F 
 
 855 
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BANCROFT 
 LIBRARY 
 
 0- 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
S'SL 
 
 \ 
 
 H;-I AND 
 
 (SI h r i ^ { rn a o -S 1 o r p 
 
 OEOUGE FREIXEBIO PARSONS. 
 
 SA<'I:A.MKNT> 
 
 
 . 
 
Kiileri-ci according to Act of Congress, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight 
 hundred and seventy, 
 
 BY GEORGE FREDERIC PARSONS, 
 
 In the office of the librarian of (.'Mii^re^s. ;it U'ushinuton. 
 
BANCROFT Ui 
 
 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " KILL-ME-QUICK." 
 
 On a certain morning, early in the month of May, in a 
 certain year not necessary to specify, the sun, rearing his 
 head above the crests of the "Wahsatch Mountains, took a 
 mildly radiant survey of the stretch of hilly country that lay 
 to the westward, and finding nothing very inviting in the 
 barren and lifeless scene, ascended higher, and cast a some- 
 what stronger beam down into a shallow valley, and upon a 
 scattered and confusedly arranged assemblage of tents and 
 rough board shanties. 
 
 At that hour, and viewed by that pure, bright, yet soft light, a 
 stranger might have been pardoned for mistaking the innocent, 
 looking place for an encampment of hardy and industrious 
 Mormons, or equally hardy and industrious railroad laborers; 
 for it was situated in the Territory of Utah, and hard by was 
 the yet uncompleted line of the Union Pacific Railroad. But 
 neither the necessities of railroad enterprise, nor the necessities 
 of Brigham Young's followers, accounted for the presence in 
 that sterile valley of those tents and shanties : nor, indeed, is it 
 probable that the stranger, no matter whence he came, would 
 have fallen into either of the mistakes hinted at, had he been 
 aware that the camp was called Kill-me-Quick. 
 
 The day was Sunday, and this fact was indicated at Kill-me- 
 
 
2 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 Quick in a somewhat peculiar manner, viz : by the presence of 
 certain unmistakable evidences that it was the morning after 
 Saturday night. The camp was known far and wide as a par- 
 ticularly lively one indeed, there were some sanguine spirits 
 who were known to have predicted that if it survived it 
 would shortly rival Cheyenne. On the morning in question its 
 liveliness was of rather a drowsy and befuddled kind, but there 
 were not wanting signs that it had been true to itself, and had 
 fully maintained its character, on the previous evening. From 
 out the entrance of no less than seven tents protruded what 
 looked in the dim light of early morning like black logs, ar- 
 ranged in pairs, but which became revealed, when the sun rose 
 higher, as the pedal extremities of a corresponding number of 
 citizens, whose devotion to the bottle over night had incapaci- 
 tated them from winning their way further into the interior of 
 their respective dornicils. 
 
 But the early sun shone on uglier things than the fourteen 
 mud-encrusted boots of the seven oblivious citizens aforemen- 
 tioned. In the center of the little alley, which formed the main 
 and only street, stood a tent erected over and enclosing a rude 
 frame of lumber. It was larger and more ambitious than its 
 fellows, and a canvas sign nailed along its front informed the 
 public that Mr. Richard Bouser was prepared to dispense liquid 
 refreshments of everj- imaginable description. This place was 
 silent now, and the canvas curtain that served for a door was 
 drawn close. But the thick, pasty mud in front was trampled 
 and stamped as with furiously struggling feet, and within a ra- 
 dius of ten yards lay three citizens who would never again be 
 enrolled among the customers of Mr. Richard Bouser. They all 
 lay with their heads outward, and their feet pointing towards 
 the doorway. They all lay on their backs, their faces white, 
 and set, and rigid, and their eyes. glaring unwinkingly at the 
 sun, that stared down in return as though amazed. On their 
 soiled and torn clothing, and their hands and faces, were stains ; 
 and round about their bodies, and in the deep footmarks of the 
 trampled space, stood little pools and runlets of some dark 
 fluid that resembled the ooze which fills the hoof-prints of cat- 
 tle at their drinking places in marshy ground. 
 

 MIDDLE GROUND. 3 
 
 The sun had not fully mastered the situation, nor quite dis- 
 pelled the reluctant gloom wj,iich slipped from shelter to 
 shelter, hovering behind walls and lurking in retired cor- 
 ners, until spied out and dissipated by some ray of light de- 
 tached for that purpose from the main body when a tent at 
 some distance from the Bouser establishment was thrown 
 open, and two citizens, who had apparently not poured exces- 
 sive libations the previous evening, issued forth. These two, 
 after yawning, stretching, and rubbing their eyes, turned, as by 
 a common impulse, towards the Bouser saloon, and merely 
 glancing at the three still forms in the roadway as they passed, 
 entered, loudly calling for the host. To them presently arrived 
 a shock-headed, black moustached, heavy -jowled man, who, 
 without further words, and as though any question concerning 
 their errand was entirely superfluous, took down from a shelf 
 a bottle and glasses, and pouring a few drops of bitters into the 
 tumblers, rested his hands on the board which served as a coun- 
 ter, and waited until they had drank. Each of the citizens 
 poured himself a lusty bumper; each tossed it off as if the loss 
 of a single moment might be fatal ; and each, as he set down 
 his glass, sighed deeply, as expressing inward satisfaction and 
 substantial refreshment. This ceremony performed, and the 
 acolyte rewarded, the taller of the two citizens, a brawny, 
 deep-chested, heavy-bearded man, addressing the bar-keeper, 
 remarked in a chatty way: 
 
 " Well } so there were three handed in their checks last night, 
 eh ?" 
 
 " Guess there was four," was the reply ,. the speaker mean- 
 while mixing (more carefully than for his customers) his morn- 
 ing cocktail. 
 
 "There's only three outside, any way," struck in the second 
 citizen a wiry, yellow, unwholesome-looking man, with a straw- 
 colored goatee. 
 
 " T'other must ha' crawled into the sage, then," said Mr. 
 Bouser ; " but there was four shot, I'll take my oath !" 
 
 " Well," observed the tall citizen, after a pause, " I s'pose 
 you'll have the stiffs hauled out afore breakfast ? It's Sunday, 
 and more o' the boys '11 be in from the road. They aint partic- 
 
4 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 ular, 1 know, but, there's some as docs object to seein' so many 
 lyin' around." 
 
 At this, Mr. Bouser's brows descended, and he gruffly inti- 
 mated that " twarn't no business o' his any how. Them as did 
 the shootin' oughter do the buryin' ! They was allers playin' 
 off onto him some such games, and he warn't agoin' to stand it." 
 
 To this the wiry man quietly rejoined, that the u stiffs" were 
 right in front of Mr. Bouser's own door, and might, perhaps, 
 interfere with his business. The force of this argument being 
 acknowledged with a snarl, the two citizens retired, and took a 
 stroll up the street, which by this time was beginning to look 
 more lively. 
 
 At intervals of a few minutes a tent door here and there 
 would be flung apart, and a citizen would emerge. Some looked 
 sleepy, some looked boozy, some looked sulky, some looked 
 fierce, but none looked as though the light of the blessed sun 
 was welcome to them, the pure, sweet air of the mountains re- 
 freshing, or the advent of another day productive of new hopes 
 of any kind. In the course of an hour, Kill-me-Quick was pretty 
 thoroughly awake, and at the rear of two or three larger shan- 
 ties fires were burning briskly, preparing breakfast for the 
 boarders for those places aspired to the position of restau- 
 rants. Some few citizens went to the trouble of washing their 
 faces in the little stream that flowed below the camp, but by far 
 the majorit}^ preferred a stiff cocktail. As these assembled at 
 Mr. Richard Bouser's bar, they naturally formed groups, and 
 began to discuss the events of the evening before with much 
 gusto, individuals occasionally stepping into the roadway to 
 illustrate, with abundant gesture, supported by equally abun- 
 dant oaths, the positions of the belligerents in the principal and 
 most deadly broil. 
 
 The discussions often waxed warm, and on one occasion a 
 citizen with one eye (the other having been lost in a slight dif- 
 ficulty) gave the lie so sharply to another citizen with half a 
 nose, that the bystanders stepped back instinctively, as prepar- 
 ing to shun the shots which all supposed must follow. But 
 whether it was that the Bouser cocktails were not up to fight- 
 ing pitch, or that the presence of the three recumbent figures 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 operated in some way as a deterrent, certain it is that no fight 
 followed ; and, perhaps for similar reasons, the crowd did not 
 resent the disappointment of its expectations. Not that there 
 was any reverence expressed for the dead. By no means. For 
 instance, when a citizen of a suspiciously close-cropped and bul- 
 let-headed aspect fell into a dispute with a red-bearded and 
 cross-eyed comrade as to the number of shots fired into one of 
 the recumbent figures, the red-bearded one strode coolly to the 
 corpse, turned it over with his foot, stooped, tore off the gar- 
 ments so as to expose the wounded side, and having gained his 
 point, let the body drop again, not even troubling himself to 
 replace the disturbed clothing. Death had no terrors, could 
 claim no privileges, among the citizens of Kill-me-Quick. 
 
 For some time the discussion proceeded, now waxing warm* 
 now fading in interest, until one individual, whose sense of 
 propriety was more fastidious than his neighbors', remarked 
 that " Bouser ought to move them things" indicating the three 
 bodies by a jerk of his thumb over the shoulder; and adding, 
 that " the gals 'd be out putty soon, and mightn't like it." 
 
 The observation struck a chord of common sympathy, evi- 
 dently originating in the connection of " them gals " with the 
 subject, and Mr. Bouser being expostulated with in a way more 
 vigorous than polite, made a virtue of necessity, and asking 
 them to drink with him, further begged them to take the be- 
 stowal of the "stiffs" off his hands. This was throwing him- 
 self upon their generosity, in a manner, and they at once agreed. 
 Seeing that the obsequies of the deceased consisted merely in 
 carrying them by the head and heels beyond the limits of the 
 camp, and there throwing them down among the sage brush, 
 the task could scarcely be regarded as an onerous one; and, as 
 on returning Mr. Bouser was compelled to stand treat again, it 
 may be said to have been amply remunerated. As for sanitary 
 considerations respecting the burial of the dead, Kill-me-Quick 
 entertained none. Its mission was accomplished, as its name 
 implied, when the separation of soul from body was consum- 
 mated. Beyond that it had no ideas ; and as the citizens of 
 Kill-me-Quick would very probably be the citizens of Deadfall, 
 or Last Chance, or some other camp, within a week, this obliv 
 
6 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 iousness to the laws of hygiene was, after all, more apparent 
 than real. 
 
 And there was another reason for this neglect of the dead. 
 Kill-me-Quick was in a- terrible hurry. It was always striving 
 to get ahead of Time. Its mission was to make money, and 
 that by the quickest possible road ; and as the shortest roads 
 are in this regard the roughest and most dangerous, so Kill-me- 
 Quick went into the pursuit of riches, carrying its life in its 
 hand, or, to speak more correctly, balancing its life like that 
 metaphorical chip on its shoulder, to be knocked off or not, as 
 the fancy of the first fellow ruffian that came along might dic- 
 tate. To say that human life was held cheap at Kill-me-Quick 
 would convey no idea of the truth. It was simply a drug in the 
 market. A day or two before the time of this history, a gam- 
 bler named Phil. Batcher, who had been on a prolonged spree, 
 sobered up to a realization of the fact that he had played away 
 all his money, and nearly all his partner's, who happened to be 
 absent. On this discovery he took what was left, repaired to 
 the scene of his losses, challenged the winner to another game 
 of poker, and lost his last dollar. Then he threw down the 
 cards, rose, and in a calm voice requested his late antagonist to 
 shoot him. To this the other demurred, as lacking a motive for 
 shooting. Mr. Batcher, seeing his hesitancy, and divining the 
 cause, upon this drew his pistol and swore he would shoot the 
 other if the other refused to shoot him. This settled the ques- 
 tion. His opponent proposed that he should step to the limits 
 of the camp, so as to save trouble, and this being done, shot 
 him neatly through the head, he standing with folded arms to 
 receive the bullet. This affair served as a whet to breakfast 
 next morning, but long before noon it had ceased to be spoken 
 of. 
 
 Of course it was not to be expected that Kill-me-Quick, being 
 thus indifferent about its own life, should care much for the lives 
 of other people. .It needed very little provocation to produce 
 pistols and knives, and the way in which the former were used 
 was very reckless. As a matter of fact, out of every five men 
 killed, two, on an average, were outsiders, who were unfor- 
 tunate enough to be in the neighborhood when a quarrel oc- 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 7 
 
 curred ; and it was this uncertainty of aim which in a measure 
 accounted for the survival of so many desperadoes of the most 
 truculent kind. For, to say the truth, the citizens of Kill-me- 
 Quick were about as bad as bad could be. Gathered up from 
 the foulest dens of New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, New 
 Orleans, Chicago, and other centers of commingled civilization 
 and barbarity, and plentifully besprinkled with that peculiar 
 class of frontier ruffians who have added all the ferocity and 
 cunning of the Indian to all the worst vices of the lowest 
 classes of white men; assembled there, on the westernmost 
 point of the advancing Pacific Railroad, for no other objects 
 than robbery, swindling and plunder; inured to crime the 
 blackest and most infamous conceivable ; as ready to cut each 
 other's throats as the throats of the unwary travelers who 
 might fall into their hands; gamblers, thieves, murderers, es- 
 caped convicts, cattle stoalers, forgers, it would have been per- 
 haps impossible to find, on all the continent of America, an as- 
 semblage of human beings more uniformly, desperately, irre- 
 claimably wicked than the citizens of Kill-me-Quick. 
 
 And yet they were mostly deserving of study, too, for they 
 in a measure held high degrees in crime. Scarce one among 
 them but possessed a history of no mean interest. Scarce one 
 but had passed some thrilling scenes, some hair-breadth es- 
 capes. I do not say that they were a better class than the sneak 
 thief or the pick pocket of city life belong to, but they were 
 certainly a different class. Any one of them would have killed 
 a man for a fancied insult, or to obtain a few ounces of gold, or 
 for mere pique. And any one of them would have flung his 
 last dollar to a starving wretch, if the whim took him. It was 
 light come, light go, no doubt. Little enough of true generos- 
 ity, or indeed of any sentiment at all, among them. A set of 
 men who never enjoyed themselves; whose revels were ferocious 
 and terrifying, and never genial and festive ; who could not ut- 
 ter a ringing, happy laugh, but when their dull sense of humor 
 was touched gave vent to a sound that was more like a yell 
 than a laugh more indicative of pain than pleasure. They 
 were men whose speech was habitually awfully profane ; who 
 never exhibited any originality save in coining new oaths; who 
 
8 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 were accustomed to employ the most terrific adjurations in their 
 ordinary conversation, just as they employed the most deadly 
 weapons in their ordinary business, and who seemed to be quite 
 unconscious of any peculiarity in either respect. 
 
 Such were the male citizens of Kill-rne-Quick, in so far as 
 the traits held in common extended. Each one among them, of 
 course, differed from his fellow in his inner life, and in the turn 
 of his character, but these peculiarities were typical of the class. 
 Such were the male citizens. What were the females like ? In 
 such a place, what could they be ? Ah, you who reverence pure 
 womanhood, who recognize in it the type and the full expression 
 of the Divinity, after the likeness of which mankind was formed, 
 turn your sad eyes away from these fallen Daughters of Light; 
 believe, if you will, that the picture is exaggerated and untrue, 
 rather than surrender your ideal or lose your ennobling faith. 
 Kot wholly void as yet of outward grace of form or figure ; 
 not wholly lacking, yet, in the witchery of feminine ways; not 
 quite gone, yet, the power of the flashing eyes. But for all 
 these, and more than ever because of these remnants of the 
 past differing from, separated from, other than, all women 
 else. 
 
 Women who fall, fall farther than, and yet not so hopeless- 
 ly as, men. There are men so saturated \vith evil, that could 
 you peel them as one peels an onion, the last innermost layer 
 would be reached and thrown away without discovering one 
 single grain of good. There are no such women. The woman 
 who falls presents a more callous exterior, is outwardly harder, 
 plunges more desperately and recklessly into fresh crimes, pur- 
 sues her downward path with a more entire abandon, and a 
 more ostentatious rejection of every proffer of rescue. But for 
 ail this there burns longer and warmer in her heart the spark 
 of love lit up in the beginning; and pile the ashes mountains 
 high upon that spark, it remains unquenched and unquenchable. 
 
