denly. She could not then tell whither she was 
 drifting. The outline of the white dunes on the 
 peninsula showed dimly ahead, and she judged 
 the tree was moving in a line with the river. It 
 must be about slack water, and she had probably 
 reached the eddy formed by the confluence of the 
 tide and the overflowing waters of the river. Un- 
 less the tide fell soon, there was present danger of 
 her drifting to its channel, and being carried out 
 to sea or crushed in the floating drift. That peril 
 averted, if she were carried out on the ebb toward 
 the bay, she might hope to strike one of the 
 wooded promontories of the peninsula, and rest 
 till daylight. Sometimes she thought she heard 
 
Il8 High-Water Mark. 
 
 voices and shouts from the river, and the bellow* 
 ing of cattle and bleating of sheep. Then again 
 it was only the ringing in her ears and throbbing 
 of her heart. She found at about this time that 
 she was so chilled and stiffened in her cramped 
 position that she could scarcely move, and the 
 baby cried so when she put it to her breast that 
 ' she noticed the milk refused to flow ; and she was 
 so frightened at that, that she put her head under 
 her shawl, and for the first time cried bitterly. 
 
 When she raised her head again, the boom of 
 the surf was behind her, and she knew that her 
 ark had again swung round. She dipped up the 
 water to cool her parched throat, and found that it 
 was salt as her tears. There was a relief, though, 
 for by this sign she knew that she was drifting 
 with the tide. It was then the wind went down, 
 and the great and awful silence oppressed her. 
 There was scarcely a ripple against the furrowed 
 sides of the great trunk on which she rested, and 
 around her all was black gloom and quiet. She 
 spoke to the baby just to hear herself speak, and 
 to know that she had not lost her voice. She 
 thought then, it was queer, but she could not help 
 thinking it, how awful must have been the night 
 when the great ship swung over the Asiatic peak, 
 and the sounds of creation were blotted out front 
 the world. She thought, too, of mariners clinging 
 to spars, and of poor women who were lashed to 
 rafts, and beaten to death by the cruel sea. She 
 tried to thank God that she was thus spared, and 
 
High- Water Mark. 1 19 
 
 lifted her eyes from the baby, who had fallen into a 
 i fretful sleep. Suddenly, away to the southward, a 
 : great light lifted itself out of the gloom, and flashed 
 and flickered, and flickered and flashed again. 
 Ker heart fluttered quickly against the baby's 
 cold cheek. It was the lighthouse at the entrance 
 of the bay. As she was yet wondering, the tree 
 suddenly rolled a little, dragged a little, and then 
 seemed to lie quiet and still. She put out her 
 hand and the current gurgled against it. The tree 
 was aground, and, by the position of the light and 
 the noise of the surf, aground upon the Dedlow 
 Marsh. 
 
 Had it not been for her baby, who was ailing 
 and croupy, had it not been for the sudden drying 
 up of that sensitive fountain, she would have felt 
 safe and relieved. Perhaps it was this which 
 tended to make all her impressions mournful and 
 gloomy. As the tide rapidly fell, a great flock of 
 black brent fluttered by her, screaming and crying. 
 Then the plover flew up and piped mournfully, as 
 they wheeled around the trunk, and at last fear- 
 lessly lit upon it like a gray cloud. Then the 
 heron flew over and around her, shrieking and 
 protesting, and at last dropped its gaunt legs only 
 a few yards from her. But, strangest of all, a 
 pretty white bird, larger than a dove, like a peli- 
 can, but not a pelican, circled around and around 
 her. At last it lit upon a rootlet of the tree, quite 
 over her shoulder. She put out her hand and 
 stroked its beautiful white neck, and it never ap- 
 
120 High-Water Mark. 
 
 peared to move. It stayed there so long that she 
 thought she would lift up the baby to see it, and 
 try to attract her attention. But when she did so, 
 the child was so chilled and cold, and had such a 
 blue look under the little lashes which it did n't 
 raise at all, that she screamed aloud and the bird 
 flew away, and she fainted. 
 
 Well, that was the worst of it, and perhaps it 
 was not so much, after all, to any but herself. 
 For when she recovered her senses it was bright 
 sunlight, and dead low water. There was a con- 
 fused noise of guttural voices about her, and an 
 old squaw, singing an Indian "hushaby," and 
 rocking herself from side to side before a fire 
 built on the marsh, before which she, the recovered 
 wife and mother, lay weak and weary. Her first 
 thought was for her baby, and she was about to 
 speak, when a young squaw, who must have been 
 a mother herself, fathomed her thought and brought 
 her the " mowitch," pale but living, in such a queer 
 little willow cradle all bound up, just like the 
 squaw's own young one, that she laughed and 
 cried together, and the young squaw and the old 
 squaw showed their big white teeth and glinted their 
 black eyes and said, " Plenty get well, skeena mo- 
 witch," " wagee man come plenty soon," and she 
 could have kissed their brown faces in her joy. 
 And then she found that they had been gathering 
 berries on the marsh in their queer, comical baskets, 
 and saw the skirt of her gown fluttering on the tree 
 from afar, and the old squaw could n't resist the 
 
High- Water Mark. 12 1 
 
 temptation of procuring a new garment, and came 
 i down and discovered the " wagee " woman and 
 child. And of course she gave the garment to the 
 old squaw, as you may imagine, and when he came 
 at last and rushed up to her, looking about ten 
 years older in his anxiety, she felt so faint again 
 that they had to carry her to the canoe. For, you 
 see, he knew nothing about the flood until he met 
 the Indians at Utopia, and knew by the signs that 
 the poor woman was his wife. And at the next 
 high-tide he towed the tree away back home, al- 
 though it was n't worth the trouble, and built 
 another house, using the old tree for the founda- 
 tion and props, and called it after her, " Mary's 
 Ark ! " But you may guess the next house was 
 built above High- Water Mark. And that's all. 
 
 Not much, perhaps, considering the malevolent 
 capacity of the Dedlow Marsh. But you must 
 tramp over it at low water, or paddle over it at 
 high tide, or get lost upon it once or twice in the 
 fog, as I have, to understand properly Mary's ad- 
 venture, or to appreciate duly the blessing of living 
 beyond High- Water Mark. 
 
A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 AST stepped into the Slumgullion stage I saw 
 "*" that it was a dark night, a lonely road, and 
 that I was the only passenger. Let me assure the 
 reader that I have no ulterior design in making 
 this assertion. A long course of light reading has 
 forewarned me what every experienced intelli- 
 gence must confidently look for from such a 
 statement. The story-teller who wilfully tempts 
 Fate by such obvious beginnings ; who is to the 
 expectant reader in danger of being robbed or 
 half murdered, or frightened by an escaped luna- 
 tic, or introduced to his lady-love for the first 
 time, deserves to be detected. I am relieved to 
 say that none of these things occurred to me. 
 The road from Wingdam to Slumgullion knew no 
 other banditti than the regularly licensed hotel- 
 keepers ; lunatics had not yet reached such depth 
 of imbecility as to ride of their own free-will in 
 California stages ; and my Laura, amiable and 
 long-suffering as she always is, could not, I fear, 
 have borne up against these depressing circum- 
 stances long enough to have made the slightest 
 impression on me. 
 
 I stood with my shawl and carpet-bag in hand, 
 
A Lonely Ride. 123 
 
 gazing doubtingly on the vehicle. Even in the 
 darkness the red dust of Wingdam was visible on 
 its roof and sides, and the red slime of Slumgul- 
 lion clung tenaciously to its wheels. I opened the 
 door ; the stage creaked uneasily, and in the 
 gloomy abyss the swaying straps beckoned me, 
 like ghostly hands, to come in now and have my 
 sufferings out at once. 
 
 I must not omit to mention the occurrence of a 
 circumstance which struck me as appalling and 
 mysterious. A lounger on the steps of the hotel, 
 whom I had reason to suppose was not in any way 
 connected with the stage company, gravely de- 
 scended, and, walking toward the conveyance, 
 tried the handle of the door, opened it, expecto- 
 rated in the carriage, and returned to the hotel 
 with a serious demeanor. Hardly had he resumed 
 his position, when another individual, equally dis- 
 interested, impassively walked down the steps, 
 proceeded to the back of the stage, lifted it, ex- 
 pectorated carefully on the axle, and returned 
 slowly and pensively to the hotel. A third spec- 
 tator wearily disengaged himself from one of the 
 Ionic columns of the portico and walked to the 
 box, remained for a moment in serious and expec- 
 torative contemplation of the boot, and then 
 returned to his column. There was something so 
 weird in this baptism that I grew quite nervous. 
 
 Perhaps I was out of spirits. A number of 
 infinitesimal annoyances, winding up with the 
 resolute persistency of the clerk at the stage-office 
 
124 -A Lonely Ride. 
 
 to enter my name misspelt on the way-bill, had 
 not predisposed me to cheerfulness. The inmates 
 of the Eureka House, from a social view-point, 
 were not attractive. There was the prevailing 
 opinion so common to many honest people 
 that a serious style of deportment and conduct 
 toward a stranger indicates high gentility and 
 elevated station. Obeying this principle, all hila- 
 rity ceased on my entrance to supper, and general 
 remark merged into the safer and uncompromising 
 chronicle of several bad cases of diphtheria, then 
 epidemic at Wingdam. When I left the dining- 
 room, with an odd feeling that I had been supping 
 exclusively on mustard and tea-leaves, I stopped 
 a moment at the parlor door. A piano, harmo- 
 niously related to the dinner-bell, tinkled respon- 
 sive to a diffident and uncertain touch. On the 
 white wall the shadow of an old and sharp profile 
 was bending over several symmetrical and shadowy 
 curls. " I sez to Mariar, Mariar, sez I, ' Praise to 
 the face is open disgrace.'" I heard no more. 
 Dreading some susceptibility to sincere expression 
 on the subject of female loveliness, I walked away, 
 checking the compliment that otherwise might 
 have risen unbidden to my lips, and have brought 
 shame and sorrow to the household. 
 
 It was with the memory of these experiences 
 resting heavily upon me, that I stood hesitatingly 
 before the stage door. The driver, about to 
 mount, was for a moment illuminated by the open 
 door of the hotel. He had the wearied look 
 
A Lonely Ride. 125 
 
 whch was the distinguishing expression of Wing- 
 dam. Satisfied that I was properly way-billed 
 and receipted for, he took no further notice of me. 
 I looked longingly at the box-seat, but he did not 
 respond to the appeal. I flung my carpet-bag 
 into the chasm, dived recklessly after it, and 
 before I was fairly seated with a great sigh, a 
 creaking of unwilling springs, complaining bolts, 
 and harshly expostulating axle, we moved away. 
 Rather the hotel door slipped behind, the sound 
 of the piano sank to rest, and the night and its 
 shadows moved solemnly upon us. 
 
 To say it was dark expressed but faintly the 
 pitchy obscurity that encompassed the vehicle. 
 The roadside trees were scarcely distinguishable 
 as deeper masses of shadow ; I knew them only 
 by the peculiar sodden odor that from time to 
 time sluggishly flowed in at the open window as 
 we rolled by. We proceeded slowly ; so leisurely 
 that, leaning from the carriage, I more than once 
 detected the fragrant sigh of some astonished cow, 
 whose ruminating repose upon the highway we 
 had ruthlessly disturbed. But in the darkness our 
 progress, more the guidance of some mysterious 
 instinct than any apparent volition of our own, 
 gave an indefinable charm of security to our jour- 
 ney, that a moment's hesitation or indecision on 
 the part of the driver would have destroyed. 
 
 I had indulged a hope that in the empty vehicle 
 I might obtain that rest so often denied me in its 
 cro\vde4 condition. It was a weak delusion. 
 
 K 
 
126 A Lonely Ride. 
 
 When I stretched out my limbs it was only to 
 find that the ordinary conveniences for making 
 several people distinctly uncomfortable were dis- 
 tributed throughout my individual frame. At last, 
 resting my arms on the straps, by dint of much 
 gymnastic effort I became sufficiently composed 
 to be aware of a more refined species of torture. 
 The springs of the stage, rising and falling regu- 
 larly, produced a rhythmical beat, which began 
 to painfully absorb my attention. Slowly this 
 thumping merged into a senseless echo of the 
 mysterious female of the hotel parlor, and shaped 
 itself into this awful and benumbing axiom, 
 " Praise-to-the-face-is-open-disgrace. Praise-to- 
 the-face-is-open-disgrace." Inequalities of the 
 road only quickened its utterance or drawled it 
 to an exasperating length. 
 
 It was of no use to seriously consider the 
 statement. It was of no use to except to it 
 indignantly. It was of no use to recall the many 
 instances where praise to the face had redounded 
 to the everlasting honor of praiser and bepraised ; 
 of no use to dwell sentimentally on modest genius 
 and courage lifted up and strengthened by open 
 commendation ; of no use to except to the mys- 
 terious female, to picture her as rearing a thin- 
 blooded generation on selfish and mechanically 
 repeated axioms, all this failed to counteract the 
 monotonous repetition of this sentence. There 
 was nothing to do but to give in, and I was 
 about to accept it weakly, as we too often treat 
 
A Lonely Ride. 127 
 
 other illusions of darkness and necessity, for the 
 time being, when I became aware of some other 
 annoyance that had been forcing itself upon me 
 for the last few moments. How quiet the driver 
 was ! 
 
 Was there any driver ? Had I any reason to 
 suppose that he was not lying, gagged and bound 
 on the roadside, and the highwayman, with 
 blackened face who did the thing so quietly, 
 driving me whither ? The thing is perfectly 
 feasible. And what is this fancy now being jolted 
 out of me. A story ? It's of no use to keep it 
 back, particularly in this abysmal vehicle, and 
 here it comes : I am a Marquis, a French Mar- 
 quis ; French, because the peerage is not so well 
 known, and the country is better adapted to 
 romantic incident, a Marquis, because the demo- 
 cratic reader delights in the nobility. My name is 
 something ligny. I am coming from Paris to my 
 tountry-seat at St. Germain. It is a dark night, 
 and I fall asleep and tell my honest coachman, 
 Andre", not to disturb me, and^ dream of an angel. 
 The carriage at last stops at the chateau. It is so 
 dark that when I alight I do not recognize the 
 face of the footman who holds the carriage door. 
 But what of that ? peste ! I am heavy with sleep. 
 The same obscurity also hides the old familiar 
 indecencies of the statues on the terrace ; but 
 there is a door, and it opens and shuts behind me 
 smartly. Then I find myself in a trap, in the 
 presence of the brigand who has quietly gagged 
 
 K 2 
 
128 A Lonely Ride. 
 
 poor Andre and conducted the carriage thither. 
 There is nothing for me to do, as a gallant French 
 Marquis, but to say, " Parbleu !" draw my rapier, 
 and die valo: ously ! I am found a week or two 
 after, outside a deserted cabaret near the barrier, 
 with a hole through my ruffled linen, and my 
 pockets stripped. No ; on second thoughts, I: 
 am rescued, rescued by the angel I have been 
 dreaming of, who is the assumed daughter of the 
 brigand, but the real daughter of an intimate 
 friend. 
 
 Looking from the window again, in the vain 
 hope of distinguishing the driver, I found my 
 eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. 
 I could see the distant horizon, defined by India- 
 inky woods, relieving a lighter sky. A few stars 
 widely spaced in this picture glimmered sadly. I 
 noticed again the infinite depth of patient sorrow 
 in their serene faces ; and I hope that the Vandal 
 who first applied the flippant " twinkle" to them 
 may not be driven melancholy mad by their 
 reproachful eyes. I noticed again the mystic 
 charm of space that imparts a sense of individual 
 solitude to each integer of the densest constella- 
 tion, involving the smallest star with immeasurable 
 loneliness. Something of this calm and solitude 
 crept over me, and I dozed in my gloomy cavern. 
 When I awoke the full moon was rising. Seen 
 from my window, it had an indescribably unreal 
 and theatrical effect. It was the full moon of 
 Norma, that remarkable celestial phenomenon 
 
A Lonely Ride. 129 
 
 which rises so palpably to a hushed audience and 
 a sublime andante chorus, until the Casta Diva 
 is sung, the " inconstant moon'' that then and 
 thereafter remains fixed in the heavens as though 
 it were a part of the solar system inaugurated by 
 Joshua. Again the white-robed Druids filed past 
 me, again I saw that improbable mistletoe cut 
 from that impossible oak, and again cold chills 
 ran down my back with the first strain of the 
 recitative. The thumping springs essayed to 
 beat time, and the private-box-like obscurity 
 of the vehicle lent a cheap enchantment to 
 the view. But it was a vast improvement upon 
 my past experience, and I hugged the fond 
 delusion. 
 
 My fears for the driver were dissipated with the 
 rising moon. A familiar sound had assured me of 
 his presence in the full possession of at least one 
 of his most important functions. Frequent and 
 full expectoration convinced me that his lips were 
 as yet not sealed by the gag of highwaymen, and 
 soothed my anxious ear. With this load lifted 
 from my mind, and assisted by the mild presence 
 of Diana, who left, as when she visited Endymion, 
 much of her splendor outside my cavern, I 
 looked around the empty vehicle. On the forward 
 seat lay a woman's hair-pin. I picked it up with 
 an interest that, however, soon abated. There 
 was no scent of the roses to cling to it still, not 
 even of hair-oil. No bend or twist in its rigid 
 angles betrayed any trait of its wearer's cha- 
 
130 A Lonely Ride. 
 
 racter. I tried to think that it might have been 
 " Mariar's." I tried to imagine that, confining 
 the symmetrical curls of that girl, it might have 
 heard the soft compliments whispered in her ears, 
 which provoked the wrath of the aged female. 
 But in vain. It was reticent and unswerving in 
 its upright fidelity, and at last slipped listlessly 
 through my fingers. 
 
 I had dozed repeatedly, waked on the thresh- 
 old of oblivion by contact with some of the angles 
 of the coach, and feeling that I was uncon- 
 sciously assuming, in imitation of a humble in- 
 sect of my childish recollection, that spherical 
 shape which could best resist those impressions, 
 when I perceived that the moon, riding high in 
 the heavens, had begun to separate the formless 
 masses of the shadowy landscape. Trees isolated, 
 in clumps and assemblages, changed places before 
 my window. The sharp outlines of the distant 
 hills came back, as in daylight, but little softened 
 in the dry, cold, dewless air of a California sum- 
 mer night. I was wondering how late it was, and 
 thinking that if the horses of the night travelled as 
 slowly as the team before us, Faustus might have 
 been spared his agonizing prayer, when a sudden 
 spasm of activity attacked my driver. A succes- 
 sion of whip-snappings, like a pack of Chinese 
 crackers, broke from the box before me. The stage 
 leaped forward, and when I co'ild pick myself 
 from under the seat, a long white building had in 
 some mysterious way rolled before my window, It 
 
A Lonely Ride. 131 
 
 must be Slumgullion ! As I descended from the 
 stage I addressed the driver : 
 
 " I thought you changed horses on the road ?" 
 
 " So we did. Two hours ago." 
 
 " That's odd. I didn't notice it." 
 
 " Must have been asleep, sir. Hope you had a 
 pleasant nap. Bully place for a nice quiet snooze, 
 empty stage, sir I" 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 "LT IS name was Fagg, David Fagg. He came 
 to California in '52 with us, in the "Sky- 
 scraper." I don't think he did it in an adventu- 
 rous way. He probably had no other place to go 
 to. When a knot of us young fellows would recite 
 what splendid opportunities we resigned to go, and 
 how sorry our friends were to have us leave, and 
 show daguerreotypes and locks of hair, and talk of 
 Mary and Susan, the man of no account used to 
 sit by and listen with a pained, mortified expres- 
 sion on his plain face, and say nothing. I think he 
 had nothing to say. He had no associates except 
 when we patronized him ; and, in point of fact, he 
 was a good deal of sport to us. He was always 
 sea-sick whenever we had a capful of wind. He 
 never got his sea-legs on either. And I never 
 .shall forget how we all laughed when Rattler took 
 him the piece of pork on a string, and But you 
 know that time-honored joke. And then we had 
 such a splendid lark with him. Miss Fanny 
 Twinkler could n't bear the sight of him, and we 
 used to make Fagg think that she had taken a 
 fancy to him, and send him little delicacies and 
 books from the cabin. You ought to have wit- 
 
The Man of No Account. 133 
 
 nessed the rich scene that took place when he 
 came up, stammering and very sick, to thank her ! 
 Did n't she flash up gradually and beautifully and 
 scornfully ? So like " Medora," Rattler said, Rat- 
 tler knew Byron by heart, and was n't old Fagg 
 awfully cut up ? But he got over it, and when 
 Rattler fell sick at Valparaiso, old Fagg used to 
 nurse him. You see he was a good sort of fellow, 
 but he lacked manliness and spirit. 
 
 He had absolutely no idea of poetry. I Ve seen 
 him sit stolidly by, mending his old clothes, when 
 Rattler delivered that stirring apostrophe of By- 
 ron's to the ocean. He asked Rattler once, quite 
 seriously, if he thought Byron was ever sea-sick. 
 I don't remember Rattler's reply, but I know we 
 all laughed very much, and I have no doubt it was 
 something good, for Rattler was smart. 
 
 When the " Skyscraper " arrived at San Fran- 
 cisco we had a grand " feed." We agreed to meet 
 every year and perpetuate the occasion. Of course 
 we did n't invite Fagg. Fagg was a steerage-pas- 
 senger, and it was necessary, you see, now we were 
 askore, to exercise a little discretion. But Old Fagg, 
 as we called him, he was only about twenty-five 
 years old, by the way, was the source of im- 
 mense amusement to us that day. It appeared 
 that he had conceived the idea that he could walk 
 to Sacramento, and actually started off afoot. We 
 had a good time, and shook hands with one another 
 all around, and so parted. Ah me ! only eight 
 years ago, and yet some of those hands then 
 
134 The Man of No Account. 
 
 clasped in amity have been clenched at each other, 
 or have dipped furtively in one another's pockets 
 I know that we did n't dine together the next year, 
 because young Barker swore he wouldn't put his 
 feet under the same mahogany with such a very 
 contemptible scoundrel as that Mixer ; and Nib- 
 bles, who borrowed money at Valparaiso of young 
 Stubbs, who was then a waiter in a restaurant, 
 did n't like to meet such people. 
 
 When I bought a number of shares in the Coyote 
 Tunnel at Mugginsville, in '54, I thought I'd take 
 a run up there and see it. I stopped at the 
 Empire Hotel, and after dinner I got a horse and 
 rode round the town and out to the claim. One 
 of those individuals whom newspaper correspond- 
 ents call "our intelligent informant," and to whom 
 in all small communities the right of answering 
 questions is tacitly yielded, was quietly pointed 
 out to me. Habit had enabled him to work and 
 talk at the same time, and he never pretermitted 
 either. He gave me a history of the claim, and 
 added : " You see, stranger " (he addressed the 
 bank before him), " gold is sure to come out 'er 
 that theer claim (he put in a comma with his pick), 
 but the old pro-pri-e-tor (he wriggled out the word 
 and the point of his pick) warn't of much account 
 (a long stroke of the pick for a period). He was 
 green, and let the boys about here jump him/' 
 and the rest of his sentence was confided to his 
 'aat, which he had removed to wipe his manly brow 
 with his red bandanna, 
 
The Man of No -Account. 135 
 
 I asked him who was the original proprietor. 
 
 " His name war Fagg." 
 
 I went to see him. He looked a little older and 
 plainer. He had worked hard he said, and was 
 getting on "so, so." I took quite a liking to him 
 and patronized him to some extent. Whether I 
 did so because I was beginning to have a distrust 
 for such fellows as Rattler and Mixer is not neces- 
 sary for me to state. 
 
 You remember how the Coyote Tunnel went in, 
 and how awfully we shareholders were done'. 
 Well, the next thing I heard was that Rattler, who 
 was one of the heaviest shareholders, was up at 
 Mugginsville keeping bar for the proprietor of the 
 Mugginsville Hotel, and that old Fagg had struck 
 it rich, and did n't know what to do with his 
 money. All this was told me by Mixer, who had 
 been there, settling up matters, and likewise that 
 Fagg was sweet upon the daughter of the proprie- 
 tor of the aforesaid hotel. And so by hearsay and 
 letter I eventually gathered that old Robins, the 
 hotel man, was trying to get up a match between 
 Nellie Robins and Fagg. Nellie was a pretty, 
 plump, and foolish little thing, and would do just 
 as her father wished. I thought it would be a 
 good thing for Fagg if he should marry and settle 
 down ; that as a married man he might be of some 
 account. So I ran up to Mugginsville one day to 
 k>ok after things. 
 
 It did me an immense deal of good to make 
 Rattler mix my drinks for me, Rattler I the gay, 
 
136 The Man of No Account. 
 
 brilliant, and unconquerable Rattler, who had tried 
 to snub me two years ago. I talked to him about 
 old Fagg and Nellie, particularly as I thought the 
 subject was distasteful. He never liked Fagg, and 
 he was sure, he said, that Nellie did n't. Did 
 Nellie like anybody else ? He turned around to 
 the mirror behind the bar and brushed up his hair: 
 I understood the conceited wretch. I thought I'd 
 put Fagg on his guard and get him to hurry up 
 matters. I had a long talk with him. You could 
 see by the way the poor fellow acted that he was 
 badly stuck. He sighed, and promised to pluck 
 up courage to hurry matters to a crisis. Nellie 
 was a good girl, and I think had a sort of quiet 
 respect for old Fagg's unobtrusiveness. But her 
 fancy was already taken captive by Rattler's su- 
 perficial qualities, which were obvious and pleas- 
 ing. I don't think Nellie was any worse than you 
 or I. We are more apt to take acquaintances at 
 their apparent value than their intrinsic worth. It's 
 less trouble, and, except when we want to trust 
 them, quite as convenient. The difficulty with 
 women is that their feelings are apt to get inte- 
 rested sooner than ours, and then, you know, 
 reasoning is out of the question. This is what 
 old Fagg would have known had he been of any 
 account. But he was n't. So much the worse for 
 him. 
 
 It was a few months afterward, and I was sit- 
 ting in my office when in walked old Fagg. I was 
 surprised to see him down, but we talked over 
 
The Man of No Account. 137 
 
 the current topics in that mechanical manner of 
 people who know that they have something else 
 to say, but are obliged to get at it in that formal 
 way. After an interval Fagg in his natural manner 
 said, 
 
 " I'm going home ! " 
 
 " Going home ? " 
 
 Yes, that is, I think I'll take a trip to the 
 Atlantic States. I came to see you, as you know 
 I have some little property, and I have executed 
 a power of attorney for you to manage my affairs. 
 I have some papers I'd like to leave with you. 
 Will you take charge of them ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. " But what of Nellie ? " 
 
 His face fell. He tried to smile, and the com- 
 bination resulted in one of the most startling and 
 grotesque effects I ever beheld. At length he 
 said, 
 
 " I shall not marry Nellie, that is," he seemed 
 to apologize internally for the positive form of 
 expression " I think that I had better not." 
 
