fmii.Lii!;)i»iiiii;iiiiim!tiii 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1829.N66 1921 
 
 A niece of Snapshot Harry's.Trent's trus 
 
 3 1924 021 979 921 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021979921 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT 
 HARRY'S 
 
 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 AND 
 
 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 BY 
 
 ilret ^arte 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 i^'be diberjSibe pze^^ Cambriboe 
 
 1921 
 
 E.M. 
 
A ^ a -S" S 3 2_^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1S96 AND I903, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN * CO, 
 COPYRIGHT, 1900, 1901, ANn 19Q2, BY BRET HARTE 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Faob 
 
 A Niece of Snapshot Habey's . 1 
 
 What happened at the Fonda 50 
 
 Mr. Bilsoh's Housekeeper 75 
 
 Jimmy's Big Brother from California 104 
 
 The Youngest Miss Piper ... .... 126 
 
 A Widow of the Santa Ana Valley ..... 145 
 
 The Mermaid op Lighthouse Point ...... 164 
 
 Three Vagabonds of Trinidad 186 
 
 A Mercury of the Foot-Hills 202 
 
 Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff 230 
 
 The Landlord of the Big Flume Hotel 263 
 
 The Reincarnation of Smith 282 
 
 Lanty Foster's Mistake 310 
 
 An Ali Baba of the Sierras 329 
 
 The Four Guardians of Lagrange . , . . . i. 340 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAREY'S, AND 
 OTHER TALES 
 
 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 
 
 There was a slight jarring through the whole frame of 
 the coach, a grinding and hissing from the brakes, and then 
 a sudden jolt as the vehicle ran upon and recoiled from the 
 taut pole-straps of the now arrested horses. The murmur 
 of a voice in the road was heard, followed by the impatient 
 accents of Yuba Bill, the driver. 
 
 " Wha-a-t 1 Speak up, can't ye 1 " 
 
 Here the voice uttered something in a louder key, but 
 equally unintelligible to the now interested and fully awak- 
 ened passengers. 
 
 One of them dropped the window nearest him and looked 
 out. He could see the faint glistening of a rain-washed lan- 
 tern near the wheelers' heads, mingling with the stronger 
 coach lights, and the glow of a distant open cabin door 
 through the leaves and branches of the roadside. The 
 sound of falling rain on the roof, a soft swaying of wind- 
 tossed trees, and an impatient movement on the box-seat 
 were all they heard. Then Yuba Bill's voice rose again, 
 apparently in answer to the other. 
 
 "Why, that 's half a mile away! " 
 
 " Yes, but ye might have dropped onto it in the dark, 
 and it's all on the down grade," responded the strange 
 voice more audibly. 
 
2 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S 
 
 The passengers were now thoroughly aroused. 
 
 "What's up, Ned?" asked the one at the window of 
 the nearest of two figures that had descended from the box. 
 
 "Tree fallen across the road," said Ned, the sxpressman, 
 briefly. 
 
 "I don't see no tree," responded the passenger, leaning 
 out of the window towards the obscurity ahead. 
 
 "Now, that 's onfortnit! " said Yuba Bill grimly; "but 
 ef any gentleman will only lend him an opery glass, mebbe 
 he can see round the curve and over the other side o' the 
 hill where it is. Now, then, " addressing the stranger with 
 the lantern, "bring along your axes, can't ye? " 
 
 "Here's one, Bill," said an officious outside passenger, 
 producing the instrument he had taken from its strap in the 
 boot. It was the " regulation " axe, beautifully shaped, 
 highly polished, and utterly ineffective, as Bill well knew. 
 
 "We ain't cuttin' no kindlin's," he said scornfully; then 
 he added brusquely to the stranger: "Fetch out your 
 biggest wood axe — you've got one, ye know — and look 
 sharp. " 
 
 "I don't think Bill need be so d — d rorgh with the 
 stranger, considering he 's saved the coach a very bad smash, " 
 suggested a reflective young journalist in the next seat. 
 "He talks as if the man was responsible." 
 
 "He ain't quite sure if that is n't the fact," said the ex- 
 press messenger, in a lowered voice. 
 
 " Why i What do you mean ? " clamored the others ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 "Well — this is about the spot where the up coach was 
 robbed six months ago," returned the messenger. 
 
 "Dear me!" said the lady in the back seat, rising with 
 a half hysterical laugh, "hadn't we better get out before 
 they come ? " 
 
 "There is not the slightest danger, madam," said a 
 cuiet, observant man, who had scarcely spoken before^ "or 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY S 3 
 
 the expressman would not have told us; nor would he, I 
 fancy, have left his post beside the treasure on the box." 
 
 The slight sarcasm implied in this was enough to redden 
 the expressman's cheek in the light of the coach lamp 
 which Yuba Bill had just unshipped and brought to the 
 window. He would have made some tart rejoinder, but 
 was prevented by Yuba Bill addressing the passengers: 
 " Ye '11 have to put up with one light, I reckon, until 
 we 've got this job finished." 
 
 " How long will it last. Bill 1 " asked the man nearest 
 the window. 
 
 "Well," said Bill, with a contemptuous glance at the ele- 
 gant coach axe he was carrying in his hand, " considerin' 
 these purty first-class highly expensive hash choppers that 
 the kempany furnishes us, I reckon it may take an hour." 
 
 " But is there no place where we can wait ? " asked the 
 lady anxiously. "I see a light in that house yonder." 
 
 "Ye might try it, though the kempany, as a rule, ain't 
 in the habit o' makin' social calls there," returned Bill, 
 with a certain grim significance. Then, turning to some 
 outside passengers, he added, "Now, then! them ez is 
 goin' to help me tackle that tree, trot down! I reckon 
 that blitherin' idiot " (the stranger with the lantern, who 
 had disappeared) " will have sense enough to fetch us some 
 ropes with his darned axe." 
 
 The passengers thus addressed, apparently miners and 
 workingmen, good-humoredly descended, all except one, 
 who seemed disinclined to leave the much coveted seat on 
 the box beside the driver. 
 
 "I '11 look after your places and keep my own," he said, 
 with a laugh, as the others followed Bill through the drip- 
 ping rain. When they had disappeared, the young jour- 
 nalist turned to the lady. 
 
 "If you would really like to go to that house, I will 
 gladly accompany you." It was possible that in addition 
 
4 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAREY'S 
 
 to his youthful chivalry there was a little youthful resent- 
 ment of Yuha Bill's domineering prejudices in his attitude. 
 However, the quiet, observant passenger lifted a look of 
 approval to him, and added, in his previous level, half 
 contemptuous tone : — 
 
 "You'll be quite as well there as here, madam, and 
 there is certainly no reason for your stopping in the coach 
 when the driver chooses to leave it." 
 
 The passengers looked at each other. The stranger 
 spoke with authority, and Bill had certainly been a little 
 arbitrary ! 
 
 "I'll go too," said the passenger by the window. 
 "And you '11 come, won't you, Ned ? " he added to the 
 express messenger. The young man hesitated; he was re- 
 cently appointed, and as yet fresh to the business — but he 
 was not to be taught his duty by an officious stranger ! He 
 resented the interference youthfully by doing the very thing 
 he would have preferred not to do, and with assumed care- 
 lessness — yet feeling in his pocket to assure himself that 
 the key of the treasure compartment was safe — turned to 
 follow them. 
 
 " Won't you come too ? " said the journalist, politely ad- 
 dressing the cynical passenger. 
 
 "No, I thank you! I '11 take charge of the coach," was 
 the smiling rejoinder, as he settled himself more comfort- 
 ably in his seat. 
 
 The littk procession moved away in silence. Oddly 
 enough, no one, except the lady, really cared to go, and 
 two — the expressman and journalist-^ would have pre- 
 ferred to remain on the coach. But the national instinct 
 of questioning any purely arbitrary authority probably was 
 a sufficient impulse. As they neared the opened door of 
 what appeared to be a four-roomed, unpainted, redwood 
 boarded cabin, the passenger who had occupied the seat 
 near the window said. — 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 6 
 
 " I '11 go first and sample the shanty. " 
 
 He was not, however, so far in advance of them bat that 
 the others could hear quite distinctly his oJBfhand introduc- 
 tion of their party on the threshold, and the somewhat 
 lukewarm response of the inmates. '"We thought we'd 
 just drop in and be sociable until the coach was ready to 
 start again," he continued, as the other passengers entered. 
 "This yer gentleman is Ned Brice, Adams & Co. 's express- 
 man ; this yer is Frank Frenshaw, editor ot the ' Mountain 
 Banner; ' this yer 's a lady, so it ain't necessary to give her 
 name, I reckon, — even if we knowed itr Mine's Sam 
 Heckshill of Heckshill & Dobbs's Flour Mills of Stockton, 
 whar, ef you ever come that way, I '11 be happy to return 
 the compliment and hospitality." 
 
 The room they had entered had little of comfort and 
 brightness in it except the fire of pine logs which roared 
 and crackled in the adobe chimney. The air would have 
 been too warm but for the strong west wind and rain which 
 entered the open door freely. There was no other light 
 than the fire, and its tremulous and ever-changing brilliancy 
 gave a spasmodic mobility to the faces of those turned 
 towards it, or threw into stronger shadow the features that 
 ■were turned away. Yet by this uncertain light they could 
 see the figures of a man and two women. The man rose 
 and, with a certain apathetic gesture that seemed to partake 
 more of weariness and long suffering than positive discour- 
 tesy, tendered seats on chairs, boxes, and even logs to the 
 self-invited guests. The stage party were surprised to see 
 that this man was the stranger who had held the lantern in 
 the road. 
 
 "Ah! then you didn't go with Bill to help clear the 
 road 1 " said the expressman surprisedly. 
 
 The man slowly drew up his tall, shambling figure before 
 the fire and then facing them, with his hands behind him, 
 as slowly lowered himself again as if to bring his speech to 
 
6 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S 
 
 the level of his hearers and give a lazier and more deliber- 
 ate effect to his long-drawn utterance. 
 