 Kill-me-Quick was a desperately wicked place, if a second 
 Abraham had renewed for its people the plea which failed when 
 put up for the Cities of the Plain, I fear the same rule would 
 have excluded hope. But if by any chance enough of goodness 
 had been found to fulfil the condition, I know full well that in 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 9 
 
 the breast of one of these outcasts that remnant of purity could 
 alone have been discovered. Not goodness such as the world 
 would acknowledge, perhaps ; not goodness such as would be 
 regarded sufficient for salvation by Society ; but yet so much of 
 purity and heaven-born tenderness as exists in a love stronger 
 than cruelty, stronger than outrage, stronger than shame, 
 stronger than death itself. Such virtue as lives in a love so self- 
 forgetful as to cling, with the grasp of a despairing soul, around 
 the image of the unworthy wretch who betrays the heart that 
 trusts him. 
 
 No thoughts of this kind, however, disturbed the serenity of 
 the traveler who, about noon on the Sunday in question, rode 
 into the main street of Kill-me-Quick, and dismounted in front 
 of the tent where Mr. Richard Bouser was by this time dispens- 
 ing liquid refreshments at a lively rate, not only to the crowd 
 that hummed and buzzed in and out of the doorway, like truc- 
 ulent blue bottles, but to the crowd that, divided into knots, 
 was deeply absorbed in the delights of poker and seven-up, at 
 the rear of the establishment. 
 
 The new arrival was in more respects than one worth look- 
 ing at. In the first place, he looked so much more like an hon- 
 est man than any of the usual frequenters of the camp ; in the 
 second place, he was much more comely than the average of 
 the citizens of Kill-me-Quick the most of whom, in addition to 
 the trade marks which Dame Nature sets upon her inferior pro- 
 ductions, carried about them such mementos of brawls and 
 affrays as imparted an additionally sinister aspect to their coun- 
 tenances. The stranger was apparently thirty years of age, of 
 medium night, broad shoulders, and powerfully built, possess- 
 ing an open and cheerful face, lighted by two dark blue eyes. 
 and finished off by a luxuriant brown beard. He was clothed 
 plainly in a suit of coarse homespun, and wore long, travel- 
 stained boots. As he sprang from the saddle and threw the 
 reins on the neck of his Indian pony a rough but serviceable 
 little beast he encountered a sharp scrutiny from a dozen pair 
 of eyes, belonging to as many citizens, who were lounging about 
 the saloon. Kill-me-Quick was always very prompt in deciding 
 the status of new comers, and in determining the line of con- 
 
10 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 duct to be adopted concerning them. In the present instance, 
 Kill-me-Quick summed up the stranger about as follows: u A 
 green hand. Probably a Mormon elder. May have greenbacks. 
 Our meat." And having thus concluded, a deputation was, by 
 pantomime and exchange of rapid glances rather than by words, 
 appointed to wait upon the new arrival. 
 
 The stranger, whom for the present we will designate ac- 
 cording to the conclusions of Kill-me-Quick, as the Green Hand, 
 strode into the saloon, flinging a general " good day, boys !" to 
 right and left as he entered. Approaching the counter, he 
 called for a drink, and as at this moment two citizens, detach- 
 ing themselves from the crowd, advanced a step or two and di- 
 rected an inquiring look at him, he invited them to join him. 
 
 The two citizens thus invited were the two who have been 
 already introduced while taking their morning cocktail. The 
 taller was named Jack Belto, commonly called "Slaughter- 
 house Jack," from a way he had of felling his opponents. The 
 wiry, yellow-faced man, was Amasa Cobbins, alias " Knifey," 
 so called from his preference for the invention of Colonel Bowie 
 over the invention of Colonel Colt. 
 
 Cheerfully accepting the invitation of the Green Hand, these 
 gentlemen stepped forward, and filling their glasses, drained them 
 to the brief but expressive toast, " here's luck." 
 
 Naturally a conversation followed, in the course of which 
 they learned that the Green Hand (who must have been very 
 green, judging from the openness with which he discussed his 
 affairs) was a Mormon trader from Salt Lake City, on his way 
 to California to make purchases for his store. He was so frank 
 and guileless that his new companions found no difficulty in 
 ascertaining that he carried with him a considerable sum of mo- 
 ney, but perhaps this absence of suspicion was caused by the 
 belief he seemed to entertain that Kill-me-Quick was a construc- 
 tion camp belonging to the railroad. Messrs. Belto and Cob- 
 bins took care not to undeceive him in this respect, and pres- 
 ently proposed that he should take a stroll, after watering his 
 horse, as he would have plenty of time to reach the advance 
 camp of the Central Pacific Kailroad before dark. Nothing loth, 
 he assented, arid the three stepped into the street. 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 11 
 
 By this time Kill-me-Quick was wide awake, and attending 
 to its interests. Many railroad men were already in camp, and 
 more were dropping in, by twos and threes. Pretty hard cus- 
 tomers, generally, were these same railroad men ; men who had 
 been scraped up hero and there along the line of the road, as it 
 progressed westward, and many of whom had good reasons for 
 desiring to be beyond the reach of civilization for a time. It is 
 unnecessary to state that the terrors of the law fell far short of 
 the region in which Kill-me-Quick was situated, and that Police 
 Courts and Sheriffs were unknown there. Every man was a 
 law to himself, and as the only law recognized was that of self- 
 interest, the result was, as has been shown, peculiar. The chief 
 business of Kill-me-Quick was gambling, and this business was 
 pursued fiercely. Faro, monte, poker, seven-up, and a dozen 
 other games, were in full blast, in as many tents and shanties, 
 as the Green Hand and his escort strolled through the camp. 
 Some few men were washing a shirt or so in the brook ; others 
 were cleaning and reloading their weapons. At the door of a 
 tent which stood a little apart from the rest, two girls were 
 seated. They were gaudily, though not richly dressed. Their 
 eyes were bright, though not with health. Their cheeks were 
 wan and hollow, but their looks were hard and brazen, and de- 
 fiant and reckless. They stared at the Green Hand as he 
 passed, and seemed about to address him, but a motion of the 
 hand from Belto checked them, and after whispering together 
 they laughed loudly and re-entered the tent. 
 
 The trio sauntered through the camp, and back to the saloon, 
 the Green Hand all the time talking freely, and his companions 
 doing their best to adapt themselves to his mood. Another 
 drink was taken, and then Cobbins, after a glance at his com- 
 rade, proposed a game of cards to pass the time until dinner 
 was ready. The stranger, however, did not care to play just 
 then would rather talk, in fact so without pressing him fur- 
 ther, the two indulged his humor, and chatted away pleasantly 
 until the homely meal for Kill-me-Quick was not great in the 
 commissariat department was ready. Then all three sat 
 down, and presently the Green Hand, consulting an old-fash- 
 ioned silver watch, announced his determination to proceed on 
 his journey. 
 
12 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 On hearing this Cobbins stepped for a moment behind him 
 and telegraphed something to Belto, who responded by a cau- 
 tious wink. A final drink was then proposed, and the three 
 stepped up to the bar. Somehow or other Mr. Richard Bouser 
 was rather longer than usual in preparing the cocktails, but at 
 last they were set down. The two citizens seized their glasses 
 and hastily raised them to their lips, at the same time wishing 
 their friend a pleasant journey. He was about to follow their 
 example, but suddenly lowered his hand, and uttering an ex- 
 clamation of disgust, threw his cocktail on the ground. A 
 glance passed between the confederates, and Belto asked what 
 was the matter. 
 
 " There was a fly in the liquor/' said the Green Hand, " and 
 I never can stand them things." 
 
 " Mix another cocktail, Dick/' said Cobbins, and see that 
 there's no flies in it this time." 
 
 " But the stranger interrupted, saying, " Oh, never mind ! 
 I'll take mine straight rather than keep you waiting ;" and did 
 so. Whereupon Belto and Cobbins looked at each other again, 
 and this time as though they had been baffled in something. 
 But the next moment their faces brightened on hearing the 
 stranger exclaim : 
 
 u Well, boys, I havn't had a game of cards for a long while, 
 and though 'taint the thing for an elder, and on a Sunday, I 
 guess I'll run the risk of sinning for once, and play you for the 
 drinks." 
 
 So the matter was arranged, and Belto, Cobbins and the Green 
 Hand sat down to play at a table improvised out of a flour bar- 
 rel, in the back of a tent. 
 
 There never were three players whose luck and skill seemed 
 more equally matched. The game was old sledge, and it was 
 pleasant to note how each in turn won, and how cheerful and 
 amiable the two representatives of Kill-me-Quick were. It was 
 evident that they were impressed with the responsibility of 
 their position, as hosts, and that all they desired was to give the 
 stranger a favorable opinion of the camp. For an hour or oo 
 they played on innocently and quietly, the only noticeable fact 
 during this period being that the Green Hand declined to take 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 13 
 
 the chances of any more flies in his liquor, and insisted on filling 
 a bottle for himself from the whisky barrel, ''just for the fun of 
 the thing," as he remarked. But presently Mr. Belto began to 
 yawn and stretch himself, and on being interrogated as to the 
 cause of his apparent weariness, replied that he was tired of 
 u this no 'count kind o' play. There warnt 'nuff interest 'bout 
 the thing to suit Aim, nohow." 
 
 Mr. Cobbins, upon this, suggested that they should play 
 poker for small money stakes, and the stranger readily assent- 
 ing, Mr. Belto recovered his interest and the game proceeded. 
 
 The Green Hand was unquestionably a good player, but he 
 was no less unquestionably an unsuspicious player. His part- 
 ners had made several little quiet experiments during the first 
 hour, and the result was a beaming conviction that their task 
 would be an easy one, and that all that was necessary was 
 caution and moderation. 
 
 So the game went on all the afternoon, and when the men 
 rose at dark to get their supper and stretch their legs, the 
 Green Hand was a hundred dollars or so ahead, and things had 
 become so interesting that there was no danger of his desiring 
 to quit play. They had their supper, and a smoke, and then re- 
 tired as before to the rear of the tent, the Green Hand having 
 previously looked after his horse and tied him in a secure place. 
 It was tolerably clear that he would not proceed on his journey 
 that night. Perhaps Kill-me-Quick may have doubted whether 
 his journey's end was not almost reached already. 
 
 And the game went on. Gradually the stakes were raised, 
 and gradually the run of luck began to desert the Green Hand, 
 and to hover between Messrs. Belto and Cobbins. Kill-me- 
 Quick, as the evening wore on, seemed to become much inter- 
 ested in the play, and quite a crowd collected about the trio ? 
 some lounging against the sides of the shanty, some standing 
 with their hands in their pockets, pondering the cards, others 
 smoking or chewing ', and yet others flitting restlessly about, 
 hovering first over one player and then another, and advancing 
 and retreating softly, as though performing some peculiar kind 
 of dance. Mr. Bouser had done honor to the occasion (for the 
 report had gone round that Belto and Cobbins had a big thing 
 
14 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 on hand) by lighting a coal-oil lamp, which was swung from 
 the canvas roof by a cord. It was the only coal-oil lamp in the 
 place, and he was consequently not a little proud of it. 
 
 So the game went on. The stranger appeared to be per- 
 fectly self-possessed, never rated his luck, never insinuated any- 
 thing about his opponents' play, never got flushed or flurried, 
 and never noticed the crowding of the interested citizens about 
 him. He always responded promptly to any challenge, and bet 
 not only freely but wildly. By half-past eight o'clock he had 
 lost five hundred dollars. At ten he was a thousand dollars 
 poorer. Belto and Cobbins were beginning to lose their heads 
 with the consciousness of victory, and more than once cheated 
 so' openly and clumsily that the stranger could hardly have 
 failed to detect them, had he not been so very green. The by- 
 standers from time to time retired to compare opinions and re- 
 fresh themselves, and the whispered comments were by no 
 means flattering to the intellectual powers of the Green Hand. 
 So the game went on. The Green Hand was now losing 
 " every pop," as Mr. Bouser phrased it, but bore his losses with 
 equanimity. At last, however, while Mr. Cobbins was dealing 
 a fresh pack, he rose, turned the box he was seated on, gravely 
 explained " for luck," and re-seated himself. This gamblers' 
 superstition was so well known and so common, that the act 
 would have excited no remark from any one there, but for this 
 fact that immediately thereafter the luck did begin to change. 
 It was not that the stranger altered his style of play, but that 
 somehow, although his opponents tried all their tricks, his cards 
 would come out best. The fact began to dawn upon them after 
 a few minutes that the Green Hand was actually cheating 
 them. Amazing and incomprehensible as it might be, yet so it 
 was. Of that there could be no question, and for this reason, 
 that no man who played fairly could win from Messrs. Belto 
 and Cobbins. They employed freely all the customary frauds. 
 They had the deck in the breast, and the deck in the sleeve, and 
 the cards were marked, and Belto had a large hand and, in 
 short, a fair and square player had simply no chance at all with 
 them. 
 
 But the game went on. And if Belto and Cobbins were 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 15 
 
 amazed at .the change in their luck, the citizens of Kill-me- 
 Quick were more than amazed ; they were thunderstruck. It 
 is true that none of them entertained serious doubts of the final 
 issue, knowing that the game could be terminated at any mo- 
 ment by getting up a row and shooting the stranger. But there 
 was a curious kind of artistic feeling about the affair. They 
 had pitted their most expert swindlers against this fellow, and 
 he was beating them at their own game. To kill him would 
 settle the question of the ownership of the money, but it would 
 leave unsettled the other question of which was the best and 
 most skillful cheater ; and this was of some importance. Kill- 
 me-Quick, thus thinking, and watching the game without being 
 able to detect the stranger's mode of working, became nervous 
 and irritable, and a few of the more impatient spirits, unable 
 longer to control their mortification, went outside, got up a 
 a fight, and carved a railroad contractor, whose ill luck had 
 brought him into the neighborhood, into small pieces. 
 
 in the meantime, the game went on. At one A. M. the 
 Green Hand had not only won back his money, but had secured 
 six hundred dollars of his opponents' funds. At this time the 
 latter exchanged glances, and each saw that the other had de- 
 termined to end the matter speedily. They went on playing? 
 however, awaiting a favorable opportunity, and at half-past one 
 o'clock the stranger had raked in one thousand dollars in green- 
 backs, and continued to produce the most astonishing hands. 
 Just at this time another fight occurred outside, and the crowd 
 rushed out to witness or take part in it, as fancy might suggest. 
 A bet had been made, called and doubled, and Belto threw 
 down four aces. 
 
 The stranger quietly produced five aces. 
 
 Both partners dropped their cards, and gazed open-mouthed 
 at the audacity of this proceeding, and then Belto, with an air 
 of virtuous indignation, observed : 
 
 u Stranger, I reckon you take us for suckers ?" 
 
 " Guess not !" was the cool reply. u Guess I take you for 
 card sharps." 
 
 It was apparent that the crisis had come. 
 
16 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 Cobbins rose. " Stranger," he observed, at the same time 
 
 reaching to grasp the money on the table, " You're a 
 
 swindler." 
 
 In an instant, before the words were out of his mouth be- 
 fore his hand was within six inches of the money it was 
 whipped from the table by the Green Hand, who at the same 
 moment sprang to his. feet. Belto's hand was already on his 
 pistol, and Cobbins' knife was half out of its sheath, when a 
 quick gleam of steel flashed in the air above them, the lamp 
 fell crashing between them and their intended victim ; there 
 was an explosion, and a sheet of flame leaped up in their faces 
 and drove them back. Belto fired his pistol at random, and 
 Cobbins, dazzled for the moment, made a dash for the door to 
 intercept the stranger. The burning oil rapidly fired the rough 
 boards and canvas of the tent, and all was confusion, cursing, 
 shouting, smoke and glare. The crowd rushed back from 
 the street to find Mr. Bouser's establishment burning furiously, 
 and Belto and Cobbins raging like fiends about the doorway. 
 But the Green hand had availed himself of that moment of sur- 
 prise and confusion caused by the fall of the lamp, and before 
 his enemies could satisfy themselves that he had escaped from 
 the tent, he had mounted, and was riding furiously over the 
 hills. The instant his escape was discovered, a dozen men 
 threw themselves on horseback and started in pursuit. For 
 half an hour dropping rifle and pistol shots were heard, and 
 then the baffled pursuers rode slowly back, while on a distant 
 eminence a man stood, holding his horse's bridle over his arm, 
 and smilingly surveying a blaze that made the dark sky lurid 
 above the valley, and betokened the destruction of the lively 
 camp of Kill-me-Quick. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON THE DOWN GRADE. 
 