 "David Fagg," I said with sudden severity, 
 " you 're of no account ! " 
 
 To my astonishment his face brightened. "Yes/* 
 said he, " that's it ! I'm of no account ! But I 
 always knew it. You see I thought Rattler loved 
 that girl as well as I did, and I knew she liked 
 him better than she did me, and would be happier 
 I dare say with him. But then I knew that old 
 Robins would have preferred me to him, as I was 
 better off, and the girl would do as he said, 
 
138 The Man of No Account. 
 
 and, you see, I thought I was kinder in the way, 
 and so I left. But," he continued, as I was about 
 to interrupt him, " for fear the old man might ob- 
 ject to Rattler, I Ve lent him enough to set him 
 up in business for himself in Dogtown. A push- 
 ing, active, brilliant fellow, you know, like Rattler 
 can get along, and will soon be in his old position 
 again, and you need n't be hard on him, you 
 know, if he does n't. Good by." 
 
 I was too much disgusted with his treatment of 
 that Rattler to be at all amiable, but as his busi- 
 ness was profitable, I promised to attend to it, and 
 he left. A few weeks passed. The return steamer 
 arrived, and a terrible incident occupied the papers 
 for days afterward. People in all parts of the 
 State conned eagerly the details of an awful ship- 
 wreck, and those who had friends aboard went 
 away by themselves, and read the long list of the 
 lost under their breath. I read of the gifted, the 
 gallant, the noble, and loved ones who had perished, 
 and among them I think I was the first to read 
 the name of David Fagg. For the "man of no 
 account" had "gon^ home!" 
 
STORIES. 
 
MLISS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JUST where the Sierra Nevada begins to sub- 
 side in gentler undulations, and the rivers grow 
 less rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red 
 mountain, stands " Smith's Pocket." Seen from 
 the red road at sunset, in the red light and the red 
 dust, its white houses look like the outcroppings 
 of quartz on the mountain-side. The red stage 
 topped with red-shirted passengers is lost to view 
 half a dozen times in the tortuous descent, turning 
 up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way places, and 
 vanishing altogether within a hundred yards of the 
 town. It is probably owing to this sudden twist 
 in the road that the advent of a stranger at 
 Smith's Pocket is usually attended with a pecu- 
 liar circumstance. Dismounting from the vehicle 
 at the stage-office, the too confident traveller is 
 apt to walk straight out of town under the im- 
 pression that it lies in quite another direction. It 
 is related that one of the tunnel-men, two miles 
 from town, met one of these self-reliant passengers 
 with a carpet-bag, umbrella, Harper's Magazine, 
 and other evidences of " Civilization and Refine- 
 
 L 
 
142 MKss. 
 
 ment," plodding along over the road he had just 
 ridden, vainly endeavoring to find the settlement 
 of Smith's Pocket. 
 
 An observant traveller might have found some 
 compensation for his disappointment in the weird 
 aspect of that vicinity. There were huge fissures 
 on the hillside, and displacements of the red soil, 
 resembling more the chaos of some primary ele- 
 mental upheaval than the work of man ; while, 
 half-way down, a long flume straddled its narrow 
 body and disproportionate legs over the chasm, 
 like an enormous fossil of some forgotten antedi- 
 luvian. At every step smaller ditches crossed the 
 road, hiding in their sallow depths unlovely streams 
 that crept away to a clandestine union with the 
 great yellow torrent below, and here and there 
 were the ruins of some cabin with the chimney 
 alone left intact and the hearthstone open to the 
 skies. 
 
 The settlement of Smith's Pocket owed its 
 origin to the finding of a " pocket " on its site 
 by a veritable Smith. Five thousand dollars were 
 taken out of it in one half-hour by Smith. Three 
 thousand dollars were expended by Smith and 
 others in erecting a flume and in tunnelling. And 
 then Smith's Pocket was found to be only a pocket, 
 and subject like other pockets to depletion. Al- 
 though Smith pierced the bowels of the great red 
 mountain, that five thousand dollars was the first 
 and last return of his labor. The mountain grew 
 reticent of its golden secrets, and the flume steadily 
 
Mliss. 143 
 
 ebbed away the remainder of Smith's fortune. 
 Then Smith went into quartz-mining ; then into 
 quartz-milling ; then into hydraulics and ditching, 
 and then by easy degrees into saloon-keeping. 
 Presently it was whispered that Smith was drink- 
 ing a great deal ; then it was known that Smith 
 was a habitual drunkard, and then people began 
 to think, as they are apt to, that he had never 
 been anything else. But the settlement of Smith's 
 Pocket, like that of most discoveries, was happily 
 not dependent on the fortune of its pioneer, and 
 other parties projected tunnels and found pockets. 
 So Smith's Pocket became a settlement with its 
 two fancy stores, its two hotels, its one express- 
 office, and its two first families. Occasionally its 
 one long straggling street was overawed by the 
 assumption of the latest San Francisco fashions, 
 imported per express, exclusively to the first 
 families ; making outraged Nature, in the ragged 
 outline of her furrowed surface, look still more 
 homely, and putting personal insult on that greater 
 portion of the population to whom the Sabbath, 
 with a change of linen, brought merely the neces- 
 sity of cleanliness, without the luxury of adorn- 
 ment. Then there was a Methodist Church, and 
 hard by a Monte Bank, and a little beyond, on 
 the mountain-side, a graveyard ; and then a little 
 school-house. 
 
 " The Master," as he was known to his little 
 flock, sat alone one night in the school-house, 
 with some open copy-books before him, carefully 
 
 L 2 
 
144 Mliss. 
 
 making those bold and full characters which are 
 supposed to combine the extremes of chirogra- 
 phical and moral excellence, and had got as far as 
 " Riches are deceitful," and was elaborating the 
 noun with an insincerity of flourish that was quite 
 in the spirit of his text, when he heard a gentle 
 tapping. The woodpeckers had been busy about 
 the roof during the day, and the noise did not dis- 
 turb his work. But the opening of the door, and 
 the tapping continuing from the inside, caused him 
 to look up. He was slightly startled by the figure 
 of a young girl, dirty and shabbily clad. Still, her 
 great black eyes, her coarse, uncombed, lustreless 
 black hair falling over her sun-burned face, her red 
 arms and feet streaked with the red soil, were all 
 familiar to him. It was Melissa Smith, Smith's 
 motherless child. 
 
 " What can she want here ?" thought the master. 
 Everybody knew " Mliss," as she was called, 
 throughout the length and height of Red Moun- 
 tain. Everybody knew her as an incorrigible girl. 
 Her fierce, ungovernable disposition, her mad freaks 
 and lawless character, were in their way as prover- 
 bial as the story of her father's weaknesses, and as 
 philosophically accepted by the townsfolk. She 
 wrangled with and fought the school-boys with 
 keener invective and quite as powerful arm. She 
 followed the trails with a woodman's craft, and the 
 master had met her before, miles away, shoeless, 
 stockingless, and bareheaded on the mountain 
 road. The miners' camps along the stream sup- 
 
Mliss. 145 
 
 plied her with subsistence during these voluntary 
 pilgrimages, in freely offered alms. Not but that 
 a larger protection had been previously extended 
 to Mliss. The Rev. Joshua McSnagley, " stated '' 
 preacher, had placed her in the hotel as servant, by 
 way of preliminary refinement, and had introduced 
 her to his scholars at Sunday school. But she 
 threw plates occasionally at the landlord, and 
 quickly retorted to the cheap witticisms of the 
 guests, and created in the Sabbath school a sensa- 
 tion that was so inimical to the orthodox dulness 
 and placidity of that institution, that, with a decent 
 regard for the starched frocks and unblemished 
 morals of the two pink-and-white-faced children of 
 the first families, the reverend gentleman had her 
 ignominiously expelled. Such were the antece- 
 dents, and such the character of Mliss, as she stood 
 before the master. It was shown in the ragged 
 dress, the unkempt hair, and bleeding feet, and 
 asked his pity. It flashed from her black, fearless 
 eyes, and commanded his respect. 
 
 " I come here to-night," she said rapidly and 
 boldly, keeping her hard glance on his, " because I 
 knew you was alone. I wouldn't come here when 
 them gals was here. I hate 'em and they hates me. 
 That's why. You keep school, don't you ? I want 
 to be teached !" 
 
 If to the shabbiness of her apparel and uncome- 
 liness of her tangled hair and dirty face she had 
 added the humility of tears, the master would have 
 extended to her the usual moiety of pity, and 
 
146 Mliss. 
 
 nothing more. But with the natural, though 
 illogical instincts of his species, her boldness 
 awakened in him something of that respect 
 which all original natures pay unconsciously to one 
 another in any grade. And he gazed at her the 
 more fixedly as she went on still rapidly, her hand 
 on that door-latch and her eyes on his : 
 
 " My name 's Mliss, Mliss Smith ! You can 
 bet your life on that. My father 's Old Smith, 
 Old Bummer Smith, that's what's the matter 
 with him. Mliss Smith, and I'm coming to 
 school ! " 
 
 " Well ? " said the master. 
 
 Accustomed to be thwarted and opposed, often 
 wantonly and cruelly, for no other purpose than to 
 excite the violent impulses of her nature, the 
 master's phlegm evidently took her by surprise. 
 She stopped ; she began to twist a lock of her 
 hair between her fingers ; and the rigid line of 
 upper lip, drawn over the wicked little teeth, 
 relaxed and quivered slightly. Then her eyes 
 dropped, and something like a blush struggled up to 
 her cheek, and tried to assert itself through the 
 splashes of redder soil, and the sunburn of years. 
 Suddenly she threw herself forward, calling on God 
 to strike her dead, and fell quite weak and helpless, 
 with her face on the master's desk, crying and 
 sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 
 The master lifted her gently and waited for the 
 paroxysm to pass. When with face still averted 
 she was repeating between her sobs the mea culpa 
 
Mliss. 147 
 
 of childish penitence, that "she'd be good, she 
 didn't mean to," etc., it came to him to ask her 
 why she had left Sabbath school. 
 
 Why had she left the Sabbath school ? why ? 
 O yes. What did he (McSnagley) want to tell 
 her she was wicked for? What did he tell her 
 that God hated her for ? If God hated her, what 
 did she want to go to Sabbath school for ? She 
 didn't want to be "beholden" to -anybody who 
 hated her. 
 
 Had she told McSnagley this ? 
 
 Yes, she had. 
 
 The master laughed. It was a hearty laugh, 
 and echoed so oddly in the little school-house, 
 and seemed so inconsistent and discordant with 
 the sighing of the pines without, that he shortly 
 corrected himself with a sigh. The sigh was 
 quite as sincere in its way, however, and after a 
 moment of serious silence he asked about her 
 father. 
 
 Her father? What father? Whose father? 
 What had he ever done for her? Why did the 
 girls hate her ? Come now ! what made the folks 
 say, "Old Bummer Smith's Mliss!" when she 
 passed ? Yes ; O yes. She wished he was dead, 
 she was dead, everybody was dead ; and her 
 sobs broke forth anew. 
 
 The master then, leaning over her, told her as 
 well as he could what you or I might have said 
 after hearing such unnatural theories from childish 
 lips ; only bearing in mind perhaps better than 
 
148 Mliss. 
 
 you or I the unnatural facts of her ragged dress, 
 her bleeding feet, and the omnipresent shadow of 
 her drunken father. Then, raising her to her feet, 
 Ve wrapped his shawl around her, and, bidding her 
 come early in the morning, he walked with her 
 down the road. There he bade her " good night.' 1 
 The moon shone brightly on the narrow path be- 
 fore them. He stood and watched the bent little 
 figure as it staggered down the road, and waited 
 until it had passed the little graveyard and 
 reached the curve of the hill, where it turned and 
 stood for a moment, a mere atom of suffering 
 outlined against the far-off patient stars. Then 
 he went back to his work. But the lines of the 
 copybook thereafter faded into long parallels of 
 never-ending road, over which childish figures 
 seemed to pass sobbing and crying into the night. 
 Then, the little school-house seeming lonelier than 
 before, he shut the door and went home. 
 
 The next morning Mliss came to school. Her 
 face had been washed, and her coarse black hair 
 bore evidence of recent struggles with the comb, 
 in which both had evidently suffered. The old 
 defiant look shone occasionally in her eyes, but 
 her manner was tamer and more subdued. Then 
 began a series of little trials and self-sacrifices, in 
 which master and pupil bore an equal part, and 
 which increased the confidence and sympathy be- 
 tween them. Although obedient under the mas- 
 ter's eye, at times during recess, if thwarted or 
 stung by a fancied slight, Mliss would rage in un- 
 
Mliss. 149 
 
 provernable fury, and many a palpitating young 
 savage, finding himself matched with his own 
 weapons of torment, would seek the master with 
 torn jacket and scratched face, and complaints of 
 the dreadful Mliss. There was a serious division 
 among the townspeople on the subject ; some 
 threatening to withdraw their children from such 
 evil companionship, and others as warmly uphold- 
 ing the course of the master in his work of recla- 
 mation. Meanwhile, with a steady persistence 
 that seemed quite astonishing to him on looking 
 back afterward, the master drew Mliss gradually 
 out of the shadow of her past life, as though it 
 were but her natural progress down the narrow 
 path on which he had set her feet the moonlit 
 night of their first meeting. Remembering the 
 experience of the evangelical McSnagley, he care- 
 fully avoided that Rock of Ages on which that 
 unskilful pilot had shipwrecked her young faith. 
 But if, in the course of her reading, she chanced 
 to stumble upon those few words which have lifted 
 such as she above the level of the older, the wiser, 
 and the more prudent, if she learned something 
 of a faith that is symbolized by suffering, and the 
 old light softened in her eyes, it did not take the 
 shape of a lesson. A few of the plainer people 
 had made up a little sum by which the ragged 
 Mliss was enabled to assume the garments of 
 respect and civilization ; and often a rough shake 
 of the hand, and words of homely commendation 
 from a red-shirted and burly figure, sent a glow to 
 
I 
 
 150 Mliss. 
 
 the cheek of the young master, and set him to 
 thinking if it was altogether deserved. 
 
 Three months had passed from the time of their 
 first meeting, and the master was sitting late one 
 evening over the moral and sententious copies, 
 when there came a tap at the door, and again 
 Mliss stood before him. She was neatly clad and 
 clean-faced, and there was nothing perhaps but 
 the long black hair and bright black eyes to 
 remind him of his former apparition. " Are you 
 busy ?" she asked. " Can you come with me ?" 
 and on his signifying his readiness, in her old 
 wilful way she said, " Come, then, quick !" 
 
 They passed out of the door together and into 
 the dark road. As they entered the town the 
 master asked her whither she was going. She re- 
 plied, " To see my father." 
 
 It was the first time he had heard her call him 
 by that filial title, or indeed anything more than 
 " Old Smith " or the " Old Man." It was the first 
 time in three months that she had spoken of him 
 at all, and the master knew she had kept re- 
 solutely aloof from him since her great change. 
 Satisfied from her manner that it was fruitless to 
 question her purpose, he passively followed. In 
 out-of-the-way places, low groggeries, restaurants, 
 and saloons ; in gambling-hells and dance-houses, 
 the master, preceded by Mliss, came and went. In 
 the reeking smoke and blasphemous outcries of 
 low dens, the child, holding the master's hand, 
 stood and anxiously gazed, seemingly unconscious 
 
Mliss. 151 
 
 of all in the one absorbing nature of her pursuit. 
 Some of the revellers, recognizing Mliss, called to 
 the child to sing and dance for them, and would 
 have forced liquor upon her but for the interfer- 
 ence of the master. Others, recognizing him mute- 
 ly, made way for them to pass. So an hour slipped 
 by. Then the child whispered in his ear that there 
 was a cabin on the other side of the creek crossed 
 by the long flume, where she thought he still might 
 be. Thither they crossed, a toilsome half-hour's 
 walk, but in vain. They were returning by the 
 ditch at the abutment of the flume, gazing at the 
 lights of the town on the opposite bank, when, 
 suddenly, sharply, a quick report rang out on the 
 clear night air. The echoes caught it, and carried 
 it round and round Red Mountain, and set the dogs 
 to barking all along the streams. Lights seemed 
 to dance and move quickly on the outskirts of the 
 town for a few moments, the stream rippled quite 
 audibly beside them, a few stones loosened them- 
 selves from the hillside and splashed into the 
 stream, a heavy wind seemed to surge the branches 
 of the funereal pines, and then the silence seemed 
 to fall thicker, heavier, and deadlier. The master 
 turned towards Mliss with an unconscious gesture 
 of protection, but the child had gone. Oppressed 
 by a strange fear, he ran quickly down the trail to 
 the river's bed, and, jumping from boulder to boul- 
 der, reached the base of Red Mountain and the 
 outskirts of the village. Midway of the crossing 
 he looked up and held his breath in awe. For 
 
152 Mliss. 
 
 high above him on the narrow flume he saw the 
 fluttering little figure of his late companion cross- 
 ing swiftly in the darkness. 
 
 He climbed the bank, and, guided by a few lights 
 moving about a central point on the mountain, 
 soon found himself breathless among a crowd of 
 awe-stricken and sorrowful men. Out from among 
 them the child appeared, and, taking the master's 
 hand, led him silently before what seemed a ragged 
 hole in the mountain. Her face was quite white, 
 but her excited manner gone, and her look that of 
 one to whom some long-expected event had at last 
 happened, an expression that to the master in 
 his bewilderment seemed almost like relief. The 
 walls of the cavern were partly propped by decay- 
 ing timbers. The child pointed to what appeared 
 to be some ragged, cast-off clothes left in the hole 
 by the late occupant. The master approached 
 nearer with his flaming dip, and bent over them. 
 It was Smith, already cold, with a pistol in his 
 hand and a bullet in his heart, lying beside his 
 empty pocket. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE opinion which- McSnagley expressed in 
 reference to a " change of heart " supposed to 
 be experienced by Mliss was more forcibly de- 
 scribed in the gulches and tunnels. It was 
 thought there that Mliss had "struck a good 
 
Mliss. 153 
 
 lead." So when there was a new grave added to 
 the little enclosure, and at the expense of the 
 master a little board and inscription put above it, 
 the Red Mountain Banner came out quite hand- 
 somely, and did the fair thing to the memory of 
 one of " our oldest Pioneers," alluding gracefully 
 to that " bane of noble intellects," and otherwise 
 genteelly shelving our dear brother with the past. 
 " He leaves an only child to mourn his loss," says 
 the Banner, " who is now an exemplary scholar, 
 thanks to the efforts of the Rev. Mr. McSnagley." 
 The Rev. McSnagley, in fact, made a strong point 
 of Mliss's conversion, and, indirectly attributing to 
 the unfortunate child the suicide of her father, 
 made affecting allusions in Sunday school to the 
 beneficial effects of the " silent tomb," and in this 
 cheerful contemplation drove most of the children 
 into speechless horror, and caused the pink-and- 
 white scions of the first families to howl dismally 
 and refuse to be comforted. 
 
 The long dry summer came. As each fierce day 
 burned itself out in little whiffs of pearl-grey 
 smoke on the mountain summits, and the up- 
 springing breeze scattered its red embers over the 
 landscape, the green wave which in early spring 
 upheaved above Smith's grave grew sere and dry 
 and hard. In those days the master, strolling in 
 the little churchyard of a Sabbath afternoon, was 
 sometimes surprised to find a few wild-flowers 
 plucked from the damp pine-forests scattered 
 there, and oftener rude wreaths hung upon the 
 
154 Mliss. 
 
 little pine cross. Most of these wreaths were 
 formed of a sweet-scented grass, which the chil- 
 dren loved to keep in their desks, intertwined with 
 the plumes of the buckeye, the syringa, and the 
 wood-anemone ; and here and there the master 
 noticed the dark blue cowl of the monk's-hood, or 
 deadly aconite. There was something in the odd 
 association of this noxious plant with these 
 memorials which occasioned a painful sensation 
 to the master deeper than his esthetic sense. One 
 day, during a long walk, in crossing a wooded 
 ridge he came upon Mliss in the heart of the for- 
 est, perched upon a prostrate pine, on a fantastic 
 throne formed by the hanging plumes of lifeless 
 branches, her lap full of grasses and pine-burrs, 
 and crooning to herself one of the negro melodies 
 of her younger life. Recognizing him at a dis- 
 tance, she made room for him on her elevated 
 throne, and with a grave assumption of hospitality 
 and patronage that would have been ridiculous 
 had it not been so terribly earnest, she fed him 
 with pine-nuts and crab-apples. The master took 
 that opportunity to point out to her the noxious 
 and deadly qualities of the monk's-hood, whose 
 dark blossoms he saw in her lap, and extorted 
 from her a promise not to meddle with it as long 
 as she remained his pupil. This done, as the 
 master had tested her integrity before, he rested 
 satisfied, and the strange feeling which had over- 
 come him on seeing them died away. 
 
 Of the homes that were offered Mliss when her 
 
Mliss. 155 
 
 conversion became known, the master preferred 
 that of Mrs. Morpher, a womanly and kind- 
 hearted specimen of Southwestern efflorescence, 
 known in her maidenhood as the " Per-rairie 
 Rose." Being one of those who contend reso- 
 lutely against their own natures, Mrs. Morpher, 
 by a long series of self-sacrifices and struggles, 
 had at last subjugated her naturally careless dis- 
 position to principles of " order," which she con- 
 sidered, in common with Mr. Pope, as " Heaven's 
 first law." But she could not entirely govern the 
 orbits of her satellites, however regular her own 
 movements, and even her own "Jeemes" some- 
 times collided with her. Again her old nature 
 asserted itself in her children. Lycurgus dipped 
 into the cupboard " between meals," and Aristides 
 came home from school without shoes, leaving 
 those important articles on the threshold, for the 
 delight of a barefooted walk down the ditches. 
 Octavia and Cassandra were "keerless" of their 
 clothes. So with but one exception, however 
 much the " Prairie Rose" might have trimmed and 
 pruned and trained her own matured luxuriance, 
 the little shoots came up defiantly wild and 
 straggling. That one exception was Clytemnestra 
 Morpher, aged fifteen. She was the realization 
 of her mother's immaculate conception, neat, 
 orderly, and dull. 
 
 It was an amiable weakness of Mrs. Morpher 
 to imagine that " Clytie" was a consolation and 
 model for Mliss. Following this fallacy, Mrs. 
 
156 Mliss. 
 
 Morpher threw Clytie at the head of Mliss when 
 she was " bad," and set her up before the child for 
 adoration in her penitential moments. It was not, 
 therefore, surprising to the master to hear that 
 Clytie was coming to school, obviously as a favor 
 to the master and as an example for Mliss and 
 others. For "Clytie" was quite a young lady. 
 Inheriting her mother's physical peculiarities, and 
 in obedience to the climatic laws of the Red 
 Mountain region, she was an early bloomer. The 
 youth of Smith's Pocket, to whom this kind of 
 flower was rare, sighed for her in April and 
 languished in May. Enamored swains haunted 
 the school-house at the hour of dismissal. A few 
 were jealous of the master. 
 
 Perhaps it was this latter circumstance that 
 opened the master's eyes to another. He could 
 not help noticing that Clytie was romantic ; that 
 in school she required a great deal of attention ; 
 that her pens were uniformly bad and wanted 
 fixing ; that she usually accompanied the request 
 with a certain expectation in her eye that was 
 somewhat disproportionate to the quality of 
 service she verbally required ; that she sometimes 
 allowed the curves of a round, plump white arm 
 to rest on his when he was writing her copies ; 
 that she always blushed and flung back her blond 
 curls when she did so. I don't remember whether 
 I have stated that the master was a young man, 
 it's of little consequence, however ; he had been 
 severely educated in the school in which Clytie 
 
Mliss. 157 
 
 was taking her first lesson, and, on the whole, 
 withstood the flexible curves and factitious glance 
 like the fine young Spartan that he was. Perhaps 
 an insufficient quality of food may have tended 
 to this asceticism. He generally avoided Clytie ; 
 but one evening, when she returned to the school- 
 house after something she had forgotten, and did 
 not find it until the master walked home with her, 
 I hear that he endeavored to make himself particu- 
 larly agreeable, partly from the fact, I imagine, 
 that his conduct was adding gall and bitterness to 
 the already overcharged hearts of Clytemnestra's 
 admirers. 
 
 The morning after this afTecting episode Mliss 
 did not come to school. Noon came, but not 
 Mliss. Questioning Clytie on the subject, it 
 appeared that they had left the school together, 
 but the wilful Mliss had taken another road. The 
 afternoon brought her not. In the evening he 
 called on Mrs. Morpher, whose motherly heart 
 was really alarmed. Mr. Morpher had spent all 
 day in search of her, without discovering a trace 
 that might lead to her discovery. Aristides was 
 summoned as a probable accomplice, but that 
 equitable infant succeeded in impressing the 
 household with his innocence. Mrs. Morpher 
 entertained a vivid impression that the child 
 would yet be found drowned in a ditch, or, what 
 was almost as terrible, muddied and soiled beyond 
 the redemption of soap and water. Sick at heart, 
 the master returned to the school-house. As 
 
 M 
 
158 Mliss. 
 
 he lit his lamp and seated himself at his desk, 
 he found a note lying before him addressed to 
 himself, in Mliss's handwriting. It seemed to be 
 written on a leaf torn from some old memo- 
 randum-book, and, to prevent sacrilegious trifling, 
 had been sealed with six broken wafers. Opening 
 it almost tenderly, the master read as follows : 
 
 RESPECTED SIR, When you read this, I am run 
 away. Never to come back. Never, NEVER, NEVER. 
 You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my 
 Amerika's Pride [a highly colored lithograph from a 
 tobacco-box] to Sally Flanders. But don't you give 
 anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dare to. Do 
 you know what my oppinion is of her, it is this, she 
 is perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at 
 present from 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 MELISSA SMITH. 
 
 The master sat pondering on this strange epistle 
 till the moon lifted its bright face above the dis- 
 tant hills, and illuminated the trail that led to the 
 school-house, beaten quite hard with the coming 
 and going of little feet. Then, more satisfied in 
 mind, he tore the missive into fragments and scat- 
 tered them along the road. 
 