 "■Well — no!" he said slowly. "I — didn't — go — 
 Tvith — no — Bill — to — help — clear — the road ! I — 
 don't — reckon — to go — with — no — Bill — to — clear 
 — any road ! I 've just whittled this thing down to a pintj 
 and it 's this — I ain't no stage kempany's nigger! So far 
 as turnin' out and warnin' 'em agin goin' to smash over a 
 fallen tree, and slap down into the canon with a passel of 
 innercent passengers, I 'm that much a white man, but I 
 ain't no nigger to work clearing things away for 'em, nor 
 I ain't no scrub to work beside 'em." He slowly straight- 
 ened himself up again, and, with his former apathetic air, 
 looking down upon one of the women who was setting a 
 cotfee-pot on the coals, added, "But I reckon my old wo- 
 man here kin give you some coffee and whiskey — ef you 
 keer for it." 
 
 Unfortunately the young expressman was more loyal to 
 Bill than diplomatic. "If BUI 's a little rough," he said^ 
 with a heightened color, " perhaps he has some excuse for it 
 You forget it 's only six months ago that this coach was 
 ' held up ' not a hundred yards from this spot." 
 
 The woman with the coffee-pot here faced about, stood 
 up, and, either from design or some odd coincidence, fell 
 into the same dogged attitude that her husband had pre- 
 viously taken, except that she rested her hands on her hips. 
 She was prematurely aged, like many of her class, and her 
 black, snake-like locks, twisting loose from her comb as she 
 lifted her head, showed threads'bf white against the firelight. 
 Then with slow and implacable deliberation she said : — 
 
 "We 'forget!' Well! not much, sonny! We ain't 
 forgot it, and we ain't goin' to forget it, neither! We 
 ain't bin likely to forget it for any time the last six months. 
 What with visitations from the county constables, snoopin's 
 round from 'Frisco detectives, droppin's-in from newspaper 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAERY S Tl 
 
 men, and yawpin's and starin's from tramps and strangers 
 on the road — we have n't had a chance to disremember 
 much ! And when at last Hiram tackled the head stage 
 agent at Marysville, and allowed that this yer pesterin' and 
 perseoutin' had got ter stop — what did that yer head agent 
 tell him ? Told him to ' shet his head, ' and be thankful 
 that his ' thievin' old shanty was n't burnt down around 
 his ears ! ' Forget that six months ago the coach was held 
 up near here ? Not much, sonny — not much ! " 
 
 The situation was embarrassing to the guests, as ordi- 
 nary politeness called for some expression of sympathy with 
 their gloomy hostess, and yet a selfish instinct of humanity 
 warned them that there must be some foundation for this 
 general distrust of the public. The journalist was troubled 
 in his conscience ; the expressman took refuge in an official 
 reticence; the lady coughed slightly, and drew nearer to 
 the fire with a vague but safe compliment to its brightness 
 and comfort. It devolved upon Mr. Heckshill, who felt 
 the responsibility of his late airy introduction of the party, 
 to boldly keep up his role, with an equally non-committal, 
 light-hearted philosophy. 
 
 "Well, ma'am," he said, addressing his hostess, "it's a 
 queer world, and no man 's got sabe enough to say what 's 
 the rights and wrongs o' anything. Some folks believe one 
 thing and act upon it, and other folks think differently and 
 act upon that ! The only thing ye kin safely say is that 
 things is ez they he ! My rule here and at the mill is jest 
 to take things ez I find 'em ! " 
 
 It occurred to the journalist that Mr. Heckshill had the 
 reputation, in his earlier career, of " taking " such things 
 as unoccupied lands and timber "as he found them," with- 
 out much reference to their actual owners. Apparently he 
 was acting upon the same principle now, as he reached for 
 the demijohn of whiskey with the ingenuous pleasantry, 
 •^ Did somebody say whiskey, or did I dream it ] " 
 
8 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKEY'S 
 
 But this did not satisfy Frenshaw. "I suppose^" he 
 said, ignoring Heckshill's diplomatic philosophy, " that you 
 may have heen the victim of some misundeistanding or 
 some unfortunate coincidence. Perhaps the company may 
 have confounded you with your neighbors^ ■who are believed 
 to be friendly to the gang ; or you may have made some in- 
 judicious acquaintances. Perhaps " — 
 
 He was stopped by a suppressed but not unmusical gig- 
 gle, which appeared to come from the woman in the corner 
 who had not yet spoken, and whose face and figure in the 
 shadow he had previously overlooked. But he could now 
 see that her outline was slim and graceful, and the contour 
 of her head charming, — facts that had evidently not es- 
 caped the observation of the expressman and Mr. Heckshill, 
 and that might have accounted for the cautious reticence of 
 the one and the comfortable moralizing of the other. 
 
 The old woman cast an uneasy glance on the fair giggkr, 
 but replied to Frenshaw : — 
 
 " That 's it ! ' injerdishus acquaintances ! ' But just be- 
 cause we might happen to have friends, or even be sorter 
 related to folks in another line o' business that ain't none 
 o' OUTS, the kempany hain't no call to persecute us for it I 
 S'pose we do happen to know some one like " — 
 
 "Spit it out, aunty, now you've started in! I don't 
 mind," said the fair giggler, now apparently casting off all 
 restraint in an outburst of laughter. 
 
 "Well," said the old woman, with dogged desperation, 
 "suppose, then, that that young girl thar is the niece of 
 Snapshot Harry, who stopped the coach the last time " 
 
 "And ain't ashamed of it, either! " interrupted the young 
 girl, rising and disclosing in the firelight an audacious but 
 wonderfully pretty face; "and supposing he is my uncle, 
 that ain't any cause for their bedevilin' my poor old cousins 
 Hiram and Sophy thar ! " For all the indignation of her 
 words, her little white teeth flashed mischievously in the 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 9 
 
 dancing light, as if she rather enjoyed the embarrassment 
 of her audience, not excluding her own relatives. Evi- 
 dently cousin Sophy thought so too. 
 
 "It's all very well for you to laugh, Flo, you limb!" 
 she retorted querulously, yet with an admiring glance at 
 the girl, "for ye knovir thai ain't a man dare touch ye even 
 ■with a -word J but it 's mighty hard on me and Hiram, all 
 the same." 
 
 "Never you mind, Sophy dear," said the girl, placing 
 her hand half affectionately, half hunorously on the old 
 ■woman's shoulder; "mebbe I -won't al-ways be a discredit 
 and a bother to you. Jest you hold your bosses, and v^ait 
 until uncle Harry ' holds up ' the next Pioneer Coach," — 
 the dancing devil in her eyes glanced as if accidentally on 
 the young expressman, — "and he'll make a big enough 
 pile to send me to Europe, and you '11 be quit o' me." 
 
 The embarrassment, suspiciousness, and uneasiness of the 
 coach party here found relief in a half hysteric explosion 
 cf laughter, in which even the dogged Hiram and Sophy 
 joined. It seemed as impossible to withstand the girl's in- 
 vincible audacity as her beauty. She was quick to perceive 
 her advantage, and, with a responsive laugh and a pictur- 
 esque gesture of invitation, said : — 
 
 "Now that's all settled, ye'd better waltz in and have 
 your whiskey and coffee afore the stage starts. Ye kin 
 comfort yourselves that it ain't stolen or pizoned, even if it 
 is served up to ye by Snapshot Harry's niece! " With an- 
 other easy gesture she swung the demijohn over her arm, 
 and, offering a tin cup to each of the men, filled them in 
 turn. 
 
 The ice thus broken, or perhaps thus perilously skated 
 aver, the passengers were as profuse in their thanks and 
 apologies as they had been constrained and artificial before. 
 Heckshill and Frenshaw vied with each other for a glance 
 trom the audacious Flo. If their compliments partook of 
 
10 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 
 
 an extravagance that was at times ironical, the girl was 
 evidently not deceived by it, but replied in kind. Only 
 the expressman, who seemed to have fallen under the spell 
 of her audacious glances, was uneasy at the license of the 
 others, yet himself dumb towards her. The lady discreetly 
 drew nearer to the fire, the old woman, and her coffee; 
 Hiram subsided into his apathetic attitude by the fire. 
 
 A shout from the road at last proclaimed the return of 
 Yuba Bill and his helpers. It had the singular effect of 
 startling the party into a vague and uneasy consciousness 
 of indiscretion, as if it had been the voice of the outer world 
 of law and order, and their manner again became con- 
 strained. The leavetaking was hurried and perfunctory; 
 the diplomatic Heckshill again lapsed into glittering gener- 
 alities about "the best of friends parting." Only the ex- 
 pressman lingered for a moment on the doorstep in the light 
 of the fire and the girl's dancing eyes. 
 
 "I hope," he stammered, with a very youthful blush, 
 " to come the next time — with — with — a better intro- 
 duction. " 
 
 "Uncle Harry's," she said, with a quick laugh and a 
 mock courtesy, as she turned away. 
 
 Once out of hearing, the party broke into hurried com- 
 ment and criticism of the scene they had just witnessed, 
 and particularly of the fair actress who had played so im- 
 portant a part, averring their emphatic intention of wrest- 
 ing the facts from Yuba Bill at once, and cross-examining 
 him closely ; but oddly enough, reaching the coach and that 
 redoubted individual, no one seemed to care to take the 
 initiative, and they all scrambled hurriedly to their seats 
 without a word. How far Yuba Bill's irritability and irape- 
 tious haste contributed to this, or whether a fear that he 
 might in turn catechise them kept them silent, no one knew. 
 The cynically observant passenger was not there; he and the 
 sole occupant of the box-seat, they were told, had joined 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S H 
 
 the clearing party some moments before, and would be picked 
 up by Yuba Bill later on. 
 
 Five minutes after Bill had gathered up the reins, they 
 reached the scene of obstruction. The great pine-tree which 
 had fallen from the steep bank above and stretched across 
 the road had been partly lopped of its branches, divided in 
 two lengths, which were now rolled to either side of the 
 track, leaving barely space for the coach to pass. The 
 huge vehicle " slowed up " as Yuba Bill skillfully guided his 
 six horses through this narrow alley, whose tassels of pine, 
 glistening with wet, brushed the panels and sides of the 
 Coach, and effectually excluded any view from its windows. 
 Seen from the coach top, the horses appeared to be cleaving 
 their way through a dark, shining olive sea, that parted be- 
 fore and closed behind them, as they slowly passed. The 
 leaders were just emerging from it, and Bill was gathering 
 up his slackened reins, when a peremptory voice called, 
 "Halt!" At the same moment the coach lights flashed 
 upon a masked and motionless horseman in the road. Bill 
 made an impulsive reach for his whip, but in the same in- 
 stant checked himself, reined in his horses with a suppressed 
 oath, and sat perfectly rigid. Not so the expressman, who 
 caught up his rifle, but it was arrested by Bill's arm, and 
 his voice in his ear! 
 