 It is to be regretted, on ethical grounds, that the fire which 
 speedily consumed the tents and shanties of Kill-me-Quick did 
 not involve the people of the place; but as such an event would 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 17 
 
 have rendered the continuation of this history impossible, per- 
 haps all was for the best. Messrs. Belto and Cobbins were last 
 seen raging and foaming over the escape of their victim (who 
 by common consent ceased from that time to be alluded to as 
 the Green Hand, and was thereafter designated as " that durn' 
 skunk "). These gentlemen were very angry, not only with the 
 fugitive, who had got away with their funds, but with them- 
 selves, each other, and all Kill-me-Quick. After the fire had 
 burned out, which was not until the last combustible* thing 
 within its scope was consumed, the people ot the late camp of 
 Kill-me-Quick gathered morosely about the embers, and ar- 
 ranged their plans for the future. The burning of the tents 
 did not trouble them much, as they possessed little destructible 
 property, Bouser being perhaps the only one who sustained any- 
 thing like a serious loss. So, after cursing the "durn' skunk" 
 to their heart's content, and making parties to go this way and 
 that on the morrow, to try their fortune anew at Dead Fall, or 
 Corinne, or some other new place on the line of the railroad, 
 the choicer spirits turned their attention to chaffing Belto and 
 Cobbins, who, being very sore and mortified, were in a fit state to 
 be baited. The badinage indulged in was of a kind not to be con- 
 veyed by any recognized words in the English language, and it 
 would therefore be impossible to reproduce even a specimen of 
 the conversation that ensued. It was, however, intended to 
 convey that the community regarded the conduct of Messrs. 
 Belto and Cobbins most unfavorably; that they had lost caste 
 with their friends ; that they need never again set themselves 
 up as gamblers and murderers of talent and parts; that they 
 had brought shame and humiliation upon Kill-me-Quick, and 
 had abused the confidence heretofore reposed in them. 
 
 The partners having borne these reproaches for some time 
 with a kind of professional stoicism, though inwardly chafing, 
 at length came to the conclusion that it was time to put an end 
 to it, and proceeded to wind up the business characteristically. 
 They were at the moment in the center of a circle, the mem- 
 bers composing which were all equally guilty of chaffing them. 
 There being therefore no room for choice, Mr. Belto, raising his 
 voice, though without passion, expressed an opinion that the 
 
18 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 whole gathering were closely allied to the canine race, and des- 
 tined to eternal punishment. Having uttered this sentiment, 
 he quickly drew his revolver, singled out his man, and shot him 
 in his tracks, while at the same moment Mr. Cobbins made 
 effective play with his knife. The crowd instinctively fell back 
 when the firing commenced, and the two partners at once broke 
 out of the circle and ran for their horses. In another minute 
 the majority had recovered from their confusion and followed 
 them, keeping up a rapid but ineffectual fusillade. The fugi- 
 tives gained the saddle, and knowing the country something 
 better than their pursuers, succeeded in getting away, while the 
 latter returned to discuss this last incident, and finally rolled 
 themselves in their blankets and went to sleep with a general 
 impression that the evening had turned out pretty lively, 
 after all. 
 
 In the meantime, the fugitives were discussing the future as 
 they rode, and having concluded that there was not much in 
 the prospect westward, unless they went on to California (for 
 which they were not yet prepared), determined to go back on 
 the line of the railroad as far as Echo, and ' make a raise" there 
 among the railroad laborers. As, however, these laborers were 
 all armed, and accustomed to use their weapons on slight prov- 
 ocation, it was deemed prudent to guard against accidents, and 
 to that end it was arranged that Mr. Cobbins should go on to 
 Echo first, and on his arrival should make it his business to 
 gamble with the "boys" for their pistols, by securing which, 
 possibly unpleasant consequences might be averted. The fact 
 that the railroad hands had not been paid for some weeks, and 
 were expecting money every day, favored this programme, hav- 
 ing settled which, the partners divided the funds in hand and 
 separated, Belto agreeing to follow on the second day, when the 
 way would be prepared for their joint operations. 
 
 On the second day after these events, Mr. Cobbins alighted 
 from a construction train on which he had secured a passage, 
 and walked into the town of Echo, or Echo City, as it was 
 christened, in accordance with the prevailing custom to call 
 everything a city consisting of more than three buildings, be. 
 longing to more than two persons. 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 19 
 
 Echo City, at the period of our history, consisted of about 
 fifty buildings, of wood, of wood and canvas, and of canvas 
 alone. The permanent residents (the place was fully two 
 months old) were all storekeepers and whisky dealers. The 
 floating population consisted of railroad hands and gamblers, 
 with a sprinkling of passengers. Situated at the base of a huge 
 cliff, that towered some two hundred feet into the air above it, 
 the dimensions of Echo City, never very imposing, were dwarfed 
 still more by the contrast of its surroundings; and the traveler 
 coming suddenly on the place was apt to imagine for a moment 
 that the buildings were merely doll-houses, and not real dwell- 
 ings and stores. There were, even at this early stage of the 
 city's existence, two hotels, which had already established a 
 smart rivalry. To say truth, there was not very much to choose 
 between them, both being equally bad and equally dear. The 
 accommodations were somewhat meager, being limited in the 
 Walker House to an airy but low-roofed loft, immediately over 
 the bar-room, and in the Echo Hotel to the interior of a barn 
 which also served as a harness and lumber room, and was not 
 wholly free from a suspicion of rats. The Walker House was 
 perhaps most liberally patronized, for the reason that it pos- 
 sessed a billiard saloon ; but as neither this nor the bar were 
 ever closed, and as both apartments were filled day and night 
 with a free-and-easy crowd, who alternated drinking and bil- 
 liards with cursing and fighting; and as the planks which 
 formed the floor of the loft and the bed of the lodgers were too 
 thin to stop bullets, the attempt to seek rest in that quarter was 
 open to the charge of being a pursuit of sleep under difficulties. 
 
 Mr. Walker, the proprietor of the house, was a little man, 
 with a dry, thick head of sandy hair, which stood stiffly up, and 
 which seemed to express the perpetual surprise its owner felt at 
 being where he was. Mr. Walker was always in a hurry, 
 though he never did anything. He knew nothing of the re- 
 sources of his establishment, and was completely controlled by 
 a keen, dark-whiskered man who acted as his clerk, and who 
 divided his time between registering the names of the guests, 
 and making calculations as to the extreme possible limit their 
 bills could be stretched to. 
 
20 m MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 The guests of the Walker House were mostly of that class 
 who carry their own blankets with them, and whose night 
 toilet is made by pulling off their boots, which then do duty as 
 a pillow. There were a good many oily and grimy firemen, 
 who wiped their faces with bunches of cotton waste ; grave 
 looking but rough spoken engineers, who had acquired an ex- 
 pression of power and responsibility through their long wrest- 
 lings with the Spirit of Steam ; hardy, foul-mouthed, ruffianly 
 railroad hands; equally hardy, less foul-mouthed and more 
 decent mechanics, carpenters, bridge builders, blacksmiths, track 
 layers, and a dozen other varieties of the genus railroad man. 
 All these and such as these, besprinkled with a dozen or two of 
 sharpers and moral agriculturists, kept Echo. City lively enough, 
 and occasionally the scene was varied by the appearance of a 
 score of passengers, who gazed wildly about them, ordered 
 drinks at the bar hurriedly, drank them hesitatingly, and pay- 
 ing for them reluctantly, walked off shudderingly, wiping their 
 lips doubtingly, as though half expecting that the fiery stuff 
 would burn holes in the fabric. 
 
 The stores at Echo were not numerous, but omniverous. All 
 of them professed to keep everything, and the stocks generally 
 included most necessaries, from a suit of clothes to a tin dipper. 
 The storekeepers were bustling men, always on the lookout for 
 good speculations, and always putting up new frame buildings. 
 Echo was, in fact, building all the time, and the clang of ham- 
 mers and the grating of saws divided the honors with the 
 scream of locomotive whistles, the melancholy sound of locomo- 
 tive bells, and the rumble of approaching and departing trains. 
 
 To such a scene was Mr. Cobbins introduced, though not for 
 the first time. In truth, this gentleman looked upon railroad 
 towns as the normal condition of things. He had spent some 
 years in following the dregs of civilization as they were pushed 
 westward, and his general impressions bore a curiously grotesque 
 resemblance to the traditionally reported opinions of Colonel 
 Boone, the famous pioneer. Like that redoubtable personage, 
 Mr. Cobbins entertained an aversion to crowded cities, though 
 certainly from different motires. The "clearings" avoided by him 
 were the clearings made by the establishment of law and order. 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 21 
 
 He regarded Courts, Sheriffs and jails as products of an effete 
 civilization, and in his gloomier moments was wont to take a 
 depressing view of the condition of the age, observing at such 
 times that " There was mighty little show nowadays for a man to 
 get a square living, wot with them d d newspapers and new- 
 fangled ideas 'bout sportin' caracters." But it was seldom that he 
 gave way to such reflections, being on the whole inclined to be 
 extremely practical, and acting generally upon the principle 
 that " sufficient for the day is the evil thereof," a maxim applied 
 by him in a manner that would perhaps have startled the or- 
 thodox. 
 
 In the present instance he had no time for vain imaginings. 
 His work was cutout for him, and he proceeded to set about it 
 with characteristic energy and shrewdness. There were many 
 track-layers at Echo just then, for as the line was approaching 
 completion some hundreds had been sent back from the front, 
 and were waiting to be paid off before proceeding further east- 
 ward. These men were mostly armed, and being a desperate 
 class generally, it was rather a hazardous undertaking to fleece 
 them. One or two of Mr. Cobbins' particular friends had found 
 this out to their cost, and not being quick enough in taking a 
 hint had closed their careers at the end of a rope, hastily adjusted 
 to the nearest tree. Bearing these incidents in mind, our ad- 
 venturer determined to guard against one class of accidents as, 
 much as possible by securing all the weapons of his intended 
 victims; and as the men were speedily going back to civiliza- 
 tion, and a careless set, he found little difficulty in carrying out 
 his plans and winning their pistols from them. He looked upon 
 this as time and money well bestowed, even if he lost, because 
 he was confident that when his partner arrived they would win 
 back every dollar so expended. 
 
 The headquarters of Mr. Cobbins were at the Walker House, 
 where he managed to secure a nice little side room off the bar 
 for the operations of the morrow. In the meantime, having 
 filled his portmanteau with pistols, he devoted the remainder of 
 the day to making himself agreeable, which he did by standing 
 treat to all hands, by playing billiards and losing, and by initia- 
 ting half a dozen of the men from whom he feared trouble most 
 
22 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 into the mysteries of some gambling fraud, which seemed easy 
 enough when shown, but which the student could never after 
 perform so as to deceive anybody. So the time passed cheer- 
 fully at Echo, and though the evening was noisy and slightly 
 " lively," the exuberance of spirits noticeable at Kill-me-Quick 
 was chastened here by the knowledge that a set of men who 
 called themselves Mormon police were in charge of the town, 
 and (notwithstanding the peculiar character of their creed) 
 were by no means the kind to be trifled with. 
 
 On the morrow Mr. Belto appeared, urbane, genial and 
 sprightly, and his partner having circulated the announcement 
 that they proposed to start a "little game" at the Walker 
 House, and the paymaster's car having also arrived, a brisk 
 business was speedily commenced. Mr. Cobbins' favorite game 
 was three-card monte an amusement which has the advantage 
 of being perfectly safe (for the dealer), as he cannot by any pos- 
 sibility lose a bet unless he makes a mistake and deals fairly 
 an error never^to my knowledge committed by a professional. 
 On this occasion, however, faro was introduced, and Mr. Belto 
 had an opportunity of exhibiting his thorough acquaintance 
 with the ingenious mechanism of a little silver box, so deftly 
 fitt6d with delicate springs as to render the game almost as safe 
 a one as three-card monte. 
 
 The partners played with their victims skillfully. When- 
 ever they got a suspicious customer they allowed him to win, 
 but gradualty squeezed him out of the game. Whenever they 
 got an impetuous customer they gave plenty of line, and at 
 length landed him neatly, high and dry. All day long there 
 was a steady stream of men flowing towards the paymaster's 
 car> and another stream flowing from the paymaster's car to the 
 little side room in the Walker House. The game was very suc- 
 cessful, and consequently as evening approached the knots of 
 discontented, impoverished players who collected outside began 
 to increase rapidly. Mr. Cobbins, sallying out to reconnoiter, 
 during a temporary lull, did not like the aspect of affairs. He 
 observed that there was a disposition among the knots to merge 
 into a crowd, that there was a disposition among the grumbling 
 members of the knots to raise their voices and speak angrily 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 23 
 
 and loudly, and that there was a disposition to join in a chorus, 
 among the words of which (all very vigorous) the expressions 
 " hogging game," " d d thieves," " lynch 'em," etc., were 
 plainly distinguishable. 
 
 Returning to the little side room he conveyed, in a whis- 
 pered communication, the results of his reconnoissance to Mr. 
 Belto, and the latter gentleman, though outwardly calm, evi- 
 dently shared in the uneasiness so created. He was loth to 
 leave the harvest partly ungathered, however, and pressed for 
 a little more time. Mr. Cobbins shook his head, and at that 
 moment a loud muttering sound caught their ears. It was sue. 
 ceeded by a stern cry, embodying the sentiments expressed in 
 the chorus referred to previously, and it settled the question. 
 -Rapidly securing about their persons the fruits of the day's en- 
 terprise, the worthy pair slipped quietly out at the back door, 
 hoping to get on board a train which they knew was about to 
 start for the front. In order to reach the railroad, however, 
 they had to pass the main street, and though they made a long 
 detour, and came out at the lower end of the town, near the 
 telegraph office, they failed to elude their indignant victims. 
 It seems that Mr. Walker, fearful that revenge would be taken 
 on his establishment, had pointed out to the angry men the 
 course taken by the gamblers, and the result was that when 
 they emerged from the rear of the houses they found them- 
 selves within fifty feet of a furious mob, advancing with cries 
 of rage and fearful threats and execrations, toward them. 
 
 Another glance showed them that the train on which they 
 had relied was already moving out of the station, and they saw 
 at once that if they could succeed in reaching the cars they 
 were saved and lost if they failed. It is surprising how fast 
 men not otherwise fitted for or trained to such exercises will 
 run, with a metaphorical halter about their necks. Messra. 
 Belto and Cobbins, on this occasion, rivaled the famous Deer- 
 foot, and as their efforts were stimulated by yells, curses, and 
 occasional pistol shots (for they had not succeeded in securing 
 all the weapons), there was no chance for any relaxation of 
 their speed. Indeed, it was a hot chase. More than once the 
 gamblers thought it was a vain chase. But fortune favors the 
 
24 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 bold, and they reached the cars and sprang upon them just as 
 the train was getting well under way. The crowd behind 
 hooted and yelled, and flung stones, and continued to run for- 
 ward- But the chase was ended, to all intents and purposes, 
 and the baffled laborers were compelled to return, solacing 
 themselves with the reflection that if ever they got Messrs. 
 Belto and Cobbins in their hands again well, they would see. 
 
 Some minutes passed before the panting gamblers had re- 
 covered sufficiently to look about them, but when they did they 
 found themselves on one of the rear trucks of a train loaded 
 with wooden ties, and having a caboose behind the engine. As 
 this car seemed to present better prospects of comfort than the 
 open truck on which they were standing they determined to 
 make their way to it, and forthwith proceeded to clamber over 
 the ties. They had reached within one car of the caboose when 
 its door was opened and a man appeared on the platform and 
 looked toward them. 
 
 The recognition was instantaneous and mutual. It was the 
 Green Hand the " durn skunk " who had burned Kill-me- 
 Quick and secured their money. . 
 
 Each of the three uttered an exclamation. The stranger's 
 was one of surprise; Mr. Belto's was one of fierce hatred and 
 anger, and Mr. Cobbins' was one of ominous determination. 
 The next instant the two partners were scrambling over the 
 ties to get at their enemy. 
 
 He saw their movement, divined its intention, glanced be- 
 hind and around him, then quickly stooped. Hising in a mo- 
 ment he coolly folded his arms and smiled in their faces as they 
 descended upon the platform of the last car that interposed be- 
 tween them. Mr. Belto was about to spring across when Cob- 
 bins caught him by the arm and held him back, exclaiming: 
 " Hold on ! The durn skunk's uncoupled the train ! " 
 
 As he spoke, the engine, caboose, and one car of ties shot 
 forward, relieved of the weight of the rear cars, and a space of 
 a hundred yards was speedily placed between the gamblers and 
 their enemy. 
 
 But the end was not yet. When the stranger uncoupled the 
 train he did it as a desperate resort, and did not take into ac- 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 25 
 
 count his surroundings. On leaving Echo City the grade de- 
 scends rapidly, after a short level, and for twenty miles the 
 pitch is ninety feet to the mile. By uncoupling the train the 
 engine was made the lighter portion, and the heavily loaded 
 rear cars, descending unchecked, threatened ruin and destruc- 
 tion to all in front of them. The danger was imminent and 
 deadly. 
 
 The conductor saw what had happened, though he did not 
 know how it had occurred, and springing on to the engine 
 caused the throttle valve to be thrown wide open, and every 
 pound of steam put on. 
 