 At sunrise the next morning he was picking his 
 way through the palm-like fern and thick under- 
 brush of the pine-forest, starting the hare from its 
 form, and awakening a querulous protest from a 
 few dissipated crows, who had evidently been mak- 
 
Mliss. 159 
 
 ing a night of it, and so came to the wooded ridge 
 where he had once found Mliss. There he found 
 the prostrate pine and tasselled branches, but the 
 throne was vacant. As he drew nearer, what might 
 have been some frightened animal started through 
 the crackling limbs. It ran up the tossed arms of 
 the fallen monarch, and sheltered itself in some 
 friendly foliage. The master, reaching the old 
 seat, found the nest still warm ; looking up in 
 the intertwining branches, he met the black eyes 
 of the errant Mliss. They gazed at each other 
 without speaking. She was first to break the 
 silence. 
 
 " What do you want ? " she asked curtly. 
 
 The master had decided on a course of action. 
 
 " I want some crab-apples," he said humbly. 
 
 " Sha'n't have 'em ! go away. Why don't you 
 get 'em of Clytemnerestera ? " (It seemed to be a 
 relief to Mliss to express her contempt in addi- 
 tional syllables to that classical young woman's 
 already long-drawn title.) " O you wicked 
 thing!" 
 
 " I am hungry, Lissy. I have eaten nothing 
 since dinner yesterday. I am famished ! " and the 
 young man in a state of remarkable exhaustion 
 leaned against the tree. 
 
 Melissa's heart was touched. In the bitter days 
 of her gypsy life she had known the sensation he 
 so artfully simulated. Overcome by his heart- 
 broken tone, but not entirely divested of suspicion, 
 she said, 
 
 M 2 
 
160 Mliss. 
 
 " Dig under the tree near the roots, and you'll 
 find lots ; but mind you don't tell," for Mliss had 
 her hoards as well as the rats and squirrels. 
 
 But the master, of course, was unable to find 
 them ; the effects of hunger probably blinding his 
 senses. Mliss grew uneasy. At length she peered 
 at him through the leaves in an elfish way, and 
 questioned, 
 
 "If I come down and give you some, you'll 
 promise you won't touch me ? " 
 
 The master promised. 
 
 " Hope you'll die if you do ! " 
 
 The master accepted instant dissolution as a 
 forfeit. Mliss slid down the tree. For a few 
 moments nothing transpired but the munching of 
 the pine-nuts. " Do you feel better ? " she asked, 
 with some solicitude. The master confessed to a 
 recuperated feeling, and then, gravely thanking 
 her, proceeded to retrace his steps. As he 
 expected, he had not gone far before she called 
 him. He turned. She was standing there quite 
 white, with tears in her widely opened orbs. The 
 master felt that the right moment had come. 
 Going up to her, he took both her hands, and, 
 looking in her tearful eyes, said, gravely, " Lissy, 
 do you remember the first evening you came to 
 see me?" 
 
 Lissy remembered. 
 
 " You asked me if you might come to school, 
 for you wanted to learn something and be better, 
 and I said " 
 
Mliss. l6l 
 
 " Come," responded the child, promptly. 
 
 "What would you say if the master now came 
 to you and said that he was lonely without his little 
 scholar, and that he wanted her to come and teach 
 him to be better ? " 
 
 The child hung her head for a few moments in 
 silence. The master waited patiently. Tempted 
 by the quiet, a hare ran close to the couple, and 
 raising her bright eyes and velvet forepaws, sat and 
 gazed at them. A squirrel ran half way down 
 the furrowed bark of the fallen tree, and there 
 stopped. 
 
 " We are waiting, Lissy," said the master, in a 
 whisper, and the child smiled. Stirred by a pass- 
 ing breeze, the tree-tops rocked, and a long pencil 
 of light stole through their interlaced boughs full 
 on the doubting face and irresolute little figure. 
 Suddenly she took the master's hand in her quick 
 way. What she said was scarcely audible, but the 
 master, putting the black hair back from her fore- 
 head, kissed her ; and so, hand in hand, they 
 passed out of the damp aisles and forest odors 
 into the open sunlit road. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SOMEWHAT less spiteful in her intercourse with 
 other scholars, Mliss still retained an offensive 
 attitude in regard to Clytemnestra. Perhaps the 
 jealous element was not entirely lulled in her 
 
1 62 Mliss. 
 
 passionate little breast. Perhaps it was only 
 that the round curves and plump outline offered 
 more extended pinching surface. But while such 
 ebullitions were under the master's control, her 
 enmity occasionally took a new and irrepressible 
 form. 
 
 The master in his first estimate of the child's 
 character could not conceive that she had ever 
 possessed a doll. But the master, like many 
 other professed readers of character, was safer 
 in d posteriori than a priori reasoning. Mliss 
 had a doll, but then it was emphatically Mliss's 
 doll, a smaller copy of herself. Its unhappy 
 existence had been a secret discovered acci-j 
 dentally by Mrs. Morpher. It had been the 
 old-time companion of Mliss's wanderings, and 
 bore evident marks of suffering. Its original 
 complexion was long since washed away by the 
 weather and anointed by the slime of ditches. 
 It looked very much as Mliss had in days past. 
 Its one gown of faded stuff was dirty and ragged 
 as hers had been. Mliss had never been known 
 to apply to it any childish term of endearment. 
 She never exhibited it in the presence of other 
 children. It was put severely to bed in a hollow 
 tree near the school-house, and only allowed?] 
 exercise during Mliss's rambles. Fulfilling a sterifi 
 duty to her doll, as she would to herself, it knevi 
 no luxuries. 
 
 Now Mrs. Morpher, obeying a commendable 
 impulse, bought another doll and gave it to Mliss. 
 
Mliss. 163 
 
 The child received it gravely and curiously. The 
 master on looking at it one day fancied he saw 
 a slight resemblance in its round red cheeks 
 and mild blue eyes to Clytemnestra. It became 
 evident before long that Mliss had also noticed the 
 same resemblance. Accordingly she hammered 
 its waxen head on the rocks when she was alone, 
 and sometimes dragged it with a string round its 
 neck to and from school. At other times, setting 
 it up on her desk, she made a pin-cushion of its 
 patient and inoffensive body. Whether this was 
 done in revenge of what she considered a second 
 figurative obtrusion of Clytie's excellences upon 
 her, or whether she had an intuitive appreciation 
 of the rites of certain other heathens, and, in- 
 dulging in that "Fetish" ceremony, imagined that 
 the original of her wax model would pine away 
 and finally die, is a metaphysical question I shall 
 not now consider. 
 
 In spite of these moral vagaries, the master 
 could not help noticing in her different tasks the 
 working of a quick, restless, and vigorous per- 
 ception. She knew neither the hesitancy nor the 
 doubts of childhood. Her answers in class were 
 always slightly dashed with audacity. Of course 
 she was not infallible. But her courage and 
 daring in passing beyond her own depth and that 
 of the floundering little swimmers around her, 
 in their minds outweighed all errors of judgment. 
 Children are not better than grown people in 
 this respect, I fancy ; and whenever the little 
 
1 64 Mliss. 
 
 red hand flashed above her desk, there was a 
 wondering silence, and even the master was 
 sometimes oppressed with a doubt of his own 
 experience and judgment. 
 
 Nevertheless, certain attributes which at first 
 amused and entertained his fancy began to afflict 
 him with grave doubts. He could not but see 
 that Mliss was revengeful, irreverent, and wilful. 
 That there was but one better quality which 
 pertained to her semi-savage disposition, the 
 faculty of physical fortitude and self-sacrifice, and 
 another, though not always an attribute of the 
 noble savage, Truth. Mliss was both fearless 
 and sincere ; perhaps in such a character the 
 adjectives were synonymous. 
 
 The master had been doing some hard thinking 
 on this subject, and had arrived at that conclusion 
 quite common to all who think sincerely, that 
 he was generally the slave of his own prejudices, 
 when he determined to call on the Rev. Mc- 
 Snagley for advice. This decision was somewhat 
 humiliating to his pride, as he and McSnagley 
 were not friends. But he thought of Mliss, and 
 the evening of their first meeting ; and perhaps 
 with a pardonable superstition that it was not 
 chance alone that had guided her wilful feet to 
 the school-house, and perhaps with a complacent 
 consciousness of the rare magnanimity of the 
 act, he choked back his dislike and went to 
 McSnagley. 
 
 The reverend gentleman was glad to see him. 
 
Mliss. 165 
 
 Moreover, he observed that the master was look- 
 ing " peartish," and hoped he had got over the 
 "neuralgy" and " rheumatiz." He himself had 
 been troubled with a dumb " ager" since last 
 conference. But he had learned to "rastle and 
 pray." 
 
 Pausing a moment to enable the master to 
 
 .write his certain method of curing the dumb 
 
 !"ager" upon the book and volume of his brain, 
 
 Mr. McSnagley proceeded to inquire after Sister 
 
 Morpher. " She is an adornment to Christo'anity, 
 
 land has a likely growin' young family," added Mr. 
 
 i McSnagley ; "and there's that mannerly young 
 
 jgal, so well behaved, Miss Clyde." In fact, 
 
 j Clyde's perfections seemed to affect him to such 
 
 Jan extent that he dwelt for several minutes upon 
 
 (them. The master was doubly embarrassed. In 
 
 ithe first place, there was an enforced contrast with 
 
 ipoor Mliss in all this praise of Clytie. Secondly, 
 
 there was something unpleasantly confidential in 
 
 (his tone of speaking of Mrs. Morpher's earliest 
 
 born. So that the master, after a few futile efforts 
 
 to say something natural, found it convenient to 
 
 recall another engagement, and left without asking 
 
 the information required, but in his after reflections 
 
 somewhat unjustly giving the Rev. Mr. McSnagley 
 
 the full benefit of having refused it. 
 
 Perhaps this rebuff placed the master and pupil 
 
 ;once more in the close communion of old. The 
 
 child seemed to notice the change in the master's 
 
 manner, which had of late been constrained, and 
 
166 Mliss. 
 
 in one of their long post-prandial walks she 
 stopped suddenly, and mounting a stump, looked 
 full in his face with big, searching eyes. "You 
 ain't mad ?" said she, with an interrogative shake 
 of the black braids. "No." "Nor bothered?" 
 " No." " Nor hungry ?" (Hunger was to Mliss a 
 sickness that might attack a person at any mo- 
 ment) "No." "Nor thinking of her?" "Of 
 whom, Lissy ?" "That white girl." (This was the 
 latest epithet invented by Mliss, who was a very 
 dark brunette, to express Clytemnestra.) "No." 
 "Upon your word?" (A substitute for "Hope 
 you'll die ! " proposed by the master.) " Yes." 
 " And sacred honor ?" "Yes." Then Mliss gave 
 him a fierce little kiss, and, hopping down, fluttered 
 off. For two or three days after that she conde- 
 scended to appear more like other children, and 
 be, as she expressed it, " good." 
 
 Two years had passed since the master's advent 
 at Smith's Pocket, and as his salary was not large, 
 and the prospects of Smith's Pocket eventually be- 
 coming the capital of the State not entirely defi- 
 nite, he contemplated a change. He had informed 
 the school trustees privately of his intentions, but, 
 educated young men of unblemished moral cha- 
 racter being scarce at that time, he consented to 
 continue his school term through the winter tp 
 early spring. None else knew of his intention 
 except his one friend, a Dr. Duchesne, a young 
 Creole physician known to the people of Wing- 
 dam as " Duchesny." He never mentioned it to 
 
Mliss. 167 
 
 Mrs. Morpher, Clyde, or any of his scholars. His 
 reticence wa$ partly the result of a constitutional 
 indisposition to fuss, partly a desire to be spared 
 the questions and surmises of vulgar curiosity, and 
 partly that he never really believed he was going 
 to do anything before it was done. 
 
 He did not like to think of Mliss. It was a 
 selfish instinct, perhaps, which made him try to 
 fancy his feeling for the child was foolish, roman- 
 tic, and unpractical. He even tried to imagine 
 that she would do better under the control of an 
 older and sterner teacher. Then she was nearly 
 eleven, and in a few years, by the rules of Red 
 Mountain, would be a woman. He had done his 
 duty. After Smith's death he addressed letters to 
 Smith's relatives, and received one answer from a 
 sister of Melissa's mother. Thanking the master, 
 she stated her intention of leaving the Atlantic 
 States for California with her husband in a few 
 months. This was a slight superstructure for the 
 airy castle which the master pictured for Mliss's 
 home, but it was easy to fancy that some loving, 
 sympathetic woman, with the claims of kindred, 
 might better guide her wayward nature. Yet, 
 when the master had read the letter, Mliss listened 
 to it carelessly, received it submissively, and after- 
 wards cut figures out of it with her scissors sup- 
 posed to represent Clytemnestra, labelled "the 
 white girl," to prevent mistakes, and impaled 
 them upon the outer walls of the school-house. 
 
 When the summer was about spent, and the 
 
r 68 Mliss. 
 
 last harvest had been gathered in the valleys, 
 the master bethought him of gathering in a few 
 ripened shoots of the young idea, and of having his 
 Harvest-Home, or Examination. So the savans 
 and professionals of Smith's Pocket were gathered 
 to witness that time-honored custom of placing 
 timid children in a constrained position, and bully- 
 ing them as in a witness-box. As usual in such 
 cases, the most audacious and self-possessed were 
 the lucky recipients of the honors. The reader will 
 imagine that in the present instance Mliss and 
 Clytie were pre-eminent, and divided public atten- 
 tion ; Mliss with 'her clearness of material percep- 
 tion and self-reliance, Clytie with her placid self- 
 esteem and saint-like correctness of deportment. 
 The other little ones were timid and blundering. 
 Mliss's readiness and brilliancy, of course, capti- 
 vated the greatest number and provoked the 
 greatest applause. Mliss's antecedents had un- 
 consciously awakened the strongest sympathies of 
 a class whose athletic forms were ranged against 
 the walls, or whose handsome bearded faces looked 
 in at the windows. But Mliss's popularity was 
 overthrown by an unexpected circumstance. 
 
 McSnagley had invited himself, and had been 
 going through the pleasing entertainment of 
 frightening the more timid pupils by the vaguest 
 and most ambiguous questions delivered in an im- 
 pressive funereal tone ; and Mliss had soared into 
 Astronomy, and was tracking the course of our 
 spotted ball through space, and keeping time with 
 
A Hiss. 169 
 
 the music of the spheres, and defining the tethered 
 orbits of the planets, when McSnagley impres- 
 sively arose. " Meelissy ! ye were speaking of the 
 revolutions of this yere yearth and the move-wr;//.? 
 of the sun, and I think ye said it had been a doing 
 of it since the creashun, eh ?" Mliss nodded a 
 scornful affirmative. "Well, war that the truth ?" 
 said McSnagley, folding his arms. "Yes," said 
 Mliss, shutting up her little red lips tightly. The 
 handsome outlines at the windows peered further 
 in the school-room, and a saintly Raphael-face, 
 with blond beard and soft blue eyes, belonging to 
 the biggest scamp in the diggings, turned toward 
 the child and whispered, "Stick to it, Mliss!" 
 The reverend gentleman heaved a deep sigh, and 
 cast a compassionate glance at the master, then at 
 the children, and then rested his look on Clytie. 
 That young woman softly elevated her round, 
 white arm. Its seductive curves were enchanced 
 by a gorgeous and massive specimen bracelet, the 
 gift of one of her humblest worshippers, worn in 
 honor of the occasion. There was a momentary 
 silence. Clytie's round cheeks were very pink 
 and soft. Clytie's big eyes were very bright and 
 blue. Clytie's low-necked white book-muslin 
 rested softly on Clytie's white, plump shoulders. 
 Clytie looked at the master, and the master 
 nodded. Then Clytie spoke softly : 
 
 " Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and 
 it obeyed him ! " There was a low hum of ap- 
 plause in the school-room, a triumphant expression 
 
170 Mliss. 
 
 on McSnagley's face, a grave shadow on the mas- 
 ter's, and a comical look of disappointment re- 
 flected from the windows. Mliss skimmed rapidly 
 over her Astronomy, and then shut the book with 
 a loud snap. A groan burst from McSnagley, an 
 expression of astonishment from the school-room, 
 a yell from the windows, as Mliss brought her red 
 fist down on the desk, with the emphatic decla- 
 ration, 
 
 " It's a d n lie. I don't believe it 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE long wet season had drawn near its close 
 Signs of spring were visible in the swelling buds 
 and rushing torrents. The pine-forests exhaled 
 the fresher spicery. The azaleas were already bud- 
 ding, the Ceanothus getting ready its lilac livery 
 for spring. On the green upland which climbed 
 Red Mountain at its southern aspect the long 
 spike of the monk's-hood shot up from its broad- 
 leaved stool, and once more shook its dark-blue 
 bells. Again the billow above Smith's grave was 
 soft and green, its crest just tossed with the foam 
 l>f daisies and buttercups. The little graveyard 
 had gathered a few new dwellers in the past year, 
 and the mounds were placed two by two by the 
 little paling until they reached Smith's grave, and 
 there there was but one. General superstition 
 
Mliss. 171 
 
 had shunned it, and the plot beside Smith was 
 ivacant. 
 
 There had been several placards posted about 
 the town, intimating that, at a certain period, a 
 I celebrated dramatic company would perform, for 
 a few days, a series of "side-splitting" and 
 " screaming farces " ; that, alternating pleasantly 
 with this, there would be some melodrama and a 
 grand divertissement, which would include singing, 
 dancing, &c. These announcements occasioned a 
 great fluttering among the little folk, and were 
 the theme of much excitement and great specu- 
 lation among the master's scholars. The master 
 had promised Mliss, to whom this sort of thing 
 was sacred and rare, that she should go, and on 
 that momentous evening the master and Mliss 
 " assisted." 
 
 The performance was the prevalent style of 
 heavy mediocrity ; the melodrama was not bad 
 enough to laugh at nor good enough to excite. 
 But the master, turning wearily to the child, was 
 astonished, and felt something like self-accusation 
 in noticing the peculiar effect upon her excitable 
 nature. The red blood flushed in her cheeks at 
 each stroke of her panting little heart. Her small 
 passionate lips were slightly parted to give vent 
 to her hurried breath. Her widely opened lids 
 threw up and arched her black eyebrows. She did 
 not laugh at the dismal comicalities of the funny 
 man, for Mliss seldom laughed. Nor was she dis- 
 creetly affected to the delicate extremes of the 
 
172 Mliss. 
 
 corner of a white handkerchief, as was the tender- 
 hearted "Clytie," who was talking with her " feller" 
 and ogling the master at the same moment. But 
 when the performance was over, and the green 
 curtain fell on the little stage, Mliss drew a long 
 deep breath, and turned to the master's grave face 
 with a half-apologetic smile and wearied gesture. 
 Then she said, " Now take me home !" and dropped 
 the lids of her black eyes, as if to dwell once more 
 in fancy on the mimic stage. 
 
 On their way to Mrs. Morphcr's the master 
 thought proper to ridicule the whole performance. 
 Now he shouldn't wonder if Mliss thought that 
 the young lady who acted so beautifully was 
 really in earnest, and in love with the gentleman 
 who wore such fine clothes. Well, if she were in 
 love with him it was a very unfortunate thing!' 
 "Why?" said Mliss, with an upward sweep of the 
 drooping lid. " Oh ! well, he couldn't support his 
 wife at his present salary, and pay so much a week 
 for his fine clothes, and then they wouldn't receive 
 as much wages if they were married as if they 
 were merely lovers, that is," added the master, 
 " if they are not already married to somebody 
 else ; but I think the husband of the pretty young 
 countess takes the tickets at the door, or pulls 
 up the curtain, or snuffs the candles, or does some- 
 thing equally refined and elt-gant. As to the 
 young man with nice clothes, which are really nice 
 now, and must cost at least two and a half or 
 three dollars, not to speak of that mantle of red 
 
Mliss. 173 
 
 drugget which I happen to know the price of, for 
 I bought some of it for my room once, as to this 
 young man, Lissy, he is a pretty good fellow, and 
 if he does drink occasionally, I don't think people 
 ought to take advantage of it and give him black 
 eyes and throw him in the mud. Do you ? I 
 am sure he might owe me two dollars and a 
 half a long time, before I would throw it up 
 in his face, as the fellow did the other night at 
 Wingdam." 
 
 Mliss had taken his hand in both of hers and 
 was trying to look in his eyes, which the young 
 man kept as resolutely averted. Mliss had a 
 faint idea of irony, indulging herself sometimes in 
 a species of sardonic humor, which was equally 
 visible in her actions and her speech. But the 
 young man continued in this strain until they had 
 reached Mrs. Morpher's, and he had deposited 
 Mliss in her maternal charge. Waiving the invi- 
 tation of Mrs. Morpher to refreshment and rest, 
 and shading his eyes with his hand to keep out 
 the blue-eyed Clytemnestra's siren glances, he ex- 
 cused himself, and went home. 
 
 For two or three days after the advent of the 
 dramatic company, Mliss was late at school, and 
 the master's usual Friday afternoon ramble was 
 for once omitted, owing to the absence of his 
 trustworthy guide. As he was putting away his 
 books and preparing to leave the school-house, a 
 small voice piped at his side, "Please, sir?" The 
 master turned and there stood Aristides Morpher. 
 
 m 
 
174 Mliss. 
 
 , 
 
 "Well, my little man," said the master, im 
 tiently, "what is it ? quick !" 
 
 " Please, sir, me and ' Kerg ' thinks that Mliss is 
 going to run away agin." 
 
 "What's that, sir?" said the master, with that 
 unjust testiness with which we always receive dis- 
 agreeable news. 
 
 " Why, sir, she don't stay home any more, and 
 ' Kerg ' and me see her talking with one of those 
 actor fellers, and she's with him now ; and please, 
 sir, yesterday she told ' Kerg ' and me she could 
 make a speech as well as Miss Cellerstina Mont- 
 moressy, and she spouted right off by heart," and 
 the little fellow paused in a collapsed condition. 
 
 "What actor?" asked the master. 
 
 " Him as wears the shiny hat. And hair. And 
 gold pin. And gold chain," said the just Aris- 
 tides, putting periods for commas to eke out his 
 breath. 
 
 The master put on his gloves and hat, feeling 
 an unpleasant tightness in his chest and thorax, 
 and walked out in the road. Aristides trotted 
 along by his side, endeavoring to keep pace with 
 his short legs to the master's strides, when the 
 master stopped suddenly, and Aristides bumped 
 up against him. "Where were they talking?" 
 asked the master, as if continuing the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " At the Arcade," said Aristides. 
 
 When they reached the main street the master 
 paused. " Run down home," said he to the boy. 
 
Mliss. 175 
 
 "If Mliss is there, come to the Arcade and tell 
 me. If she isn't there, stay home; run!" And 
 off trotted the short-legged Aristides. 
 
 The Arcade was just across the way, a long, 
 rambling building containing a bar-room, billiard- 
 room, and restaurant. As the young man crossed 
 the plaza he noticed that two or three of -the 
 passers-by turned and looked after him. He 
 looked at his clothes, took out his handkerchief 
 and wiped his face, before he entered the bar- 
 room. It contained the usual number of loungers, 
 who stared at him as he entered. One of them 
 looked at him so fixedly and with such a strange 
 expression that the master stopped and looked 
 again, and then saw it was only his own reflection 
 in a large mirror. This made the master think 
 that perhaps he was a little excited, and so he 
 took up a copy of the Red Mountain Banner from 
 one of the tables, and tried to recover his compo- 
 sure by reading the column of advertisements. 
 
 He then walked through the bar-room, through 
 the restaurant, and into the billiard-room. The 
 child was not there. In the latter apartment a 
 person was standing by one of the tables with a 
 broad-brimmed glazed hat on his head. The 
 master recognized him as the agent of the dramatic 
 company ; he had taken a dislike to him at their 
 first meeting, from the peculiar fashion of wearing 
 his beard and hair. Satisfied that the object of 
 his search was not there, he turned to the man 
 with a glazed hat. He had noticed the master, 
 
 N 2 
 
176 Mliss. 
 
 but tried that common trick of unconsciousness, 
 in which vulgar natures always fail. Balancing a 
 billiard-cue in his hand, he pretended to play with 
 a ball in the centre of the table. The master 
 stood opposite to him until he raised his eyes ; 
 when their glances met, the master walked up to 
 him. 
 
 He had intended to avoid a scene or quarrel, 
 but when he began to speak, something kept rising 
 in his throat and retarded his utterance, and his 
 own voice frightened him, it sounded so distant, 
 low, and resonant. "I understand," he began, 
 " that Melissa Smith, an orphan, and one of my 
 scholars, has talked with you about adopting your 
 profession. Is that so ? " 
 
 The man with the glazed hat leaned over the 
 table, and made an imaginary shot, that sent the 
 ball spinning round the cushions. Then walking 
 round the table he recovered the ball and placed 
 it upon the spot. This duty discharged, getting 
 ready for another shot, he said, 
 
 " S'pose she has ? " 
 
 The master choked up again, but squeezing the 
 cushion of the table in his gloved hand, he went 
 on: 
 
 " If you are a gentleman, I have only to tell 
 you that I am her guardian, and responsible for 
 her career. You know as well as I do the kind of 
 life you offer her. As you may learn of any one 
 here, I have already brought her out of an exist- 
 ence worse than death, out of the streets and 
 
Mliss. \f] 
 
 the contamination of vice. I am trying to do so 
 again. Let us talk like men. She has neither 
 father, mother, sister, nor brother. Are you seek- 
 ing to give her an equivalent for these ? " 
 
 The man with the glazed hat examined the point 
 of his cue, and then looked around for somebody 
 to enjoy the joke with him. 
 
 " I know that she is a strange, wilful girl," con- 
 tinued the master, " but she is better than she was. 
 I believe that I have some influence over her still. 
 I beg and hope, therefore, that you will take no 
 further steps in this matter, but as a man, as a 
 
 gentleman, leave her to me. I am willing " 
 
 But here something rose again in the master's 
 throat, and the sentence remained unfinished. 
 
 The man with the glazed hat, mistaking the 
 master's silence, raised his head with a coarse, 
 brutal laugh, and said in a loud voice, 
 
 " Want lr er yourself, do you ? That cock won't 
 fight here, young man ! " 
 
 The insult was more in the tone than the words, 
 more in the glance than tone, and more in the 
 man's instinctive nature than all these. The 
 best appreciable rhetoric to this kind of animal is 
 a blow. The master felt this, and, with his pent- 
 up, nervous energy finding expression in the one 
 act, he struck the brute full in his grinning face. 
 The blow sent the glazed hat one way and the cue 
 another, and tore the glove and skin from the 
 master's hand from knuckle to joint. It opened 
 up the corners of the fellow's mouth, and spoilt 
 
178 MKss. 
 
 the peculiar shape of his beard for some time to 
 come. 
 