 " Too late ! — we 're covered ! — don't be a d — d fool ! " 
 
 The inside passengers, still encompassed by obscurity, 
 knew only that the st;age had stopped. The "outsiders" 
 knew, by experience, that they were covered by unseen 
 guns in the wayside branches, and scarcely moved. 
 
 "I didn't think it was the square thing to stop you. 
 Bill, till you'd got through your work," said a masterful 
 but not unpleasant voice, "and if you '11 just hand down 
 the express box, I '11 pass you and the rest of your load 
 through free. But as we 're both in a hurry, you 'd better 
 lock lively about it. " 
 
12 A NIECE OF SKAPSHOT HAREY'S 
 
 "Hand it down," said Bill gruffly to the expressman. 
 
 The expressman turned with a white cheek but blazing 
 eyes to the compartment below his seat. He lingered, ap- 
 parently in some difficulty with the lock of the compartment, 
 but finally brought out the box and handed it to another 
 armed and masked figure that appeared mysteriously from 
 the branches beside the wheels. 
 
 "Thank you! " said the voice; "you can slide on now." 
 
 "And thank you for nothing," said Bill, gathering up 
 his reins. "It's the first time any of your kind had to 
 throw down a tree to hold me up ! " 
 
 "You're lying, Bill! — though you don't know it," said 
 the voice cheerfully. " Far from throwing down a tree to 
 stop you, it was I sent word along the road to warn you 
 from crashing down upon it, and sending you and your load 
 to h — 11 before your time ! Drive on ! " 
 
 The angry Bill waited for no second comment, but laying 
 his whip over the backs of his team, drove furiously for- 
 ward. So rapidly had the whole scene passed that the in- 
 side passengers knew nothing of it, and even those on the 
 top of the coach roused from their stupor and inglorious in- 
 action only to cling desperately to the terribly swaying coach 
 as it thundered down the grade and try to keep their equi- 
 librium. Yet, furious as was their speed, Yuba Bill could 
 not help noticing that the expressman from time to time 
 cast a hurried glance behind him. Bill knew that the young 
 man had shown readiness and nerve in the attack, although 
 both were hopeless; yet he was so much concerned at his 
 set white face and compressed lips that when, at the end of 
 three miles' unabated speed, they galloped up to the first 
 station, he seized the young man by the arm, and, as the 
 clamor of the news they had brought rose around them, 
 dragged him past the wondering crowd, caught a decanter 
 from the bar, and, opening the door of a side room, pushed 
 him into it and closed the door behind them. 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S 13 
 
 " Look yar, Brice ! Stop it ! Quit it right thar ! " he 
 said emphatically, laying his large hand on the young fel- 
 low's shoulder. "Be a man! You 've shown you are one, 
 green ez you are, for you had the sand in ye — the clear 
 grit to-night, yet you 'd have been a dead man now, if I 
 hadn't stopped ye! Man! you had no show from the be- 
 ginning! You've done your level best to save your trea- 
 sure, and I 'm your witness to the kempany, and proud of 
 it, too! So shet your head and — and," pouring out a 
 glass of whiskey, " swaller that ! " 
 
 But Brice waved him aside with burning eyes and dry lips. 
 
 "You don't know it all. Bill!" he said, with a half 
 choked voice. 
 
 "All what?" 
 
 "Swear that you '11 keep it a secret," he said feverishly, 
 gripping Bill's arm in turn, "and I '11 tell you." 
 
 "Goon!" 
 
 " The coach was robbed before that ! " 
 
 "Wot yer say? " ejaculated Bill. 
 
 " The treasure — a packet of greenbacks — had been taken 
 from the box before the gang stopped us ! " 
 
 "The h— 11, you say!" 
 
 " Listen ! When you told me to hand down the box, I 
 had an idea — a d — d fool one, perhaps — of taking that 
 package out and jumping from the coach with it. I knew 
 they would fire at me only ; I might get away, but if they 
 killed me, I 'd have done only my duty, and nobody else 
 would have got hurt. But when I got to the box I found 
 that the lock had been forced and the money was gone. I 
 managed to snap the lock again before I handed it down. 
 I thought they nLght discover it at once and chase us, but 
 they didn't." 
 
 "And then thar war no greenbacks in the box that they 
 took ? " gasped Bill, with staring eyes. 
 
 "No!" 
 
14 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAERY'S 
 
 Bill raised his hand in the air as if in solemn adjuration, 
 and then brought it down on his knee, doubling up in a fit 
 of uncontrollable but perfectly noiseless laughter. "Oh, 
 Lord!" he gasped, "hoi' me afore I bust right open! 
 Hush," he went on, with a jerk of his fingers towards the 
 next room, "not a word o' this to any one ! It 's too much 
 to keep, I know; it 's nearly killing me ! but we must swal- 
 ler it ourselves! Oh, Jerusalem the Golden! Oh, Brice! 
 Think o' that face o' Snapshot Harry's ez he opened that 
 treasure box afore his gang in the brush ! And he allers so 
 keen and so easy and so cock sure ! Created snakes ! I 'd 
 go through this every trip for one sight of him as he just 
 riz up from that box and cussed ! " He again shook with 
 inward convulsions till his face grew purple, and even the 
 red came back to the younger man's cheek. 
 
 "But this don't bring the money back, BiH," said Brice 
 gloomily. 
 
 Yuba Bill swallowed the glass of whiskey at a gulp, 
 ■wiped his mouth and eyes, smothered a second explosion, 
 and then gravely confronted Brice. 
 
 " When do you think it was taken, and how ? " 
 
 "It must have been taken when I left the coach on the 
 yoad and went over to that settler's cabin," said Brice bit- 
 terly. " Yet I believed everything was safe, and I left two 
 men — both passengers — one inside and one on the box, 
 that man who sat the other side of you." 
 
 " Jee whillikins ! " ejaculated Bill, with his hand to his 
 forehead, "the men I clean forgot to pick up in the road, 
 and now I reckon they never intended to be picked up, 
 either." 
 
 "No doubt a part of the gang," said Brice, with increased 
 bitterness ; " I see it all now. " 
 
 "No ! " said Bill decisively, " that ain't Snapshot Harry's 
 style; he 's a clean fighter, with no underhand tricks. And 
 I don't believe he threw down that tree, either. Look yer, 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 15 
 
 sonny ! " he added, suddenly laying his hand on Brice's 
 shoulder, " a hundred to one that that was the work of a 
 couple o' d — d sneaks or traitors in that gang who kem 
 along as passengers. I never took any stock in that coyote 
 who paid extra for his box-seat." 
 
 Brice knew that Bill never looked kindly on any passen- 
 ger who, by bribing the ticket agent, secured this favorite 
 seat, which Bill felt was due to his personal friends and 
 was in his own selection. He only returned gloomily : — 
 
 "I don't see what difference it makes to us which robber 
 got the money." 
 
 "Ye don't," said Bill, raising his head, with a sudden 
 twinkle in his eyes. "Then ye don't know Snapshot 
 Harry. Do ye suppose he 's goin' to sit down and twiddle 
 his thumbs with that skin game played on him? No, sir," 
 he continued, with a thoughtful deliberation, drawing his 
 fingers slowly through his long beard, "he spotted it — and 
 smelt out the whole trick ez soon ez he opened that box, 
 and that's why he didn't foller us! He'll hunt those 
 sneak thieves into h— 11 but what he '11 get 'em, and," he 
 •went on still more slowly, "by the livin' hokey ! I reckon, 
 sonny, that 's jest how ye '11 get your chance to chip in! " 
 
 "I don't understand," said Brice impatiently. 
 
 "Well," said Bill, with more provoking slowness, as 
 if he were communing with himself rather than Brice, 
 "Harry's mighty proud and high toned, and to be given 
 away like this has cut down into his heart, you bet. It ain't 
 the money he 's thinkin' of; it 's this split in the gang — 
 the loss of his power ez boss, ye see — and ef he could get 
 hold o' them chaps he 'd let the money slide ez long ez they 
 didn't get it. So you've got a detective on your side 
 that 's worth the whole police force of Calif orny ! Ye 
 never heard anything about Snapshot Harry, did ye ? " 
 asked Bill carelessly, raising his eyes to Brice's eager face. 
 
 The young man flushed slightly. "Very little," he said. 
 
16 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRYS 
 
 At the same time a vision of the pretty girl in the settler's 
 cabin flashed upon him with a new significance. 
 
 "He's more than half white, in some ways," said Bill 
 thoughtfully, " and they say he lives somewhere about here 
 in a cabin in the bush, with a crippled sister and her darter, 
 who both swear by him. It mightn't be hard to find him 
 
 — ef a man was dead set on it. " 
 
 Brice faced about with determined eyes. "I'll do it," 
 he said quietly. 
 
 "Ye might," said Bill, still more deliberately stroking 
 his beard, "mention my name, ef ye ever get to see him." 
 
 "Your name," ejaculated the astonished Brice. 
 
 "My name," repeated Bill calmly. "He knows it 's my 
 hounden duty to kill him ef I get the chance, and I know 
 that he 'd plug me full o' holes in a minit ef thar war a 
 necessity for it. But in these yer affairs, sonny, it seems 
 to be the understood thing by the kempany that I 'm to 
 keep fiery young squirts like you, and chuckle -headed passen- 
 gers like them " — jerking his thumb towards the other room 
 
 — "from gettin' themselves killed hy their rashness. So 
 ontil the kempany fill the top o' that coach with men who 
 ain't got any business to do hut fightin' other men who 
 ain't got any other business to do hut to fight them — the 
 odds are agin us ! Harry has always acted square to me — 
 that 's how I know he ain't in this sneak-thief business, 
 and why he did n't foller us, suspectin' suthin', and I 've 
 always acted square to him. All the same, I 'd like ter hev 
 seen his face when that box was opened ! Lordy ! " Here 
 Bill again collapsed in his silent paroxysm of mirth. " Ye 
 might tell him how I laughed ! " 
 
 "1 would hardly do that. Bill," said the young man, 
 smiling in spite of himself. " But you ' ve given me an idea, 
 and I '11 work it out." 
 