 The dusk of evening was settling over the scene as this fear- 
 ful race began. The Weber river dashed and foamed beside the 
 track, as though bent on outstripping the train. Mile after 
 mile was passed, and still the terrible cars thundered in pursuit 
 of the engine. The open country was left behind, and the roar- 
 ing train dashed into the gloom of the Weber Canyon. High 
 on either hand the gray walls of rock towered grandly, while 
 the furious river, lashed and torn by great jagged rocks, and 
 maddened with the torture, chafed, and foamed, and hurled it- 
 self forward with blind recklessness; now plunging downward 
 into deep, dark gorges, from the recesses of which its hoarse 
 voice resounded awfully ; now emerging into the light, and 
 pouring in one shining volume through some clearly, smoothly 
 cut defile, only to be broken and rent into fragments again a 
 few yards further on. The tall trees rustled and bent in the 
 blast that, ^isiug at set of sun, swept through the narrow can- 
 yon as through a mighty funnel, and shrieked and moaned far 
 up among the bleak, scarred crags that crowned the summit 
 of the ravine. The engine labored; the fires roared and 
 glowed ; the sweating fireman piled fuel in the furnace for dear 
 life ; the engineer, pale as death, but with steady hand and eye, 
 eased the mighty machine, and oiled it here and there ; the con- 
 ductor stood upon the tender, his whole figure breathing the 
 most intense excitement, his hand lifted as a signal to the engi- 
 neer, his eyes bent upon the coming horror. And there, ever 
 close and closer yet, rolled and thundered the pursuer, slowly 
 but surely lessening the distance. 
 
26 ^ MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 The stranger stood on the platform of the caboose. He was 
 pale but collected, and there was a bitterness upon his lips that 
 spoke almost of recklessness. He was gazing at the approach- 
 ing cars, on which the two gamblers, now scared out of all 
 thought of revenge, clung with desperate grip, as the trucks 
 beneath them sprang along the track. Suddenly, as he gazed, 
 a soft voice, trembling, asked : 
 
 " Oh, sir, what is all this ? Why are we going so fast ? Is 
 there any danger ? " 
 
 He started and turned to look at his questioner, a young 
 girl, with great blue eyes, pure complexion, sweet mouth and 
 abundant brown hair a girl whose appearance would have ar- 
 rested attention anywhere. Quietly dressed, in a dark, plain 
 traveling suit ; easy of carriage ; soft of voice ; gentle and well- 
 bred of manner. The stranger regarded her at first with sur- 
 prise, then with curiosity, then with a mingled expression of 
 interest and distress. 
 
 " Madam," he at length replied, " it would be folly to deny 
 that we are in danger great danger. Those cars you see be- 
 hind us have been detached from the engine, and unless we can 
 keep ahead of them until we reach the next station they will 
 run into and wreck us. But may I ask how you came to be 
 here. I thought there were no other passengers than myself 
 on board !" 
 
 The girl had become very pale while he was speaking, but 
 now she put both her hands on his arm, and said, simply : " Oh, 
 sir, I am on my way to meet my lover. We were to have been 
 married on my arrival in California. But now " she replied 
 with a frightened look at the cars thundering on behind, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 The stranger was touched and troubled. He led her back 
 into the caboose, uttered such words of comfort as came to his 
 lips, and begging her to keep a good heart, assured her he 
 would return soon, and went out with a new thought and a 
 new determination. Springing on the last car, and calling the 
 conductor to aid him, he began throwing the ties off, in the 
 track of the advancing trucks. Yain hope ! The swooping 
 cars caught the heavy timbers and flung them bodily into the 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 27 
 
 air on either side of the track, as the waves of ocean fling their 
 spray aloft. The men redoubled their energies, and piled heap 
 on heap of ties upon the track. The pursuer descended upon 
 and scattered them as though they had been heaps of dry 
 leaves. 
 
 And the night fell as the fearful race progressed. The last 
 rays of the sun gilded the craggy peaks, and brought out in 
 strong relief the feathery boughs of the tallest pines ; then sank 
 away, and the gloom deepened through the canyon. The river 
 still raved and raged beside the track, but now its course could 
 only be traced by the white flashing of its foam-capped rapids. 
 The furious pace at which they were going was shown no less 
 by the fiery stream that encircled the wheels of the pursuing 
 cars, than by the keen, sweeping, steady blast that opposed 
 them. 
 
 They rushed through a tunnel, plunging, as it seemed, head- 
 long at the mountain wall, and entering a yawning chasm that 
 suddenly appeared, with a wild scream, to dash out again into 
 the free air, past where a knot of workmen had kindled a huge 
 fire, and stood around it, grim and weird in the ruddy light. A 
 shout arose from the assembled workmen, was wafted away 
 into the night as they plunged desperately forward, and again 
 all was darkness, save where two streams of fiery sparks re- 
 vealed the position of the advancing cars. 
 
 The engineer had done all that was in his power. The en- 
 gine was taxed to its utmost fraction of endurance. Every 
 available thing had been thrown upon the track, and every 
 effort had failed. There was not fifty yards between them and 
 a frightful death, and they knew it. When all that could be 
 had been done the stranger returned to the caboose and found 
 the young girl her name she said was Mary Sheldon pray- 
 ing, and crying softly. She was very frightened, but it was 
 evident that her thoughts were filled with distress, not on her 
 own account, but because of the dear one who was about to lose 
 her. In her simple, pure heart, she felt that death could bring 
 no harm to her; but how would he live without her? So she 
 cried softly, and thought very tenderly of her absent lover, 
 praying more for him than for herself. And the stranger, 
 
28 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 noting her mood with quick observance, began to admire the 
 girl, but in a way that he was not conscious of having admired 
 any woman before. He tried to say something cheering to her, 
 but there was not much to be said, and he soon realized that, 
 and was silent which was the best course that he could have 
 taken. 
 
 And now there was a wild shout from the conductor, and 
 the engineer's whistle was blown shrilly. He sprang into the 
 open air and saw that a catastrophe was at hand. 
 
 Right in front of them was a bridge over a mountain tor- 
 rent, and they were sweeping down upon it with the speed of 
 the wind. But on the timbers of the bridge, and in the center 
 of the track, and all about the bridge, could be seen, by the 
 light of great fires kindled on the banks, men waving lanterns 
 wildly, and gesticulating with frantic energy. The bridge had 
 given way, and was even then being repaired. The warning 
 was too late. The throttle valve was wide open, the last pound 
 of steam was on, the engine was throbbing all over with the 
 terrific energy of its action, as they swept like a whirlwind upon 
 the bridge, dashed by the upturned horrified faces of the work- 
 men, and rushed upon their fate. 
 
 There was no time for thought or action of any kind. They 
 felt the timbers tremble; they felt the bridge swaying; they 
 
 heard it creak and then they were past and over it, dashing 
 
 along again upon the firm track, in safety. 
 
 As they cleared the bridge the pursuing cars thundered 
 down upon it. They were half way across when the whole 
 structure shook, swayed, reeled for a moment to and fro, and 
 then sank, with a crash heard above the roar of the torrent, 
 into the dark waters below. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO KINDS OP LOVE. 
 
 The town of Ogden, at the period of this history, was a very 
 quiet, sober, humdrum little place. The Gentiles had not then 
 invaded Utah as they have since, and their presence at Ogden 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 29 
 
 was so rare as to be a matter for gossip. Ogden was thor- 
 oughly orthodox, from a Mormon point of view ; thoroughly 
 peaceful ; thoroughly stagnant. Its little main street boasted 
 about half a dozen stores, which did a small business with the 
 brothers and sisters in the neighborhood, and occasionally sup- 
 plied an outfit for some farmer who drove into town in a wagon 
 unique in pattern, drawn by horses unacquainted with the lux- 
 ury of the currycomb. The principal building in the place was 
 the Tithing House, which stood within high walls of adobe, 
 and presented a somewhat imposing and official appearance. 
 Nearly opposite to this institution was the only place of enter- 
 tainment known to Ogden, and that there might be no cause 
 cause for scandal, this hostelry was presided over by a Bishop. 
 The traffic up to this time had been chiefly confined to the Saints 
 themselves, and the approach of the great railroad from both 
 sides had brought many strangers into the narrow Ogden focus, 
 and was beginning to stir up the somewhat sleepy Mormons to 
 an appreciation of the fact that there were a good many people 
 in the world, outside of Utah. 
 
 Strangers coming into Ogden from East or West used to say 
 that they could always distinguish a Mormon from a Gentile, 
 and further alleged that the Saints were characterized by a pe- 
 culiar slouching gait and downcast expression, suggestive of 
 priestly tyranny, and domestic burdens exceeding those which 
 fall to the lot of monogamic people. Whether there was any 
 foundation in fact for this fancy, matters little, but certain it 
 is that the Saints at Ogden (as elsewhere) were very quiet in 
 their demeanor ; that the women dressed with a plainness not 
 far removed from abominable ugliness of costume ; and that the 
 stranger who permitted his eyes to rove in the direction of any 
 of these sisters was tolerably sure to encounter the watchful, 
 suspicious, or angry gaze, of some jealous Saint, before long. 
 
 Bishop North, who kept the hotel, was a fine looking, intel- 
 ligent man, and had ten wives. How he managed to get on 
 with them all, is more than I know ; but I have a shrewd sus- 
 picion that he did not always succeed in maintaining that har- 
 mony which is indispensable to the comfort of the domestic 
 hearth or hearths. Thus, on one occasion, having recently 
 
30 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 taken his tenth spouse, he became imprudently enamored of 
 that damsel, and for a time neglected the nine other ladies who 
 were supposed to share his affections. In fact, being then en- 
 gaged in filling a contract for grading on the line of the rail- 
 road, he took Mrs. Bishop North Number Ten to live with him 
 in camp, and kept her there many weeks. The ire of the be- 
 reaved nine was thereby aroused, and there came a day when 
 it was necessary to dispatch a messenger post haste to the con- 
 tractor's camp, with the startling intelligence that a mutiny had 
 broken out in the Bishop's family, and that his presence on the 
 spot was absolutely required. He returned to Ogden, and found 
 matters wearing so serious an aspect that it took three days to 
 negotiate a peace, and even then a cessation of hostilities was 
 only secured by certain humiliating concessions. The Bishop 
 was a man of strong mind, but it has been whispered that bis 
 defeat on this occasion broke his spirit, and that he was never 
 the same afterwards. Certain it is that within a year his place 
 was vacant, and ten inconsolable widows mourned their liege 
 lord. 
 
 But that melancholy event was yet in the womb of the future 
 when, as dusk was falling on a certain summer evening, a pass- 
 ing train loaded with raits and other road material, stopped in 
 front of the long lane that leads from the track into the town, 
 and two passengers descended. They were of opposite sexes, 
 young, good-looking, and apparently well-to-do. The girl was 
 Miss Mary Sheldon. The man was the stranger, whom, since 
 she addressed him as Mr. Broome, may be designated hereafter 
 by that name which was in fact his own. 
 
 They had been thrown very much together since their strange 
 meeting on the train, and the girl had grown upon him greatly. 
 There had been trouble in reaching Ogden, for as there were no 
 regular trains they were often compelled to wait for long hours 
 at unfrequented parts of the track, or pass time away on sidings ; 
 and thus much opportunity for conversation had occurred. He 
 had learned from her her little history. How she had became 
 engaged to young John Rutter, who had gone to California and 
 purchased an interest in a quartz mine. How he was so busy 
 that he could not come all the way to her Eastern home to fetch 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 31 
 
 his bride, but had written to her to come on to Ogden, and had 
 bespoken for her the attention of some of his married friends 
 who were about returning to the West : how these friends had 
 been prevented from returning as contemplated, by illness; and 
 how she had determined to make the journey alone rather than 
 disappoint him. 
 
 She had not been so successful in unravelling the skein of her 
 companion's story. He was reticent in regard to himself, and 
 all she could gather was that he was born in the East some- 
 where, had been travelling and wandering for many years, and 
 did not seem to be at all certain as to his destination, or at all 
 determined as to his business when he arrived there. For the 
 rest, he was kind and thoughtful ; always on the watch to 
 secure her comfort and ease; respectful in his address; cheerful 
 and agreeable in his conservation ; and altogether a very 
 pleasant companion. This was the impression Henry Broome 
 had created in the mind of the fair young creature he had as it 
 were taken in charge. She was so full of her lover that all other 
 men had ceased to be interesting to her, and her love was 
 so wholly centered on the absent, that she was far more genial 
 and unembarrassed with her new friend than she could have 
 been under other circumstances. 
 
 The impression she had made upon him was a strong one, and 
 yet in no sense dangerous for either of them. He found in her 
 a simple, pure-minded, innocent girl. One of those girls whose 
 perfect innocence is so much surer a protection to them than 
 that much-lauded attribute called knowledge of the world, could 
 be. Her conversation cheered and refreshed him, because it 
 took him out of the grooves he had been traversing so long, 
 and because it showed a mind which only recognized goodness 
 and truth, and thus tacitly nattered all with whom it came in 
 contact. Henry Broome had been wild, nay, wicked. He had 
 dissipated, he had gambled, he had consorted with more than 
 doubtful characters. He had done a great many things which 
 it is neither necessary nor profitable to recount here ; and he 
 was just in that condition of mind when a little thing would 
 determine his future either way for good or for evil. 
 
 Mary Sheldon was not the kind of girl he could have fallen 
 
32 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 in love with. He was not yet sufficiently softened to think of 
 anything of the kind, indeed, having passed his later years 
 among scenes of lawlessness and rude energy that excited and 
 amused, while unsettling, him. But he felt that he took great 
 pleasure in this sweet little girl, and he also felt that the com. 
 panionship was doing him good. It would be much harder for 
 him to return to the old wild life after having met her, than he 
 perhaps imagined at the time, although even then he found him- 
 self occasionally wondering whether after all there might not 
 be real pleasure and content in the society to which she natu- 
 rally belonged. 
 
 So they became very friendly, indeed much more so than is 
 usually the case when people are thrown together by accident. 
 They had passed through a great danger together, and that was 
 one bond of sympathy. She had suifered him to read her heart, 
 in the moment when she thought the end had come; and that 
 was another bond of sympathy. And so it happened that they 
 were very chatty and merry together as they walked up the 
 long lane from the railway, and that Bishop North, seeing them 
 so friendly and intimate, concluded at once, with the wisdom of 
 a much-married man, that they were not man and wife, and 
 showed them to separate apartments. 
 
 But though Bishop North's matrimonial experience directed 
 him aright, the brothers and sisters who saw the pair approach- 
 ing, and who immediately fell to speculating about them, as 
 people do in small places when strangers arrive, speedily sus- 
 pected, with that lack of charity which is so very reprehensible 
 and so very human, that there must be something wrong about 
 them. In the first place they were evidently Gentiles, and 
 being Gentiles, it was of course the most natural thing in the 
 world that they should be wicked. In the next place they were 
 evidently not married ; and the Saints and Saintesses somewhat 
 inconsequently argued from this that they ought to be. In the 
 third and last place they had taken separate apartments, and 
 this was regarded as a clear proof that there must be something 
 wrong about them. Had they been as bad as the good people 
 of Ogden wished to believe them, and had they undertaken to 
 play the role of man and wife, the probability is that they 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 33 
 
 would have escaped calumny. But being virtuous, and acting 
 as virtuous people do act, they were at once set down as deep, 
 designing hypocrites, and abandoned characters. Of course the 
 good people of Ogden were much to blame for their censorious, 
 ness, but it seems to me that Ogden is not the only place in the 
 world where such a thing might have happened. 
 
 However, being in happy ignorance of what was passing in 
 the minds of the townfolk, the travelers calmly established 
 themselves in their new quarters and proceeded to prepare for 
 supper. John Rutter had not yet arrived, and there was noth- 
 ing to do but to wait for his appearance. 
 
 The table kept by Bishop .North was by no means a luxu- 
 rious one; but, though it had been much more plentifully 
 spread, Mary Sheldon would scarcely have noticed the differ- 
 ence. Of course she had no appetite, and her companion was 
 so occupied in watching her (which he did with an amused curi- 
 osity, as a naturalist might study the habits of some newly dis- 
 covered animal), that he, too, ate very little. Indeed, they 
 both rose quickly from the table and retired to the Bishop's 
 parlor, which he had kindly placed at their disposal. 
 
 Mary was nervous and excited. Every footstep that 
 sounded on the stairs brought a flush to her cheek and a light 
 to her eye, and after several ineffectual attempts to start a con- 
 versation, Henry came to the conclusion that the scheme was 
 impracticable, and, lapsing into silence, attempted to amuse 
 himself with the only book in the room, which happened to be 
 a Directory of Salt Lake City. 
 