 There was a shout, an imprecation, a scuffle, and 
 the trampling of many feet. Then the crowd 
 parted right and left, and two sharp quick reports 
 followed each other in rapid succession. Then 
 they closed again about his opponent, and the 
 master was standing alone. He remembered 
 picking bits of burning wadding from his coat- 
 sleeve with his left hand. Some one was holding 
 his other hand. Looking at it, he saw it was still 
 bleeding from the blow, but his fingers were 
 clenched around the handle of a glittering knife. 
 He could not remember when or how he got it. 
 
 The man who was holding his hand was Mr. 
 Morpher. He hurried the master to the door, but 
 the master held back, and tried to tell him as well 
 as he could with his parched throat about " Mliss." 
 "It's all right, my boy," said Mr. Morpher. "She's 
 home ! " And they passed out into the street to- 
 gether. As they walked along Mr. Morpher said 
 that Mliss had come running into the house a few 
 moments before, and had dragged him out, saying 
 that somebody was trying to kill the master at the 
 Arcade. Wishing to be alone, the master promised 
 Mr. Morpher that he would not seek the Agent 
 again that night, and parted from him, taking the 
 road toward the school-house. He was surprised 
 in nearing it to find the door open, still more 
 surprised to find Mliss sitting there. 
 
 The master's nature, as I have hinted before^ 
 
Mliss. 179 
 
 had, like most sensitive organizations, a selfish 
 basis. The brutal taunt thrown out by his late 
 adversary still rankled in his heart. It was possible, 
 he thought, that such a construction might be put 
 upon his affection for the child, which at best was 
 foolish and Quixotic. Besides, had she not volun- 
 tarily abnegated his authority and affection ? And 
 what had everybody else said about her ? Why 
 should he alone combat the opinion of all, and be 
 at last obliged tacitly to confess the truth of all 
 they had predicted ? And he had been a partici- 
 pant in a low bar-room fight with a common boor, 
 and risked his life, to prove what ? What had he 
 proved ? Nothing ? What would the people 
 say ? What would his friends say ? What would 
 McSnagley say ? 
 
 In his self-accusation the last person he should 
 have wished to meet was Mliss. He entered the 
 door, and, going up to his desk, told the child, in a 
 few cold words, that he was busy, and wished to 
 be alone. As she rose he took her vacant seat, 
 and, sitting down, buried his head in his hands. 
 When he looked up again she was still standing 
 there. She was looking at his face with an anxious 
 expression. 
 
 " Did you kill him ?" she asked. 
 
 "No !" said the master. 
 
 "That's what I gave you the knife for !" said the 
 child, quickly. 
 
 "Gave me the knife?" repeated the master, in 
 bewilderment. 
 
iSo Mliss. 
 
 " Yes, gave you the knife. I was there under the 
 bar; Saw you hit him. Saw you both fall. He 
 dropped his old knife. I gave it to you. Why 
 didn't you stick him ?" said Mliss rapidly, with an 
 expressive twinkle of the black eyes and .a gesture 
 of the little red hand. 
 
 The master could only look his astonishment. 
 
 "Yes," said Mliss. "If you'd asked me, I'd 
 told you I was off with the play-actors. Why 
 was I off with the play-actors ? Because you 
 wouldn't tell me you was going away. I knew it. 
 I heard you tell the Doctor so. I wasn't a goin' 
 to stay here alone with those Morphers. I'd rather 
 die first." 
 
 With a dramatic gesture which was perfectly 
 consistent with her character, she drew from her 
 bosom a few limp green leaves, and, holding them 
 out at arm's-length, said in her quick vivid way, 
 and in the queer pronunciation of her old life, 
 which she fell into when unduly excited, 
 
 " That's the poison plant you said would kill 
 me. I'll go with the play-actors, or I'll eat this 
 and die here. I don't care which. I won't stay 
 here, where they hate and despise me ! Neither 
 would you let me, if you didn't hate and despise 
 me too!" 
 
 The passionate little breast heaved, and two big 
 tears peeped over the edge of Mliss's eyelids, but 
 she whisked them away with the corner of her apron 
 as if they had been wasps. 
 
 " If you lock me ap in jail," said Mliss, fiercely, 
 
Mliss. 181 
 
 "to keep me from the play-actors, I'll poison 
 myself. Father killed himself, why shouldn't I ? 
 You said a mouthful of that root would kill me, 
 and I always carry it here/' and she struck her 
 breast with her clenched fist. 
 
 The master thought of the vacant plot beside 
 Smith's grave, and of the passionate little figure 
 before him. Seizing her hands in his and looking 
 full into her truthful eyes, he said, 
 
 " Lissy, will you go with me ? " 
 
 The child put her arms around his neck, and 
 said joyfully, "Yes." 
 
 " But now to-night ?" 
 
 " To-night." 
 
 And hand in hand they passed into the road, 
 the narrow road that had once brought her weary 
 feet to the master's door, and which it seemed 
 she should not tread again alone. The stars 
 glittered brightly above them. For good or ill 
 the lesson had been learned, and behind them 
 the school of Red Mountain closed upon them for 
 ever. 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COM- 
 MANDER. 
 
 year of grace 1797 passed away on the 
 coast of California in a southwesterly gale. 
 The little bay of San Carlos, albeit sheltered by 
 the headlands of the Blessed Trinity, was rough 
 and turbulent ; its foam clung quivering to the 
 seaward wall of the Mission garden ; the air was 
 filled with flying sand and spume, and as the 
 Sefior Comandante, Hermenegildo Salvatierra, 
 looked from the deep embrasured window of the 
 Presidio guard-room, he felt the salt breath of the 
 distant sea buffet a color into his smoke-dried 
 cheeks. 
 
 The Commander, I have said, was gazing 
 thoughtfully from the window of the guard-room. 
 He may have been reviewing the events of the 
 year now about to pass away. But, like the 
 garrison at the Presidio, there was little to review ; 
 the year, like its predecessors, had been unevent- 
 ful, the days had slipped by in a delicious 
 monotony of simple duties, unbroken by incident 
 or interruption. The regularly recurring feasts 
 and saints' days, the half-yearly courier from San 
 Diego, the rare transport-ship and rarer foreign 
 
The Right Eye of the Commander. 183 
 
 vessel, were the mere details of his patriarchal 
 life. If there was no achievement, there was 
 certainly no failure. Abundant harvests and 
 patient industry amply supplied the wants of 
 Presidio and Mission. Isolated from the family 
 of nations, the wars which shook the world con- 
 cerned them not so much as the last earthquake ; 
 the struggle that emancipated their sister colonies 
 on the other side of the continent to them had 
 no suggestiveness. In short, it was that glorious 
 Indian summer of California history, around which 
 so much poetical haze still lingers, that bland, 
 indolent autumn of Spanish rule, so soon to be 
 followed by the wintry storms of Mexican in- 
 dependence and the reviving spring of American 
 conquest. 
 
 The Commander turned from the window and 
 Walked toward the fire that burned brightly on the 
 deep oven-like hearth. A pile of copy-books, the 
 work of the Presidio school, lay on the table. As 
 he turned over the leaves with a paternal interest, 
 and surveyed the fair round Scripture text, the 
 first pious pot-hooks of the pupils of San Carlos, 
 an audible commentary fell from his lips : 
 " ' Abimelech took her from Abraham ' ah, little 
 one, excellent ! ' Jacob sent to see his brother ' 
 body of Christ ! that up-stroke of thine, Paquita, 
 is marvellous ; the Governor shall see it ! " A film 
 of honest pride dimmed the Commander's left 
 eye, the right, alas ! twenty years before had 
 been sealed by an Indian arrow. He rubbed it 
 
1 84 The Right Eye of the Commander. 
 
 softly with the sleeve of his leather jacket, and con- . 
 tinued : " ' The Ishmaelites having arrived ' " 
 
 He stopped, for there was a step in the court- . 
 yard, a foot upon the threshold, and a stranger 
 entered. With the instinct of an old soldier, the 
 Commander, after one glance at the intruder, 
 turned quickly toward the wall, where his trusty 
 Toledo hung, or should have been hanging. But 
 it was not there, and as he recalled that the last 
 time he had seen that weapon it was being ridden 
 up and down the gallery by Pepito, the infant son 
 of Bautista, the tortilio-maker, he blushed and 
 then contented himself with frowning upon the 
 intruder. 
 
 But the stranger's air, though irreverent, was 
 decidedly peaceful. He was unarmed, and wore 
 the ordinary cape of tarpauling and sea-boots of a 
 mariner. Except a villanous smell of codfish, 
 there was little about him that was peculiar. 
 
 His name, as he informed the Commander, in 
 Spanish that was more fluent than elegant or 
 precise, his name was Peleg Scudder. He was 
 master of the schooner " General Court," of the 
 port of Salem, in Massachusetts, on a trading- 
 voyage to the South Seas, but now driven by 
 stress of weather into the bay of San Carlos. He 
 begged permission to ride out the gale under the 
 headlands of the Blessed Trinity, and no more. 
 Water he did not need, having taken in a supply 
 at Bodega. He knew the strict surveillance of 
 the Spanish pott regulations in regard to foreign 
 
The Right Eye of the Commander. 185 
 
 vessels, and would do nothing against the severe 
 
 discipline and good order of the settlement. 
 
 There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in his tone as 
 
 ; he glanced toward the desolate parade-ground of 
 
 \ the Presidio and the open unguarded gate. The 
 
 fact was that the sentry, Felipe Gomez, had dis- 
 
 ; erectly retired to shelter at the beginning of the 
 
 storm, and was then sound asleep in the corridor. 
 
 The Commander hesitated. The port regulations 
 were severe, but he was accustomed to exercise 
 individual authority, and beyond an old order 
 issued ten years before, regarding the American 
 ship " Columbia," there was no precedent to guide 
 him. The storm was severe, and a sentiment of 
 humanity urged him to grant the stranger's request. 
 It is but just to the Commander to say, that his 
 inability to enforce a refusal did not weigh with 
 1 his decision. He would have denied with equal 
 i disregard of consequences that right to a seventy- 
 four gun ship which he now yielded so gracefully 
 to this Yankee trading-schooner. He stipulated 
 only, that there should be no communication 
 between the ship and shore. " For yourself, 
 ; Sefior Captain," he continued, " accept my hospi- 
 tality. The fort is yours as long as you shall 
 grace it with your distinguished presence ; " and 
 with old-fashioned courtesy, he made the semblance 
 of withdrawing from the guard-room. 
 
 Master Peleg Scudder smiled as he thought of 
 the half-dismantled fort, the two mouldy brass 
 cannon, cast in Manila a century previous, and the 
 
1 86 The Right Eye of the Commander. 
 
 shiftless garrison. A wild thought of accepting 
 the Commander's offer literally, conceived in the 
 reckless spirit of a man who never let slip an offer 
 for trade, for a moment filled his brain, but a 
 timely reflection of the commercial unimportance 
 of the transaction checked him. He only took 
 a capacious quid of tobacco, as the Commander 
 gravely drew a settle before the fire, and in honor 
 of his guest untied the black silk handkerchief that 
 bound his grizzled brows. 
 
 What passed between Salvatierra and his guest 
 that night it becomes me not, as a grave chronicler 
 of the salient points of history, to relate. I have 
 said that Master Peleg Scudder was a fluent talker, 
 and under the influence of divers strong waters, 
 furnished by his host, he became still more loqua- 
 cious. And think of a man with a twenty years' 
 budget of gossip ! The Commander learned, for 
 the first time, how Great Britain lost her colonies ; 
 of the French Revolution ; of the great Napoleon, 
 whose achievements, perhaps, Peleg colored more 
 highly than the Commander's superiors would have 
 liked. And when Peleg turned questioner, the 
 Commander was at his mercy. He gradually 
 made himself master of the gossip of the Mission 
 and Presidio, the " small-beer" chronicles of that 
 pastoral age, the conversion of the heathen, the 
 Presidio schools, and even asked the Commander 
 how he had lost his eye ! It is said that at this 
 point of the conversation Master Peleg produced 
 from about his person divers small trinkets, kick- 
 
The Right Eye of the Commander. 187 
 
 shaws and new-fangled trifles, and even forced 
 some of them upon his host. It is further alleged 
 that under the malign influence of Peleg and 
 several glasses of aguardiente, the Commander 
 lost somewhat of his decorum, and behaved in a 
 manner unseemly for one in his position, reciting 
 high-flown Spanish poetry, and even piping in a 
 thin, high voice, divers madrigals and heathen 
 canzonets of an amorous complexion ; chiefly in 
 regard to a " little one" who was his, the Com- 
 mander's, "soul"! These allegations, perhaps un- 
 worthy the notice of a serious chronicler, should 
 be received with great caution, and are introduced 
 here as simple hearsay. That the Commander, 
 however, took a handkerchief and attempted to 
 show his guest the mysteries of the sembi cuacua, 
 capering in an agile but indecorous manner about 
 the apartment, has been denied. Enough for the 
 purposes of this narrative, that at midnight Peleg 
 assisted his host to bed with many protestations 
 of undying friendship, and then, as the gale had 
 abated, took his leave of the Presidio and hurried 
 aboard the " General Court." When the day broke 
 the ship was gone. 
 
 I know not if Peleg kept his word with his host. 
 It is said that the holy fathers at the Mission that 
 night heard a loud chanting in the plaza, as of 
 the heathens singing psalms through their noses ; 
 that for many days after an odor of salt codfish 
 prevailed in the settlement ; that a dozen hard 
 nutmegs, which were unfit for spice or seed, were 
 
188 The Right Eye of the Commander. 
 
 found in the possession of the wife of the baker, 
 and that several bushels of shoe-pegs, which bore 
 a pleasing resemblance to oats, but were quite 
 inadequate to the purposes of provender, were 
 discovered in the stable of the blacksmith. But 
 when the reader reflects upon the sacredness of a 
 Yankee trader's word, the stringent discipline of 
 the Spanish port regulations, and the proverbial 
 indisposition of my countrymen to impose upon 
 the confidence of a simple people, he will at once 
 reject this part of the story. 
 
 A roll of drums, ushering in the year 1798, 
 awoke the Commander. The sun was shining 
 brightly, and the storm had ceased. He sat up 
 in bed, and through the force of habit rubbed his 
 left eye. As the remembrance of the previous 
 night came back to him, he jumped from his 
 couch and ran to the window. There was no ship 
 in the bay. A sudden thought seemed to strike 
 him, and he rubbed both of his eyes. Not content 
 with this, he consulted the metallic mirror which 
 hung beside his crucifix. There was no mistake ; 
 the Commander had a visible second eye, a 
 right one, as good, save for the purposes of 
 vision, as the left. 
 
 Whatever might have been the true secret of 
 this transformation, but one opinion prevailed at 
 San Carlos. It was one of those rare miracles 
 vouchsafed a pious Catholic community as an 
 evidence to the heathen, through the intercession 
 of the blessed San Carlos himself. That their 
 
The Right Eye of the Commander. 189 
 
 beloved Commander, the temporal defender of the 
 Faith, should be the recipient of this miraculous 
 manifestation, was most fit and seemly. The 
 Commander himself was reticent ; he could not 
 tell a falsehood, he dared not tell the truth. 
 After all, if the good folk of San Carlos believed 
 that the powers of his right eye were actually 
 restored, was it wise and discreet for him to un- 
 deceive them ? For the first time in his life the 
 Commander thought of policy, for the first time 
 he quoted that text which has been the lure of so 
 many well-meaning but easy Christians, of being 
 "all things to all men." Infeliz Hermenegildo 
 Salvatierra ! 
 
 For by degrees an ominous whisper crept 
 through the little settlement. The Right Eye 
 of the Commander, although miraculous, seemed 
 to exercise a baleful effect upon the beholder. 
 No one could look at it without winking. It was 
 cold, hard, relentless and unflinching. More than 
 that, it seemed to be endowed with a dreadful 
 prescience, a faculty of seeing through and into 
 the inarticulate thoughts of those it looked upon. 
 The soldiers of the garrison obeyed the eye rather 
 than the voice of their commander, and answered 
 his glance rather than his lips in questioning. 
 The servants could not evade the ever-watchful, 
 but cold attention that seemed to pursue them. 
 The children of the Presidio School smirched 
 their copy-books under the awful supervision, and 
 poor Paquita, the prize pupil, failed utterly in 
 
 O 
 
The Right Eye of the Commander. 
 
 that marvellous up-stroke when her patron stood 
 beside her. Gradually distrust, suspicion, self- 
 accusation, and timidity took the place of trust, 
 confidence, and security throughout San Carlos. 
 Whenever the Right Eye of the Commander fell, 
 a shadow fell with it. 
 
 Nor was Salvatierra entirely free from the 
 baleful influence of his miraculous acquisition. 
 Unconscious of its effect upon others, he only saw 
 in their actions evidence of certain things that 
 the crafty Peleg had hinted on that eventful New 
 Year's eve. His most trusty retainers stammered, 
 blushed, and faltered before him. Self-accusations, 
 confessions of minor faults and delinquencies, or 
 extravagant excuses and apologies met his mildest 
 inquiries. The very children that he loved his 
 pet pupil, Paquita seemed to be conscious of 
 some hidden sin. The result of this constant 
 irritation showed itself more plainly. For the 
 first half-year the Commander's voice and eye 
 were at variance. He was still kind, tender, and 
 thoughtful in speech. Gradually, however, his 
 voice took upon itself the hardness of his glance 
 and its sceptical, impassive quality, and as the 
 year again neared its close it was plain that the 
 Commander had fitted himself to the eye, and 
 not the eye to the Commander. 
 
 It may be surmised that these changes did not 
 escape the watchful solicitude of the Fathers. In- 
 deed, the few who were first to ascribe the right 
 eye of Salvatierra to miraculous origin and the 
 
The Right Eye of the Commander. 191 
 
 special grace of the blessed San Carlos, now 
 talked openly of witchcraft and the agency of 
 Luzbel, the evil one. It would have fared ill with 
 Hermenegildo Salvatierra had he been aught but 
 Commander or amenable to local authority. But 
 the reverend father, Friar Manuel de Cortes, had 
 no power over the political executive, and all 
 attempts at spiritual advice failed signally. He 
 retired baffled and confused from his first inter- 
 view with the Commander, who seemed now to 
 take a grim satisfaction in the fateful power of his 
 glance. The holy father contradicted himself, 
 exposed the fallacies of his own arguments, and 
 even, it is asserted, committed himself to several 
 undoubted heresies. When the Commander stood 
 iup at mass, if the officiating priest caught that 
 j sceptical and searching eye, the service was in- 
 jevitably ruined. Even the power of the Holy 
 ! Church seemed to be lost, and the last hold upon 
 ! the affections of the people and the good order of 
 the settlement departed from San Carlos. 
 
 As the long dry summer passed, the low hills 
 
 'that surrounded the white walls of the Presidio 
 
 'grew more and more to resemble in hue the 
 
 1 leathern jacket of the Commander, and Nature 
 
 i herself seemed to have borrowed his dry, hard 
 
 glare. The earth was crocked and seamed with 
 
 drought ; a blight had fallen upon the orchards 
 
 land vineyards, and the rain, long delayed and 
 
 ardently prayed for, came not. The sky was as 
 
 tearless as the right eye of the Commander. 
 
 O 2 
 
192 The Right Eye of the Commander, 
 
 Murmurs of discontent, insubordination, and plot- 
 ting among the Indians reached his ears ; he only 
 set his teeth the more firmly, tightened the knot 
 of his black silk handkerchief, and looked up his 
 Toledo. 
 
 The last day of the year 1798 found the Com- 
 mander sitting, at the hour of evening prayers, 
 alone in the guard-room. He no longer attended 
 the services of the Holy Church, but crept away 
 at such times to some solitary spot, where he spent 
 the interval in silent meditation. The firelight 
 played upon the low beams and rafters, but left 
 the bowed figure of Salvatierra in darkness. Sit- 
 ting thus, he felt a small hand touch his arm, and, 
 looking down, saw the figure of Paquita, his little 
 Indian pupil, at his knee. "Ah, littlest of all,"< 
 said the Commander, with something of his old 
 tenderness, lingering over the endearing diminu- 
 tives of his native speech, "sweet one, what 
 doest thou here ? Art thou not afraid of him 
 whom every one shuns and fears?" 
 
 " No," said the little Indian, readily, " not in the 
 dark. I hear your voice, the old voice ; I feel 
 your touch, the old touch ; but I see not your 
 eye, Senor Comandante. That only I fear, and 
 that, O Senor, O my father," said the child, lifting 
 her little arms towards his, " that I know is not 
 thine own ! " 
 
 The Commander shuddered and turned away. 
 Then, recovering himself, he kissed Paquita 
 gravely on the forehead and bade her retire. A 
 
The Right Eye of the Commander. 193 
 
 few hours later, when silence had fallen upon the 
 Presidio, he sought his own couch and slept peace- 
 fully. 
 
 At about the middle watch of the night a 
 dusky figure crept through the low embrasure of 
 the Commander's apartment. Other figures were 
 flitting through the parade-ground, which the 
 Commander might have seen had he not slept so 
 quietly. The intruder stepped noiselessly to the 
 couch, and listened to the sleeper's deep-drawn 
 inspiration. Something glittered in the firelight 
 as the savage lifted his arm ; another moment and 
 the sore perplexities of Hermenegildo Salvatierra 
 would have been over, when suddenly the savage 
 started and fell back in a paroxysm of terror. 
 The Commander slept peacefully, but his right 
 eye, widely opened, fixed and unaltered, glared 
 coldly on the would-be assassin. The man fell 
 to the earth in a fit, and the noise awoke the 
 sleeper. 
 
 To rise to his feet, grasp his sword, and deal 
 blows thick and fast upon the mutinous savages 
 who now thronged the room, was the work of a 
 moment. Help opportunely arrived, and the un- 
 disciplined Indians were speedily driven beyond 
 the walls, but in the scuffle the Commander re- 
 ceived a blow upon his right eye, and, lifting his 
 hand to that mysterious organ, it was gone. Never 
 again was it found, and never again, for bale or 
 bliss, did it adorn the right orbit of the Com- 
 mander. 
 
IQ4 The Right Eye of the Commander. 
 
 With it passed away the spell that had fallen 
 upon San Carlos. The rain returned to invigorate 
 the languid soil, harmony was restored between 
 priest and soldier, the green grass presently waved 
 over the sere hillsides, the children flocked again 
 to the side of their martial preceptor, a Te Deum 
 was sung in the Mission Church, and pastoral 
 content once more Smiled upon the gentle valleys 
 of San Carlos. And far southward crept the 
 " General Court " with its master, Peleg Scudder, 
 trafficking in beads and peltries with the Indians, 
 and offering glass eyes, wooden legs, and other 
 Boston notions to the chiefs. 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 PART I. IN THE FIELD. 
 
 TT was near the close of an October day that I 
 began to be disagreeably conscious of the 
 Sacramento Valley. I had been riding since sun- 
 rise, and my course through the depressing mono- 
 tony of the long level landscape affected me more 
 like a dull dyspeptic dream than a business 
 journey, performed under that sincerest of natural 
 phenomena, a California sky. The recurring 
 stretches of brown and baked fields, the gaping 
 fissures in the dusty trail, the hard outline of the 
 distant hills, and the herds of slowly moving 
 cattle, seemed like features of some glittering 
 stereoscopic picture that never changed. Active 
 exercise might have removed this Deling, but my 
 horse by some subtle instinct had long since given 
 up all ambitious enort, and had lapsed into a 
 dogged trot. 
 
 It was autumn, but not the season suggested to 
 the Atlantic reader under that title. The sharply 
 defined boundaries of the wet and dry seasons 
 were prefigured in the clear outlines of the distant 
 hills. In the dry atmosphere the decay of vegeta- 
 
196 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 tion was too rapid for the slow hectic which over- 
 takes an Eastern landscape, or else Nature was too 
 practical for such thin disguises. She merely 
 turned the Hippocratic face to the spectator, with 
 the old diagnosis of Death in her sharp, contracted 
 features. 
 
 In the contemplation of such a prospect there 
 was little to excite any but a morbid fancy. There 
 were no clouds in the flinty blue heavens, and the 
 setting of the sun was accompanied with as little 
 ostentation as was consistent with the dryly prac- 
 tical atmosphere. Darkness soon followed, with a 
 rising wind, which increased as the shadows 
 deepened on the plain. The fringe of alder by 
 the watercourse began to loom up as I urged my 
 horse forward. A half-hour's active spurring 
 brought me to. a corral, and a little beyond a 
 house, so low and broad that it seemed at first 
 sight to be half buried in the earth. 
 
 My second impression was that it had grown 
 out of the soil, like some monstrous vegetable, its 
 dreary proportions were so in keeping with the 
 vast prospect. There were no recesses along its 
 roughly boarded walls for vagrant and unprofitable 
 shadows to lurk in the daily sunshine. No pro- 
 jection for the wind by night to grow musical 
 over, to wail, whistle, or whisper to ; only a long 
 wooden shelf containing a chilly-looking tin basin, 
 and a bar of soap. Its uncurtained windows were 
 red with the sinking sun, as though bloodshot and 
 inflamed from a too long unlidded existence. The 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 197 
 
 tracks of cattle led to its front door, firmly closed 
 against the rattling wind. 
 
 To avoid being confounded with this familiar 
 element, I walked to the rear of the house, which 
 was connected with a smaller building by a slight 
 platform. A grizzled, hard-faced old man was 
 standing there, and met my salutation with a look 
 of inquiry, and, without speaking, led the way to 
 the principal room. As I entered, four young 
 men who were reclining by the fire, slightly altered 
 their attitudes of perfect repose, but beyond that 
 betrayed neither curiosity nor interest. A hound 
 started from a dark corner with a growl, but was 
 immediately kicked by the old man into obscurity, 
 and silenced again. I can't tell why, but I in- 
 stantly received the impression that for a long time 
 the group by the fire had not uttered a word or 
 moved a muscle. Taking a seat, I briefly stated 
 my business. 
 
 Was a United States surveyor. Had come on 
 account of the Espiritu Santo Rancho. Wanted 
 to correct the exterior boundaries of township 
 lines, so as to connect with the near exteriors of 
 private grants. There had been some intervention 
 to the old survey by a Mr. Tryan who had pre- 
 empted adjacent "settled land warrants," inter- 
 rupted the old man. " Ah, yes ! Land Warrants, 
 and then this was Mr. Tryan ?" 
 
 I had spoken mechanically, for I was preoccupied 
 in connecting other public lines with private sur- 
 veys, as I looked in his face. It was certainly a 
 
198 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 hard face, and reminded me of the singular effect 
 of that mining operation known as " ground sluic- 
 ing " ; the harder lines of underlying character 
 were exposed, and what were once plastic curves 
 and soft outlines were obliterated by some power- 
 ful agency. 
 