 Bill glanced at the young fellow's kindling eyes and 
 flushing cheek, and nodded. "Well, rastle with that idea 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 17 
 
 later on, sonny. I '11 fix you all right in my report to the 
 kempany, but the rest you must work alone. I 've started 
 out the usual posse, circus-ridin' down the road after Harry. 
 He 'd be a rough customer to meet just now," continued 
 Bill, with a chuckle, " ef thar was the ghost of a chance o' 
 them comin' up with him, for him and his gang is scat- 
 tered miles away by this." He paused, tossed off another 
 glass of whiskey, wiped his mouth, and saying to Brice, 
 with a wink, "It 's about time to go and comfort them thar 
 passengers, " led the way through the crowded barroom into 
 the stage office. 
 
 The spectacle of Bill's humorously satisfied face and 
 Brice's bright eyes and heightened color was singularly ef- 
 fective. The " inside " passengers, who had experienced 
 neither the excitement nor the danger of the robbery, yet 
 had been obliged to listen to the hairbreadth escapes of the 
 others, pooh-poohed the whole afi'air, and even the "out- 
 sides " themselves were at last convinced that the robbery 
 was a slight one, with little or no loss to the company. 
 The clamor subsided almost as suddenly as it had arisen; 
 the wiser passengers fashioned their attitude on the sang- 
 froid of Yuba Bill, and the whole coach load presently 
 lolled away as complacently as if nothing had happened. 
 
 II 
 
 The robbery furnished the usual amount of copy for the 
 local press. There was the inevitable compliment to Yuba 
 Bill for his well-known coolness ; the conduct of the young 
 expressman, "who, though new to the service, displayed an 
 intrepidity that only succumbed to numbers," was highly 
 commended, and even the passengers received their meed of 
 praise, not forgetting the lady, " who accepted the incident 
 with the light-hearted pleasantry characteristic of the Call- 
 
18 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEET'S 
 
 fornian woman." There was the usual allusion to the ne- 
 cessity of a Vigilance Committee to cope with this " organ- 
 ized lawlessness," but it is to be feared that the readers of 
 "The Ked Dog Clarion," however ready to lynch a horse 
 thief, were of the opinion that rich stage express companies 
 were quite able to take care of their own property. 
 
 It was with full cognizance of these facts and their use- 
 lessness to him that the next morning Mr. Ned Brice turned 
 from the road where the coach had halted on the pre- 
 vious night and approached the settler's cabin. If a little 
 less sanguine than he was in Yuba Bill's presence, he was 
 still doggedly inflexible in his design, whatever it might 
 have been, for he had not revealed it even to Yuba Bill. 
 It was his own; it was probably crude and youthful in its 
 directness, but for that reason it was probably more convin- 
 cing than the vacillations of older counsel. 
 
 He paused a moment at the closed door, conscious, how- 
 ever, of some hurried movement within which signified that 
 his approach had been observed. The door was opened, 
 and disclosed only the old woman. The same dogged ex- 
 pression was on her face as when he had last seen it, with 
 the addition of querulous expectancy. In reply to his po- 
 lite "Good-morning," she abruptly faced him with her 
 hands still on the door. 
 
 " Ye kin stop right there ! Ef yer want ter make any 
 talk about this yar robbery, ye might ez well skedaddle to 
 oncet, for we ain't ' takin' any ' to-day ! " 
 
 "I have no wish to talk about the robbery," said Brice 
 quietly, "and as far as I can prevent it, you will not be 
 troubled by any questions. If you doubt my word or the in- 
 tentions of the company, perhaps you will kindly read that." 
 
 He drew from his pocket a still damp copy of "The Eed 
 Dog Clarion " and pointed to a paragraph. 
 
 "Wot's that?" she said querulously, feeling for her 
 spectacles. 
 
'A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAREY'S 19 
 
 "Shall I read it?" 
 "Goon." 
 
 He read it slowly aloud. I grieve to say it had been 
 jointly concocted the night before at the office of the " Clar- 
 ion " by himself and the young journalist — the latter's as- 
 sistance being his own personal tribute to the graces of Miss 
 Flo. It read as follows : — 
 
 " The greatest assistance was rendered by Hiram Tarbox, 
 Esq., a resident of the vicinity, in removing the obstruc- 
 tion, which was, no doubt, the preliminary work of some 
 of the robber gang, and in providing hospitality for the de- 
 layed passengers. In fact, but for the timely warning of 
 Yuba Bill by Mr. Tarbox, the coach might have crashed 
 into the tree at that dangerous point, and an accident en- 
 sued more disastrous to life and limb than the robbery 
 itself." 
 
 The sudden and unmistakable delight that expanded the 
 old woman's mouth was so convincing that it might have 
 given Brice a tinge of remorse over the success of his strata- 
 gem, had he not been utterly absorbed in his purpose. 
 " Hiram ! " she shouted suddenly. 
 
 The old man appeared from some back door with a 
 promptness that proved his near proximity, and glanced an- 
 grily at Brice until he caught sight of his wife's face. Then 
 his anger changed to wonder. 
 
 "Read that again, young feller," she said exultingly. 
 Brice reread the paragraph aloud for Mr. Tarbox's benefit. 
 "That 'ar 'Hiram Tarbox, Esquire,' means yon, Hi- 
 ram," she gasped, in delighted explanation. 
 
 Hiram seized the paper, read the paragraph himself, 
 spread out the whole page, examined it carefully, and then 
 a fatuous grin began slowly to extend itself over his whole 
 face, invading his eyes and ears, until the heavy, harsh, 
 dogged lines of his nostrils and jaws had utterly disap 
 peared. 
 
20 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKRY'S- 
 
 " B' gosh ! " he said, " that 's squaie ! Kin I keep it 1 " 
 
 "Certainly," said Brice. "1 brought it for you." 
 
 " Is that all ye came for 1 " said Hiram with sudden sus- 
 picion. 
 
 "No," said the young man frankly. Yet he hesitated 
 a moment as he added, " I would like to see Miss Flora. " 
 
 His hesitation and heightened color were more disarming 
 to suspicion than the most elaborate and carefully prepared 
 indifference. With their knowledge of and pride in their 
 relative's fascinations they felt it could have but one mean- 
 ing! Hiram wiped his mouth with his hand, assumed a 
 demure expression, glanced at his wife, and answered: — 
 
 "She ain't here now." 
 
 Mr. Brice's face displayed his disappointment. But the 
 true lover holds a talisman potent with old and young. 
 Mrs. Tarbox felt a sneaking maternal pity for this suddenly 
 stricken Strephon. 
 
 "She 's gone home," she added more gently — "went at 
 sun-up this mornin'." 
 
 " Home, " repeated Brice. " Where 's that 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Tarbox looked at her husband and hesitated. Then 
 she said — a little in her old manner — "Her uncle's." 
 
 " Can you direct me the way there ? " asked Brice simply. 
 
 The astonishment in their faces presently darkened into 
 suspicion again. "Ef that 's your little game," began Hi- 
 ram, with a lowering brow — 
 
 " I have no little game but to see her and speak with 
 her, " said Brice boldly. " I am alone and unarmed, as you 
 see," he continued, pointing to his empty belt and small 
 dispatch bag slung on his shoulder, "and certainly unable 
 to do any one any harm. I am willing to take what risks 
 there are. And as no one knows of my intention, nor of 
 my coming here, whatever might happen to me, no one 
 need know it. You would be safe from questioning." 
 
 There was that hopeful determination in his manner that 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 21 
 
 overrode their resigned doggedness. " Ef we knew how to 
 direct you thar," said the old woman cautiously, "ye 'd bo 
 killed outer hand afore ye even set eyes on the girl. The 
 house is in a holler with hills kept by spies; ye 'd be a 
 dead man as soon as ye crossed its boundary." 
 
 " Wot do you know about it 1 " interrupted her husband 
 quickly, in querulous warning. "Wot are ye talkin' 
 about?" 
 
 "You leave me alone, Hiram! I ain't goin' to let that 
 young feller get popped off without a show, or without 
 knowin' jest wot he 's got to tackle, nohow ye kin fix itj 
 And can't ye see he 's bound to go, whatever ye says? " 
 
 Mr. Tarbox saw this fact plainly in Brice's eyes, and 
 hesitated. 
 
 "The most that I kin tell ye," he said gloomily, "is the 
 way the gal takes when she goes from here, but how far it 
 is, or if it ain't a blind, I can't swar, for I hevn't bin thar 
 myself, and Harry never comes here but on an off night, 
 when the coach ain't runnin' and thar 's no travel." He 
 stopped suddenly and uneasily, as if he had said too much. 
 
 " Thar ye go, Hiram, and ye talk of others gabblin' ! 
 So ye might as well tell the young feller how that thar ain't 
 but one way, and that 's the way Harry takes, too, when he 
 comes yer oncet in an age to talk to his own flesh and blood, 
 and see a Christian face that ain't agin him ! " 
 
 Mr. Tarbox was silent. "Ye know whar the tree was 
 thrown down on the road," he said at last. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The mountain rises straight up on the right side of the 
 road, all hazel brush and thorn — whar a goat couldn't 
 climb. " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But that's a lie! for thar 's a little trail, not a foot 
 wide, runs up from the road for a mile, keepin' it in view 
 all the while, but bein' hidden by the brush. Ye kin see 
 
22 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEBY'S 
 
 everything from thar, and hear a teamster spit on the 
 road. " 
 
 "Go on," said Brice impatiently. 
 
 " Then it goes up and over the ridge, and down the other 
 side into a little gulch until it comes to the canon of the 
 North Fork, where the stage road crosses over the hridge 
 high up. The trail winds round the bank of the Fork and 
 comes out on the left side of the stage road about a thou- 
 sand feet below it. That 's the valley and hollow whar 
 Harry lives, and that 's the only way it can be found. For 
 all along the left of the stage road is a sheer pitch down 
 that thousand feet, whar no one kin git up or down." 
 
 "I understand," said Brice, with sparkling eyes. "I'll 
 find my way all right." 
 
 "And when ye git thar, look out for yourself! " put in 
 the woman earnestly. "Ye may have regular greenhorn's 
 luck and pick up Flo afore ye cross the boundary, for she 's 
 that bold that when she gets lonesome o' stayin' thar she 
 goes wanderin' out o' bounds." 
 
 " Hev ye any weppin, — any shootin'-iron about ye 1 " 
 asked Tarbox, with a latent suspicion. 
 
 The young man smiled, and again showed his empty belt. 
 "None! " he said truthfully. 
 