 But, though Mary could not enter into a serious conversa- 
 tion, she was equally unable to keep quiet; and, after rising a 
 dozen times to look out of the window, and glancing as often at 
 her watch, and sighing, and fidgeting about the room, she be- 
 gan asking her companion questions, and forgetting his answers 
 before he had finished them. 
 
 Presently, however, a diversion was effected by the appear- 
 ance of the Bishop, who brought an offering of a wonderful 
 home-made beverage which he called champagne, and which was 
 solemnly drunk, with many expressions of delight and satisfac- 
 tion, and much inward shuddering and mental disturbance. 
 3 
 
34 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 After a few minutes the Bishop (who addressed Mary as Sister 
 Sheldon, much to her astonishment and alarm, for she did not 
 know but that this might constitute, in some mysterious way, a 
 claim on her allegiance to the Mormon Church), rose and bowed 
 himself out, and then, the ice being broken, the young couple 
 chatted freely and comfortably about the manners and customs 
 of the Saints. Of course Mary was curious to see a real Mor- 
 mon wife, and that desire was presently gratified by the en- 
 trance of Mrs. North Number Ten, who was a rather good 
 looking young woman, with an unnatural smile, and an under- 
 lying expression of perplexity and fretfulness. She was evi- 
 dently desirous of conveying the impression that her position 
 was a pleasant and happy one, but her efforts were marred by 
 the behavior of Mary, who spoke to and regarded her all the 
 time in a tender and pitying way which had the effect of con- 
 fusing her greatly. 
 
 When she had gone, Mary sat for some moments deep in 
 thought, and then said : " I wonder how these women can bear 
 to look at their sisters 'who have not cast themselves away. 
 How bitterly they must feel the humiliation of their position 
 when they see Gentile wives secure in the love and affection of 
 their husbands." 
 
 Henry thought of some wives of his acquaintance who were 
 by no means secure in the love of their husbands, and ex- 
 pressed himself in a dubious assent. 
 
 "Don't you think," said Mary, fixing her great blue eyes 
 upon him, " don't you think they must be very unhappy, Mr- 
 Broome ? " 
 
 "Really," replied Henry, "I have never given the subject 
 much thought. You see there are so many women now-a-days 
 who marry for money, or to get a home, or from a temporary 
 fancy, and who don't seem to expect or care for any particular 
 fidelity or love from their husbands, so long as they can have 
 their own way." 
 
 Mary opened her eyes very wide at this. 
 "But Mr. Broome," she exclaimed, "a true woman can only 
 love one man, and can only be happy when she knows that he 
 loves her alone. Fm sure I should break my heart if I thought 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 35 
 
 Johireared for any one else." And her eyes filled with tears at 
 the very thought. 
 
 Henry muttered that he was afraid, if true women could 
 only be happy under such circumstances, there must be a great 
 number of false women in the world, for his experience was 
 that dress and dissipation occupied more room in the modern 
 female heart than anything else. 
 
 Of course Mary could not admit this for a moment, and pro- 
 ceeded to vindicate her sex from the charge of a tendency to 
 frivolity and fickleness. In the course of her argument she 
 grew quite warm, and was expatiating on the attributes of true 
 womanhood, with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, when a 
 light step was heard on the stairs, the door was flung open, 
 and a handsome young fellow appeared on the threshhold, his 
 face all aglow with love and happiness and blissful anticipa- 
 tion. 
 
 Mary sprang up, uttering a cry of delight, and was hurrying 
 to meet the new comer with outstretched arms, when a sudden 
 change that passed over him checked her midway. 
 
 You see he had rushed up the stairs, full of hope, and joy, 
 and love, expecting to find his darling in the company of the 
 friends who were to have traveled with her to the West. He 
 had opened the door prepared to gather her to his heart and 
 he had found her enjoying an animated conversation with a very 
 good looking young stranger. And seeing this, the demon 
 Jealousy (always hovering about lovers) had made one clutch at 
 his heart, and given it such a venomous gripe as drew the 
 blood from his cheeks and the lovelight from his eyes, and 
 hushed the fond words on his lips, and paralyzed his limbs, and 
 left him standing there, no longer eager, flushed and rapturous, 
 but pale, and cold, and suspicious, and angry. 
 
 This sudden and to her inexplicable change it was, that 
 checked Mary as she was running, in a flutter of delight, to 
 bury her pretty head in her lover's bosom. He recovered him- 
 self with an effort, and advancing, took her hand and kissed 
 her cheek. But somehow everything was changed in the room. 
 A shadow had fallen between them. The meeting, so long 
 looked forward to, so eagerly anticipated, so often rehearsed in 
 
36 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 imagination, had come to pass, and it was a gloomy meeting 
 after all. Mary had not at that moment any suspicion of the 
 real cause of the change that had passed over the scene, but she 
 knew that John was cold ; that he was displeased ; that he was 
 not loving and kind. And then a sense of loneliness and de- 
 sertion came on her, and as she looked into the darkened 
 face of her jealous lover, her poor mouth quivered, and the 
 corners drooped, and tears stole into her blue eyes. 
 
 It was all very unpleasant and disagreeable, and stupid and 
 unkind, on John's part, of course. But it was not altogether 
 unnatural, and so thought Henry Broome, who had risen when 
 John entered, and now stood, resting his hand on the back of 
 his chair, and looking, with a grave and somewhat rueful face, 
 from one to the other. Of course he saw what the matter was, 
 and he felt angry with John for his stupidity at first ; but di- 
 rectly after he began to reflect a little, and then he found some 
 excuse for him. 
 
 He would have retired at this juncture, but Mary, who was 
 still puzzling over the lamentable change that was apparent in 
 John's demeanor, now roused herself, and introduced the men 
 to each other, adding that she was much indebted to Mr. 
 Broome for his many kindnesses. 
 
 Mr. Rutter bowed coldly, and looked as though he could 
 cheerfully attend the obsequies of Mr. Broome, who, on his part, 
 looked and felt particularly uncomfortable, and not a little 
 guilty. Muttering something about " pleasure of re-union," 
 " must have much to talk over'* "prefer to be alone," etc., 
 he was about to leave the room, when his inward monitor ex- 
 postulated with him. What the inward monitor said was to 
 this effect, "Harry, you have got this little girl into this 
 scrape, and its your business to get her out of it. You know 
 you ought to have guarded against this sort of thing, and you 
 didn't. Now do what you can to set this matter right, and 
 don't let that jealous fellow have an excuse for making himself 
 -and his sweetheart miserable any longer." 
 
 Now, all this passed through his mind as he was backing to- 
 ward the door, and the result was that just as he had placed 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 37 
 
 his hand on the door-handle he turned, walked slowly back, and 
 said quietly : 
 
 " Mr. Rutter, I can't help seeing that you were annoyed at 
 finding me here, and I am afraid if I go away without saying 
 what I have on my mind, that you and this young 'lady maybe 
 apt to have a misunderstanding. I should be very sorry in- 
 deed, to think that I had been the cause of any trouble between 
 you, and I think it is my duty to assure you " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by John Butter, who had listened 
 with impatience, and now turning to Mary asked, in an icy 
 tone : 
 
 " Who is this gentleman, Miss Sheldon ? And how happens 
 it that he assumes the position of a mediator between you and 
 me?" 
 
 This way of meeting his well-meant endeavors was not 
 pleasant, and Henry began to feel rather angry, and inclined to 
 make a sharp reply. But he restrained himself, and merely 
 turned appealingly to Mary, who burst into tears, and ex- 
 claimed between her sobs : 
 
 " He was on the train from Echo and when the train ran 
 away he threw things on the track and told me not to be 
 frightened but I was and I might have been killed, John 
 and made up my mind to die and perhaps it would have been 
 better for me than to be treated so cruelly " The rest was 
 lost in a fresh fit of crying. 
 
 This explanation was not so luminous as to satisfy John 
 Rutter, and Henry's good looks (which he could not help or 
 disguise), only served to feed the flame of jealousy. John was 
 naturally a good-tempered, pleasant, sympathetic, genial fellow ; 
 but he was jealous, and just now things appeared to him to 
 wear a very ugly look. He glanced moodily at Mary, not at 
 all softened by her tears, and savagely at Henry, who was 
 preparing to make a fresh attempt at pacification, when the 
 door opened again with an uncompromising crash, and an ap- 
 parition appeared in the doorway. 
 
 A young woman, of medium hight, graceful figure, pale face, 
 lustrous dark eyes and heavy bands of black hair ; a young 
 woman dressed in a riding habit of grey cloth, and carrying a 
 
38 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 whip in her muscular little hand ; a young woman who took in 
 the situation at a glance, and over whose beautiful features 
 there passed a change as startling as that which had befallen 
 Mary's lover, as she stepped into the apartment; a young wo- 
 man, whose- sudden and unceremonious entrance produced a 
 singular effect upon John Rutter, who seemed suddenly to have 
 transferred to himself all the confusion and awkwardness that 
 had previously sat upon Henry. She advanced with a feline 
 stride, her great flashing eyes fixed upon John with a look of 
 scorn and triumph mingled, her red lips tightly compressed, 
 her hand twitching nervously, and flapping her skirt with her 
 whip. She looked at no one but John, but her eyes seemed to 
 devour him, and he visibly shrunk, and became an abject and ' 
 pitiable object under that burning gaze. 
 
 " So !" she at length exclaimed, when she had arrived close 
 to the culprit, " So ! This is the cause of your visit to Ogden ! 
 Ihis is the contract you had to see about ! And this is the end 
 of the game you have been playing with my heart !" She 
 paused, half choking with emotion, indignation, regret, or 
 grief, and put her hand to her throat. Her slight figure seemed 
 to dilate with the passion that filled her, and as she erected her- 
 self over him, John Rutter seemed to shrink and collapse into 
 the veriest insignificance. 
 
 While this was passing, Mary had sat silent with amaze- 
 ment, looking from one to the other, as doubting the evidence 
 of her senses. Henry was no less amazed, but with his amaze- 
 ment was mingled admiration for the magnificent creature who 
 had swept into the room like a thunderstorm, and stood there 
 discharging electric bolts upon the head of Mary's lover. At 
 last John managed to stammer out : 
 
 "Lucy, what brings you here. I thought you were in 
 Elko?" 
 
 Before she could reply, Mary rose, and passing between 
 them, laid her hand upon John's shoulder, and confronted the 
 enraged girl. She had ceased to cry, and there was a firmness 
 in her face which Henry Broome had thought foreign to her 
 character. She did not look at her lover, but she kept her hand 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 39 
 
 on his shoulder, pressing it lightly, as she addressed the new 
 comer : 
 
 " Yes," she said, " what do you want here ? This is my be- 
 trothed husband. We have been engaged for years. He loves 
 me ; yes, he loves me better than you, for all your fiery eyes, 
 and black hair, and pretty figure. I am to be his wife, not you. 
 What do you want here ?" 
 
 The girl whomJTohn had addressed as Lucy, stepped back 
 and flushed deeply, as Mary spoke. She was on the point of 
 speaking, when Mary raised her hand to stay her, and resumed : 
 
 " Not yet ! Wait a little, until I have done. I know my 
 dear would not have forgotten me no, not for a moment un- 
 less he had been tempted. I know he never would have suffered 
 another to take my place no, not for a moment unless that 
 other had abused her opportunities. I know that you knew he 
 was engaged, and that you set a snare for his feet, in the vanity 
 and pride of your heart." 
 
 The little hand that rested on John's shoulder trembled, but 
 she would not give way. Was she not battling for all that was 
 dear to her ? Was she not confronting the great crisis of her 
 life ? She continued : 
 
 " No ; not yet. I have more to say. You thought you could 
 win my dear away from me, with your great wild eyes. You 
 thought you could break the heart of the silly little thing in the 
 East who was engaged to him. But you never loved him 
 truly do not speak I see it in your eyes ; I read it in your 
 looks ; I know it by your bitter anger, which is wounded vanity, 
 not love ; and I tell you that you shall not have your way. 
 You shall not break my heart or his !" 
 
 While she thus spoke, not loudly or with excitement, but 
 earnestly and sweetly, Lucy remained gazing at her, glancing 
 now and then at John, who sat with his head bowed down and 
 buried in his hands. 
 
 When Mary ceased speaking, the other girl stood silent a 
 moment, the color coming and going upon her cheeks, the light 
 rising and fading in her eyes. It was plain to be seen that a 
 great struggle was going on in her mind. It was plain to be 
 seen that her good and evil genii were contending for the mas- 
 
40 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 tery. It was plain to be seen in the dark clouds that passed 
 over her face, and in the softened expression that alternated 
 with them. She looked at Mary, and the hardness of her gaze 
 melted. She glanced at John's bowed head, and her lips closed 
 cruelly. Three times she opened her mouth to speak, and as 
 often the words died away unuttered. At length she said, in a 
 constrained, unnatural voice : 
 
 " Ask him ! Let him speak for himself." 
 
 At this appeal, John Rutter shuddered, and plucking his 
 hands from his face, rose and faced her, catching and retaining 
 Mary's hand as he did so. He was very pale and haggard. He 
 seemed to have grown ten years older in the last few minutes. 
 There were deep lines about his mouth and eyes, and his features 
 looked drawn and pinched, like those of one who has just passed 
 through a long and severe illness. When he essayed to speak 
 his lips were so dry that he was compelled to moisten them 
 before he could proceed. When he began to speak he looked 
 neither at Mary nor Lucy, but kept his eyes bent upon the 
 ground at his feet. And this is what he said : 
 
 "I have nothing to urge in my defense- Mary, I have 
 wronged you cruelly ; but, Mary, you have wronged her. You 
 were absent, and I was foolish. I don't think that is, I did not 
 tell her that 1 was engaged to you. But I never thought she 
 (it was noticeable that he never spoke of Lucy directly) cared 
 tor me much. I never thought seriously about it, indeed. We 
 were thrown together, and and I was no, I won't say I was 
 fascinated, for I went into the business with my eyes open. I 
 didn't think it would ever come to this. I didn't think it would 
 Come to anything till I found that I had gone further than I 
 ought to have gone, and that you were on your way here." 
 
 There was a painful silence, and then Mary, now pale as her 
 rival, and with, oh, such a look of wretchedness and pain on 
 her sweet face, gently disengaged her hand from his and 
 resumed : 
 
 " Don't stop there, John. Tell me all. Tell me the worst at 
 once." 
 
 John gave a great gasp, and for the first time time looked 
 full at Lucy. He hesitated, but was about to resume his con- 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 41 
 
 fession, with such an expression as a man on the rack might 
 wear, when Lucy, who had been studying his face attentively, 
 cried : 
 
 " Hold ! You have sinned, and are punished. I have trusted, 
 and am punished. Perhaps I also sinned. But I am alone, and 
 can live alone. When I am gone you two will outlive this bit- 
 terness. I will not interfere between you." 
 
 She stopped, struggled again with herself, and resumed, in a 
 low, sad tone : 
 
 " He never loved me. It was but a foolish flirtation, and 
 none but a wild creature such as I am would have made this 
 trouble. His heart has always been yours, and always will be 
 Forget that this has happened, and let all be as though I had 
 not intruded here." 
 
 She turned, and moved to the door. Eeaching it, she looked 
 back over her shoulder at the two lovers, who stood a little 
 apart, pale, silent, and perplexed; and in that look Henry 
 Broome read the extent of her sacrifice, and his spirit went 
 forth toward the woman who had offered up her own life-happi- 
 ness upon the altar of her noble love. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CUP AND THE LIP. 
 
 Everybody who travels at all knows the thriving little town 
 of Shoo Fly, in Nevada. Perhaps they may not recognize it 
 under that name, but the place itself would be the same no 
 matter what you called it ; and when it has been described 
 none will hesitate for a moment as to which town is meant. 
 There are a great many new towns on the line of the railroad ; 
 mushroom cities that seem to have sprung up from the crumbs 
 dropped by the boarding cars of the construction trains, and 
 which took their chances on the wisdom of location and the 
 advantages of surroundings. Some of these flourished for a few 
 weeks or months, became conceited and saucy, erected a huge 
 
42 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 caravanserai and a huge feed store, and then rapidly declined 
 and became pitiable and melancholy deserts of lumber and can- 
 vas. 
 
 But Shoo Fly was not one of these ephemeral growths. It 
 was so long established that the shingles on the roofs had be- 
 gun to turn grey and slate-colored, and the citizens could boast 
 (as they did with pardonable pride) that they possessed a baby 
 whose mother had been married in the town. This fact always 
 acted as a crusher upon the pretensions of the people of other 
 and neighboring burghs, for you see it was one of those stub- 
 born things which no amount of emulation would enable them 
 to rival, much less surpass \ and knowing this, the people of 
 Shoo Fly perhaps presumed somewhat on their good fortune. 
 