 There was a dryness in his voice not unlike the 
 prevailing atmosphere of the valley, as he launched 
 into an ex parte statement of the contest, with a 
 fluency, which, like the wind without, showed fre- 
 quent and unrestrained expression. He told me 
 what I had already learned that the boundary 
 line of the old Spanish grant was a creek, described 
 in the loose phraseology of the deseno as beginning 
 in the valda or skirt of the hill, its precise location 
 long the subject of litigation. I listened and an- 
 swered with little interest, for my mind was still 
 distracted by the wind which swept violently by 
 tha house, as well as by his odd face, which was 
 again reflected in the resemblance that the silent 
 group by the fire bore toward him. He was still 
 talking, and the wind was yet blowing, when my 
 confused attention was aroused by a remark ad- 
 dressed to the recumbent figures. 
 
 " Now, then, which on ye'll see the stranger up 
 the creek to Altascar's, to-morrow ? " 
 
 There was a general movement of opposition in 
 the group, but no decided answer. 
 
 Kin you go, Kerg ? " 
 
 "Who's to look up stock in Strarberry per-ar-ie?" 
 
 This seemed to imply a negative, and the old 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 199 
 
 man turned to another hopeful, who was pulling 
 the fur from a mangy bear-skin on which he was 
 lying, with an expression as though it were some- 
 body's hair. 
 
 " Well, Tom, wot's to hinder you from goin' ? " 
 
 " Mam's goin' to Brown's store at sun-up, and I 
 s'pose I've got to pack her and the baby agin." 
 
 I think the expression of scorn this unfortunate 
 youth exhibited for the filial duty into which he 
 had been evidently beguiled, was one of the finest 
 things I had ever seen. 
 
 " Wise ? " 
 
 Wise deigned no verbal reply, but figuratively 
 thrust a worn and patched boot into the discourse. 
 The old man flushed quickly. 
 
 " I told ye to get Brown to give you a pair the 
 last time you war down the river." 
 
 " Said he wouldn't without'en order. Said it 
 was like pulling gum-teeth to get the money from 
 you even then." 
 
 There was a grim smile at this local hit at the 
 old man's parsimony, and Wise, who was clearly 
 the privileged wit of the family, sank back in 
 honorable retirement. 
 
 " Well, Joe, ef your boots are new, and you aren't 
 pestered with wimmin and children, p'r'aps you '11 
 go," said Tryan, with a nervous twitching, intended 
 for a smile, about a mouth not remarkably mirthful. 
 
 Tom lifted a pair of bushy eyebrows, and said 
 shortly, 
 
 " Got no saddle." 
 
2OO Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 "Wot's gone of your saddle?" 
 
 "Kerg, there," indicating his brother with a 
 look such as Cain might have worn at the sacrifice. 
 
 "You lie!" returned Kerg, cheerfully. 
 
 Tryan sprang to his feet, seizing the chair, flour- 
 ishing it around his head and gazing furiously in 
 the hard young faces which fearlessly met his own. 
 But it was only for a moment ; his arm soon 
 dropped by his side, and a look of hopeless fatality 
 crossed his face. He allowed me to take the chair 
 from his hand, and I was trying to pacify him by 
 the assurance that I required no guide, when the 
 irrepressible Wise again lifted his voice : 
 
 " Theer's George comin' ! why don't ye ask him ? 
 He '11 go and introduce you to Don Fernandy's 
 darter, too, ef you ain't pertickler." 
 
 The laugh which followed this joke, which evi- 
 dently had some domestic allusion (the general 
 tendency of rural pleasantry), was followed by a 
 light step on the platform, and the young man en- 
 tered. Seeing a stranger present, he stopped and 
 colored ; made a shy salute and colored again, and 
 then, drawing a box from the corner, sat down, his 
 hands clasped lightly together and his very hand- 
 some bright blue eyes turned frankly on mine. 
 
 Perhaps I was in a condition to receive the ro- 
 mantic impression he made upon me, and I took 
 it upon myself to ask his company as guide, and 
 he cheerfully assented. But some domestic duty 
 called him presently away. 
 
 The fire gleamed brightly on the hearth, and, no 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 20 1 
 
 longer resisting the prevailing influence, I silently 
 watched the spirting flame, listening to the wind 
 which continually shook 'the tenement. Besides 
 the one chair which had acquired a new importance 
 in my eyes, I presently discovered a crazy table in 
 one corner, with an ink-bottle and pen ; the latter 
 in that greasy state of decomposition peculiar to 
 country taverns and farm-houses. A goodly array 
 of rifles and double-barrelled guns stocked the 
 corner ; half a dozen saddles and blankets lay near, 
 with a mild flavour of the horse about them. Some 
 deer and bear skins completed the inventory. As 
 I sat there, with the silent group around me, the 
 shadowy gloom within and the dominant wind 
 without, I found it difficult to believe I had ever 
 known a different existence. My profession had 
 often led me to wilder scenes, but rarely among 
 those whose unrestrained habits and easy uncon- 
 sciousness made me feel so lonely and uncomfort- 
 able. I shrank closer to myself, not without grave 
 doubts which I think occur naturally to people 
 in like situations that this was the general rule 
 of humanity, and I was a solitary and somewhat 
 gratuitous exception. 
 
 It was a relief when a laconic announcement of 
 supper by a weak-eyed girl caused a general move- 
 ment in the family. We walked across the dark 
 platform, which led to another low-ceiled room. 
 Its entire length was occupied by a table, at the 
 farther end of which a weak-eyed woman was al- 
 ready taking her repast, as she, at the same time, 
 
202 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 gave nourishment to a weak-eyed baby. As the 
 formalities of introduction had been dispensed with, 
 and as she took no notice of me, I was enabled to 
 slip into a seat without discomposing or interrupt- 
 ing her. Tryan extemporized a grace, and the 
 attention of the family became absorbed in bacon, 
 potatoes, and dried apples. 
 
 The meal was a sincere one. Gentle gurglings 
 at the upper end of the table often betrayed the 
 presence of the "wellspring of pleasure." The 
 conversation generally referred to the labours of the 
 day, and comparing notes as to the whereabouts of 
 missing stock. Yet the supper was such a vast 
 improvement upon the previous intellectual feast, 
 that when a chance allusion of mine to the busi- 
 ness of my visit brought out the elder Tryan, the 
 interest grew quite exciting. I remember he in- 
 veighed bitterly against the system of ranch-hold- 
 ing by the " greasers," as he was pleased to term 
 the native Californians. As the same ideas have 
 been sometimes advanced under more pretentious 
 circumstances, they may be worthy of record. 
 
 " Look at 'em holdin' the finest grazin' land that 
 ever lay outer doors ? Whar's the papers for it ? 
 Was it grants ? Mighty fine grants, most of 'em 
 made arter the 'Merrikans got possession. More 
 fools the 'Merrikans for lettin' 'em hold 'em. Wat 
 paid for 'em ? 'Merrikan blood and money. 
 
 " Didn't they oughter have suthin out of their 
 native country ? Wot for ? Did they ever im- 
 prove ? Got a lot of yaller-skinned diggers, not 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 203 
 
 so sensible as niggers, to look arter stock, and they 
 a sittin' home and smokin'. With their gold and 
 silver candlesticks, and missions, and crucifixens, 
 priests and graven idols, and sich ? Them sort 
 things wuren't allowed in Mizzoori." 
 
 At the mention of improvements, I involuntarily 
 lifted my eyes, and met the half-laughing, half-em- 
 barrassed look of George. The act did not escape 
 detection, and I had at once the satisfaction of 
 seeing that the rest of the family had formed an 
 offensive alliance against us. 
 
 " It was agin Nater, and agin God," added Tryan. 
 "God never intended gold in the rocks to be 
 made into heathen candlesticks and crucifixens. 
 That's why He sent 'Merrikins here. Nater never 
 intended such a climate for lazy lopers. She 
 never gin six months' sunshine to be slept and 
 smoked away." 
 
 How long he continued, and with what further 
 illustration I could not say, for I took an early 
 opportunity to escape to the sitting-room. I was 
 soon followed by George, who called me to an open 
 door leading to a smaller room, and pointed to a 
 bed. 
 
 " You'd better sleep there to-night," he said ; 
 "you'll be more comfortable, and I'll call you 
 early." 
 
 I thanked him, and would have asked him seve- 
 ral questions which were then troubling me, but he 
 shyly slipped to the door and vanished. 
 
 A shadow seemed to fall on the room when he 
 
204 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 had gone. The " boys " returned, one by one, and 
 shuffled to their old places. A larger log was 
 thrown on the fire, and the huge chimney glowed 
 like a furnace, but it did not seem to melt or sub- 
 due a single line of the hard faces that it lit. In 
 half an hour later, the furs which had served as 
 chairs by day undertook the nightly office ot mat- 
 tresses, and each received its owner's full-length 
 figure. Mr. Tryan had not returned, and I missed 
 George. I sat there, until, wakeful and nervous, I 
 saw the fire fall and shadows mount the wall. 
 There was no sound but the rushing of the wind 
 and the snoring of the sleepers. At last, feeling 
 the place insupportable, I seized my hat and, 
 opening the door, ran out briskly into the night. 
 
 The acceleration of my torpid pulse in the keen 
 fight with the wind, whose violence was almost 
 equal to that of a tornado, and the familiar faces 
 of the bright stars above me, I felt as a blessed 
 relief. I ran not knowing whither, and when I 
 halted, the square outline of the house was lost in 
 the alder-bushes. An uninterrupted plain stretched 
 before me, like a vast sea beaten flat by the force 
 of the gale. As I kept on I noticed a slight ele- 1 
 vation toward the horizon, and presently my pro- 
 gress was impeded by the ascent of an Indian 
 mound. It struck me forcibly as resembling an 
 island in the sea. Its height gave me a better 
 view of the expanding plain. But even here I 
 found no rest. The ridiculous interpretation Tryan 
 had given the climate was somehow sung in my 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 205 
 
 ears, and echoed in my throbbing pulse, as, guided 
 by the star, I sought the house again. 
 
 But I felt fresher and more natural as I stepped 
 upon the platform. The door of the lower build- 
 ing was open, and the old man was sitting beside 
 the table, thumbing the leaves of a Bible with a 
 look in his face as though he were hunting up 
 prophecies against the " Greaser." I turned to 
 enter, but my attention was attracted by a blan- 
 keted figure lying beside the house, on the platform. 
 The broad chest heaving with healthy slumber, 
 and the open, honest face were iamiliar. It was 
 George, who had given up his bed to the stranger 
 among his people. I was about to wake him, but 
 he lay so peaceful and quiet, I felt awed and 
 hushed. And I went to bed with a pleasant im- 
 pression of his handsome tace and tranquil figure 
 soothing me to sleep. 
 
 I was awakened the next morning from a sense 
 of lulled repose and grateful silence by the cheery 
 voice of George, who stood beside my bed, osten- 
 tatiously twirling a "riata," as if to recall the 
 duties of the day to my sleep-bewildered eyes. I 
 looked around me. The wind had been magically 
 laid, and the sun shone warmly through the win- 
 dows. A dash of cold water, -with an extra chill 
 on from the tin basin, helped to brighten me. It 
 was still early, but the family had already break, 
 fasted and dispersed, and a wagon winding far in 
 the distance showed that the unfortunate Tom had 
 
 p 
 
2o6 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 already " packed " his relatives away. I felt more 
 cheerful, there are few troubles Youth cannot 
 distance with the start of a good night's rest. 
 After a substantial breakfast, prepared by George, 
 in a few moments we were mounted and dashing 
 down the plain. 
 
 We followed the line of alder that defined the 
 creek, now dry and baked with summer's heat, 
 but which in winter, George told me, overflowed 
 its banks. I still retain a vivid impression of that 
 morning's ride, the far-off mountains, like silhouettes, 
 against the steel-blue sky, the crisp dry air, and 
 the expanding track before me, animated often by 
 the well-knit figure of George Tryan, musical with 
 jingling spurs, and picturesque with flying " riata." 
 He rode a powerful native roan, wild-eyed, un- 
 tiring in stride and unbroken in nature. Alas! 
 the curves of beauty were concealed by the cum- 
 brous machillas of the Spanish saddle, which 
 levels all equine distinctions. The single rein 
 lay loosely on the cruel bit that can gripe, and, if 
 need be, crush the jaw it controls. 
 
 Again the illimitable freedom of the valley rises 
 before me, as we again bear down into sunlit 
 space. Can this be " Chu-Chu/' staid and respect- 
 able filly of American pedigree, " Chu-Chu," for- 
 getful of plank-roads and cobble-stones, wild with 
 excitement, twinkling her small white feet beneath 
 me ? George laughs out of a cloud of dust, " Give 
 her her head ; don't you see she likes it ?" and 
 " Chu-Chu " seems to like it, and, whether bitten 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 207 
 
 by native tarantula into native barbarism or 
 emulous of the roan, " blood " asserts itself, and 
 in a moment the peaceful servitude of years is 
 beaten out in the music of her clattering hoofs. 
 The creek widens to a deep gully. We dive into 
 it and up on the opposite side, carrying a moving 
 cloud of impalpable powder with us. Cattle are 
 scattered over the plain, grazing quietly, or banded 
 together in vast restless herds. George makes a 
 wide, indefinite sweep with the "riata," as if to 
 include them all in his vaquerds loop, and says, 
 "Ours!" 
 
 " About how many, George ? " 
 
 " Don't know." 
 
 " How many ? " 
 
 "Well, p'r'aps three thousand head," says George, 
 reflecting. "We don't know, takes five men to 
 look 'em up and keep run." 
 
 " What are they worth ? " 
 
 " About thirty dollars a head." 
 
 I make a rapid calculation, and look my astonish- 
 ment at the laughing George. Perhaps a recollec- 
 tion of the domestic economy of the Tryan house- 
 hold is expressed in that look, for George averts 
 his eye and says apologetically, 
 
 " I've tried to get the old man to sell and build, 
 but you know he says it ain't no use to settle 
 down, just yet. We must keep movin'. In fact, 
 he built the shanty for that purpose, lest titles 
 should fall through, and we'd have to get up and 
 move stakes further down." 
 
 P 2 
 
2o8 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 Suddenly his quick eye detects some unusual 
 sight in a herd we are passing, and with an ex- 
 clamation he puts his roan into the centre of the 
 mass. I follow, or rather " Chu-Chu " darts after 
 the roan, and in a few moments we are in the 
 midst of apparently inextricable horns and hoofs. 
 " Toro ! " shouts George, with vaquero enthusiasm, 
 and the band opens a way for the swinging "riata." 
 I can feel their steaming breaths, and their spume 
 is cast on " Chu-Chu's " quivering flank. 
 
 Wild, devilish-looking beasts are they ; not 
 such shapes as Jove might have chosen to woo a 
 goddess, nor such as peacefully range the downs of 
 Devon, but lean and hungry Cassius-like bovines, 
 economically got up to meet the exigencies of a 
 six months' rainless climate, and accustomed to 
 wrestle with the distracting wind and the blinding 
 dust. 
 
 " That's not our brand," says George ; "they're 
 strange stock/' and he points to what my scientific 
 eye recognizes as the astrological sign of Venus 
 deeply seared in the brown flanks of the bull he is 
 chasing. But the herd are closing round us with 
 low mutterings, and George has again recourse to 
 the authoritative "Toro," and with swinging "riata" 
 divides the "bossy bucklers" on either side. When 
 we are free, and breathing somewhat more easily, I 
 venture to ask George if they ever attack any one. 
 
 " Never horsemen, sometimes footmen. Not 
 through rage, you know, but curiosity. They 
 think a man and his horse are one, and if they 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 209 
 
 tneet a chap afoot, they run him down and trample 
 him under hoof, in the pursuit of knowledge. 
 But," adds George, " here's the lower bench of the 
 foot-hills, and here's Altascar's corral, and that 
 white building you see yonder is the casa" 
 
 A whitewashed wall enclosed a court containing 
 another adobe building, baked with the soiar 
 beams of many summers. Leaving our horses in 
 the charge of a few peons in the courtyard, who 
 were basking lazily in the sun, we entered a low 
 doorway, where a deep shadow and an agreeable 
 coolness fell upon us, as sudden and grateful as a 
 plunge in cool water, from its contrast with the 
 external glare and heat. In the centre of a low- 
 ceiled apartment sat an old man with a black silk 
 handkerchief tied about his head ; the few gray 
 hairs that escaped from its folds relieving his 
 gamboge-colored face. The odor of cigarritos 
 was as incense added to the cathedral gloom of 
 the building. 
 
 As Senor Altascar rose with well-bred gravity 
 to receive us, George advanced with such a 
 heightened color, and such a blending of tender- 
 ness and respect in his manner, that I was touched 
 to the heart by so much devotion in the careless 
 youth. In fact, my eyes were still dazzled by the 
 effect of the outer sunshine, and at first I did not 
 see the white teeth and black eyes of Pepita, who 
 slipped into the corridor as we entered. 
 
 It was no pleasant matter to disclose particulars 
 of business which would deprive the old Senor of 
 
2IO Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 the greater part of that land we had just ridden 
 over, and I did it with great embarrassment. But 
 he listened calmly, not a muscle of his dark face 
 stirring, and the smoke curling placidly from his 
 lips showed his regular respiration. When I had 
 finished, he offered quietly to accompany us to the 
 line of demarcation. George had meanwhile dis- 
 appeared, but a suspicious conversation in broken 
 Spanish and English, in the corridor, betrayed his 
 vicinity. When he returned again, a little absent- 
 minded, the old man, by far the coolest and most 
 self-possessed of the party, extinguished his black 
 silk cap beneath that stiff, uncomely sombrero 
 which all native Californians affect. A scrapa 
 thrown over his shoulders hinted that he was 
 waiting. Horses are always ready saddled in 
 Spanish ranches, and in half an hour from the time 
 of our arrival we were again "lopping" in the 
 staring sunlight. 
 
 But not as cheerfully as before. George and 
 myself were weighed down by restraint, and 
 Altascar was gravely quiet. To break the silence, 
 and by way of a consolatory essay, I hinted to 
 him that there might be further intervention or 
 appeal, but the proffered oil and wine were re- 
 turned with a careless shrug of the shoulders and 
 a sententious " Que bueno ? Your courts are 
 always just." 
 
 The Indian mound of the previous night's dis- 
 covery was a beaming monument of the new line, 
 and there we halted. We were surprised to find 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 211 
 
 the old man Tryan waiting us. For the first time 
 during our interview the old Spaniard seemed 
 moved, and the blood rose in his yellow cheek, 
 I was anxious to close the scene, and pointed out 
 the corner boundaries as clearly as my recollection 
 served. 
 
 " The deputies will be here to-morrow to run 
 the lines from this initial point, and there will be 
 no further trouble, I believe, gentlemen." 
 
 Sefior Altascar had dismounted and was 
 gathering a few tufts of dried grass in his hands. 
 George and I exchanged glances. He presently 
 arose from his stooping posture, and, advancing 
 to within a few paces of Joseph Tryan, said, in a 
 voice broken with passion, 
 
 "And I, Fernando Jesus Maria Altascar, put 
 you in possession of my land in the fashion of 
 my country." 
 
 He threw a sod to each of the cardinal points. 
 
 " I don't know your courts, your judges, or your 
 corregidores. Take the llano! and take this with 
 it. May the drought seize your cattle till their 
 tongues hang down as long as those of your lying 
 lawyers ! May it be the curse and torment of 
 your old age, as you and yours have made it of 
 mine!" 
 
 We stepped between the principal actors in this 
 scene, which only the passion of Altascar made 
 tragical, but Tryan, with a humility but ill con- 
 cealing his triumph, interrupted : 
 
 "Let him curse on. He'll find 'em coming 
 
212 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 home to him sooner than the cattle he has lost 
 through his sloth and pride. The Lord is on the 
 side of the just, as well as agin all slanderers and 
 revilers." 
 
 Altascar but half guessed the meaning of the 
 Missourian, yet sufficiently to drive from his 
 mind all but the extravagant power of his native 
 invective. 
 
 " Stealer of the Sacrament ! Open not ! open 
 not, I say, your lying, Judas lips . to me ! Ah ! 
 half-breed, with the soul of a cayote ! Car-r-r- 
 ramba!" 
 
 With his passion reverberating among the con- 
 sonants like distant thunder, he laid his hand 
 upon the mane of his horse as though it had been 
 the gray locks of his adversary, swung himself 
 into the saddle and galloped away. 
 
 George turned to me : 
 
 " Will you go back with us to-night ?" 
 
 I thought of the cheerless walls, the silent 
 figures by the fire, and the roaring wind, and 
 hesitated. 
 
 " Well then, good by." 
 
 " Good by, George." 
 
 Another wring of the hands, and we parted. 
 I had not ridden far, when I turned and looked 
 back. The wind had risen early that afternoon, 
 and was already sweeping across the plain. A 
 cloud of dust travelled before it, and a picturesque 
 figure occasionally emerging therefrom was my 
 last indistinct impression of George Tryan. 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 213 
 
 PART II. IN THE FLOOD. 
 
 THREE months after the survey of the Espiritu 
 Santo Rancho, I was again in the valley of the 
 Sacramento. But a general and terrible visitation 
 had erased the memory of that event as com- 
 pletely as I supposed it had obliterated the boun- 
 dary monuments I had planted. The great flood 
 of 1861-62 was at its height, when/obeying some 
 indefinite yearning, I took my carpet-bag and 
 embarked for the inundated valley. 
 
 There was nothing to be seen from the bright 
 cabin windows of the " Golden City " but night 
 deepening over the water. The only sound was 
 the pattering rain, and that had grown monoto- 
 nous for the past two weeks, and did not disturb 
 the national gravity of my countrymen as they 
 silently sat around the cabin stove. Some on 
 errands of relief to friends and relatives wore 
 anxious faces, and conversed soberly on the one 
 absorbing topic. Others, like myself, attracted by 
 curiosity, listened eagerly to newer details. But 
 with that human disposition to seize upon any 
 circumstance that might give chance event the 
 exaggerated importance of instinct, I was half 
 conscious of something more than curiosity as an 
 impelling motive. 
 
 The dripping of rain, the low gurgle of water, 
 and a leaden sky, greeted us the next morning as 
 we lay beside the half-submerged levee of Sacra- 
 tnento. Here, however, the novelty of boats to 
 
214 Notes by Flood ani Field. 
 
 convey us to the hotels was an appeal that was 
 irresistible. I resigned myself to a dripping 
 rubber-cased mariner called " Joe," and, wrapping 
 myself in a shining cloak of the like material* 
 about as suggestive of warmth as court-plaster 
 might have been, took my seat in the stern-sheets 
 of his boat. It was no slight inward struggle to 
 part from the steamer, that to most of the passen- 
 gers was the only visible connecting link between 
 us and the dry and habitable earth, but we pulled 
 away and entered the city, stemming a rapid cur- 
 rent as we shot the levee. 
 
 We glided up the long level of K Street, once 
 a cheerful, busy thoroughfare, now distressing in 
 its silent desolation. The turbid water which 
 seemed to meet the horizon edge before us flowed 
 at right angles in sluggish rivers through the streets. 
 Nature had revenged herself on the local taste by 
 disarraying the regular rectangles, by huddling 
 houses on street corners, where they presented 
 abrupt gables to the current, or by capsizing them 
 in compact ruin. Crafts of all kinds were gliding 
 in and out of low-arched doorways. The water 
 was over the top of the fences surrounding well- 
 kept gardens, in the first stories of hotels and 
 private dwellings, trailing its slime on velvet car- 
 pets as well as roughly boarded floors. And a 
 silence quite as suggestive as the visible desola- 
 tion was in the voiceless streets that no longer 
 echoed to carriage-wheel or footfall. The low 
 ripple of water, the occasional splash of oars, or 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 215 
 
 the warning cry of boatmen were the few signs of 
 life and habitation. 
 
 With such scenes before my eyes and such 
 sounds in my ears, as I lie lazily in the boat, is 
 mingled the song of my gondolier who sings to 
 the music of his oars. It is not quite as romantic 
 as his brother of the Lido might improvise, -but 
 my Yankee " Giuseppe " has the advantage of 
 earnestness and energy, and gives a graphic de- 
 scription of the terrors of the past week and of 
 noble deeds of self-sacrifice and devotion, occa- 
 sionally pointing out a balcony from which some 
 California Bianca or Laura had been snatched, 
 half clothed and famished. Giuseppe is other- 
 wise peculiar, and refuses the proffered fare, for 
 am I not a citizen of San Francisco, which was 
 first to respond to the suffering cry of Sacramento ? 
 and is not he, Giuseppe, a member of the Howard 
 Society ? No ! Giuseppe is poor, but cannot 
 take my money. Still, if I must spend it, there 
 is the Howard Society, and the women and 
 children without food and clothes at the Agri- 
 cultural Hall. 
 
 I thank the generous gondolier, and we go to 
 the Hall a dismal, bleak place, ghastly with the 
 memories of last year's opulence and plenty, and 
 here Giuseppe's fare is swelled by the stranger's 
 mite. But here Giuseppe tells me of the " Relief 
 Boat " which leaves for the flooded district in the 
 interior, and here, profiting by the lesson he has 
 taught me, I make the resolve to turn my curiosity 
 
216 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 to the account of others, and am accepted of those 
 who go forth to succor and help the afflicted. 
 Giuseppe takes charge of my carpet-bag, and does 
 not part from me until I stand on the slippery 
 deck of " Relief Boat No. 3." 
 
 An hour later I am in the pilot-house, looking 
 down upon what was once the channel of a peace- 
 ful river. But its banks are only defined by toss- 
 ing tufts of willow washed by the long swell that 
 breaks over a vast inland sea. Stretches of "tule" 
 land fertilized by its once regular channel and 
 dotted by flourishing ranches, are now cleanly 
 erased. The cultivated profile of the old land- 
 scape had faded. Dotted lines in symmetrical 
 perspective mark orchards that are buried and 
 chilled in the turbid flood. The roofs of a few 
 farm-houses are visible, and here and there the 
 smoke curling from chimneys of half-submerged 
 tenements show an undaunted life within. Cattle 
 and sheep are gathered on Indian mounds, waiting 
 the fate of their companions whose carcasses drift 
 by us, or swing in eddies with the wrecks of barns 
 and out-houses. Wagons are stranded everywhere 
 where the tide could carry them. As I wipe the 
 moistened glass, I see nothing but water, patter- 
 ing on the deck from the lowering clouds, dashing 
 against the window, dripping from the willows, 
 hissing by the wheels, everywhere washing, coil- 
 ing, sapping, hurrying in rapids, or swelling at last 
 into deeper and vaster lakes, awful in their sug- 
 gestive quiet and concealment. 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 217 
 
 As day fades into night the monotony of this 
 strange prospect grows oppressive. I seek the 
 engine-room, and in the company of some of the 
 few half-drowned sufferers we have already picked 
 up from temporary rafts, I forget the general 
 aspect of desolation in their individual misery. 
 Later we meet the San Francisco packet, and 
 transfer a number of our passengers. From them 
 we learn how inward-bound vessels report to 
 having struck the well-defined channel of the 
 Sacramento, fifty miles beyond the bar. There 
 is a voluntary contribution taken among the 
 generous travellers for the use of our afflicted, 
 and we part company with a hearty " God speed" 
 on either side. But our signal-lights are not far 
 distant before a familiar sound comes back to us, 
 an indomitable Yankee cheer, which scatters 
 the gloom. 
 