 "I ain't sure ef that ain't the safest thing arter all with 
 a shot like Harry," remarked the old man grimly. "Well, 
 so long ! " he added, and turned away. 
 
 It was clearly a leavetaking, and Brioe, warmly thank- 
 ing them both, returned to the road. 
 
 It was not far to the scene of the obstruction, yet but for 
 Tarbox' s timely hint, .the little trail up the mountain side 
 would have escaped his observation. Ascending, he soon 
 found himself creeping along a narrow ledge of rock, hidden 
 from the road that ran fifty yards below by a thick network 
 growth of thorn and bramble, which still enabled him to 
 see its whole parallel length. Perilous in the extreme to 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 23 
 
 any hesitating foot, at one point, directly above the obstruc- 
 tion, the ledge itself was missing — broken away by the fall 
 of the tree from the forest crest higher up. For an instant 
 Brice stood dizzy and irresolute before the gap. Looking 
 down for a foothold, his eye caught the faint imprint of a 
 woman's shoe on a clayey rock projecting midway of the 
 chasm. It must have been the young girl's footprint made 
 that morning, for the narrow toe was pointed in the direc- 
 tion she would go ! Where she could pass should he shrink 
 from going ? Without further hesitation he twined his fin- 
 gers around the roots above him, and half swung, half 
 pulled himself along until he once more felt the ledge be- 
 ^ow him. 
 
 From time to time, as he went on along the difficult 
 irack, the narrow little toe-print pointed the way to him, 
 like an arrow through the wilds. It was a pleasant thought, 
 and yet a perplexing one. Would he have undertaken this 
 quest just to see her? Would he be content with that if 
 his other motive failed 1 For as he made his way up to the 
 ridge he was more than once assailed by doubts of the prac- 
 tical success of his enterprise. In the excitement of last 
 night, and even the hopefulness of the early morning, it 
 seemed an easy thing to persuade the vain and eccentric 
 highwayman that their interests might be identical, and to 
 convince him that his, Brice's, assistance to recover the 
 stolen greenbacks and insure the punishment of the robber, 
 with the possible addition of a reward from the express 
 company, would be an inducement for them to work to- 
 gether. The risks that he was running seemed to his 
 youthful fancy to atone for any defects in his logic or his 
 plans. Yet as he crossed the ridge, leaving the civilized 
 highway behind him, and descended the narrow trail, which 
 grew wilder at each step, his arguments seemed no longer 
 so convincing. He now hurried forward, however, with a 
 feverish haste to anticipate the worst that might befall him. 
 
24 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRT'S 
 
 The trail grew more intricate in the deep ferns; the 
 friendly little footprint had vanished in this primeval wil- 
 derness. As he pushed through the gorge, he could hear 
 at last the roar of the North Fork forcing its way through 
 the canon that crossed the gorge at right angles. At last 
 he reached its current, shut in by two narrow precipitous 
 walls that were spanned five hundred feet above by the 
 stage road over a perilous bridge. , As he approached the 
 gloomy canon, he remembered that the river, seen from 
 above, seemed to have no banks, but to have cut its way 
 through the solid rock. He found, however, a faint ledge 
 made by caught driftwood from the current and the debris 
 of the overhanging cliffs. Again the narrow footprint on 
 the ooze was his guide. At last, emerging from the canon, 
 a strange view burst upon his sight. The river turned 
 abruptly to the right, and, following the mountain side, left 
 a small hollow completely walled in by the surrounding 
 heights. To his left was the ridge he had descended from 
 on the other side, and he now understood the singular de- 
 tour he had made. He was on the other side of the stage 
 road also, which ran along the mountain shelf a thousand 
 feet above him. The wall, a sheer cliff, made the hollow 
 inaccessible from that side. Little hills covered with buck- 
 eye encompassed it. It looked like a sylvan retreat, and 
 yet was as secure in its isolation and approaches as the out- 
 law's den that it was. 
 
 He was gazing at the singular prospect when a shot rang 
 in the air. It seemed to come from a distance, and he in- 
 terpreted it as a signal. But it was followed presently by 
 another; and putting his hand to his hat to keep it from 
 falling, he found that the upturned brim had been pierced 
 by a bullet. He stopped at this evident hint, and, taking 
 his dispatch bag from his shoulder, placed it significantly 
 upon a boulder, and looked around as if to await the appear- 
 ance of the unseen marksman. The rifle shot rang out 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKRY'S 25 
 
 again, the bag quivered, and turned over with a bullet hole 
 through it ! 
 
 He took out his white handkerchief and waved it. An- 
 other shot followed, and the handkerchief was snapped from 
 his fingers, torn from corner to corner. A feeling of des- 
 peration and fury seized him ; he was being played with by 
 a masked and skillful assassin, who only waited until it 
 pleased him to fire the deadly shot! But this time he could 
 see the rifle smoke drifting from under a sycamore not a 
 hundred yards away. He set his white lips together, but 
 with a determined face and unfaltering step walked directly 
 towards it. In another moment he believed and almost 
 hoped that all would be over. With such a marksman he 
 would not be maimed, but killed outright. 
 
 He had not covered half the distance before a man lounged 
 out from behind the tree carelessly shouldering his rifle. 
 He was tall but slightly built, with an amused, critical man- 
 ner, and nothing about him to suggest the bloodthirsty as- 
 sassin. He met Brice halfway, dropping his rifle slantingly 
 across his breast with his hands lightly grasping the lock, 
 and gazed at the young man curiously. 
 
 "You look as if you'd had a big scare, old man, but 
 yuu 've clear grit for all that! " he said, with a critical and 
 reassuring smile. "Now, what are you doing here? Stay," 
 he continued as Brice 's parched lips prevented him from re- 
 plying immediately. " I ought to know your face. Hello ! 
 you 're the expressman ! " His glance suddenly shifted, 
 and swept past Brice over the ground beyond him to tho 
 entrance of the hollow, but his smile returned as he appar- 
 ently satisfied himself that the young man was alone. 
 "Well, what do you want?" 
 
 " I want to see Snapshot Harry, " said Brice, with an ef- 
 fort. His voice came back more slowly than his color, 
 but that was perhaps hurried by a sense of shame at his 
 physical weakness. 
 
26 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAERY'S 
 
 "What you want is a drop o' whiskey," said the stranger 
 good humoredly, taking his arm, " and we '11 find it in that 
 shanty just behind the tree." To Brice's surprise, a few 
 steps in that direction revealed a fair-sized cabin, with a 
 slight pretentiousness about it of neatness, comfort, and 
 picturesque effect, far superior to the Tarbox shanty. A 
 few flowers were in boxes on the window — signs, as Brice 
 fancied, of feminine taste. When they reached the thresh- 
 old, somewhat of this quality was also visible in the inte- 
 rior. When Brice had partaken of the whiskey, the 
 stranger, who had kept sUence, pointed to a chair, and said 
 smilingly : — 
 
 " I am Henry Dim wood, alias Snapshot Harry, and this 
 is my house." 
 
 "I came to speak with you about the robbery of green- 
 backs from the coach last night," began Brice hurriedly, 
 with a sudden access of hope at his reception. " I mean, 
 of course," — he stopped and hesitated, — "the actual rob- 
 bery before you stopped us." 
 
 "What!" said Harry, springing to his feet, "do you 
 mean to say yo^(, knew it ? " 
 
 Brice's heart sank, but he remained steadfast and truth- 
 ful. " Yes, " he said, " I knew it when I handed down the 
 box. I saw that the lock had been forced, but I snapped 
 it together again. It was my fault. Perhaps I should have 
 warned you, but I am solely to blame." 
 
 " Did Yuba Bill know of it ! " asked the highwayman, 
 with singular excitement. 
 
 " Not at the time, I give you my word ! " replied Brice 
 quickly, thinking only of loyalty to his old comrade. " I 
 never told him till we reached the station." 
 
 " And he knew it then ? " repeated Harry eagerly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did he say anything? Did he do anything? Did he 
 look astonished ? " 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S 27 
 
 Brice remembered Bill's uncontrollable merriment, but 
 replied vaguely and diplomatically, "He was certainly as- 
 tonished. " 
 
 A laugh gathered in Snapshot Harry's eyes which at last 
 overspread his whole face, and finally shook his frame as he 
 sat helplessly down again. Then, wiping his eyes, he said 
 in a shaky voice : — 
 
 "It would have been sure death to have trusted myself 
 near that station, but I think I 'd have risked it just to 
 have seen Bill's face when you told him! Just think of 
 it ! Bill, who was a match for anybody ! Bill, who was 
 never caught napping! Bill, who only wanted supreme 
 control of things to wipe me off the face of the earth! 
 Bill, who knew how everything was done, and could stop 
 it if he chose, and then to have been robbed twice in one 
 evening by my gang ! Yes, sir ! Yuba Bill and his rot- 
 ten old coach were gone through twice inside half an 
 hour by the gang ! " 
 
 " Then you knew of it too ? " said Brice, in uneasy aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Afterwards, my young friend — like Yuba Bill — after- 
 wards." He stopped; his whole expression changed. "It 
 was done by two sneaking hounds," he said sharply; "one 
 whom I suspected before, and one, a new hand, a pal of 
 his. They were detached to watch the coach and be satis- 
 fied that the greenbacks were aboard, for it isn't my style 
 to ' hold up ' except for something special. They were to 
 take seats on the coach as far as Eingwood Station, three 
 miles below where we held you up, and to get out there 
 and pass the word to us that it was all right. They did n't ; 
 that made us a little extra careful, seeing something was 
 wrong, but never suspecting them. We found out after- 
 wards that they got one of my scouts to cut down that tree, 
 saying it was my orders and a part of our game, calculating 
 in the stoppage and confusion to collar the swag and get off 
 
28 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEyS 
 
 with it. Without knowing it, you played into their hands 
 by going into Tarhox's cahin." 
 
 " But how did you know this ? " interrupted Brice, in 
 wonder. 
 
 "They forgot one thing," continued Snapshot Harry 
 grimly. "They forgot that half an hour before and half an 
 hour after a stage is stopped we have that road patrolled, 
 every foot of it. While I was opening the box in the 
 brush, the two fools, sneaking along the road, came slap 
 upon one of my patrols, and then tried to run for it. One 
 was dropped, but before he was plugged full of holes and 
 hung up on a tree, he confessed, and said the other man 
 who escaped had the greenbacks." 
 
 Brice's face fell. "Then they are lost," he said bitterly. 
 