 Shoo Fly was well situated, near a fine river, and not far 
 from an abundance of timber. There were mineral dis- 
 tricts of much promise within easy access, and a lively trade 
 was established already, with a rapidly settling farming coun- 
 try on the one side, a rapidly developing mining country on 
 another side, and a rapidly building railroad country on a third 
 side. On the whole, Shoo Fly might fairly be styled a thriving 
 place, and possessing, moreover, the gravity and weight which 
 age gives (it was within a week of being a twelvemonth old) 
 was naturally looked up to by its neighbors. 
 
 Its exterior and material aspect was plain, not ornamental . 
 One street, two dozen stores, two wooden hotels, two livery 
 stables, six saloons, and a round house and machine shop be- 
 longing to the railway, about completed the picture. But Shoo 
 Fly had two aspects : its railroad aspect and its stage aspect. 
 The first was commonplace and tame. Everybody knows it. 
 A wooden platform, a hurry and bustle, a clanging and whis- 
 tling, and wheezing, a smell of oil, and a pervading sensation of 
 cinders, a rapid freight clerk, a stern ticket clerk, a clicking tel- 
 egraph clerk, a bawling roadmaster. 
 
 The stage aspect was different. You passed down a little 
 street, about six yards long, and came upon the stage office at 
 the back of the town. You turned a corner, and there was a 
 dining saloon, always filled at train time with a hungry crowd, 
 either just about to leave by the train, having come in by the 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 43 
 
 stage, or just about to leave by the stage, having como in by 
 the train. There was a peculiarity about the stage passengers 
 never noticeable in the train passengers. Trains have a level- 
 ing tendency. They repress individuality and stifle the exhibi- 
 tion of idiosyncracies. Everybody feels just the same when 
 traveling by a train. The same general griminess, the same lia- 
 bility to attract cinders in the eyes, the same tendency to ex- 
 aggerate the angularity of the seats, the same sleepiness and 
 the same inability to sleep, affect everybody. 
 
 But on the stages at Shoo Fly it was not so. Those stages 
 great clumsy, red vehicles, with dusty leather curtains in place 
 of windows, and the most horribly uncomfortable internal ar- 
 rangements went far out into the wild parts of the country. 
 Some of them climbed high into the mountains, amid snow and 
 ice; some of them traversed the dreary alkali plains, where 
 smothering heat arid dust made journeying a torture, and 
 where the sand and sage brush extend for melancholy miles 
 on miles, barren, desolate and depressing. And the passengers 
 were queer looking customers. Here would be one wrapped in 
 a huge blanket coat, and wearing great boots reaching to the 
 thighs. There would be another, buttoned up close in ample 
 linen duster, with auxiliary pocket handkerchief tied loosely 
 about the neck, and hat slouched over so as to " shed " the 
 sand and dust. There were miners, and farmers, and graziers, 
 and lawyers, and gamblers, and laborers, and mill men, and dro- 
 vers, and engineers, and a very few women, who always ruled 
 the stage passengers with an absolute sway, and did with every- 
 body (except the driver) pretty much as they pleased. Some 
 of the passengers have Henry or Spencer rifles with them, and 
 look as though they knew how to use them. 
 
 At times the stages in certain quarters run (or have run) 
 risks from Indians. In other quarters they run (or have run) 
 risks from road agents. In the former case they generally give 
 a good account of the aggressors. In the latter case the ag- 
 gressors generally give a good account of them. The reason of 
 this is that Indians seek scalps ; road agents merely treasure 
 boxes. The drivers do not consider themselves bound to fight 
 for the company's property, but they need no persuasion to in- 
 
44 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 duce them to fight for their own lives. The passengers regard 
 the matter in much the same light, and the result is that the 
 road agents thrive while the Indians do not. So much for phi- 
 losophy and prudence. 
 
 The stages left Shoo Fly sometimes twice and sometimes 
 three times a day. But whether they left twice or twenty 
 times there would always have been found a sufficient number 
 of citizens to constitute the knot of spectators that watched 
 each vehicle's departure, and stood looking silently after it until 
 it disappeared, with a solemn and reflective gaze. 
 
 Such were the principal outward features of interest in Shoo 
 Fly. Of its inner life its social position much might be 
 said. Shoo Fly was respectable and progressive. It had its 
 weaknesses its faro bank or two and its other headquarters 
 of dissipation. But it permitted no rowdyism, and the men who 
 had tried to bully Shoo Fly, or commit any disorderly acts 
 within its limits, would have taken a greater risk than most 
 men care to encounter. The Shoo Fly people were practical 
 and full of business. They were warm-hearted, hospitable and 
 generous. They were rough and straightforward in their ways, 
 fond of poker, not averse to whisky toddies, addicted to cigars ; 
 but, take them altogether, perhaps as jovial, honest, whole- 
 souled a little community as an energetic man need wish to set- 
 tle among. 
 
 At this particular period Shoo Fly was considerably excited 
 over a brand-new sensation, and the male population was dis- 
 cussing the affair with much gusto, though with a kind of nat- 
 ural gravity, too. Stealing cattle was not of itself a novelty. 
 There was a fair grazing country in the valley that lay to the 
 right of the town, and c&ttl&Jiad vanished thence before. But 
 never before had a woman been caught stealing cattle, and this 
 it was that so excited Shoo Fly. 
 
 The long and short of it was that Lucy Draper had been 
 arrested in the act of driving off a band of cattle, and that she 
 was to be tried for the offense. Now, Lucy Draper was in some 
 sort a popular institution, and was regarded by Shoo Fly and 
 the whole country round about with a feeling very near akin to 
 universal admiration. Lucy was young and handsome. She 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 45 
 
 owned a ranch in a fertile valley. She lived alone, or at least 
 without other company than an old female servant. She was a 
 daring horsewoman, a dead shot with gun, revolver and rifle, 
 an intrepid huntress, a fluent talker, and a scorner of all con- 
 ventional usages. She had lived in the valley for several years, 
 and everybody knew her for miles around, though nobody un- 
 derstood her. The women abused her mercilessly, but the men 
 liked her, and did not mind saying so. She had been in 
 many scrapes, and, to say the truth, had more than once made 
 the acquaintance of the District Attorney. But with all her 
 wildness nobody had a word to say against her reputation as a 
 woman, and she was looked upon generally as a social puzzle. 
 This, however, was the wildest and worst undertaking she had 
 yet ventured upon, and consequently the excitement was con- 
 siderable. It was, indeed, remarked that since her return from 
 that trip on the railroad East, she had been much more eccen- 
 tric and reckless than before, and some of the older inhabit- 
 ants had ventured to expostulate with her, though unavailingly. 
 Had she been a man there can be no question that it would 
 have gone hard with her, for cattle stealing was a capital 
 offense in the eyes of the people of this region. But, being 
 what she was, her crime was regarded rather as a comical es- 
 capade than as a serious matter, and the occasion of* the trial 
 became quite an excuse for a holiday. 
 
 The knots that assembled around the Court House, and the 
 express office, and the railroad depot, were all discussing this 
 subject. At one place the express agent was narrating the his- 
 tory of her famous ball, to which she had invited all the settlers 
 for twenty miles around, ran in debt for the entertainment, and 
 when her favorite mare was attached by the Sheriff, stole it out 
 of the stable at night, leaped a six-foot fence, and distanced her 
 pursuers gallantly. At another place an eager group were lis- 
 tening to the story of her shooting exploits the most notable 
 of which was the discomfiture of a rowdy who had mistaken her 
 character, and meeting her alone on horseback one day had 
 offered to insult her. She had put a ball through his right arm, 
 knocked him off his horse with the butt of her pistol, and seized 
 his steed as spoils of war. Another time, when a party of gay 
 
46 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 young fellows conspired to make her " tight," thinking she 
 could not stand liquor, she drank them all into helplessness, 
 tied them in their chairs, blackened their faces, and so left 
 them to be the butts of the whole district forever after. 
 
 These stories might have been continued indefinitely, but for 
 the fact that the time for the Court to open had arrived, and as 
 this event was what everybody had been waiting for, the good 
 people of Shoo Fly trooped off to the Court House to enjoy the 
 proceedings. 
 
 There was an additional source of interest in the fact that 
 a new lawyer was to undertake Lucy's defense. He was a 
 young man, had riot been long in the neighborhood, but had 
 made many friends by his genial ways and his knowledge of 
 poker. His name was Broome, and rumor said that he was 
 sweet upon his fair client, who certainly treated him with more 
 consideration and regard than she showed to any of the young 
 men of the district. 
 
 When the prisoner entered the Court there was a loud buzz 
 of curiosity and admiration. She was dressed in black, and 
 looked very quiet and demure. Her heavily-fringed eyelids 
 were cast modestly down, her black hair was arranged neatly 
 under a sober little hat, and she certainly looked as little like a 
 desperate*character as could well be imagined. 
 
 The jury were empaneled, Mr. Broome making very few 
 challenges, and the Prosecuting Attorney arose to state the case. 
 It was very plain, and he felt assured of a conviction. The 
 prisoner had been caught in the act of driving a band of cattle 
 belonging to Abijah Jones, and had attempted to resist the 
 officers. He would be able to show that the defendant was a 
 person of bad character (a murmur of dissent in the Court) and 
 he should press for a summary conviction. 
 
 Then the witnesses were called. Abijah Jones, the owner of 
 the stolen cattle, unfortunately for himself bore the character of 
 a disagreeable old curmudgeon.- He was prosperous but penu- 
 rious. Old and ugly ; mean looking and spiteful looking. He 
 did not impress the jury at all favorably, but his evidence was 
 incontrovertible, and cross-examination failed to shake him. 
 
 Then the Deputy Sheriff, who had arrested Lucy, was exam- 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 47 
 
 ined, and testified to having found her riding in the rear of the 
 cattle, and to her defiance of the law, which was carried even 
 so far as the drawing of a pistol on him. This looked grave, 
 and the jury were compelled to take a glance at the defendant 
 Her demure and innocent aspect evidently refreshed them much, 
 and they smiled pityingly on the Deputy Sheriff. Mr. Broome 
 declined to ask the witness any questions, and one or two others 
 having been examined, the Prosecuting Attorney said that was 
 his case. 
 
 Then there was a buzz, hushed suddenly as the young lawyer 
 rose and prepared to address the jury for the defense. 
 
 He commenced by drawing a vivid picture of a western 
 homestead. He represented a happy and united family, pros- 
 pering by their own exertions, and respected by their neighbors. 
 Then he showed how unexpected troubles came upon this family. 
 How sickness struck down the children one after the other; 
 how droughts, and floods, and vermin ruined the crops, and 
 wasted the land; how at length the head of the family was com- 
 pelled to throw up his old homestead ; and how they set forth 
 on a long journey to the far West. He described the perils and 
 privations of that journey across the Plains. He appealed to 
 the experience of the jury, many, perhaps most, of whom, had 
 passed through the same dangers. He told how the travellers 
 had camped, one fatal night, near a certain ford, and how the 
 cruel Indians had swept down upon them at daylight, and had 
 murdered the emigrants all save two, one of whom was the 
 prisoner, and the other a sorely wounded man, who possessed 
 just strength enough to carry his little charge out of danger, 
 and then sank and died. He narrated how this orphan child 
 had been found by strangers, who brought her on with them. 
 He painted the loneliness of her childhood ; the lack of a mother's 
 advice and a father's vigilance. He showed how the native 
 independence of the girl had rebelled against her condition; 
 how her high spirit had chafed against the tyranny of strangers, 
 who made a reproach of her misfortunes, and treated her as a 
 bond-servant. He dwelt eloquently upon the difficulties that 
 had surrounded^ her ; called -the attention of the jury to the 
 beauty with which nature had endowed her; spoke of the temp- 
 
48 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 tations which beset a girl without relatives to help her ; com- 
 mented on the brave spirit she had shown in determining to 
 earn her own living on her own land; and concluded by an ap- 
 peal to the chivalry and humanity of the jury, which called 
 forth a storm of applause. 
 
 When he sat down Henry Broome had said simply nothing 
 in relation to the cattle stealing ; but he had gained his point- 
 The Prosecuting Attorney (whose heart was not in the case) 
 glanced at the jury, smiled, and declined to reply. 
 
 The judge summed up briefly, stating that the case was very 
 clear, and that the jury could not hesitate as to their decision. 
 
 The jury retired, whispered together for a few minutes, and 
 then declared that they were agreed. 
 
 The verdict, cheerfully delivered by the foreman, as an 
 opinion which did credit alike to the hearts and the heads 
 of himself and his fellows, was "Not Guilty !" 
 
 It is true that this decision was in direct opposition to the 
 evidence, and in defiance of the law governing the case. But it 
 was received with rapture by the people who filled the Court, 
 and cheer after cheer resounded as they filed into the open air, 
 and shook hands with the successful counsel, and Lucy, and 
 each other, with as much inward satisfaction and actual joy as 
 though they had all been running for Congress, and had all 
 been elected by immense majorities. 
 
 Harry Broome was the hero of the hour, and received the 
 earnest congratulations of all Shoo Fly. Even Bill Burke, the 
 blacksmith, who was the strongest man in the place, and was 
 so terribly hen-pecked by his mite of a wife that he never dared 
 to call his soul his own, was so exhilarated that he actually 
 asked Harry to come and dine with him and immediately 
 after stood appalled at the magnitude of his daring. But the 
 sweetest triumph for Harry was when Lucy approached him, 
 and laying her hand upon his arm thanked him, with tears in 
 her eyes. Lucy was not one of your crying women, and even 
 on this occasion it seemed to Harry that in the look she gave 
 him there was more of a tender pity for himself than gladness 
 for her own escape. Yet it made him very happy, for to tell 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 49 
 
 the truth, he had received little encouragement heretofore from 
 her. 
 
 When she left Ogden, after that stormy scene, he had fol- 
 lowed her, scarcely knowing or caring why. It was a case of 
 love at first sight ; a kind of love much more common than is 
 generally believed, and much more lasting than many other 
 kinds of love. After what had passed, she could not treat him 
 as a stranger, for he had become acquainted with her secret. 
 But though she soon grew to like him, and to take pleasure in 
 his company, and though she used her influence to persuade 
 him into abandoning his wild, useless life, she would hold out 
 no hope to him. With instinctive delicacy he refrained from 
 alluding to the past, trusting that Time would heal lier heart- 
 wounds, and being content to keep himself before her as much 
 as possible. He had been bred to the law in the East, but had 
 early acquired a distaste for the profession, and a quarrel with 
 his family had set him adrift, to wander aimlessly on the fron- 
 tiers, and, to pick up much more evil than good. This girl, wild 
 though she was, disliked wildness in others. She saw that 
 there was a foundation of energy and sound sense in young 
 Broome, and she urged him to make a better use of his time. 
 He would have done anything she told him to do, so settled 
 quietly down in Shoo J^ly and burnished up his early reminis- 
 cences of law practice, with what result, so far as Lucy was 
 concerned, has already appeared. 
 
 Harry helped the late prisoner on her horse, and she rode 
 off to her ranch. He looked after her as long as she was visi- 
 ble, and then walked over to his little office, and lighting a 
 cigar sat down to ponder. He had made an important step, he 
 thought. The ground was well broken, and the future was less 
 difficult. He had no fears for Lucy, for wild as she was, he felt 
 confident that marriage would settle her, and that she would 
 make a good wife. As for himself, be had given up all his old 
 dissipated habits, and had already obtained the reputation of a 
 steady, rising young fellow. His own path seemed clear 
 enough. 
 
 Perhaps he would not have felt quite so confident had he 
 observed the two travelers who had just then passed his office, 
 
50 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 and turned into a restaurant hard by. They were travel- 
 .stained, dirty, fatigued looking fellows, and sat down wearily 
 and called for food. They were by no means prepossessing in 
 appearance, and though plenty of rough characters passed 
 through Shoo Fly every day, these would have attracted some- 
 thing more than a casual glance from the bright, resolute eyes 
 of the active citizen who officiated as Sheriff of the county, had 
 he happened to see them. One of these men was tall, burly, 
 dark, heavy-bearded. The other was small, wiry, yellow-faced, 
 and wore a straw-colored goatee. In short, the two men were 
 our old-acquaintances, Messrs. Belto and Cobbins, who had mi- 
 raculously escaped death in the catastrophe of the railroad 
 bridge (the fortune that usually attends the Devil's Own hav- 
 ing attended them thus far) and finding Utah too warm for 
 them, had determined to try their luck in Nevada. 
 