 Our course is altered, and we are steaming over 
 the obliterated banks far in the interior. Once 
 or twice black objects loom up near us, the 
 wrecks of houses floating by. There is a slight 
 rift in the sky towards the north, and a few 
 bearing stars to guide us over the waste. As 
 we penetrate into shallower water, it is deemed 
 advisable to divide our party into smaller boats, 
 and diverge over the submerged prairie. I borrow 
 a pea-coat of one of the crew, and in that practical 
 disguise am doubtfully permitted to pass into one 
 of the boats. We give way northerly. It is quite 
 dark yet, although the rift of cloud has widened. 
 
218 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 It must have been about three o'clock, and we 
 were lying upon our oars in an eddy formed by 
 a clump of cottonwood, and the light of the 
 steamer is a solitary, bright star in the distance, 
 when the silence is broken by the " bow oar": 
 
 " Light ahead." 
 
 All eyes are turned in that direction. In a few 
 seconds a twinkling light appears, shines steadily, 
 and again disappears as if by the shifting position 
 of some black object apparently drifting close 
 upon us. 
 
 "Stern, all ; a steamer!" 
 
 " Hold hard there ! Steamer be d d !" is the 
 reply of the coxswain. " It's a house, and a big 
 one too." 
 
 It is a big one, looming in the starlight like a 
 huge fragment of the darkness. The light comes 
 from a single candle, which shines through a 
 window as the great shape swings by. Some 
 recollection is drifting back to me with it, as I 
 listen with beating heart. 
 
 " There's some one in it, by Heavens ! Give 
 way, boys, lay her alongside. Handsomely, 
 now ! The door's fastened ; try the window ; no ! 
 here's another!" 
 
 In another moment we are trampling in the 
 water, which washes the floor to the depth of 
 several inches. It is a large room, at the further 
 end of which an old man is sitting wrapped in 
 a blanket, holding a candle in one hand, and 
 apparently absorbed in the book he holds with 
 

 Notes by Flood and Field. 219 
 
 the other. I spring toward him with an ex- 
 clamation : 
 
 "Joseph Tryan!" 
 
 He does not move. We gather closer to him, and 
 I lay my hand gently on his shoulder, and say : 
 
 " Look up, old man, look up ! Your wife and 
 children, where are they ? The boys, George ! 
 Are they here ? are they safe ?" 
 
 He raises his head slowly, and turns his eyes to 
 mine, and we involuntarily recoil before his look. 
 It is a calm and quiet glance, free from fear, 
 anger, or pain ; but it somehow sends the blood 
 curdling through our veins. He bowed his head 
 over his book again, taking no further notice of 
 us. The men look at me compassionately, and 
 hold their peace. I make one more effort : 
 
 " Joseph Tryan, don't you know me ? the sur- 
 veyor who surveyed your ranch, the Espiritu 
 Santo? Look up, old man!" 
 
 He shuddered and wrapped himself closer in 
 his blanket. Presently he repeated to himself, 
 "The surveyor who surveyed your ranch, Espi- 
 ritu Santo," over and over again, as though it 
 were a lesson he was trying to fix in his memory. 
 
 I was turning sadly to the boatmen, when he 
 suddenly caught me fearfully by the hand and 
 said, 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 We were silent. 
 
 "Listen!" He puts his arm around my neck 
 and whispers in my ear, " I'm a moving off 7" 
 
220 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 "Moving off?" 
 
 " Hush ! Don't speak so loud. Moving off. 
 Ah ! wot's that ? Don't you hear ? there ! 
 listen!" 
 
 We listen, and hear the water gurgle and click 
 beneath the floor. 
 
 " It's them wot he sent ! Old Altascar sent. 
 They've been here all night. I heard 'em first in 
 the creek, when they came to tell the old man to 
 move farther off. They came nearer and nearer. 
 They whispered under the door, and I saw their 
 eyes on the step, their cruel, hard eyes. Ah ! 
 why don't they quit !" 
 
 I tell the men to search the room and see if 
 they can find any further traces of the family, 
 while Tryan resumes his old attitude. It is so 
 much like the figure I remember on the breezy 
 night that a superstitious feeling is fast overcom- 
 ing me. When they have returned, I tell them 
 briefly what I know of him, and the old man 
 murmurs again, 
 
 " Why don't they quit, then ? They have the 
 stock, all gone gone, gone for the hides and 
 hoofs," and he groans bitterly. 
 
 " There are other boats below us. The shanty 
 cannot have drifted far, and perhaps the family 
 are safe by this time," says the coxswain, hope- 
 hilly. 
 
 We lift the old man up, for he is quite help- 
 less, and carry him to the boat. He is still 
 grasping the Bible in his right hand, though its 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 221 
 
 strengthening grace is blank to his vacant eye, and 
 he cowers in the stern as we pull slowly to the 
 steamer, while a pale gleam in the sky shows the 
 coming day. 
 
 I was weary with excitement, and when we 
 reached the steamer, and I had seen Joseph Tryan 
 comfortably bestowed, I wrapped myself in a 
 blanket near the boiler, and presently fell asleep. 
 But even then the figure of the old man often 
 started before me, and a sense of uneasiness about 
 George made a strong undercurrent to my drifting 
 dreams. I was awakened at about eight o'clock in 
 the morning by the engineer, who told me one of 
 the old man's sons had been picked up and was 
 now on board. 
 
 " Is it George Tryan ? " I asked quickly. 
 
 " Don't know ; but he's a sweet one, whoever he 
 is," adds the engineer, with a smile at some luscious 
 remembrance. " You'll find him for'ard." 
 
 I hurry to the bow of the boat, and find, 
 not George, but the irrepressible Wise, sitting ' 
 on a coil of rope, a little dirtier and rather 
 more dilapidated than I can remember having 
 seen him. 
 
 He is examining, with apparent admiration, some 
 rough, dry clothes that have been put out for his 
 disposal. I cannot help thinking that circum- 
 stances have somewhat exalted his usual cheerful- 
 ness. He puts me at my ease by at once address- 
 ing me : 
 
 " These are high old times, ain't they ? I say, 
 
 Q 
 
222 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 what do you reckon 's become o' them thar bound'ry 
 moniments you stuck ? Ah ! " 
 
 The pause which succeeds this outburst is the 
 effect of a spasm of admiration at a pair of high 
 boots, which, by great exertion, he has at last 
 pulled on his feet. 
 
 "So you've picked up the ole man in the 
 shanty, clean crazy ? He must have been soft to 
 have stuck there instead o' leavin' with the old 
 woman. Didn't know me from Adam ; took me 
 for George ! " 
 
 At this affecting instance of paternal forgetful- 
 ness, Wise was evidently divided between amuse- 
 ment and chagrin. I took advantage of the con- 
 tending emotions to ask about George. 
 
 " Don't know whar he is ! If he'd tended stock 
 instead of running about the prairie, packin' off 
 wimmin and children, he might have saved suthin. 
 He lost every hoof and hide, I'll bet a cookey ! 
 Say you," to a passing boatman, " when are you 
 goin' to give us some grub ? I'm hungry 'nough 
 to skin and eat a hoss. Reckon I'll turn butcher 
 when things is dried up, and save hides, horns, and 
 taller." 
 
 I could not but admire this indomitable energy, 
 which under softer climatic influences might have 
 borne such goodly fruit. 
 
 " Have you any idea what you'll do, Wise ? " I 
 ask. 
 
 " Thar ain't much to do now," says the practical 
 young man. " I'll have to lay over a spell, I 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 223 
 
 reckon, till things comes straight. The land ain't 
 worth much now, and won't be, I dessay, for some 
 time. Wonder whar the ole man '11 drive stakes 
 next." 
 
 " I meant as to your father and George, Wise." 
 
 " O, the ole man and I'll go on to * Miles's,' whar 
 Tom packed the old woman and babies last week. 
 George '11 turn up somewhar atween this and 
 Altascar's, ef he ain't thar now." 
 
 I ask how the Altascars have suffered. 
 
 " Well, I reckon he ain't lost much in stock. I 
 shouldn't wonder if George helped him drive 'em 
 up the foot-hills. And his ' casa ' 's built too high. 
 O, thar ain't any water thar, you bet. Ah," says 
 Wise, with reflective admiration, "those greasers 
 ain't the darned fools people thinks 'em. I'll bet 
 thar ain't one swamped out in all 'er Californy." 
 But the appearance of " grub," cut this rhapsody 
 short. 
 
 " I shall keep on a little farther," I say, " and 
 try to find George." 
 
 Wise stared a moment at this eccentricity until 
 a new light dawned upon him. 
 
 " I don't think you'll save much. What's the 
 percentage, workin' on shares, eh ! " 
 
 I answer that I am only curious, which I feel 
 lessens his opinion of me, and with a sadder feel- 
 ing than his assurance of George's safety might 
 warrant, I walked away. 
 
 From others whom we picked up from time to 
 time we heard of George's self-sacrificing devotion, 
 
 Q 2 
 
224 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 with the praises of the many he had helped and 
 rescued. But I did not feel disposed to return 
 until I had seen him, and soon prepared myself to 
 take a boat to the lower "valda" of the foot- 
 hills, and visit Altascar. I soon perfected my 
 arrangements, bade farewell to Wise, and took a 
 last look at the old man, who was sitting by the 
 furnace-fires quite passive and composed. Then 
 our boat-head swung round, pulled by sturdy and 
 willing hands. 
 
 It was again raining, and a disagreeable wind 
 had risen. Our course lay nearly west, and we 
 soon knew by the strong current that we were in 
 the creek of the Espiritu Santo. From time to time 
 the wrecks of barns were seen, and we passed 
 many half-submerged willows hung with farming 
 implements. 
 
 We emerge at last into a broad silent sea. It is 
 the " llano de Espiritu Santo." As the wind whis- 
 tles by me, piling the shallower fresh water into 
 mimic waves, I go back, in fancy, to the long ride 
 of October over that boundless plain, and recall 
 the sharp outlines of the distant hills which are 
 now lost in the lowering clouds. The men are 
 rowing silently, and I find my mind, released from 
 its tension, growing benumbed and depressed as 
 then. The water, too, is getting more shallow as 
 we leave the banks of the creek, and with my 
 hand dipped listlessly over the thwarts, I detect 
 the tops of chimisal, which shows the tide to have 
 somewhat fallen. There is a black mound, bear- 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 225 
 
 ing to the north of the line of alder, making an 
 adverse current, which, as we sweep to the right to 
 avoid, I recognize. We pull close alongside, and I 
 call to the men to stop. 
 
 There was a stake driven near its summit with 
 the initials, " L. E. S. I." Tied half-way down 
 was a curiously worked " riata." It was George's. 
 It had been cut with some sharp instrument, 
 and the loose gravelly soil of the mound was 
 deeply dented with horse's hoofs. The stake was 
 covered with horse-hairs. It was a record, but no 
 clew. 
 
 The wind had grown more violent, as we still 
 fought our way forward, resting and rowing by 
 turns, and oftener " poling " the shallower surface, 
 but the old "valda," or bench, is still distant. 
 My recollection of the old survey enables me to 
 guess the relative position of the meanderings of 
 the creek, and an occasional simple professional 
 experiment to determine the distance gives my 
 crew the fullest faith in my ability. Night over- 
 takes us in our impeded progress. Our condition 
 looks more dangerous than it really is, but I urge 
 the men, many of whom are still new in this mode 
 of navigation, to greater exertion by assurance of 
 perfect safety and speedy relief ahead. We go on 
 in this way until about eight o'clock, and ground 
 by the willows. We have a muddy walk for a few 
 hundred yards before we strike a dry trail, and 
 simultaneously the white walls of Altascar's appear 
 like a snow-bank before us. Lights are moving in 
 
2.26 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 the courtyard; but otherwise the old tomb-like 
 repose characterizes the building. 
 
 One of the peons recognized me as I entered 
 the court, and Altascar met me on the corridor. 
 
 I was too weak to do more than beg his hos- 
 pitality for the men who had dragged wearily 
 with me. He looked at my hand, which still 
 unconsciously held the broken " riata." I began, 
 wearily, to tell him about George and my fears, 
 but with a gentler courtesy than was even his 
 wont, he gravely laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " Poco a poco Senor, not now. You are tired, 
 you have hunger, you have cold. Necessary it is 
 you should have peace." 
 
 He took us into a small room and poured out 
 some French cognac, which he gave to the men 
 that had accompanied me. They drank and threw 
 themselves before the fire in the larger room. The 
 repose of the building was intensified that night, 
 and I even fancied that the footsteps on the cor- 
 ridor were lighter and softer. The old Spaniard's 
 habitual gravity was deeper ; we might have been 
 shut out from the world as well as the whistling 
 storm, behind those ancient walls with their time- 
 worn inheritor. 
 
 Before I could repeat my inquiry he retired. 
 In a few minutes two smoking dishes of "chupa" 
 with coffee were placed before us, and my men ate 
 ravenously. I drank the coffee, but my excite- 
 ment and weariness kept down the instincts of 
 hunger. 
 
Notes by Flood and Field. 227 
 
 I was sitting sadly by the fire when he re- 
 entered. 
 
 "You have eat?" 
 
 I said " Yes," to please him. 
 
 " Bueno, eat when you can, food and appetite 
 are not always." 
 
 He said this with that Sancho-like simplicity 
 with which most of his countrymen utter a pro- 
 verb, as though it were an experience rather than 
 a legend, and, taking the " riata " from the floor, 
 held it almost tenderly before him. 
 
 " It was made by me, Sefior." 
 
 " I kept it as a clew to him, Don Altascar," I 
 said. " If I could find him " 
 
 " He is here." 
 
 " Here ! and "but I could not say, " well ! " I 
 understood the gravity of the old man's face, the 
 hushed footfalls, the tomb-like repose of the build- 
 ing in an electric flash of consciousness ; I held 
 the clew to the broken riata at last. Altascar took 
 my hand, and we crossed the corridor to a sombre 
 apartment. A few tall candles were burning in 
 sconces before the window. 
 
 In an alcove there was a deep bed with its 
 counterpane, pillows, and sheets heavily edged 
 with lace, in all that splendid luxury which the 
 humblest of these strange people lavish upon this 
 single item of their household. I stepped beside 
 it and saw George lying, as I had seen him once 
 before, peacefully at rest. But a greater sacrifice 
 than that he had known was here, and his generous 
 heart was stilled forever. 
 
228 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 " He was honest and brave," said the old man, 
 and turned away. 
 
 There was another figure in the room ; a heavy 
 shawl drawn over her graceful outline, and her 
 long black hair hiding the hands that buried her 
 downcast face. I did not seem to notice her, and, 
 retiring presently, left the loving and loved to- 
 gether. 
 
 When we were again beside the crackling fire, 
 in the shifting shadows of the great chamber, 
 Altascar told me how he had that morning met 
 the horse of George Tryan swimming on the 
 prairie ; how that, farther on, he found him lying, 
 quite cold and dead, with no marks or bruises on 
 his person ; that he had probably become ex- 
 hausted in fording the creek, and that he had as 
 probably reached the mound only to die for want 
 of that help he had so freely given to others ; that, 
 as a last act, he had freed his horse. These inci- 
 dents were corroborated by many who collected in 
 the great chamber that evening, women and 
 children, most of them succored through the 
 devoted energies of him who lay cold and lifeless 
 above. 
 
 He was buried in the Indian mound, the single 
 spot of strange perennial greenness, which the 
 poor aborigines had raised above the dusty plain. 
 A little slab of sandstone with the initials " G. T." 
 is his monument, and one of the bearings of the 
 initial corner of the new survey of the " Espiritu 
 Santo Rancho." 
 
BOHEMIAN PAPERS. 
 
THE MISSION DOLORES. 
 
 '"THE Mission Dolores is destined to be "The 
 Last Sigh " of the native Californian. When 
 the last " Greaser " shall indolently give way to 
 the bustling Yankee, I can imagine he will, like 
 the Moorish King, ascend one of the Mission hills 
 to take his last lingering look at the hilled city. 
 For a long time he will cling tenaciously to Pacific 
 Street. He will delve in the rocky fastnesses 
 of Telegraph Hill until progress shall remove it. 
 He will haunt Vallejo Street, and those back 
 slums which so vividly typify the degradation of 
 a people ; but he will eventually make way for 
 improvement. The Mission will be last to drop 
 from his nerveless fingers. 
 
 As I stand here this pleasant afternoon, looking 
 up at the old chapel, its ragged senility con- 
 trasting with the smart spring sunshine, its two 
 gouty *pillars with the plaster dropping away like 
 tattered bandages, its rayless windows, its crum- 
 bling entrances, the leper spots on its whitewashed 
 wall eating through the dark adobe, I give the 
 poor old mendicant but a few years longer to sit 
 by the highway and ask alms in the names of the 
 blessed saints. Already the vicinity is haunted 
 with the shadow of its dissolution. The shriek of 
 the locomotive discords with the Angelus bell. 
 
232 The Mission Dolores. 
 
 An Episcopal church, of a green Gothic type, with 
 massive buttresses of Oregon pine, even now mocks 
 its hoary age with imitation and supplants it with 
 a sham. Vain, alas ! were those rural accessories, 
 the nurseries and market - gardens, that once 
 gathered about its walls and resisted civic en- 
 croachment. They, too, are passing away. Even 
 those queer little adobe buildings with tiled roofs 
 like longitudinal slips of cinnamon, and walled 
 enclosures sacredly guarding a few bullock horns 
 and strips of hide. I look in vain for the half- 
 reclaimed Mexican, whose respectability stopped 
 at his waist, and whose red sash under his vest 
 was the utter undoing of his black broadcloth. I 
 miss, too, those black-haired women, with swaying 
 unstable busts, whose dresses were always un- 
 seasonable in texture and pattern ; whose wearing 
 of a shawl was a terrible awakening from the 
 poetic dream of the Spanish mantilla. Traces of 
 another nationality are visible. The railroad 
 "navvy" has builded his shanty near the chapel, 
 and smokes his pipe in the Posada. Gutturals 
 have taken the place of linguals and sibilants ; I 
 miss the half-chanted, half-drawled cadences that 
 used to mingle with the cheery " All aboard " of 
 the stage- driver, in those good old days when the 
 stages ran hourly to the Mission, and a trip thither 
 was an excursion. At the very gates of the 
 temple, in the place of those " who sell doves for 
 sacrifice," a vender of mechanical spiders has 
 halted with his unhallowed wares. Even the old 
 
The Mission Dolores. 233 
 
 Padre last type of the Missionary, and descend- 
 ant of the good Junipero I cannot find to-day ; 
 in his stead a light-haired Celt is reading a lesson 
 from a Vulgate that is wonderfully replete with 
 double r's. Gentle priest, in thy R-isons, let the 
 stranger and heretic be remembered. 
 
 I open a little gate and enter the Mission 
 Churchyard. There is no change here, though 
 perhaps the graves lie closer together. A willow- 
 tree, growing beside the deep, brown wall, has 
 burst into tufted plumes in the fulness of spring. 
 The tall grass-blades over each mound show a 
 strange quickening of the soil below. It is plea- 
 santer here than on the bleak mountain seaward, 
 where distracting winds continually bring the strife 
 and turmoil of the ocean. The Mission hills lov- 
 ingly embrace the little cemetery, whose decorative 
 taste is less ostentatious. The foreign flavor is 
 strong ; here are never-failing garlands of immor- 
 telles, with their sepulchral spicery; here are little 
 cheap medallions of pewter, with the adornment 
 of three black tears, that would look like the three 
 of clubs, but that the simple humility of the in- 
 scription counterbalances all sense of the ridicu- 
 lous. Here are children's graves with guardian 
 angels of great specific gravity ; but here, too, are 
 the little one's toys in a glass case beside them. 
 Here is the average quantity of execrable original 
 verses ; but one stanza over a sailor's grave is 
 striking, for it expresses a hope of salvation through 
 the "Lord High Admiral Christ"! Over the 
 
234 The Mission Dolores. 
 
 foreign graves there is a notable lack of scriptural 
 quotation, and an increase, if I may say it, of 
 humanity and tenderness. I cannot help thinking 
 that too many of my countrymen are influenced 
 by a morbid desire to make a practical point of 
 this occasion, and are too apt hastily to crowd a 
 whole life of omission into the culminating act. 
 But when I see the gray immortelles crowning a 
 tombstone, I know I shall find the mysteries of 
 the resurrection shown rather in symbols, and only 
 the love taught in His new commandment left for 
 the graphic touch. But "they manage these 
 things better in France." 
 
 During my purposeless ramble the sun has been 
 steadily climbing the brown wall of the church, 
 and the air seems to grow cold and raw. The 
 bright green dies out of the grass, and the rich 
 bronze comes down from the wall. The willow- 
 tree seems half inclined to doff its plumes, and 
 wears the dejected air of a broken faith and vio- 
 lated trust. The spice of the immortelles mixes 
 with the incense that steals through the open win- 
 dow. Within, the barbaric gilt and crimson look 
 cold and cheap in this searching air ; by this light 
 the church certainly is old and ugly. I cannot 
 help wondering whether the old Fathers, if they 
 ever revisit the scene of their former labors, in 
 their larger comprehensions, view with regret the 
 impending change, or mourn over the day when the 
 Mission Dolores shall appropriately come to grief. 
 
JOHN CHINAMAN. 
 
 HP HE expression of the Chinese face in the 
 aggregate is neither cheerful nor happy. In 
 an acquaintance of half a dozen years, I can only 
 recall one or two exceptions to this rule. There 
 is an abiding consciousness of degradation, a 
 secret pain or self-humiliation visible in the lines 
 of the mouth and eye. Whether it is only a 
 modification of Turkish gravity, or whether it 
 is the dread Valley of the Shadow of the Drug 
 through which they are continually straying, I 
 cannot say. They seldom smile, and their laugh- 
 ter is of such an extraordinary and sardonic 
 nature so purely a mechanical spasm, quite 
 independent of any mirthful attribute that to 
 this day I am doubtful whether I ever saw a 
 Chinaman laugh. A theatrical representation by 
 natives, one might think, would have set my mind 
 at ease on this point ; but it did not. Indeed, a 
 new difficulty presented itself, the impossibility 
 of determining whether the performance was a 
 tragedy or farce. I thought I detected the low 
 comedian in an active youth who turned two 
 somersaults, and knocked everybody down on 
 entering the stage. But, unfortunately, even this 
 
236 John Chinaman. 
 
 classic resemblance to the legitimate farce of out 
 civilization was deceptive. Another brocaded 
 actor, who represented the hero of the play, 
 turned three somersaults, and not only upset my 
 theory and his fellow-actors at the same time, but 
 apparently run a-muck behind the scenes for some 
 time afterward. I looked around at the glinting 
 white teeth to observe the effect of these two pal- 
 pable hits. They were received with equal accla- 
 mation, and apparently equal facial spasms. One 
 or two beheadings which enlivened the play pro- 
 duced the same sardonic effect, and left upon my 
 mind a painful anxiety to know what was the 
 serious business of life in China. It was notice- 
 able, however, that my unrestrained laughter had 
 a discordant effect, and that triangular eyes 
 sometimes turned ominously toward the " Fanqui 
 devil " ; but as I retired discreetly before the play 
 was finished, there were no serious results. I 
 have only given the above as an instance of the 
 impossibility of deciding upon the outward and 
 superficial expression of Chinese mirth. Of its 
 inner and deeper existence I have some private 
 doubts. An audience that will view with a serious 
 aspect the hero, after a frightful and agonizing 
 death, get up and quietly walk off the stage, can- 
 not be said to have remarkable perceptions of the 
 ludicrous. 
 
 I have often been struck with the delicate 
 pliability of the Chinese expression and taste, 
 that might suggest a broader and deeper criticism 
 
John Chinaman. 237 
 
 than is becoming these pages. A Chinaman will 
 adopt the American costume, and wear it with a 
 taste of color and detail that will surpass those 
 " native, and to the manner born." To look at a 
 Chinese slipper, one might imagine it impossible 
 to shape the original foot to anything less cum- 
 brous and roomy, yet a neater-fitting boot than 
 that belonging to the Americanized Chinaman is 
 rarely seen on this side of the Continent. When 
 the loose sack or paletot takes the place of his 
 brocade blouse, it is worn with a refinement and 
 grace that might bring a jealous pang to the 
 exquisite of our more refined civilization. Panta- 
 loons fall easily and naturally over legs that have 
 known unlimited freedom and bagginess, and even 
 garrote collars meet correctly around sun-tanned 
 throats. The new expression seldom overflows in 
 gaudy cravats. I will back my Americanized 
 Chinaman against any neophyte of European 
 birth in the choice of that article. While in our 
 own State, the Greaser resists one by one the 
 garments of the Northern invader, and even wears 
 the livery of his conqueror with a wild and 
 buttonless freedom, the Chinaman, abused and 
 degraded as he is, changes by correctly graded 
 transition to the garments ol Christian civilization. 
 There is but one article of European wear that he 
 avoids. These Bohemian eyes have never yet 
 been pained by the spectacle of a tall hat on the 
 head of an intelligent Chinaman. 
 