 " Not unless he eats them — as he may want to do be- 
 fore I 'm done on him, for he must either starve or come 
 out. That road is still watched by my men from Tarhox's 
 cabin to the bridge. He 's there somewhere, and can't get 
 forward or backward. Look ! " he said, rising and going 
 to the door. "That road," he pointed to the stage road, 
 — a narrow ledge flanked on one side by a precipitous 
 mountain wall, and on the other by an equally precipitate 
 descent, — " is his limit and tether, and he can't escape on 
 either side." 
 
 "But the trail?" 
 
 "There is but one entrance to it, — the way you came, 
 and that is guarded too. From the time you entered it 
 until you reached the bottom, you were signaled here from 
 point to point ! Me would have been dropped ! I merely 
 gave you a hint of what might have happened to you, if 
 you were up to any little game ! You took it like a white 
 man. Come, now ! What is your business 1 " 
 
 Thus challenged, Brice plunged with youthful hopeful- 
 ness into his plan; if, as he voiced it, it seemed to him a 
 little extravagant, he was buoyed up by the frankness of the 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 29 
 
 iiigh-wayman, who also had treated the double rohbeiy with 
 a levity that seemed almost as extravagant. He suggested 
 that they should work together to recover the money ; that 
 the express company should know that the unprecedented 
 stealthy introduction of robbers in the guise of passengers 
 was not Snapshot Harry's method, and he repudiated it as 
 unmanly and unsportsmanlike; and that, by using his su- 
 perior skill and knowledge of the locality to recover the 
 money and deliver the culprit into the company's hands, 
 he would not only earn the reward that they should offer, 
 but that he would evoke a sentiment that all Californians 
 would understand and respect. The highwayman listened 
 with a tolerant smile, but, to Brice's surprise, this appeal 
 to his vanity touched him less than the prospective punish- 
 ment of the thief. 
 
 "It would serve the d — d hound right," he muttered, 
 " if, instead of being shot like a man, he was made to ' do 
 time ' in prison, like the ordinary sneak thief that he is." 
 When Brice had concluded, he said briefly, "The only 
 trouble with your plans, my young friend, is that about 
 twenty-five men have got to consider them, and have their 
 say about it. Every man in my gang is a shareholder in 
 these greenbacks, for I work on the square; and it's for 
 him to say whether he '11 give them up for a reward and 
 the good opinion of the express company. Perhaps," he 
 went on, with a peculiar smile, "it 's just as well that you 
 tried it on me first! However, I'll sound the boys, and 
 see what comes of it, but not until you 're safe off the 
 premises." 
 
 "And you '11 let me assist you? " said Brice eagerly. 
 
 Snapshot Harry smiled again. "Well, if you come 
 across the d — d thief, and you recognize him and can get 
 the greenbacks from him, I '11 pass over the game to you." 
 He rose and added, apparently by way of farewell, "Per- 
 haps it's just as well that I should give you a guide part 
 
30 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKKY'S 
 
 of the way to prevent accidents." He went to a door lead 
 ing to an adjoining room, and called "Ko! " 
 
 Brice's heart leaped ! If he had forgotten her in the ex- 
 citement of his interview, he atoned for it by a vivid blush. 
 Her own color was a little heightened as she slipped into 
 the room, but the two managed to look demurely at each 
 other, without a word of recognition. 
 
 "This is my niece, Flora," said Snapshot Harry, with 
 a slight wave of the hand that was by no means uncourtly, 
 "and her company will keep you from any impertinent 
 questioning as well as if I were with you. This is Mr. 
 Brice, Flo, who came to see me on business, and has quite 
 forgotten my practical joking." 
 
 The girl acknowledged Brice's bow with a shyness very 
 different from her manner of the evening before. Brice 
 felt embarrassed and evidently showed it, for his host, with 
 a smile, put an end to the constraint by shaking the young 
 man's hand heartily, bidding him good- by, and accompany- 
 ing him to the door. 
 
 Once on their way, Mr. Brice's spirits returned. "I 
 told you last night," he said, "that I hoped to meet you 
 the next time with a better introduction. You suggested 
 your uncle's. Well, are you satisfied 1 " 
 
 " But you did n't come to see me, " said the girl mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 "How do you know what my intentions were ? " returned 
 the young man gayly, gazing at the girl's charming face 
 with a serious doubt as to the singleness of his own inten- 
 tions. 
 
 "Oh, because I know," she answered, with a toss of her 
 brown head. "I heard what you said to uncle Harry." 
 
 Mr. Brice's brow contracted. "Perhaps you saw me 
 too, when I came," he said, with a slight touch of bitter- 
 ness as he thought of his reception. 
 
 Miss I'lo laughed. Brice walked on silently; the girl 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKKY'S 31 
 
 was heartless and worthy of her education. After a pause 
 she said demurely, "/knew he wouldn't hurt you — but 
 you did n't. That 's where you showed your grit in walk- 
 ing straight on." 
 
 "And I suppose you were greatly amused," he replied 
 scornfully. 
 
 The girl lifted her arms a little wearily, as with a half 
 sigh she readjusted her brown braids under her uncle's gray 
 slouch hat, which she had caught up as she passed out. 
 "Thar ain't much to laugh at here!" she said. "But it 
 was mighty funny when you tried to put your hat straight, 
 and then found thar was that bullet hole right through the 
 brim ! And the way you stared at it — Lordy ! " 
 
 Her musical laugh was infectious, and swept away his 
 outraged dignity. He laughed too. At last she said, gaz- 
 ing at his hat, "It won't do for you to go back to your 
 folks wearin' that sort o' thing. Here! Take mine!" 
 With a saucy movement she audaciously lifted his hat from 
 his head, and placed her own upon it. 
 
 "But this is your uncle's hat," he remonstrated. 
 
 "All the same; he spoiled yours," she laughed, adjust- 
 ing his hat upon her own head. " But I '11 keep yours to 
 remember you by. 1 '11 loop it up by this hole, and it '11 
 look mighty purty. Jes' see ! " She plucked a wild rose 
 from a bush by the wayside, and, passing the stalk through 
 the bullet hole, pinned the brim against the crown by a 
 thorn. "There," she said, putting on the hat agaai with 
 a little affectation of coquetry, "how 's that? " 
 
 Mr. Brice thought it very picturesque and becoming to 
 the graceful head and laughing eyes beneath it, and said so. 
 Then, becoming in his turn audacious, he drew nearer to 
 her side. 
 
 "I suppose you know the forfeit of putting on a gentle- 
 man's hat % " 
 
 Apparently she did, for she suddenly made a warning 
 
S2 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEKY'S 
 
 gesture, and said, "Not here! It would be a bigger forfeit 
 than you 'd keer fo'." Before he could reply she turned 
 aside as if quite innocently, and passed into the shade of a 
 fringe of buckeyes. He followed quickly. "I did n't mean 
 that," she said; but in the mean time he had kissed the 
 pink tip of her ear under its brown coils. He was, never- 
 theless, somewhat discomfited by her undisturbed manner 
 and serene face. "Ye don't seem to mind bein' shot at," 
 she said, with an odd smile, " but it won't do for you to 
 kalkilate that everybody shoots as keerfuUy as uncle Harry. " 
 
 "I don't understand," he replied, struck by her manner. 
 
 "Ye ain't very complimentary, or you 'd allow that other 
 folks might be wantin' what you took just now, and might 
 consider you was poachin'," she returned gravely. "My 
 best and strongest holt among those men is that uncle Harry 
 would kill the first one who tried anything like that on — 
 and they know it. That 's how I get all the liberty I want 
 here, and can come and go alone as I like." 
 
 Brice's face flushed quickly with genuine shame and re-, 
 morse. "Do forgive me," he said hurriedly. "I didn't 
 think — I 'm a brute and a fool ! " 
 
 "Uncle Harry allowed you was either drunk or a born 
 idiot when you was promenadin' into the valley just now," 
 she said, with a smile. 
 
 " And what did you think ? " he asked a little uneasily. 
 
 "I thought you didn't look like a drinkin' man," she 
 answered audaciously. 
 
 Brice bit his lip and walked on silently, at which she 
 cast a sidelong glance under her widely spaced heavy lashes 
 and said demurely, "I thought last night it was mighty 
 good for you to stand up for your frien' Yuba Bill, and 
 then, after ye knew who I was, to let the folks see you 
 kinder cottoned to me too. Not in the style o' that land- 
 grabber Heckshill, nor that peart newspaper man, neither. 
 Of course I gave thein "= good as they sent," she went on. 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S 33 
 
 with a little laugh, but Brice could see that her sensitive 
 lip in profile had the tremulous and resentful curve of one 
 who was accustomed to slight and annoyance. Was it pos- 
 sible that this reckless, self-contained girl felt her position 
 keenly 1 
 
 "I am proud to have your good opinion," he said, with 
 a certain respect mingled with his admiring glance, "even 
 if 1 have not your uncle's." 
 
 "Oh, he likes you well enough, or he wouldn't have 
 hearkened to you a minute," she said quickly. "When 
 you opened out about them greenbacks, I jes' clutched my 
 cheer so, " — she illustrated her words with a gesture of her 
 hands, and her face actually seemed to grow pale at the re- 
 collection, — "and I nigh started up to stop ye; but that 
 idea of Yuba Bill bein' robbed twice I think tickled him 
 awful. But it was lucky none o' the gang heard ye or sus- 
 pected anything. I reckon that 's why he sent me with 
 you, — to keep them from doggin' you and askin' questions 
 that a straight man like you would be sure to answer. But 
 they daren't come nigh ye as long as I'm with you!" 
 She threw back her head and rose-crested hat with a mock 
 air of protection that, however, had a certain real pride 
 in it. 
 
 "I am very glad of that, if it gives me the chance of 
 having your company alone," returned Brice, smiling, "and 
 very grateful to your uncle, whatever were his reasons for 
 making you my guide. But you have already been that to 
 me," and he told her of the footprints. "But for you," 
 he added, with gentle significance, " I should not have been 
 here. " 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and he could only see the 
 back of her head and its heavy brown coils. After a pause 
 she asked abruptly, "Where 's your handkerchief? " 
 
 He took it from his pocket; her ingenious uncle's bullet 
 had torn rather than pierced the cambric. 
 