 The restaurant was full of customers, and as the principal 
 subject of conversation was the trial which had taken place 
 that morning, the new arrivals soon became acquainted with 
 the facts. Neither of them took much notice of the comments 
 which were freely made upon the power and ability displayed 
 by the young lawyer. They were naturally prejudiced against 
 lawyers, and regarded them as nuisances. But Mr. Belto was 
 much taken with the story of Lucy Draper, and asked many 
 questions about her career and exploits, which latter seemed to 
 amuse him greatly. Taking a stroll through the town after 
 dinner, he confided to his partner that he was " kinder stuck 
 arter that there gal." From the description he had received 
 he was inclined to believe that she was a young woman after 
 his own heart, and the more he thought of the matter the more 
 impressed did he become with a desire to make her acquaint, 
 ance. Mr. Cobbins, never addicted to sentiment of any kind, 
 paid little attention to the other's remarks, being mentally en- 
 gaged in discussing the " show " for starting a little game. 
 He had already satisfied himself that the customs of Kill-me- 
 Quick were not the customs of Shoo Fly, and that caution and 
 circumspection would be necessary in the latter place. But he 
 still hoped that something might be made out of the visit, and 
 was casting about in his mind for a promising project. To him, 
 thus occupied, his partner spoke. 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 51 
 
 " Cobbins," said he thoughtfully, " a gal o' that sort'd likely 
 have a few twenties around her place. Likewise a good horse 
 or two. Also purvisions. They say she lives all alone by her- 
 self, and that there's nobody round but an old woman, or some- 
 thin' o' that kind. I've more than half a mind to pay her a 
 visit to-night. Wot do you think ?" 
 
 " Make the d d place too hot to hold us," replied Mr. Cob- 
 bins sententiously. 
 
 " Who's to know us, you flat ? We've ori'y been here a 
 couple of hours or so, and not more'n half a dozen has set eyes 
 
 on us. Strikes me its a bully lay-out, and I'm if I don't 
 
 do it, too !" 
 
 Thus, with a smart slap upon his thigh, did Mr. Belto pro- 
 claim that his mind was made up on the subject, and as Mr. 
 Cobbins always deferred to him, as the more daring and orig- 
 inal in his conceptions, and^ as also the more capable, physi- 
 cally, he yielded on this occasion, after a brief remonstrance, to 
 which he was moved more by a reluctance to abandon a certain 
 gambling scheme he had just mapped out, than from any ap- 
 prehensions as to the result of the visit. So it was arranged 
 that they should call on Lucy that evening, at a somewhat later 
 hour than ladies usually receive company. 
 
 Now it so happened that Henry Broome had determined 
 upon visiting Lucy this evening also, and as her place was only 
 about six miles from Shoo Fly, he rode out quietly after dinner, 
 and spent a couple of hours with her. She was much kinder 
 to-night than she had ever been before, and as they sat and 
 talked in her homely little parlor, while the old servant mended 
 stockings in a corner of the room, (Lucy insisting on her pres- 
 ence, with a prudent regard for her reputation), Henry was 
 quite happy, and more hopeful than ever. 
 
 Lucy's conversation was not at all like Mary Sheldon's. She 
 possessed a vigorous intellect, and though it had been little cul- 
 tivated her thoughts were original and daring, and her expres- 
 sion confident and easy. Henry could talk to her freely about 
 his affairs; could expostulate with her on her recklessness; 
 could speak plainly with her about her peculiar ideas of the 
 rights of property; and was never afraid of offending her by 
 
52 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 his plainness, or of getting beyond her capacity on any sub- 
 ject. She admired him for his candor, good sense, and strength 
 of mind. She liked him for his freedom from that snickering 
 spooniness which afflicted most of the young men when in her 
 presence. But she had not yet recovered from the shock of her 
 parting with John Rutter, though she had resolutely deter- 
 mined to crush the memory of him from out her heart. 
 
 So the young couple sat and chatted pleasantly, yet soberly, 
 and when Harry at length rose to take his leave he was per- 
 fectly satisfied with the result of his visit. He mounted his 
 horse, lighted a cigar, and rode slowly homeward, full of bright 
 anticipations, and building castles in the air at an astonishing 
 rate. He might have been in the saddle a quarter of an hour 
 or so he never could tell exactly how long it was, he had been 
 so lost in thought when the report of a pistol rang upon the 
 night air and startled him from his reverie. The sound came 
 from the direction of the house he had lett. There was no 
 other dwelling within three or four miles, and he could not, 
 therefore, be mistaken. Half-defined fears crowded into hi s 
 mind as he turned his horse's head and galloped back. 
 
 When he left Lucy she stood on the porch, watching his re_ 
 ceding form, for a few moments, and then re-entered the house, 
 and seated herself, with a half-suppressed sigh of weariness and 
 vexation. She found the crushing out process harder than she 
 had contemplated. The attentions and the presence of Harry ? 
 so far from erasing the memory of the past, only recalled it 
 more vividly, and often as she sat with him fancy would re- 
 place his well known features with the still better remembered 
 lineaments of her lost love. She fought against it bravely, and 
 it was because she fought so bravely that she was vexed and 
 distressed to find how slow her progress was. This evening she 
 felt strangely downcast. She had not noticed it when Harry 
 was present, but now that she was alone again her isolation im- 
 pressed itself on her more than ever before. Her mind re- 
 verted to the scene of the morning, and she went over the trial 
 and Harry's speech, and the verdict, and the congratulations of 
 the people, again. Somehow she experienced no sort of satis- 
 faction from her acquittal. She began to despise herself, and to 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 53 
 
 feel ashamed of her wild pranks as she had not done before. 
 The truth was that Harry's influence was making itself felt, and 
 the first step to reformation dissatisfaction with the existing 
 state of things was being made. 
 
 She was suddenly roused from her brooding by a scream of 
 mortal fear from the old woman, who sat near the door, and 
 looking up she saw the servant's eyes fixed, with a terrified ex- 
 pression, upon a man's face which was peering in through the 
 half-opened portal. It was an ugly and a villainous face, but it 
 did not frighten Lucy. She sprang at once for her pistol, 
 which lay, ready loaded, on the mantel-piece; but at the same 
 moment the door of the back room opened suddenly, and an- 
 other man appeared, while the first dashed forward toward 
 her. She had secured her pistol, but this complication of the 
 attack confused her, and her first shot was fired almost at ran- 
 dom. Before she could cock the weapon again her arms were 
 gripped tightly from behind, it was wrested from her, and she 
 was forced, panting, into a chair, and securely bound with 
 cords. The old servant continuing to scream, Mr. Cobbins 
 knocked her down with the butt of the pistol, and gagged her. 
 The two ruffians then turned their attention to Lucy, who now 
 sat still and composed, looking them both in the face boldly 
 and sternly. Mr. Belto eyed her with undisguised admiration. 
 
 u Mona'us putty gal ! " he observed to Mr. Cobbins, who was 
 already instituting a search into the resources of the establish- 
 ment; "mighty handy with the pistol, too." Then, addressing 
 Lucy, conversationally : u And so you're the gal as corrals 
 stock, are you ? Well ! now ! ef that don't beat my time ! " 
 and he gazed at his captive thoughtfully, and helped himself to 
 a chew of tobacco. 
 
 Lucy said nothing, but her eyes flashed in a way that would 
 have boded no good to Mr. Belto had her arms been free. Mr. 
 Cobbins was a man of business, and here interfered. 
 
 " Stow that d^-d truck, Belto, and help me go through the 
 house. Say, you," addressing Lucy brutally, " where in the 
 do you keep your dust ? " 
 
 " You git out," responded Mr. Belto, coolly pushin^ftis com" 
 panion aside. " That ain't no kind o' way to talk. My dear, 
 
54 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 we are hard up, and wants to make a raise. I know you 
 wouldn't refuse to help us, but you'r too tired to get about, and 
 we're in a hurry. Where is the key of the money drawer, eh ?" 
 
 Lucy held her tongue. Mr. Cobbins blasphemed. Mr. Belto 
 began to "rile" and the servant began to recover hep senses. 
 
 Just at this moment the door opened again, and Harry 
 Broome entered the room. 
 
 The two gamblers raised their weapons at sight of him, and 
 were about to fire when they recognized him, simultaneously. 
 Belto uttered a furious cry and his companion a terrific oath, 
 and both sprang upon him, by one consent. He had not time 
 to draw his pistol, and could only grapple with them. There 
 was a wild struggle, a stifled cursing and panting, a stamping 
 and blundering here and there, a knocking down of tables and 
 chairs, and then Harry lay on the floor, with Mr. Belto's pow- 
 erful knee upon his breast, and Mr. Belto's powerful hands hold- 
 ing his arms as if in a vice. Mr. Belto's face at this moment 
 was not a pleasant sight to see. It was the face of a triumphant 
 fiend, all malignity and revenge, and cruelty, and sense of 
 power. He called for cords and bound Harry firmly. Then he 
 rose, looked at him murderously, drew a deep breath and cocked 
 his revolver. 
 
 " So, you durn skunk!" he said then, "you thought you'd 
 got away with Slaughterhouse Jack, did you? You burned 
 Kill-me-Quick, did you ? You uncoupled the train, and thought 
 you'd sent us to hell, did you ? Now I'll send you there !" 
 
 It was evident that he meant murder. Lucy could see that 
 in his eye, and so could Harry. It was evident that he only 
 delayed the shot for the pleasure of tantalizing his victim. But 
 Mr. Cobbins had a word to say also, and that word was "Aint 
 
 you a fool, Belto? What good will it do to blow that 
 
 skunk's head off now ? Bring him away with us, and I'll show 
 you how to put him through." 
 
 Mr. Belto looked at his partner for a moment as if he sus- 
 pected him of an intention to rob him of his prey; but there 
 was that in Mr. Cobbins' eyes which reassured him, and he 
 replied u Dunno but what you're right, Cob. Guess we'll put 
 him on one of the horses and take him along." 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 55 
 
 Lucy had witnessed the unmistakable hatred evinced by the 
 gamblers toward Harry, with amazement and perplexity. It 
 was evident that they knew him, and that they had some old 
 grudge against him; and it was also evident that they were 
 bent on a bloody vengeance now they had him in their hands. 
 She felt that all hope of intercession on her part was vain, and 
 yet she felt impelled to make an effort. " Let him go, you 
 brutes," she cried passionately, "you are welcome to all you can 
 find here. But if you harm Mm I'll have the country on your 
 track before daylight." 
 
 Mr. Cobbins looked ferociously at the girl, and drew his 
 knife. He evidently thought her threats were not to be de- 
 spised, and that the best way to avert danger was to silence 
 her effectually. But Belto would not hear of this. He liked 
 her pluck, and he cared for nothing now he had Harry in his 
 power. He motioned to Cobbins to put up his knife, and pro- 
 ceeded to haul the prisoner to his feet, preparatory to placing 
 him on horseback. 
 
 Harry saw Lucy's danger and told her not to mind him. If 
 the fellows killed him it wouldn't matter much, and it was no 
 use making a fuss over what couldn't be helped. He had faced 
 death too often to fear it, and she mustn't fret. 
 
 She spoke no more. She only exchanged one glance with 
 him as he was being borne to the door, and in that glance he 
 read her assurance that come what might, he would be avenged. 
 
 The gamblers gagged him, set him on his own horse, and 
 having secured some provisions from the house, and taken what- 
 ever of value they could find, prepared to start. When they 
 were in the saddle, Mr. Cobbinw delivered his farewell thus 
 
 "You can tell this young man's friends, ef he's got any, that 
 we've saved them the expenses of a funeral. They won't see 
 him again, unless they go where he'll mighty soon be." 
 
 With that ominous parting the scene closed. The tramp of 
 the horses rang out on the still night, growing fainter and 
 fainter, and Lucy sat, bound fast to her chair, gazing into the 
 thick darkness through the open doorway. 
 
56 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FORTY-MILE DESERT. 
 
 The sun was setting. Seen through the heated atmosphere 
 that quivered over the arid plain he resembled a large red-hot 
 cannon ball, and fancy might have suggested the possibility of 
 his setting fire to the range of hills whose uppermost ridge his 
 lower limb was touching. The scene over which his last hot 
 gleams shot was a dreary and depressing scene. Far as the 
 eye could reach extended a bleak desert. Low hillocks swelled 
 at intervals along the horizon, and broke the flatness of the ex- 
 panse. But no tree, nor shrub, nor green thing, nor human be- 
 ing, nor dwelling house of man, nor running stream, existed 
 there. It was the Great Desert of Nevada, sometimes known 
 as the Forty-mile Desert. Alkali, lava and sand ; patches of 
 .sage brush, sickly and weak of growth, scattered here and 
 there ; broad stretches of bare, hard earth and that was all. 
 The midday sun had been pouring his rays down with intoler- 
 able fierceness upon the naked ground. At evening the ground 
 gave back to the atmosphere some portion of its superabundant 
 heat, and the plain was stifling all the night. Such breezes as 
 ventured to cross the desert were speedily robbed of their cool- 
 ness and their invigorating qualities, and wandered languidly 
 and feebly at last, flushing the parched cheek of the traveler, 
 and scorching like blasts from the throat of a furnace. No liv- 
 ing thing made the desert its home. Even the shrill note of 
 the cricket was not heard there, and the active cotton-tail rab- 
 bit fled the accursed place. 
 
 A horrible silence hovered over the desolate region, a lurid 
 gloom was settling down upon it, as three horsemen left the 
 confines of the fertile lands and struck out into the plain. The 
 fine alkali dust rose in suffocating clouds as their horses' feet 
 fell noiselessly, and the air was so filled with this dust that it 
 penetrated the clothing, the eyes, noses, ears and mouths of the 
 travelers, and caused them to gasp for breath. 
 
 Of the three men the two who rode on the outside were 
 conversing at intervals. The one in the middle sat sullenly, 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 57 
 
 with his head on his breast, and was silent. A closer inspec- 
 tion would have shown that the silent rider was a captive, for 
 his ankles were lashed together under his horse's belly, his 
 hands were bound in front of him, and his horse was being led 
 by a line fastened to the saddle-bow of the taller of his com- 
 panions. 
 
 They rode on and on, into the desert and the night. The 
 alkali dust hung in gray clouds upon their track, and settled 
 very slowly after they had passed. Their horses coughed and 
 tossed their heads, plainly evincing their uneasiness at the situ, 
 ation. The sun disappeared behind the low hills in the dis- 
 tance, and a burning wind crept over the plain, parching the 
 lips of the riders and closing the pores of the skin as with the 
 breath of fever. v 
 
 At length the captive raised his head and spoke. 
 
 " What are you going to do with me, you two ?" 
 
 Mr. Belto referred to his partner. 
 
 " What are we going to do with him, Cobbins?" 
 
 Mr. Cobbins cleared his mouth of the alkali dust as well as 
 he could, and replied by asking a question in his turn. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of Jack Slade ? " 
 
 " I have heard of an infernal scoundrel of that name," re- 
 plied the captive. 
 
 Mr. Cobbins waved away the epithet, as irrelevant, and 
 asked again : 
 
 " And did you ever hear of what he did to Jules Berg ? " 
 
 "No !" was the reply. 
 
 "Well, then, Fll tell you; it'll help to pass away the time, 
 and it'll may be serve as an answer to your question. Mr. 
 J&ck Slade was a Division Superintendent on the old Overland 
 Stage Line. A mos' peart an' lively man he was, and stood no 
 back talk from any one. He was all-fired quick with the pistol, 
 and had taken a baker's dozen of scalps afore he met Jules 
 Berg. Now, Berg was one o' them there skunks as thinks they 
 has a right to interfere everywhere as you interfered with us, 
 
 you , (blanjp filled to suit the fancy), and Jack, he wasn't 
 
 agoin' to put up with such goin's on. They had a kind of ruc- 
 tion once, and Jack had to take water; but he never forgot 
 
58 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 nothin' and he just had it in for that Berg. Well, his time came 
 around. Some on his pals, they got Berg off to a quiet station, 
 by a plant, and they sent word to Slade as how he was corraled. 
 May be the old man didn't put on an extra stage to get there. 
 Oh, no ! Nor he didn't drive all night, so's to lose no time ! 
 Anyhow, he arrove at the station, and there he found that 
 skunk Berg fixed up as slick as could be. You see the boys, 
 knowin' Jack was kinder pressed for time, had got things all 
 ready aforehand, and, when he come, there was Jules tied up to 
 a post in the corral, as handy as could be. Jack eases his mind 
 a bit, cussin' him, and then he sets to and shoots him, little by 
 little. Jack was an awful good shot, and could put the balls 
 just where he wanted, and he'd fire a bullet through Jules' leg, or 
 arm, or shoulder, or wot not, and cuss 'im a spell, and go in and 
 take a drink with the boys there was quite a crowd to see the 
 sport ancj then go out and take another shot; and so on. 
 There's no denyin' that that there Jules was game, for he wouldn't 
 squeal, though he was fairly riddled. Jack had put two and 
 twenty balls into him without kiliin' him, and might ha' kept 
 the game up longer, on'y he'd taken just 's many drinks as he 
 fired shots, and was getting mad at Jules' not sayin' nothin', 
 nor screechin'. So at last he goes up to him, and after kickin' 
 him about a bit, and cussin' him all he wanted, he puts the pis- 
 tol in his mouth, and finishes the business. He kept Jules' ears 
 as a sort of remembrancer, an' ef ever you wanted to put Jack 
 in a good humor afterwards, all you had to do was to ask him. 
 to tell you how he got them ears." 
 