 My acquaintance with John has been made up 
 
 R 
 
238 John Chinaman. 
 
 of weekly interviews, involving the adjustment ol 
 the washing accounts, so that I have not been 
 able to study his character from a social view- 
 point or observe him in the privacy of the 
 domestic circle. I have gathered enough to 
 justify me in believing him to be generally 
 honest, faithful, simple, and painstaking. Of his 
 simplicity let me record an instance where a sad 
 and civil young Chinaman brought me certain 
 shirts with most of the buttons missing and others 
 hanging on delusively by a single thread. In a 
 moment of unguarded irony I informed him that 
 unity would at least have been preserved if the 
 buttons were removed altogether. He smiled 
 sadly and went away. I thought I had hurt his 
 feelings, until the next week when he brought 
 me my shirts with a look of intelligence, and the 
 buttons carefully and totally erased. At another 
 time, to guard against his general disposition to 
 carry off anything as soiled clothes that he 
 thought could hold water, I requested him to 
 always wait until he saw me. Coming home 
 late one evening, I found the household in great 
 consternation, over an immovable Celestial who 
 had remained seated on the front door-step during 
 the day, sad and submissive, firm but also patient, 
 and only betraying any animation or token of 
 his mission when he saw me coming. This same 
 Chinaman evinced some evidences of regard for 
 a little girl in the family, who in her turn reposed 
 such faith in his intellectual qualities as to present 
 
John Chinaman. 239 
 
 him with a preternaturally uninteresting Sunday- 
 school book, her own property. This book John 
 made a point of carrying ostentatiously with him 
 in his weekly visits. It appeared usually on the 
 top of the clean clothes, and was sometimes pain- 
 fully clasped outside of the big bundle of soiled 
 linen. Whether John believed he unconsciously 
 imbibed some spiritual life through its pasteboard 
 cover, as the Prince in the Arabian Nights im- 
 bibed the medicine through the handle of the 
 mallet, or whether he wished to exhibit a due 
 sense of gratitude, or whether he hadn't any 
 pockets, I have never been able to ascertain. 
 In his turn he would sometimes cut marvellous 
 imitation roses from carrots for his little friend. 
 I am inclined to think that the few roses strewn 
 in John's path were such scentless imitations. The 
 thorns only were real. From the persecutions of 
 the young and old of a certain class, his life was 
 a torment. I don't know what was the exact 
 philosophy that Confucius taught, but it is to be 
 hoped that poor John in his persecution is still 
 able to detect the conscious hate and fear with 
 which inferiority always regards the possibility of 
 even-handed justice, and which is the key-note 
 to the vulgar clamor about servile and degraded 
 races. 
 
 R 2 
 
FROM A BACK WINDOW. 
 
 T REMEMBER that long ago, as a sanguine 
 and trustful child, I became possessed ol a 
 highly colored lithograph, representing a fair 
 Circassian sitting by a window. The price I paid 
 for this work of art may have been extravagant, 
 even in youth's fluctuating slate-pencil currency; 
 but the secret joy I felt in its possession knew 
 no pecuniary equivalent. It was not alone that 
 Nature in Circassia lavished alike upon the cheek 
 of beauty and the vegetable kingdom that most 
 expensive of colors, Lake ; nor was it that the 
 rose which bloomed beside the fair Circassian's 
 window had no visible stem, and was directly 
 grafted upon a marble balcony ; but it was be- 
 cause it embodied an idea. That idea was a 
 hinting of my Fate. I felt that somewhere a 
 young and fair Circassian was sitting by a window 
 looking out for me. The idea of resisting such an 
 array of charms and color never occurred to me, 
 and to my honor be it recorded, that during the 
 feverish period of adolescence, I never thought of 
 averting my destiny. But as vacation and holiday 
 came and went, and as my picture at first grew 
 blurred, and then faded quite away between the 
 
From a Back Window. 241 
 
 Eastern and Western continents in my atlas, so 
 its charm seemed mysteriously to pass away. 
 When I became convinced that few females, of 
 Circassian or other origin, sat pensively resting 
 their chins on their henna-tinged nails, at their 
 parlor windows, I turned my attention to back 
 windows. Although the fair Circassian has not 
 yet burst upon me with open shutters, some pecu- 
 liarities not unworthy of note have fallen under 
 my observation. This knowledge has not been 
 gained without sacrifice. I have made myself 
 familiar with back windows and their prospects, in 
 the weak disguise of seeking lodgings, heedless 
 of the suspicious glances of landladies and their 
 evident reluctance to show them. I have caught 
 cold by long exposure to draughts. I have 
 become estranged from triends by unconsciously 
 walking to their back windows during a visit, 
 when the weekly linen hung; upon the line, or 
 where Miss Fanny (ostensibly indisposed) actually 
 assisted in the laundry, and Master Bobby, in 
 scant attire, disported himself on the area railings. 
 But I have thought of Galileo, and the invariable 
 experience of all seekers and discoverers of truth 
 has sustained me. 
 
 Show me the back windows of a man's dwell- 
 ing and I will tell you his character. The rear of 
 a house only is sincere. The attitude of deception 
 kept up at the front windows leaves the back area 
 defenceless. The world enters at the front door, 
 but nature comes out at the back passage. That 
 
242 From a Back Window. 
 
 glossy, well-brushed individual, who lets himself 
 in with a latch-key at the front door at night, is a 
 very different being from the slipshod wretch who 
 growls of mornings for hot water at the door of 
 the kitchen. The same with Madame, whose con- 
 tour of figure grows angular, whose face grows 
 pallid, whose hair comes down, and who looks 
 some ten years older through the sincere medium 
 of a back window. No wonder that intimate 
 frieads fail to recognize each other in this dos a dos 
 position. You may imagine yourself familiar with 
 the silver door-plate and bow windows of the 
 mansion where dwells your Saccharissa ; you may 
 even fancy you recognize her graceful figure be- 
 tween the lace curtains of the upper chamber 
 which you fondly imagine to be hers ; but you 
 shall dwell for months in the rear of her dwelling 
 and within whispering distance of her bower, and 
 never know it. You shall see her with a handker- 
 chief tied round her head in confidential discus- 
 sion with the butcher, and know her not. You 
 shall hear her voice in shrill expostulation with 
 her younger brother, and it shall awaken no familiar 
 response. 
 
 I am writing at a back window. As I prefer 
 the warmth of my coal-fire to the foggy freshness 
 of the afternoon breeze that rattles the leafless 
 shrubs in the garden below me, I have my window- 
 sash closed ; consequently, I miss much of the 
 shrilly altercation that has been going on in the 
 kitchen of No. 7 just opposite. I have heard 
 
From a Back Window. 243 
 
 fragments of an entertaining style of dialogue 
 usually known as "chaffing," which has just taken 
 place between Biddy in No. 9 and the butcher who 
 brings the dinner. I have been pitying the chilled 
 aspect of a poor canary, put out to taste the fresh 
 air, from the window of No. 5. I have been 
 watching and envying, I fear the real enjoy- 
 ment of two children raking over an old dust-heap 
 in the alley, containing the waste and debris of all 
 the back yards in the neighbourhood. What a 
 wealth of soda-water bottles and old iron they 
 have acquired ! But I am waiting for an even 
 more familiar prospect from my back window. I 
 know that later in the afternoon, when the even- 
 ing paper comes, a thickset, gray-haired man will 
 appear in his shirt-sleeves at the back door of 
 No. 9, and, seating himself on the door-step, begin 
 to read. He lives in a pretentious house, and I 
 hear he is a rich man. But there is such humility 
 in his attitude, and such evidence of gratitude at 
 being allowed to sit outside of his own house and 
 read his paper in his shirt-sleeves, that I can 
 picture his domestic history pretty clearly. Per- 
 haps he is following some old habit of humbler days. 
 Perhaps he has entered into an agreement with his 
 wife not to indulge his disgraceful habit in-doors. 
 He does not look like a man who could be coaxed 
 into a dressing-gown. In front of his own palatial 
 residence, I know him to be a quiet and respect- 
 able middle-aged business-man, but it is from my 
 back window that my heart warms toward him in 
 
244 From a Back Window. 
 
 his shirt-sleeved simplicity. So I sit and watch 
 him in the twilight as he reads gravely, and wonder 
 sometimes when he looks up, squares his chest, and 
 folds his paper thoughtfully over his knee, whether 
 he doesn't fancy he hears the letting down of bars, 
 or the tinkling of bells, as the cows come home 
 and stand lowing for him at the gate. 
 
BOONDER. 
 
 T NEVER knew how the subject of this memoir 
 came to attach himself so closely to the affec- 
 tions of my family. He was not a prepossessing 
 dog. He was not a dog of even average birth and 
 breeding. His pedigree was involved in the deep- 
 est obscurity. He may have had brothers and 
 sisters, but in the whole range of my canine 
 acquaintance (a pretty extensive one), I never de- 
 tected any of Boonder's peculiarities in any other 
 of his species. His body was long, and his fore-legs 
 and hind-legs were very wide apart, as though 
 Nature originally intended to put an extra pair 
 between them, but had unwisely allowed herself to 
 be persuaded out of it. This peculiarity was annoy- 
 ing on cold nights, as it always prolonged the 
 interval of keeping the door open for Boonder's 
 ingress long enough to allow two or three dogs of 
 a reasonable length to enter. Boonder's feet were 
 decided ; his toes turned out considerably, and in 
 repose his favorite attitude was the first position 
 of dancing. Add to a pair of bright eyes ears 
 that seemed to belong to some other dog, and a 
 symmetrically pointed nose that fitted all aper- 
 
246 Boonder. 
 
 tures like a pass-key, and you have Boonder as we 
 knew him. 
 
 I am inclined to think that his popularity was 
 mainly owing to his quiet impudence. His advent 
 in the family was that of an old member, who had 
 been absent for a short time, but had returned to 
 familiar haunts and associations. In a Pythago- 
 rean point of view this might have been the case, 
 but I cannot recall any deceased member of the 
 family who was in life partial to bone-burying 
 (though it might be. post mortem a consistent amuse- 
 ment), and this was Boonder's great weakness. 
 He was at first discovered coiled up on a rug in 
 an upper chamber, and was the least disconcerted 
 of the entire household. From that moment Boon- 
 der became one of its recognized members, and 
 privileges, often denied the most intelligent and 
 valuable of his species, were quietly taken by him 
 and submitted to by us. Thus if he were found 
 coiled up in a clothes-basket, or any article of 
 clothing assumed locomotion on its own account, 
 we only said, " O, it's Boonder," with a feeling of 
 relief that it was nothing worse. 
 
 I have spoken of his fondness for bone-burying. 
 It could not be called an economical faculty, for he 
 invariably forgot the locality of his treasure, and 
 covered the garden with purposeless holes ; but 
 although the violets and daisies were not improved 
 by Boonder's gardening, no one ever thought of 
 punishing him. He became a synonyme for Fate ; 
 a Boonder to be grumbled at, to be accepted phi- 
 
Boonder. 247 
 
 losophically, but never to be averted. But 
 although he was not an intelligent dog, nor an 
 ornamental dog, he possessed some gentlemanly 
 instincts. When he performed his only feat, beg- 
 ging upon his hind-legs (and looking remarkably 
 like a penguin), ignorant strangers would offer 
 him crackers or cake, which he didn't like, as a 
 reward of merit. Boonder always made a great 
 show of accepting the proffered dainties, and even 
 made hypocritical contortions as if swallowing, 
 but always deposited the morsel when he was 
 unobserved in the first convenient receptacle, 
 usually the visitor's overshoes. 
 
 In matters that did not involve courtesy, Boon- 
 der was sincere in his likes and dislikes. He was 
 instinctively opposed to the railroad. When the 
 track was laid through our street, Boonder main- 
 tained a defiant attitude toward every rail as it 
 went down, and resisted the cars shortly after to 
 the fullest extent of his lungs. I have a vivid 
 recollection of seeing him, on the day of the trial 
 trip, come down the street in front of the car, 
 barking himself out of all shape, and thrown back 
 several feet by the recoil of each bark. But 
 Boonder was not the only one who has resisted 
 innovations, or has lived to see the innovation 
 
 prosper and even crush But I am anticipating. 
 
 Boonder had previously resisted 'the gas, but 
 although he spent one whole day in angry alter- 
 cation with the workmen, leaving his bones un- 
 buried and bleaching in the sun, somehow the 
 
248 Boonder. 
 
 gas went in. The Spring Valley water was like- 
 wise unsuccessfully opposed, and the grading of 
 an adjoining lot was for a long time a personal 
 matter between Boonder and the contractor. 
 
 These peculiarities seemed to evince some 
 decided character and embody some idea. A 
 prolonged debate in the family upon this topic re- 
 sulted in an addition to his name, we called him 
 " Boonder the Conservative," with a faint acknow- 
 ledgment of his fateful power. But, although 
 Boonder had his own way, his path was not 
 entirely of roses. Thorns sometimes pricked his 
 sensibilities. When certain minor chords were 
 struck on the piano, Boonder was always painfully 
 affected, and howled a remonstrance. If he were 
 removed for company's sake to the back yard, at 
 the recurrence of the provocation he would go his 
 whole length (which was something) to improvise 
 a howl that should reach tht performer. But we 
 got accustomed to Boonder, and as we were fond 
 of music the playing went on. 
 
 One morning Boonder left the house in good 
 spirits with his regular bone in his mouth, and 
 apparently the usual intention of burying it. The 
 next day he was picked up lifeless on the track, 
 run over apparently by the first car that went out 
 of the dep6t 
 
ADDITIONAL SKETCHES, 
 
 
MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 
 
 all knew that Mr. Thompson was looking 
 for his son, and a pretty bad one at that. 
 That he was coming to California for this sole 
 object was no secret to his fellow-passengers ; and 
 the physical peculiarities, as well as the moral 
 weaknesses, of the missing prodigal were made 
 equally plain to us through the frank volubility of 
 the parent. " You was speaking of a young man 
 which was hung at Red Dog for sluice-robbing/' 
 said Mr. Thompson to a steerage-passenger, one 
 day ; " be you aware of the color of his eyes ? " 
 " Black," responded the passenger. "Ah," said 
 Mr. Thompson, referring to some mental memo- 
 randa, " Charl-es' eyes was blue." He then walked 
 away. Perhaps it was from this unsympathetic 
 mode of inquiry ; perhaps it was from that West- 
 ern predilection to take a humorous view of any 
 principle or sentiment persistently brought before 
 them, that Mr. Thompson's quest was the subject 
 of some satire among the passengers. A gratui- 
 tous advertisement of the missing Charles, ad- 
 dressed to "Jailers and Guardians," circulated pri- 
 vately among them ; everybody remembered to 
 have met Charles under distressing circumstances. 
 
252 Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 
 
 Yet it is but due to my countrymen to state that 
 when it was known that Thompson had embarked 
 some wealth in this visionary project, but little of 
 this satire found its way to his ears, and nothing 
 was uttered in his hearing that might bring a pang 
 to a father's heart, or imperil a possible pecuniary 
 advantage of the satirist. Indeed, Mr. Bracy 
 Tibbets' jocular proposition to form a joint-stock 
 company to " prospect " for the missing youth 
 received at one time quite serious entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 Perhaps to superficial criticism Mr. Thompson's 
 nature was not picturesque nor loveable. His 
 history, as imparted at dinner, one day, by him- 
 self, was practical even in its singularity. After a 
 hard and wilful youth and maturity in which he 
 had buried a broken-spirited wife, and driven his 
 son to sea he suddenly experienced religion. "I 
 got it in New Orleans in '59," said Mr. Thompson, 
 with the general suggestion of referring to an epi- 
 demic. " Enter ye the narrer gate. Parse me the 
 beans." Perhaps this practical quality upheld him 
 in his apparently hopeless search. He had no 
 clew to the whereabouts of his runaway son 
 indeed, scarcely a proof of his present existence. 
 From his indifferent recollection of the boy of 
 twelve, he now expected to identify the man of 
 twenty-five. 
 
 It would seem that he was successful. How he 
 succeeded was one of the few things he did not 
 tell. There are, I believe, two versions of the 
 
Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 253 
 
 story. One, that Mr. Thompson, visiting a hos- 
 pital, discovered his son by reason of a peculiar 
 hymn, chanted by the sufferer, in a delirious 
 dream of his boyhood. This version, giving as it 
 did wide range to the finer feelings of the heart, 
 was quite popular ; and as told by the Rev. Mr. 
 Gushington, on his return from his California tour, 
 never failed to satisfy an audience. The other 
 was less simple, and, as I shall adopt it here, de- 
 serves more elaboration. 
 
 It was after Mr. Thompson had given up search- 
 ing for his son among the living, and had taken 
 to the examination of cemeteries, and a careful 
 inspection of the " cold hie jacets of the dead." 
 At this time he was a frequent visitor of " Lone 
 Mountain " a dreary hill-top, bleak enough in 
 its original isolation, and bleaker for the white- 
 faced marbles by which San Francisco anchored 
 her departed citizens, and kept them down in a 
 shifting sand that refused to cover them, and 
 against a fierce and persistent wind that strove to 
 blow them utterly away. Against this wind the 
 old man opposed a will quite as persistent a 
 grizzled, hard face, and a tall, crape-bound hat 
 drawn tightly over his eyes and so spent days in 
 reading the mortuary inscriptions audibly to him- 
 self. The frequency of scriptural quotations pleased 
 him, and he was fond of corroborating them by a 
 pocket Bible. " That's from Psalms," he said, one 
 day, to an adjacent grave-digger. The man made 
 no reply. Not at all rebuffed, Mr. Thompson at 
 
254 Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 
 
 once slid down into the open grave, with a more 
 practical inquiry, " Did you ever, in your profes- 
 sion, come across Char-les Thompson ? " " Thomp- 
 son be d d," said the grave-digger, with great 
 directness. " Which, if he hadn't religion, I think 
 he is," responded the old man, as he clambered 
 out of the grave. 
 
 It was, perhaps, on this occasion that Mr. 
 Thompson stayed later than usual. As he turned 
 his face toward the city, lights were beginning to 
 twinkle ahead, and a fierce wind, made visible by 
 fog, drove him forward, or, lying in wait, charged 
 him angrily from the corners of deserted suburban 
 streets. It was on one of these corners that some- 
 thing else, quite as indistinct and malevolent, 
 leaped upon him with an oath, a presented pistol, 
 and a demand for money. But it was met by a 
 will of iron and a grip of steel. The assailant and 
 assailed rolled together on the ground. But the 
 next moment the old man was erect ; one hand 
 grasping the captured pistol, the other clutching at 
 arm's length the throat of a figure surly, youthful, 
 and savage. 
 
 " Young man," said Mr. Thompson, setting his 
 thin lips together, " what might be your name ? " 
 
 " Thompson ! " 
 
 The old man's hand slid from the throat to the 
 arm of his prisoner, without relaxing its firm- 
 ness. 
 
 " Char-les Thompson, come with me," he said, 
 presently, and marched his captive to the hotel 
 
Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 255 
 
 What took place there has not transpired, but it 
 was known the next morning that Mr. Thompson 
 had found his son. 
 
 It is proper to add to the above improbable 
 story, that there was nothing in the young man's 
 appearance or manners to justify it. Grave, reti- 
 cent, and handsome, devoted to his newly found 
 parent, he assumed the emoluments and responsi- 
 bilities of his new condition with a certain serious 
 ease that more nearly approached that which San 
 Francisco society lacked, and rejected. Some 
 chose to despise this quality as a tendency to 
 " psalm-singing ; " others saw in it the inherited 
 qualities of the parent, and were ready to prophesy 
 for the son the same hard old age. But all agreed 
 that it was not inconsistent with the habits of 
 money-getting, for which father and son were 
 respected. 
 
 And yet, the old man did not seem to be happy. 
 Perhaps it was that the consummation of his 
 wishes left him without a practical mission ; per- 
 haps and it is the more probable he had little 
 love for the son he had regained. The obedience 
 he exacted was freely given, the reform he had set 
 his heart upon was complete ; and yet, somehow, 
 it did not seem to please him. In reclaiming his 
 son, he had fulfilled all the requirements that his 
 religious duty required of him, and yet the act 
 seemed to lack sanctification. In this perplexity, 
 he read again the parable of the Prodigal Son 
 
 S 2 
 
256 Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 
 
 which he had long ago adopted for his guidance 
 and found that he had omitted the final feast of 
 reconciliation. This seemed to offer the proper 
 quality of ceremoniousness in the sacrament 
 between himself and his son.; and so, a year after 
 the appearance of Charles, he set about giving 
 him a party. "Invite every body, Char-les," he 
 said, dryly ; " every body who knows that I 
 brought you out of the wine-husks of iniquity, and 
 the company of harlots ; and bid them eat, drink, 
 and be merry." 
 
 Perhaps the old man had another reason, not 
 yet clearly analyzed. The fine house he had 
 built on the sand-hills sometimes seemed lonely 
 and bare. He often found himself trying to re- 
 construct, from the grave features of Charles, the 
 little boy's, which he but dimly remembered in the 
 past, and of which lately he had been thinking a 
 great deal. He believed this to be a sign of 
 impending old age and childishness ; but coming, 
 one day, in his formal drawing-room, upon a child 
 of one of the servants, who had strayed therein, 
 he would have taken him in his arms, but the 
 child fled from before his grizzled face. So that it 
 seemed eminently proper to invite a number of 
 people to his house, and, from the array of San 
 Francisco maidenhood, to select a daughter-in- 
 law. And then there would be a child a boy, 
 whom he could " rare up" from the beginning, and 
 love as he did not love Charles. 
 
 We were all at the party. The Smiths, Joneses, 
 
Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 257 
 
 Browns, and Robinsons also came, in that fine 
 flow of animal spirits, unchecked by any respect 
 for the entertainer, which most of us are apt to 
 find so fascinating. The proceedings would have 
 been somewhat riotous, but for the social position 
 of the actors. In fact, Mr. Bracy Tibbets, having 
 naturally a fine appreciation of a humorous situa- 
 tion, but further impelled by the bright eyes of 
 the Jones girls, conducted himself so remarkably 
 as to attract the serious regard of Mr. Charles 
 Thompson, who approached him, saying quietly : 
 " You look ill, Mr. Tibbets ; let me conduct you 
 to your carriage. Resist, you hound, and I'll 
 throw you through that window. This way, 
 please ; the room is close and distressing." It is 
 hardly necessary to say that but a part of this 
 speech was audible to the company, and that the 
 rest was not divulged by Mr. Tibbets. who after- 
 wards regretted the sudden illness which kept him 
 from witnessing a certain amusing incident, which 
 the fastest Miss Jones characterized as the " rich- 
 est part of the blow-out," and which I hasten to 
 record : 
 
 It was at supper. It was evident that Mr. 
 Thompson had overlooked much lawlessness in 
 the conduct of the younger people, in his abstract 
 contemplation of some impending event. When 
 the cloth was removed, he rose to his feet, and 
 grimly tapped upon the table. A titter, that 
 broke out among the Jones girls, became epidemic 
 on one side of the board. Charles Thompson, 
 
258 Mr. Thompson's Prodigal 
 
 from the foot of the table, looked up in tender 
 perplexity. " He's going to sing a Doxology " 
 " He's going to pray " " Silence for a speech," 
 ran round the room. 
 
 " It's one year to-day, Christian brothers and 
 sisters," said Mr. Thompson, with grim delibera- 
 tion, " one year to-day since my son came home 
 from eating of wine-husks and spending of his 
 substance on harlots." (The tittering suddenly 
 ceased.) " Look at him now. Char-les Thomp- 
 son, stand up." (Charles Thompson stood up.) 
 " One year ago to-day and look at him now." 
 
 He was certainly a handsome prodigal, stand- 
 ing there in his cheerful evening-dress a repent- 
 ant prodigal, with sad, obedient eyes turned upon 
 the harsh and unsympathetic glance of his father. 
 The youngest Miss Smith, from the pure depths 
 of her foolish little heart, moved unconsciously 
 toward him. 
 
 " It's fifteen years ago since he left my house," 
 said Mr. Thompson, " a rovier and a prodigal. I 
 was myself a man of sin, O Christian friends a 
 man of wrath and bitterness " (" Amen," from 
 the eldest Miss Smith) " but, praise be God, I've 
 fled the wrath to come. It's five years ago since I 
 got the peace that passeth understanding. Have 
 you got it, friends?" (A general sub-chorus of 
 "No, no," from the girls, and " Pass the word for 
 it," from Midshipman Coxe, of the U.S. sloop 
 Wethersfield^ " Knock, and it shall be opened to 
 you. 
 
Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 259 
 
 " And when I found the error of my ways, and 
 the preciousness of grace," continued Mr. Thomp- 
 son, " I came to give it to my son. By sea and 
 land I sought him far, and fainted not. I did not 
 wait for him to come to me which the same I 
 might have done, and justified myself by the 
 Book of books, but I sought him out among his 
 
 husks, and " (the rest of the sentence was lost 
 
 in the rustling withdrawal of the ladies). " Works, 
 Christian friends, is my motto. By their works 
 shall ye know them, and there is mine." 
 
 The particular and accepted work to which Mr. 
 Thompson was alluding had turned quite pale, 
 and was looking fixedly toward an open door 
 leading to the verandah, lately filled by gaping 
 servants, and now the scene of some vague tumult. 
 As the noise continued, a man, shabbily dressed, 
 and evidently in liquor, broke through the opposing 
 guardians, and staggered into the room. The 
 transition from the fog and darkness without to 
 the glare and heat within, evidently dazzled and 
 stupefied him. He removed his battered hat, and 
 passed it once or twice before his eyes, as he 
 steadied himself, but unsuccessfully, by the back 
 of a chair. Suddenly, his wandering glance fell 
 upon the pale face of Charles Thompson ; and, 
 with a gleam of childlike recognition, and a weak, 
 falsetto laugh, he darted forward, caught at the 
 table, upset the glasses, and literally fell upon the 
 prodigal's breast. 
 
 " Sha'ly ! yo' d d ol' scoun'rel, hoo rar ye ! " 
 
260 Mr. Thompson's Prodiga^ 
 
 " Hush ! sit down ! hush ! " said Charles 
 Thompson, hurriedly endeavoring to extricate 
 himself from the embrace of his unexpected 
 guest. 
 
 " Look at 'm ! " continued the stranger, unheed- 
 ing the admonition, but suddenly holding the un- 
 fortunate Charles at arms' length, in loving and 
 undisguised admiration of his festive appearance. 
 " Look at 'm ! Ain't he nasty ? Sha'ls, I'm prow 
 of yer ! " 
 
 " Leave the house ! " said Mr. Thompson, rising, 
 with a dangerous look in his cold, ( gray eye. 
 " Char-les, how dare you ? " 
 
 " Simmer down, ole man ! Sha'ls, who's th' ol* 
 bloat? Eh?" 
 
 " Hush, man ; here, take this ! " With nervous 
 hands, Charles Thompson filled a glass with 
 liquor. " Drink it and go until to-morrow any 
 time, but leave us ! go now ! " But even then, 
 ere the miserable wretch could drink, the old man, 
 pale with passion, was upon him. Half carrying 
 him in his powerful arms, half dragging him 
 through the circling crowd of frightened guests, 
 he had reached the door, swung open by the wait- 
 ing servants, wh^n Charles Thompson started 
 from a seeming stupor, crying 
 
 " Stop ! " 
 
 The old man stopped. Through the open door 
 the fog and wind drove chilly. " What does this 
 mean ? " he asked, turning a baleful face on 
 Charles. 
 
Mr. Thompsons Prodigal. 261 
 
 "Nothing but stop for God's sake. Wait 
 till to-morrow, but not to-night. Do not I im- 
 plore you do this thing." 
 
 There was something in the tone of the young 
 man's voice something, perhaps, in the contact 
 of the struggling wretch he held in his powerful 
 arms ; but a dim, indefinite fear took possession of 
 the old man's heart. ".Who," he whispered, 
 hoarsely, "is this man?" 
 