34 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKEY'S 
 
 "I thought so," she said, gravely examining it, "but I 
 kin mend it as good as new. I reckon you allow I can't 
 sew," she continued, "but I do heaps of mendin', as the 
 digger squaw and Chinamen we have here do only the 
 coarser work. I '11 send it back to you, and meanwhiles 
 you keep mine." 
 
 She drew a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it 
 to him. To his great surprise it was a delicate one, beau- 
 tifully embroidered, and utterly incongruous to her station. 
 The idea that flashed upon him, it is to be feared, showed 
 itself momentarily in his hesitation and embarrassment. 
 
 She gave a quick laugh. "Don't be frightened. It's 
 bought and paid for. Uncle Harry don't touch passengers' 
 fixin's; that ain't his style. You oughter know that." 
 Yet in spite of her laugh, he could see the sensitive pout 
 of her lower lip. 
 
 "I was only thinking," he said hurriedly and sympa- 
 thetically, "that it was too fine for me. But I will be 
 proud to keep it as a souvenir of you. It 's not too pretty 
 for that ! " 
 
 "Uncle gets me these things. He don't keer what they 
 cost," she went on, ignoring the compliment. " Why, I 've 
 got awfully fine gowns up there that 1 only wear when I go 
 to Marysville oncet in a while." 
 
 " Does he take you there ? " asked Brice. 
 
 "No!" she answered quietly. "Not" — a little defi- 
 antly — "that he's afeard, for they can't prove anything 
 against him; no man kin swear to him, and thar ain't an 
 officer that keers to go for him. But he 's that shy for me 
 he don't keer to have me mixed with him." 
 
 " But nobody recognizes you ? " 
 
 "Sometimes — but I don't keer for that." She cocked 
 her hat a little audaciously, but Brice noticed that her arms 
 afterwards dropped at her side with the same weary gesture 
 ie had observed before. "Whenever I go into shops it's 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEET'S 35 
 
 always ' Yes, miss, ' and ' No, miss, ' and ' Certainly, Miss 
 Dimwood. ' Oh, they 're mighty respectful. I reckon they 
 allow that Snapshot Harry's rifle carries far." 
 
 Presently she faced him again, for their conversation had 
 heen carried on in profile. There was a critical, searching 
 look in her brown eyes. 
 
 "Here I 'm talkin' to you as if you were one " — Mr. 
 Brice was positive she was going to say "one of the gang," 
 but she hesitated and concluded, " one of my relations — 
 like cousin Hiram." 
 
 "I wish you would think of me as being as true a 
 friend," said the young man earnestly. 
 
 She did not reply immediately, but seemed to be exam- 
 ining the distance. They were not far from the canon 
 now, and the river bank. A fringe of buckeyes hid the 
 base of the mountain, which had begun to tower up above 
 them to the invisible stage road overhead. "I am going 
 to be a real guide to you now," she said suddenly. "When 
 ■we reach that buckeye corner and are out of sight, we will 
 turn into it instead of going through the canon. You shall 
 go up the mountain to the stage road from this side." 
 
 " But it is impossible ! " he exclaimed, in astonishment. 
 " Your uncle said so. " 
 
 "Coming down, but not going up," she returned, with a 
 laugh. "I found it, and no one knows it but myself." 
 
 He glanced up at the towering cliff; its nearly perpen- 
 dicular flanks were seamed with fissures, some clefts deeply 
 set with stunted growths of thorn and "scrub," but still 
 sheer and forbidding, and then glanced back at her incredu- 
 lously. "I will show you," she said, answering his look 
 with a smile of triumph. "I have n't tramped over this 
 whole valley for nothing! But wait until we reach the 
 river bank. They must think that we 've gone through the 
 canon. " 
 
 "They?" 
 
36 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 
 
 "Yes — any one who is watching us," said the girj 
 dryly. 
 
 A few steps further on brought them to the buckeye 
 thicket, which extended to the river bank and mouth of the 
 canon. The girl lingered for a moment ostentatiously be- 
 fore it, and then, saying "Come," suddenly turned at right 
 angles into the thicket. Brice followed, and the next mo- 
 ment they were hidden by its friendly screen from the val- 
 ley. On the other side rose the mountain wall, leaving a 
 narrow trail before them. It was composed of the rocky 
 debris and fallen trees of the cliff, from which buckeyes and 
 larches were now springing. It was uneven, irregular, and 
 slowly ascending; but the young girl led the way with the 
 free footstep of a mountaineer, and yet a grace that was 
 akin to delicacy. Nor could he fail to notice that, after 
 the Western girl's fashion, she was shod more elegantly and 
 lightly than was consistent with the rude and rustic sur- 
 roundings. It was the same slim shoe-print which had 
 guided him that morning. Presently she stopped, and 
 seemed to be gazing curiously at the cliff side. Brice fol- 
 lowed the direction of her eyes. On a protruding bush at 
 the edge of one of the wooded clefts of the mountain flank 
 something was hanging, and in the freshening southerly 
 wind was flapping heavily, like a raven's wing, or as if still 
 saturated with the last night's rain. "That's mighty 
 queer ! " said Mo, gazing intently at the unsightly and in- 
 congruous attachment to the shrub, which had a vague, 
 weird suggestion. • "It wasn't there yesterday." 
 
 "It looks like a man's coat," remarked Brice uneasily. 
 
 "Whew!" said the girl. "Then somebody has come 
 down who won't go up again! There's a lot of fresh 
 rocks and brush here, too. What 's that ? " She was 
 pointing to a spot some yards before them where there h'>d 
 been a recent precipitation of debris and uprooted shrubs.. 
 But mingled with it lay a mass of rags strangely akin to 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAREY'S 37 
 
 the tattered remnant that flagged from the bush a hundred 
 feet above them. The girl suddenly uttered a sharp femi- 
 nine cry of mingled horror and disgust, — the first weak- 
 ness of sex she had shown, — and, recoiling, grasped Brice's 
 arm. " Don't go there ! Come away ! " 
 
 But Brice had already seen that which, while it shocked 
 him, was urging him forward with an invincible fascina- 
 tion. Gently releasing himself, and bidding the girl stand 
 back, he moved toward the unsightly heap. Gradually it 
 disclosed a grotesque caricature of a human figure, but so 
 maimed and doubled up that it seemed a stuifed and fallen 
 scarecrow. As is common in men stricken suddenly down 
 by accident in the fullness of life, the clothes asserted 
 themselves before all else with a hideous ludicrousness, 
 obliterating even the majesty of death in their helpless yet 
 ironical incongruity. The garments seemed to have never 
 fitted the wearer, but to have been assumed in ghastly jocu- 
 larity, — a boot half off the swollen foot, a ripped waistcoat 
 thrown over the shoulder, were like the properties of some 
 low comedian. At first the body appeared to be headless ; 
 but as Brice cleared away the debris and lifted it, he saw 
 with horror that the head was twisted under the shoulder, 
 and swung helplessly from the dislocated neck. But that 
 horror gave way to a more intense and thrilling emotion as 
 he saw the face — although strangely free from laceration 
 or disfigurement, and impurpled and distended into the sim- 
 ulation of a self-complacent smile — was a face he recog- 
 nized ! It was the face of the cynical traveler in the coach 
 — the man who he was now satisfied had robbed it. 
 
 A strange and selfish resentment took possession of him. 
 Here was the man through whom he had suffered shame 
 and peril, and who even now seemed complacently victo- 
 rious in death. He examined him closely; his coat and 
 waistcoat had been partly torn away in his fall ; his shirt 
 still clung to him, but through its torn front could be seen 
 
38 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARRY'S 
 
 a heavy treasure belt encircling his waist. Forgetting his 
 disgust, Brice tore away the shirt and unloosed the belt. 
 It was saturated with water like the rest of the clothing, 
 but its pocket seemed heavy and distended. In another 
 instant he had opened it, and discovered the envelope con- 
 taining the packet of greenbacks, its seal still inviolate and 
 unbroken. It was the stolen treasure ! 
 
 A faint sigh recalled him to himself. The girl was 
 standing a few feet from him, regarding him curiously. 
 
 "It 's the thief himself! " he said, in a breathless expla- 
 nation. " In trying to escape he must have fallen from the 
 road above. But here are the greenbacks safe ! We must go 
 back to your uncle at once," he said excitedly. "Come!" 
 
 " Are you mad ? " she cried, in astonishment. 
 
 "No," returned Brice, in equal astonishment, "but you 
 know I agreed with him that we should work together to 
 recover the money, and I must show him our good luck. " 
 
 " He told you that if you met the thief and could get the 
 money from him, you were welcome to it," said the girl 
 gravely, "and you have got it." 
 
 " But not in the way he meant, " returned Brice hurriedly. 
 "This man's death is the result of his attempting to escape 
 from your uncle's guards along the road; the merit of it be- 
 longs to them and your uncle. It would be cowardly and 
 mean of me to take advantage of it. " 
 
 The girl looked at him with an expression of mingled ad- 
 miration and pity. "But the guards were placed there be- 
 fore he ever saw you," said she impatiently. "And what- 
 ever uncle Harry may want to do, he must do what the gang 
 gays. And with the money once in their possession, or 
 even in yours, if they knew it, I would n't give much for 
 its chances — or yours either — for gettin' out o' this hol- 
 low again." 
 
 "But if they are treacherous, that is no reason why I 
 should be so," protested Brice stoutly. 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKRY'S 39 
 
 "You've no right to say they were treacherous when 
 they knew nothing of your plans," said the girl sharply. 
 " Your company would have more call to say you were 
 treacherous to it for making a plan without consultin' them." 
 Erice winced, for he had never thought of that before. 
 "You can offer that reward after you get away from here 
 with the greenbacks. But," she added proudly, with a 
 toss of her head, " go back if you want to ! Tell him all ! 
 Tell him where you found it — tell him I did not take you 
 through the canon, but was showin' you a new trail I had 
 never shown to them ! Tell him that I am a traitor, for I 
 have given them and him away to you, a stranger, and that 
 you consider yourself the only straight and honest one about 
 here ! " 
 
 Brice flushed with shame. " Forgive me, " he said hur- 
 riedly ; " you are right and I am wrong again. I will do 
 just what you say. I will first place these greenbacks in a 
 secure place — and then " — 
 
 "Get away first — that's your only holt," she inter- 
 rupted him quickly, her eyes still flashing through indig- 
 nant tears. "Come quick, for I must put you on the trail 
 before they miss me." 
 