 Harry Broome showed no discomposure as Mr. Cobbins con- 
 cluded this revolting story (unhappily true, every word of it), 
 but remarked : " And that's the kind of l game ' you're going to 
 play with me, is it? "Well, there's one consolation : I was on 
 the Vigilance Committee that hanged your friend Jack Slade." 
 Mr. Cobbins drew a deep breath, and regarded his captive 
 with additional fervency. ** 
 
 " Oh/' he said, pleasantly, " you were, were you ? Well, 
 now, I'm glad to know that. It don't make it f any worse for 
 you, cause you see we mean to make it about as rough as 
 rough can be, anyhow. But its a comfort to know that we'll 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 59 
 
 be fulfillin' a dooty as well as enjoyin' a soothin' pleasure when 
 we help you to hand in your checks. Stranger, you're a dan- 
 gerous carakter, and Society cannot put up with you no longer !" 
 With this protest on behalf of Society, Mr. Cobbins relapsed 
 into silence, and the three men rode on, and on, into the desert 
 and the night. 
 
 About midnight they halted to take a few hours' rest before 
 entering upon the business of the morning. The captive was 
 informed that he would not require any breakfast, and that it 
 was not worth while to waste a supper on him, as he would 
 hardly have time to digest it. The gamblers, however, were 
 well supplied with whisky, and had also some crackers -with 
 them, on which they supped with much apparent satisfaction. 
 The horses were next carefully hobbled, anjl the prisoner being 
 laid on his back, his captors took their stations on either side 
 of him, and in a Few minutes fell asleep. ANCRFT LJ BRAKY 
 
 Harry, in spite of the awful nature of his position, felt 
 drowsy. He was fatigued with the long rid'e, and his ankles and 
 wrists were chafed and sore. He did not wish to go to sleep, 
 but the heat and the fatigue, and the heavy breathing of the 
 wretches by his side, combined to lull him into a feverish, 
 dreamy state. For perhaps an hour he lay thus, becoming 
 wide awake at intervals, then dropping into an uneasy slumber ; 
 but gradually the drowsy feeling wore off, the nervous forces 
 asserted their supremacy, and he was fully roused. 
 
 Then he began to think. He went back over his whole past 
 life in detail. Through childhood, school life, college life, law 
 office life, wild frontier life, up to the meeting with Mary Shel- 
 don. There he lingered a little, wondering how she got on with 
 John, and whether he was at all jealous now. ( From her his 
 mind passed naturally to Lucy, and he recalled his first meet- 
 ing with her, and her passionate agony, and his sudden admi- 
 ration of her. From that his memory passed to Shoo Fly, and 
 the trial, and the verdict, and he wondered how those jurymen 
 would feel if they knew the young lawyer they admired so 
 much was lying out on the desert awaiting a cruel and violent 
 death. The thought of death caused him to revert to the story 
 of Jules Berg, and he began to consider whether Berg's stoi- 
 
60 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 cism was real or whether the shooting was not so painful 
 after all. He remembered having read that men on the battle- 
 field who were killed by gunshot wounds always looked peace- 
 ful and quiet after death, while those who had been stabbed 
 showed the traces of great suffering in their faces. How long 
 would it take to kill him ? And was there not a chance that 
 they might do it by accident on the third or fourth shot ? What 
 would become of his body ? Would it lie there in the desert till 
 the flesh was all gone, and the bones were bleached and white ? 
 And would there be any search made for him ? Would Lucy 
 just then his memory sprang with a bound to the last time he 
 had seen her, and he recalled the eloquent look she had given 
 him as she sat bound in her chair, and they were taking him 
 out of the door. Of course she would raise the country. But 
 it would be too late. They would never track his murderers, 
 and if they found what was left of him it would only be to 
 cause additional misery. No ! on the whole it was better that 
 he should be left where he fell. A hot gust passed over his face 
 and changed the current of his thoughts. Where was he going ? 
 Was there another world ? And would he remember his old 
 life there ? Was he going to punishment or rest ? A world of 
 shadows or a world of existence ? Would he bound at once 
 into the new existence, with all his intelligence alive, or would 
 he wake as a new-born child wakes here ? Would death come 
 as an annihilator or as an illuminator ? As the Shadow fell 
 upon him would he begin to see through the curtain that veils 
 the future from mortal eyes, and commence life there before he 
 had quitted life here ? Would he be able, in the spirit form, to 
 watch over Lucy as he was thinking thus, a sound caught his 
 ear. 
 
 It was so still there in the desert that the faintest noise was 
 instantly audible. He had heard the soft tread of the horses, 
 muffled by the yielding soil, but the sound which now broke the 
 silence was different from that. He listened intently, all his 
 nerves stretched to their utmost tension, his breath coming 
 short and quick. It was but a faint sound. A light, regular 
 beat, falling on his ear; and yet he knew from the first that it 
 was an important sound for him. Softly, cautiously, it ap- 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 61 
 
 preached. He could not raise his head, nor see on either side 
 of him, but he felt that it whatever it was was guided by 
 some strong intelligence, and that it was friendly to him. 
 Softly, stealthily it approached. The suspense was becoming 
 intolerable, and he closed his eyes. But he could not keep them 
 closed, and when he looked up again he felt, as men do often 
 feel, that some one was near him, though he could see nothing. 
 The creeping sound had ceased for a moment. Then a shadow 
 fell on his face, and a warm hand glided over his mouth. 
 
 The shadow fell darker, he glanced upward and Lucy's 
 eyes were looking down into his, in the dim starlight. 
 
 It was unnecessary to caution him, for his faculties were at 
 once under full control. She motioned him to lie still, and bent 
 over the sleeping man on his right. What was she doing ? 
 She remained stooping for some minutes, and while she was in 
 this attitude a new scent, unlike anything he had distinguished 
 in the desert, became apparent; a faint, sickly, drug-like odor. 
 Lucy rose, and stepping softly, bent over the man lying at his 
 left hand. Again the faint, drug-like odor became apparent ; 
 again the girl seemed to be examining the sleeper closely. At 
 length she arose, and throwing off all her caution and stealth, 
 stepped firmly towards him, and said aloud : 
 
 " Thank God ! You are saved !" 
 
 " Hush !" he whispered in alarm, " you will wake them !" 
 
 She laughed unrestrainedly, as she cut the cords that bound 
 him. 
 
 " Before they wake, Harry, you and I will be far enough 
 away. I have given them a sleeping draught that will keep 
 them from interfering with us, and it rests with you whether 
 they shall ever wake again." 
 
 Harry Broome rose, stiffly, and looked about him as a man 
 might who is awakened from a hideous night-mare. His first 
 impulse was to make sure of his foes, and he softly even then 
 doubtful of the soundness of their sleep withdrew the pistols 
 from their belts. Then he turned to Lucy, and gave her both 
 his hands, silently. He could not have uttered one word of 
 thanks or love at that moment, but his eyes were eloquent, and 
 she accepted the unspoken offering of devotion. 
 
62 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 Strange it was that they two should meet in the desert, and 
 that over the bodies of his intended murderers he should renew 
 the chain of hopes and fears and fond anticipations which had 
 seemed, so short a time before, broken forever ! 
 
 She had said the lives of the two ruffians were in his hands. 
 He knew it as he stood and gazed upon them, lying as helpless 
 at his feet as he had lain at theirs. There was no reason small 
 or great why he should spare them. Their lives were forfeit to 
 the law a hundred times. When they awoke their first move- 
 ment would be to take his life, and Lucy's. His brow grew 
 very black as he regarded them. Lucy watched and waited. 
 
 Twice he raised his pistol in his hand, and pointing it at one 
 of the sleepers, glanced along the shining barrel. Twice his 
 hand sank slowly by his side, and the trigger was untouched. 
 At last he made his decision, and replaced the weapon in his 
 belt. 
 
 " We will leave them to God !" he said. " Let us mount and 
 ride, for I cannot trust myself to look on them again." 
 
 And they mounted and rode, taking the gamblers' horses 
 with them. The gray, cold light of early morning was stealing 
 out of the East, and slowly driving back the night, as they 
 turned their horses' heads towards the western border of the 
 desert. The alkali dust rose in clouds about them as they gal- 
 loped through the dreary pla\n, and the desert lay before them 
 in all its grim desolation. But not all the feverish conceptions 
 of celestial bliss that Henry's brain had given birth to under the 
 Shadow of Death, equalled the ecstacy of that morning ride 
 
 across the repulsive alkali plains of the Forty Mile Desert. 
 ****** 
 
 The sun was high in the heavens when Mr.Cobbins awoke, 
 feeling dizzy and queer, as though he had been drinking hard on 
 the previous night. It took him a minute or two to collect his 
 thoughts, and remember where he was, and what brought him 
 there. Having succeeded in this, he sat up and looked around 
 for the prisoner. There was no prisoner there. Mr. Cobbins 
 sprang up and uttered a yell, which had the effect of rousing his 
 partner, and in another minute they were both on their feet, 
 interrogating each other as to what had happened, and cursing 
 furiously. . 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 63 
 
 After tho first feeling of amazement at Broome's escape was 
 over, and the consternation caused by the discovery that their 
 horses had been taken, had somewhat passed off, the men began 
 to regard each other with a rising suspicion. Was it possible 
 thought Belto, that his partner had played him false? He, 
 remembered now that Cobbins had prevented him from shoot- 
 ing Harry at Lucy's house. Was there a conspiracy between 
 him and the captive? 
 
 Could it be, thought Mr. Cobbins, that Belto had been bribed 
 by the prisoner? Had they made an arrangement together? 
 He recalled the affair at Kill-me-Quick, and it appeared to him 
 now that Belto had not played with his usual skill and caution 
 on that occasion. Was it possible that his partner had plotted 
 to throw him off, and go in with the stranger ? 
 
 The result of these cogitations was that the men regarded 
 each other distrustfully, and that from that moment Cobbins 
 watched Belto, and Belto kept a vigilant eye on Cobbins. But 
 neither was inclined to force the matter to an open quarrel at 
 that time, the instinct of self-preservation being uppermost for 
 the moment. So they set out, grumbling and sullen, to walk 
 back out of the desert. 
 
 The sun was very hot, the ground was very hot, the air was 
 burning, the dust was stifling. The men were in no condition 
 to make great exertions, for though ordinarily hardy they were 
 both weakened by incessant dissipation, nor had they entirely 
 recovered from the shock of the railroad accident. Towards 
 noon they were compelled to rest, and endeavored to recruit 
 their energies with the remainder of the whisky. As they were 
 sitting moodily, Belto happened to look up, and behold, there 
 were the green fields and the trees, and the rippling water of a 
 running stream, within half a mile of them. He uttered an ex- 
 clamation of surprise and pleasure, and hastily resumed his 
 journey. Cobbins had seen the welcome objects by this time, 
 and followed him. They walked and walked, until both were 
 sure they must be near the edge of the desert. They examined 
 the horizon, and there was nothing to be seen but burning sand 
 and dazzling alkali. Then they knew that they had been 
 deceived by the mirage, and their spirits fell. 
 
64 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 As the day wore on a hot wind rose, and blew the sand about 
 in clouds, at times obscuring the view so completely that they 
 were forced to pause. In the distance they could see tall col- 
 umns of sand, caught up by the whirlwind, carried spirally 
 sixty or a hundred feet into the air, and then swept, in a gigantic 
 waltz, across and about the desert. At times these moving 
 pillars approached so near as to cause them serious alarm, but 
 they escaped that danger, and struggled on their way. 
 
 Presently dark clouds began to gather over the hills in one 
 direction. They seemed to spring into existence out of a pre- 
 viously cloudless sky, and to hurry up as though urged by a 
 furious wind, or attracted by magnetic forces. Blacker and 
 heavier they massed together over the low hills. The wind sank 
 suddenly. The sun poured down fiercely. Then a red flash 
 darted from the bosom of the black cloud-bank, and the thunder 
 pealed over the desert. Great drops of rain, swept by a cold 
 wind that came from the hills, pattered upon the parched 
 ground ; then a heavy shower, quick and short, was dashed upon 
 the plain. Then the red lightning flashed, and the thunder 
 rattled and crashed, and the rain fell, and the sun shone, all 
 together. In a few minutes this strange storm was over, and 
 the clouds vanished as quickly and as mysteriously as they had 
 appeared. 
 
 As the partners grew more fatigued and disgusted, they 
 naturally became more irritable and quarrelsome; and as they 
 had exchanged very few words since the morning, their mutual 
 suspicions had ripened while they brooded. Moreover they 
 were hungry, and all the world knows that hungry men are 
 angry men. Perhaps the thunderstorm had affected their nerv- 
 ous systems, or the sun had unduly heated their brains also. 
 But whether from any of these causes, or all these causes com- 
 bined, the partners were both rapidly approaching an aggres- 
 sive condition, and it needed but a slight spark to start them 
 into a blaze. That spark was supplied by Mr. Belto's demand 
 for the whisky bottle, which Mr. Cobbins carried. The latter 
 responded to the demand by remarking that he wasn't going to 
 let Belto drink all the whisky. Belto retorted by the assertion 
 that his partner was always a hog over his liquor, but that this 
 
MIDDLE GROUND. 65 
 
 belonged to him also, and he proposed to have his share. This 
 was a threat, and was met by a defiance. Belto was thoroughly 
 angry by this time, and said something about what he would 
 do if the whisky was not forthcoming. Cobbins laughed in his 
 face, fiercely and tauntingly. Belto felt for his pistol, and find- 
 ing that it was gone, drew his knife. His partner's weapon 
 was out on the instant. 
 
 Then they looked one another full in the eyes, and began to 
 taunt each other with treachery. All the suspicions of the 
 morning found vent in bitter accusations, mingled with awful 
 throats and tremendous oaths. They were baiting one another, 
 and working themselves up. At length Cobbins grew weary of 
 this, and hurled an epithet at his partner which is always ac- 
 cepted, among such men, as an unpaidonable insult. Belto 
 rushed upon him, and the fight began. 
 
 The men were well matched, for though Belto was much the 
 heavier, Cobbins' proficiency with the knife made up for the 
 difference in weight. Both were desperate, both were cool, 
 both were bent on killing. The combat was not long, however, 
 for neither sought to escape wounds. Oobbins was the more 
 scientific fighter, and after some cuts and thrusts had been ex- 
 changed, he threw himself apparently open for a moment. 
 Hello seized the opportunity, sprang forward with a ferocious 
 cry and fell with his heart split in two by his opponent's 
 knife, but plunging his own weapon, as he fell, with a last con- 
 vulsive thrust, deep into his partner's thigh. 
 
 The party from Shoo Fly that went in pursuit of the gam- 
 blers, after Lucy's return, found Belto's body lying alone on the 
 desert, but a bloody trail led them fro'm the scene of the combat 
 to where, some half a mile away, Cobbins had fainted and died 
 the wallet grasped in his stiff hand, showing that his last act in 
 life had been to plunder the corpse of his companion. 
 
66 MIDDLE GROUND. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS VISIT. 
 
 Christmas in San Francisco. The winds which make Summer 
 sojourn in the metropolis of the Golden State almost a martyr- 
 dom, had died away. The pleasant Autumn weather, so soft, so 
 bright, so genial, had become a memory. The rain was pouring 
 steadily down, and everything was muddy and damp and un_ 
 comfortable. Not quite everything though. In a parlor of one 
 of the principal hotels a young couple were seated, conversing 
 quietly. They were evidently man and wife, and they had evi- 
 dently assumed that relation toward each other very recently. 
 The young husband was Harry Broome. The bride was Lucy 
 Draper. 
 
 They were talking of the past. 
 
 " Did you not care for me," he said, " before that dreadful 
 aifair in the desert ?" 
 
 She looked into his eyes fondly as she answered. 
 
 "Not very much, Harry, I think. It seems to me that i fhst 
 realized how dear you were to me, at the moment when you 
 rose from between those wretches, and looked at me." 
 
 11 But I said nothing to you on that occasion, did I ?" asked 
 Harry, smiling. 
 
 " No, you said nothing. But you looked a great deal," re- 
 joined Lucy. 
 
 A knock at the door, a waiter with cards u Mr. and Mrs. John 
 gutter." 
 
 Harry handed the cards to his wife without speaking. She 
 glanced at the name, flushed a little, and turned, to find him 
 regarding her with some anxiety. Placing her hand in his, she 
 whispered softly 
 
 " Let them come up, dear. There is no danger now." 
 
 FINIS. 
 

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