 Charles did not answer. 
 
 " Stand back, there, all of you," thundered Mr. 
 Thompson, to the crowding guests around him. 
 " Char-les come here ! I command you I I 
 I beg you tell me who is this man ? " 
 
 Only two persons heard the answer that came 
 faintly from the lips of Charles Thompson : 
 
 "YOUR SON." 
 
 When day broke over the bleak sand-hills, the 
 guests had departed from Mr. Thompson's banquet- 
 halls. The lights still burned dimly and coldly in 
 the deserted rooms deserted by all but three 
 figures, that huddled together in the chill drawing- 
 room, as if for warmth. One lay in drunken 
 slumber on a cour.h ; at his feet sat he who had 
 been known as Charles Thompson ; and beside 
 them, haggard and shrunken to half his size, 
 bowed the figure of Mr. Thompson, his gray eye 
 fixed, his elbows upon his knees, and his hands 
 clasped over his ears, as if to shut out the sad, 
 entreating voice that seemed to fill the room. 
 
262 Mr. Thompsons Prodigal. 
 
 "God knows I did not set about to wilfully 
 deceive. The name I gave that night was the 
 first that came into my thought the name of one 
 whom I thought dead the dissolute companion 
 of my shame. And when you questioned further, 
 I used the knowledge that I gained from him to 
 touch your heart to set me free only, I swear, for 
 that ! But when you told me who you were, and 
 I first saw the opening of another life before me 
 then then . O, sir, if I was hungry, home- 
 less, and reckless when I would have robbed you 
 of your gold, I was heart -sick, helpless, and despe- 
 rate when I would have robbed you of your love." 
 
 The old man stirred not. From his luxurious 
 couch the newly found prodigal snored peace- 
 fully. 
 
 " I had no father I could claim. I never knew 
 a home but this. I was tempted. I have been 
 happy very happy." 
 
 He rose and stood before the old man. 
 
 " Do not fear that I shall come between your 
 son and his inheritance. To-day I leave this 
 place, never to return. The world is large, sir, 
 and, thanks to your kindness, I now see the way 
 by which an honest livelihood is gained. Good- 
 by. You will not take my hand ? Well, well. 
 Good-by." 
 
 He turned to go. But when he had reached 
 the door he suddenly came back, and, raising with 
 both hands the grizzled head, he kissed it once and 
 twice. 
 
Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 263 
 
 "Char-les." 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Char-les ! " 
 
 The old man rose with a frightened air, and 
 tottered feebly to the door. It was open. There 
 came to him the awakened tumult of a great city, 
 in which the prodigal's footsteps were lost for 
 ever. 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 "D EFORE nine o'clock it was pretty well known 
 all along the river that the two partners of 
 the " Amity " claim had quarreled and separated 
 at day-break. At that time the attention of their 
 nearest neighbor had been attracted by the 
 sounds of altercations and two consecutive pistol- 
 shots. Running out, he had seen, dimly, in the 
 gray mist that rose from the river, the tall form of 
 Scott, one of the partners, descending the hill 
 toward the canon ; a moment later, York, the 
 other partner, had appeared from the cabin, and 
 walked in an opposite direction toward the river, 
 passing within a few feet of the curious watcher. 
 Later, it was discovered that a serious Chinaman, 
 cutting wood before the cabin, had witnessed part 
 of the quarrel. But John was stolid, indifferent, 
 and reticent. "Me choppee wood me no fightee," 
 was his serene response to all anxious queries. 
 " But what did they say, John ? " John did not 
 "sabc" Col. Starbottle deftly ran over the 
 various popular epithets which a generous public 
 sentiment might accept as reasonable provocation 
 for an assault. But John did not recognize them. 
 *' And this yer's the cattle," said the Colonel, with 
 some severity, " that some thinks ought'er be 
 
The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 265 
 
 allowed to testify agin' a White Man ! Git you 
 heathen ! " 
 
 Still the quarrel remained inexplicable. That 
 two men, whose amiability and grave tact had 
 earned for them the title of " The Peace-makers/' 
 in a community not greatly given to the passive 
 virtues that these men, singularly devoted to 
 each other, should suddenly and violently quarrel, 
 might well excite the curiosity of the camp. A 
 few of the more inquisitive visited the late scene 
 of conflict, now deserted by its former occupants. 
 There was no trace of disorder or confusion in the 
 neat cabin. The rude table was arranged as if 
 for breakfast ; the pan of yellow biscuit still sat 
 upon that hearth whose dead embers might have 
 typified the evil passions that had raged there but 
 an hour before. But Col. Starbottle's eye albeit, 
 somewhat bloodshot and rheumy was more in- 
 tent on practical details. On examination, a 
 bullet-hole was found in the door-post, and 
 another, nearly opposite, in the casing of the 
 window. The Colonel called attention to the fact 
 that the one " agreed with " the bore of Scott's 
 revolver, and the other with that of York's der- 
 ringer. "They must hev stood about yer," said 
 the Colonel, taking position ; " not mor'n three 
 feet apart, and missed ! " There was a fine 
 touch of pathos in the falling inflection of the 
 Colonel's voice, which was not without effect. A 
 delicate perception of wasted opportunity thrilled 
 his auditors. 
 
266 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 But the Bar was destined to experience a 
 greater disappointment. The two antagonists 
 had not met since the quarrel, and it was vaguely 
 rumored that on the occasion of a second meet- 
 ing, each had determined to kill the other "on 
 sight." There was, consequently, some excite- 
 ment and, it is to be feared, no little gratifica- 
 tion when, at ten o'clock, York stepped from the 
 Magnolia Saloon into the one long straggling 
 street of the camp, at the same moment that 
 Scott left the blacksmith's shop, at the forks of 
 the road. It was evident, at a glance, that a 
 meeting could only be avoided by the actual 
 retreat of one or the other. 
 
 In an instant, the doors and windows of the 
 adjacent saloons were filled with faces. Heads 
 unaccountably appeared above the river-banks and 
 from behind bowlders. An empty wagon at the 
 cross-road was suddenly crowded with people, who 
 seemed to have sprung from the earth. There 
 wag much running and confusion on the hill-side. 
 On the mountain-road, Mr. Jack Hamlin had 
 reined up his horse, and was standing upright on 
 the seat of his buggy. And the two objects of 
 this absorbing attention approached each other. 
 
 " York's got the sun," " Scott'll line him on that 
 tree," " he's waitin' to draw his fire," came from 
 the cart and then it was silent. But above this 
 human breathlessness the river rushed and sang, 
 and the wind rustled the tree-tops with an indiffe- 
 rence that seemed obtrusive. Colonel Starbottle 
 
The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 267 
 
 felt it, and, in a moment of sublime pre-occupa- 
 tion, without looking around, waved his cane be- 
 hind him, warningly to all nature, and said " Shu ! " 
 
 The men were now within a few feet of each 
 other. A hen ran across the road before one of 
 them. A feathery seed-vessel, wafted from a 
 wayside tree, fell at the feet of the other. And, 
 unheeding this irony of Nature, the two opponents 
 came nearer, erect and rigid, looked in each other's 
 eyes, and passed ! 
 
 Colonel Starbottle had to be lifted from the 
 cart. "This yer camp is played out," he said, 
 gloomily, as he affected to be supported into the 
 " Magnolia." With what further expression he 
 might have indicated his feelings it was impos- 
 sible to say, for at that moment Scott joined the 
 group. " Did you speak to me ? " he asked of the 
 Colonel, dropping his hand, as if with accidental 
 familiarity, on that gentleman's shoulder. The 
 Colonel, recognizing some occult quality in the 
 touch, and some unknown quantity in the glance 
 of his questioner, contented himself by replying, 
 " No sir," with dignity. A few rods away, York's 
 conduct was as characteristic and peculiar. " You 
 had a mighty fine chance why didn't you plump 
 him ? " said Jack Hamlin, as York drew near the 
 buggy. " Because I hate him," was the reply, 
 heard only by Jack. Contrary to popular belief, 
 this reply was not hissed between the lips of the 
 speaker, but was said in an ordinary tone. But 
 Jack Hamlin, who was an observer of mankind, 
 
268 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 noticed that the speaker's hands were cold, and 
 his lips dry, as he helped him into the buggy, and 
 accepted the seeming paradox with a smile. 
 
 When Sandy Bar became convinced that the 
 quarrel between York and Scott could not be 
 settled after the usual local methods, it gave no 
 further concern thereto. But presently it was 
 rumored that the " Amity Claim " was in litiga- 
 tion, and that its possession would be expensively 
 disputed by each of the partners. As it was well 
 known that the claim in question was "worked 
 out " and worthless, and that the partners, whom 
 it had already enriched, had talked of abandoning 
 it but a day or two before the quarrel, this pro- 
 ceeding could only be accounted for as gratuitous 
 spite. Later, two San Francisco lawyers made 
 their appearance in this guileless Arcadia, and 
 were eventually taken into the saloons, and what 
 was pretty much the same thing the confidences 
 of the inhabitants. The results of this unhal- 
 lowed intimacy were many subpcenas ; and, indeed, 
 when the " Amity Claim " came to trial, all of 
 Sandy Bar that was not in compulsory attendance 
 at the county seat came there from curiosity. 
 The gulches and ditches for miles around were 
 deserted. I do not propose to describe that 
 already famous trial. Enough that, in the lan- 
 guage of the plaintiff 's counsel, " it was one of no 
 ordinary significance, involving the inherent rights 
 of that untiring industry which had developed the 
 
The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 269 
 
 Pactolian resources of this golden land " and, in 
 the homelier phrase of Colonel Starbottle, " a fuss 
 that gentlemen might hev settled in ten minutes 
 over a social glass, ef they meant business ; or in 
 ten seconds with a revolver, ef -they meant fun." 
 Scott got a verdict, from which York instantly 
 appealed. It was said that he had sworn to spend 
 his last dollar in the struggle. 
 
 In this way Sandy Bar began to accept the 
 enmity of the former partners as a life-long feud, 
 and the fact that they had ever been friends was 
 forgotten. The few who expected to learn from 
 the trial the origin of the quarrel were disap- 
 pointed. Among the various conjectures, that 
 which ascribed some occult feminine influence as 
 the cause was naturally popular, in a camp given 
 to dubious compliment of the sex. " My word 
 for it, gentlemen," said Colonel Starbottle who 
 had been known in Sacramento as a Gentlemai 
 of the Old School " there's some lovely creature 
 at the bottom of this." The gallant Colonel then 
 proceeded to illustrate his theory, by divers 
 sprightly stories, such as Gentlemen of the Old 
 School are in the habit of repeating, but vhidi, 
 from deference to the prejudices of gentlemen of 
 a more recent school, I refrain from transcribing 
 here. But it would appear that even the Colonel's 
 theory was fallacious. The only woman who 
 personally might have exercised any influence 
 over the partners, was the pretty daughter of 
 '* old man Folinsbee," of Poverty Flat, at whose 
 
 T 
 
270 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 hospitable house which exhibited some comforts 
 and refinements rare in that crude civilization 
 both York and Scott were frequent visitors. Yet 
 into this charming retreat York strode one even- 
 ing, a month after the quarrel, and, beholding 
 Scott sitting there, turned to the fair hostess with 
 the abrupt query : " Do you love this man ? " 
 The young woman thus addressed returned that 
 answer at once spirited and evasive which 
 would occur to most of my fair readers in such an 
 exigency. Without another word, York left the 
 house. " Miss Jo " heaved the least possible sigh 
 as the door closed on York's curls and square 
 shoulders, and then, like a good girl, turned to her 
 insulted guest. " But would you believe it, dear," 
 she afterward related to an intimate friend, " the 
 other creature, after glowering at me for a mo- 
 ment, got upon its hind legs, took its hat, and 
 left, too ; and that's the last I've seen of either." 
 
 The same hard disregard of all other interests 
 or feelings in the gratification of their blind rancor 
 characterized all their actions. When York pur- 
 chased the land below Scott's new claim, and 
 obliged the latter, at a great expense, to make a 
 long detour to carry a " tail-race " around it, Scott 
 retaliated by building a dam that overflowed 
 York's claim on the river. It was Scott, who, 
 in conjunction with Colonel Starbottle, first or- 
 ganized that active opposition to the Chinaman, 
 which resulted in the driving off of York's Mon- 
 golian laborers ; it was York who built the 
 
The Iliad of Sanfy Bar. 271 
 
 wagon-road and established the express which 
 rendered Scott's mules and pack-trains obsolete ; 
 it was Scott who called into life the Vigilance 
 Committee which expatriated York's friend, Jack 
 Hamlin ; it was York who created the Sandy Bar 
 Herald, which characterized the act as " a lawless 
 outrage," and Scott as a " Border Ruffian " ; it was 
 Scott, at the head of twenty masked men, who, 
 one moonlight night, threw the offending " forms " 
 into the yellow river, and scattered the types in 
 the dusty road. These proceedings were received 
 in the distant and more civilized outlying towns 
 as vague indications of progress and vitality. I 
 have before me a copy of the Poverty Flat 
 Pioneer, for the week ending August 12, 1856, in 
 which the editor, under the head of " County Im- 
 provements," says : " The New Presbyterian 
 Church on C Street, at Sandy Bar, is completed. 
 It stands upon the lot formerly occupied by the 
 Magnolia Saloon, which was so mysteriously 
 burnt last month. The temple, which now rises 
 like a Phcenix from the ashes of the Magnolia, is 
 virtually the free gift of H. J. York, Esq., of 
 Sandy Bar, who purchased the lot and donated 
 the lumber. Other buildings are going up in the 
 vicinity, but the most noticeable is the ' Sunny 
 South Saloon,' erected by Captain Mat. Scott, 
 nearly opposite the church. Captain Scott has 
 spared no expense in the furnishing of this 
 saloon, which promises to be one of the most 
 agreeable places of resort in old Tuolumne. He 
 
 T 2 
 
272 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 has recently imported two new, first-class billiard- 
 tables, with cork cushions. Our old friend, 
 'Mountain Jimmy/ will dispense liquors at the 
 bar. We refer our readers to the advertisement 
 in another column. Visitors to Sandy Bar can- 
 not do better than give 'Jimmy' a call." Among 
 the local items occurred the following : " H. J. 
 York, Esq., of Sandy Bar, has offered a reward of 
 $100 for the detection of the parties who hauled 
 away the steps of the new Presbyterian Church, 
 C Street, Sandy Bar, during Divine service on 
 Sabbath evening last. Captain Scott adds an- 
 other hundred for the capture of the miscreants 
 who broke the magnificent plate-glass windows of 
 the new saloon on the following evening. There 
 is some talk of reorganizing the old Vigilance 
 Committee at Sandy Bar." 
 
 When, for many months of cloudless weather, 
 the hard, unwinking sun of Sandy Bar had regu- 
 larly gone down on the unpacified wrath of these 
 men, there was some talk of mediation. In par- 
 ticular, the pastor of the church to which I have 
 just referred a sincere, fearless, but perhaps not 
 fully enlightened man seized gladly upon the 
 occasion of York's liberality to attempt to re- 
 unite the former partners. He preached an 
 earnest sermon on the abstract sinfulness of dis- 
 cord and rancor. But the excellent sermons of 
 the Rev. Mr. Daws were directed to an ideal 
 congregation that did not exist at Sandy Bar a 
 congregation of beings of unmixed vices and 
 
The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 273 
 
 virtues, of single impulses, and perfectly logical 
 motives, of preternatural simplicity, of childlike 
 faith, and grown-up responsibilities. As, unfortu- 
 nately, the people who actually attended Mr. 
 Daws' church were mainly very human, somewhat 
 artful, more self-excusing than self-accusing, rather 
 good-natured, and decidedly weak, they quietly 
 shed that portion of the sermon which referred to 
 themselves, and accepting York and Scott who 
 were both in defiant attendance as curious 
 examples of those ideal beings above referred to, 
 felt a certain satisfaction which, I fear, was not 
 altogether Christian-like in their " raking down." 
 If Mr. Daws expected York and Scott to shake 
 hands after the sermon, he was disappointed. 
 But he did not relax his purpose. With that 
 quiet fearlessness and determination which had 
 won for him the respect of men who were too 
 apt to regard piety as synonymous with effemi- 
 nacy, he attacked Scott in his own house. What 
 he said has not been recorded, but it is to be 
 feared that it was part of his sermon. When he 
 had concluded, Scott looked at him, not unkindly, 
 over the glasses of his bar, and said, less irreve- 
 rently than the words might convey : " Young 
 man, I rather like your style ; but when you know 
 York and me as well as you do ^God Almighty, 
 it'll be time to talk." -~^ : 
 
 And so the feud progressed : and so, as in more 
 illustrious examples, the private and personal 
 enmity of two representative men led gradually 
 to the evolution of some crude, half-expressed 
 
2/4 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 principle or belief. It was not long before it was 
 made evident that those beliefs were identical 
 with certain broad principles laid down by the 
 founders of the American Constitution, as ex- 
 pounded by the statesmanlike A ; or were the 
 fatal quicksands, on which the ship of state might 
 be wrecked, warningly pointed out by the eloquent 
 B. The practical result of all which was the nomi- 
 nation of York and Scott to represent the opposite 
 factions of Sandy Bar in legislative councils. 
 
 For some weeks past, the voters of Sandy Bar and 
 the adjacent camps had been called upon, in large 
 type, to " RALLY ! " In vain the great pines at the 
 cross-roads whose trunks were compelled to bear 
 this and other legends moaned and protested 
 from their windy watch-towers. But one day, with 
 fife and drum, and flaming transparency, a proces- 
 sion filed into the triangular grove at the head of 
 the gulch. The meeting was called to order by 
 Colonel Starbottle, who, having once enjoyed 
 legislative functions, and being vaguely known as 
 a " war-horse," was considered to be a valuable 
 partisan of York. He concluded an appeal for 
 his friend, with an enunciation of principle, inter- 
 spersed with one or two anecdotes, so gratuitously 
 coarse, that the very pines might have been 
 moved to pelt him with their cast-off cones, as he 
 stood there. But he created a laugh, on which 
 his candidate rode into popular notice ; and when 
 York rose to speak he was greeted with cheers. 
 But, to the general astonishment, the new speaker 
 at once launched into bitter denunciation of his 
 
The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 275 
 
 rival. He not only dwelt upon Scott's deeds and 
 example, as known to Sandy Bar, but spoke of 
 facts connected with his previous career, hitherto 
 unknown to his auditors. To great precision of 
 epithet and directness of statement, the speaker 
 added the fascination of revelation and exposure. 
 The crowd cheered, yelled, and were delighted ; 
 but when this astounding philippic was concluded, 
 there was a unanimous call for " Scott ! " Colonel 
 Starbottle would have resisted this manifest im- 
 propriety, but in vain. Partly from a crude sense 
 of justice, partly from a meaner craving for excite- 
 ment, the assemblage was inflexible ; and Scott was 
 dragged, pushed, and pulled upon the platform. 
 
 As his frowsy head and unkempt beard ap- 
 peared above the railing, it was evident that he 
 was drunk. But it was also evident, before he 
 opened his lips, that the orator of Sandy Bar 
 the one man who could touch their vagabond 
 sympathies (perhaps because he was not above 
 appealing to them) stood before them. A con- 
 sciousness of this power lent a certain dignity to 
 his figure, and I am not sure but that his very 
 physical condition impressed them as a kind of 
 regal unbending and large condescension. How- 
 beit, when this unexpected Hector arose from the 
 ditch, York's myrmidons trembled. 
 
 " There's nought, gentlemen," said Scott, leaning 
 forward on the railing "there's nought as that man 
 hez said as isn't true. I was run outer Cairo ; I 
 did belong to the Regulators ; I did desert from 
 
276 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 the army ; I did leave a wife in Kansas. But 
 thar's one thing he didn't charge me with, and, 
 maybe, he's forgotten. For three years, gentle- 
 men, I was that man's pardner ! " Whether 
 
 he intended to say more, I cannot tell ; a burst 
 of applause artistically rounded and enforced the 
 climax, and virtually elected the speaker. That 
 fall he went to Sacramento ; York went abroad, 
 and for the first time in many years, distance and 
 a new atmosphere isolated the old antagonists. 
 
 With little of change in the green wood, gray 
 rock, and yellow river, but with much shifting of 
 human landmarks, and new faces in its habita- 
 tions, three years passed over Sandy Bar. The 
 two men, once so identified with its character, 
 seemed to have been quite forgotten. " You will 
 never return to Sandy Bar," said Miss Folinsbee, 
 the " Lily of Poverty Flat," on meeting York in 
 Paris " for Sandy Bar is no more. They call it 
 Riverside now ; and the new town is built higher 
 up on the river-bank. By the by, 'Jo ' says that 
 Scott has won his suit about the ' Amity Claim,' 
 and that he lives in the old cabin, and is drunk 
 half his time. O, I beg your pardon," added the 
 lively lady, as a flush crossed York's sallow cheek ; 
 " but, bless me, I really thought that old grudge 
 was made up. I'm sure it ought to be." 
 
 It was three months after this conversation, and 
 a pleasant summer evening, that the Poverty Flat 
 coach drew up before the verandah of the Union 
 
The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 277 
 
 Hotel at Sandy Bar. Among its passengers was 
 one, apparently a stranger, in the local distinction 
 of well-fitting clothes and closely-shaven face, 
 who demanded a private room and retired early to 
 rest. But before sunrise next morning he arose, 
 and, drawing some clothes from his carpet-bag, 
 proceeded to array himself in a pair of white 
 duck trowsers, a white duck ovcrshirt, and straw 
 hat. When his toilette was completed, he tied a 
 red bandanna handkerchief in a loop, and threw 
 it loosely over his shoulders. The transformation 
 was complete : as he crept softly down the stairs 
 and stepped into the road, no one would have 
 detected in him the elegant stranger of the 
 previous night, and but few have recognized the 
 face and figure of Henry York of Sandy Bar. 
 
 In the uncertain light of that early hour, and in 
 the change that had come over the settlement, he 
 had to pause for a moment to recall where he 
 stood. The Sandy Bar of his recollection lay 
 below him, nearer the river ; the buildings around 
 him were of later date and newer fashion. As he 
 strode toward the river, he noticed here a school- 
 house and there a church. A little farther on, 
 "The Sunny South" came in view transformed 
 into a restaurant its gilding faded and its paint 
 rubbed off. He now knew where he was ; and 
 running briskly down a declivity, crossed a ditch, 
 and stood upon the lower boundary of the Amity 
 Claim. 
 
 The gray mist was rising slowly from the river, 
 
278 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 clinging to the tree-tops and drifting up the moun- 
 tain-side, until it was caught among those rocky 
 altars, and held a sacrifice to the ascending sun. 
 At his feet the earth, cruelly gashed and scarred 
 by his forgotten engines, had, since the old days, 
 put on a show of greenness here and there, and 
 now smiled forgivingly up at him, as if things 
 were not so bad after all. A few birds were bath- 
 ing in the ditch with a pleasant suggestion of its 
 being a new and special provision of Nature, and 
 a hare ran into an inverted sluice-box, as he ap- 
 proached, as if it were put there for that purpose. 
 
 He had not yet dared to look in a certain direc- 
 tion. But the sun was now high enough to paint 
 the little eminence on which the cabin stood. In 
 spite of his self-control, his heart beat faster as he 
 raised his eyes toward it. Its window and door 
 were closed, no smoke came from its adobe chimney, 
 but it was else unchanged. When within a few 
 yards of it, he picked up a broken shovel, and 
 shouldering it with a smile, strode toward the door 
 and knocked. There was no sound from within. 
 The smile died upon his lips as he nervously 
 pushed the door open. 
 
 A figure started up angrily and came toward 
 him : a figure whose blood-shot eyes suddenly 
 fixed into a vacant stare ; whose arms were at first 
 outstretched and then thrown up in warning ges- 
 ticulation ; a figure that suddenly gasped, choked, 
 and then fell forward in a fit. 
 
 But before he touched the ground, York had 
 
The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 279 
 
 him out into the open air and sunshine. In the 
 struggle, both fell and rolled over on the ground. 
 But the next moment York was sitting up, hold- 
 ing the convulsed frame of his former partner on 
 his knee, and wiping the foam from his inarticulate 
 lips. Gradually the tremor became less frequent, 
 and then ceased ; and the strong man lay un- 
 conscious in his arms. 
 
 For some moments York held him quietly thus, 
 looking in his face. Afar, the stroke of a wood- 
 man's axe a mere phantom of sound was all 
 that broke the stillness. High up the moun- 
 tain, a wheeling hawk hung breathlessly above 
 them. And then came voices, and two men joined 
 'them. "A fight?" No, a fit; and would they 
 help him bring the sick man to the hotel ? 
 
 And there, for a week, the stricken partner lay, 
 unconscious of aught but the visions wrought by 
 disease and fear. On the eighth day, at sunrise^ 
 he rallied, and opening his eyes, looked upon York, 
 and pressed his hand ; then he spoke : 
 
 " And it's you. I thought it was only whisky." 
 
 York replied by taking both of his hands, 
 boyishly working them backward and forward, as 
 his elbow rested on the bed, with a pleasant smile. 
 
 " And you've been abroad. How did you like 
 Paris?" 
 
 " So, so. How did you like Sacramento ? " 
 
 " Bully." 
 
 And that was all they could think to say. Pre- 
 sently, Scott opened his eyes again : 
 
280 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 " I'm mighty weak." 
 
 "You'll get better soon." 
 
 " Not much." 
 
 A long silence followed, in which they could 
 hear the sounds of wood-chopping, and that Sandy 
 Bar was already astir for the coming day. Then 
 Scott slowly and with difficulty turned his face to 
 York, and said : 
 
 " I might hev killed you once.'' 
 
 " I wish you had." 
 
 They pressed each other's hands again, but 
 Scott's grasp was evidently failing. He seemed to 
 summon his energies for a special effort. 
 
 " Old man ! " 
 
 " Old chap." 
 
 " Closer ! " 
 
 York bent his head toward the slowly fading face. 
 
 " Do ye mind that morning ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 A gleam of fun slid into the corner of Scott's 
 blue eye, as he whispered : 
 
 " Old man, thar was too much saleratus in that 
 bread." 
 
 It is said that these were his last words. For 
 when the sun, which had so often gone down upon 
 the idle wrath of these foolish men, looked again 
 upon them reunited, it saw the hand of Scott fall 
 cold and irresponsive from the yearning clasp of 
 his former partner, and it knew that the feud of 
 Sandy Bar was at an end. 
 
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 Wyandotte. 
 
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 Sir WALTER SCOTT. 
 
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 De Quincy. 
 
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 Orpheus C. Kerr. 
 
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 Queechy. 
 
 Gulliver's Travels. 
 
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 The Lamplighter. 
 
 Professor at the Breakfast Table. 
 
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