 She darted forward ; he followed, but she kept the lead, 
 as much, he fancied, to evade his observation as to expedite 
 his going. Presently they stopped before the sloping trunk 
 of a huge pine that had long since fallen from the height 
 above, but, although splintered where it had broken ground, 
 had preserved some fifty feet of its straight trunk erect and 
 leaning like a ladder against the mountain wall. "There," 
 she said, hurriedly pointing to its decaying but still project- 
 ing lateral branches, "you climb it — I have. At the top 
 you '11 find it 's stuck in a cleft among the brush. There 's 
 a little hollow and an old waterway from a spring above 
 which makes a trail through the brush. It 's as good as 
 the trail you took from the stage road this mornin', but 
 
40 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKRY'S 
 
 it 's not as safe comin' down. Keep along it to the spring, 
 and it will land ye jest the other side of uncle Hiram's 
 cabin. Go quick! I '11 wait here until ye 've reached the 
 cleft." 
 
 "But you," he said, turning toward her, "how can I ever 
 thank you 1 " 
 
 As if anticipating a leavetaking, the girl had already 
 withdrawn herself a few yards away, and simply made an 
 upward gesture with her hand. " Quick ! Up with you ! 
 Every minute now is a risk to me." 
 
 Thus appealed to, Brice could only comply. Perhaps 
 he was a little hurt at the girl's evident desire to avoid a 
 gentler parting. Securing his prized envelope within his 
 breast, he began to ascend the tree. Its inclination, and 
 the aid offered by the broken stumps of branches, made this 
 comparatively easy, and in a few moments he reached its top, 
 and stood upon a little ledge in the wall. A swift glance 
 around him revealed the whole waterway or fissure slanting 
 upward along the mountain face. Then he turned quickly 
 to look down the dizzy height. At first he could distinguish 
 nothing but the top of the buckeyes and their white cluster- 
 ing blossoms. Then something fluttered, — the torn white 
 handkerchief of his that she had kept. And then he caught 
 a single glimpse of the flower-plumed hat receding rapidly 
 among the trees, and Mora Dimwood was gone. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In twenty-four hours Edward Brice was in San Francisco. 
 But although successful and the bearer of the treasure, it is 
 doubtful if he approached this end of his journey with the 
 temerity he had shown on entering the robbers' valley. A 
 consciousness that the methods he had employed might ex. 
 cite the ridicule, if not the censure, of his principals, or 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARKY'S 41 
 
 that he might have compromised them in his meeting with 
 Snapshot Harry, considerably modified his youthful exulta- 
 tion. It is possible that Flora's reproach, which still ran- 
 kled in his mind, may have quickened his sensitiveness on 
 that point. However, he had resolved to tell the whole 
 truth, except his episode with Flora, and to place the con- 
 duct of Snapshot Harry and the Tarboxes in as favorable a 
 light as possible. But first he had recourse to the manager, 
 a man of shrewd worldly experience, who had recommended 
 him to his place. When he had finished and handed him 
 the treasured envelope, the man looked at him with a criti- 
 cal and yet not unkindly expression. "Perhaps it 's just as 
 well, Brice, that you did come to me at first, and did not 
 make your report to the president and directors." 
 
 "I suppose," said Brice diffidently, "that they wouldn't 
 have liked my communicating with the highwayman with- 
 out their knowledge t " 
 
 " More than that — they wouldn't have believed your 
 story. " 
 
 " Not believe it?" cried Brice, flushing quickly "Do 
 you think " — 
 
 The manager checked him with a laugh. " Hold on ! I 
 believe every word of it, and why 1 Because you 've added 
 nothing to it to make yourself the regular hero. ' Why, with 
 your opportunity, and no one able to contradict you, you 
 might have told me you had a hand-to-hand fight with the 
 thief, and had to kill him to recover the money, and even 
 brought your handkerchief and hat back with the bullet holes 
 to prove it." Brice winked as he thought of the fair pos- 
 sessor of those articles. " But as a story for general circu- 
 lation, it won't do. Have you told it to any one else? 
 Poes any one know what happened but yourself 1 " 
 
 Brice thought of Flora, but he had resolved not to com- 
 promise her, and he had a consciousness that she would be 
 et4ually loyal to him. " No one," he answered boldly. 
 
42 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAKKY S 
 
 " Very good. And I suppose you would n't mind if it 
 ■were kept out of the newspapers? You 're not hankering 
 after a reputation as a hero 1 " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Brice indignantly. 
 
 '■' Well, then, we '11 keep it where it is. You will say 
 ■jftothing. I wiU hand over the greenbacks to the company, 
 but only as much of your story as I think they '11 stand. 
 You 're all right as it is. Yuba Bill has already set you up 
 in his report to the company, and the recovery of this money 
 will put you higher! Only, the public need know nothing 
 about it." 
 
 " But, " asked Brice amazedly, " how can it be prevented 1 
 The shippers who lost the money will have to know that it 
 has been recovered." 
 
 " Why should they 1 The company will assume the risk, 
 and repay them just the same. It 's a great deal better to 
 have the reputation for accepting the responsibilitj' than for 
 the shippers to think that they only get their money through 
 the accident of its recovery." 
 
 Brice gasped at this large business truth. Besides, it 
 occurred to him that it kept the secret, and Flora's partici- 
 pation in it, from Snapshot Harry and the gang. He had 
 not thought of that before. 
 
 " Come," continued the manager, with official curtness, 
 " what do you say 1 Are you willing to leave it to me ? " 
 
 Brice hesitated a moment. It was not what his impulsive, 
 truthful nature had suggested. It was not what his youth- 
 ful fancy had imagined. He had not worked upon the sym- 
 pathies of the company on behalf of Snapshot Harry as he 
 believed he would do. He had not even impressed the man- 
 ager. His story, far from exciting a chivalrous sentiment, 
 had been pronounced improbable. Yet he reflected he had 
 so far protected her, and he consented with a sigh. 
 
 Nevertheless, the result ought to have satisfied him. A 
 dazzling check, inclosed in a letter of thanks from the com- 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAERY'S 43 
 
 pany the next day, and his promotion from " the road " to 
 the San Francisco office, would have been quite enough for 
 any one but Edward Brice. Yet he was grateful, albeit a 
 little frightened and remorseful over his luck. He could 
 not help thinking of the kindly tolerance of the highway- 
 man, the miserable death of the actual thief, which had 
 proved his own salvation, and above all, the generous, high- 
 spirited girl who had aided his escape. While on his way 
 to San Francisco, and yet in the first glow of his success, 
 he had written her a few lines from Marysville, inclosed in 
 a letter to Mr. Tarbox. He had received no reply. 
 
 Then a week passed. He wrote again, and still no reply. 
 Then a vague feeling of jealousy took possession of him as 
 he remembered her warning hint of the attentions to which 
 she was subjected, and he became singularly appreciative of 
 Snapshot Harry's proficiency as a marksman. Then, cruel- 
 est of all, for your impassioned lover is no lover at all if not 
 cruel in his imaginings, he remembered how she had evaded 
 her uncle's espionage with him ; could she not equally with 
 another ? Perhaps that was why she had hurried him away, 
 — why she had prevented his returning to her uncle. Fol- 
 lowing this came another week of disappointment and equally 
 miserable cynical philosophy, in which he persuaded himself 
 he was perfectly satisfied with his material advancement, 
 that it was the only outcome of his adventure to be recog- 
 nized; and he was more miserable than ever. 
 
 A month had passed, when one morning he received a 
 small package by post. The address was in a handwriting 
 unknown to him, but opening the parcel he was surprised to 
 find only a handkerchief neatly folded. Examining it closely, 
 he found it was his own, — the one he had given her, the 
 rent made by her uncle's bullet so ingeniously and delicately 
 mended as to almost simulate embroidery. The joy that 
 suddenly filled him at this proof of her remembrance showed 
 him too plainly how hollow had been his cynicism and how 
 
44 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 
 
 lasting his hope! Turning over the wrapper eagerly, he 
 discovered what he had at first thought was some business 
 card. It was, indeed, printed and not engraved, in some 
 common newspaper type, and bore the address, " Hiram 
 Tarbox, Land and Timber Agent, 1101 California Street." 
 He again examined the parcel; there was nothing else, — 
 not a, line from her ! But it was a clue at last, and she had 
 not forgotten him! He seized his hat, and ten minutes 
 later was breasting the steep sand hill into which California 
 Street in those days plunged, and again emerged at its crest, 
 with a few struggling houses. 
 
 But when he reached the summit he could see that the 
 outline of the street was still plainly marked along the 
 distance by cottages and new suburban villa-like blocks 
 of houses. No. 1101 was in one of these blocks, a small 
 tenement enough, but a palace compared to Mr. Tarbox's 
 Sierran cabin. He impetuously rang the bell, and without 
 waiting to be announced dashed into the little drawing-room 
 and Mr. Tarbox's presence. That had changed too; Mr. 
 Tarbox was arrayed in a suit of clothes as new, as cheaply 
 decorative, as fresh and, apparently, as damp as his own 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Did you get my letter ? Did you give her the one I 
 inclosed? Why didn't you answer? " burst out Brice, after 
 his first breathless greeting. 
 
 Mr. Tarbox's face here changed so suddenly into his old 
 dejected doggedness that Brice could have imagined him- 
 self back in the Sierran cabin. The man straightened and 
 bowed himself at Brice's questions, and then replied with 
 bold, deliberate emphasis : — 
 
 " Yes, I did get your letter. I did n't give no letter o' 
 yours to her. And I didn't answer your letter before, iot 
 I did n't propose to answer it at all." 
 
 " Why ? " demanded Brice indignantly. 
 
 " I did n't give her your letter because I did n't kalkilate 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAERY'S 45 
 
 to be any go-between 'twixt you and Snapshot Harry's 
 niece. Look yar, Mr. Brice. Sense I read that 'ar para- 
 graph in that paper you gave me, I allowed to myself that 
 it was n't the square thing for me to have any more doin's 
 with him, and I quit it. I jest chucked your letter in the 
 fire. I did n't answer you because I reckoned I 'd no call 
 to correspond with ye, and when I showed ye that trail over 
 to Harry's camp, it was ended. I 've got a house and busi- 
 ness to look arter, and it don't jibe with keepin' company 
 with ' road agents.' That 's what I got outer that paper 
 you gave me, Mr. Brice." 
 
 Eage and disgust filled Brice at the man's utter selfish- 
 ness and shameless desertion of his kindred, none the less 
 powerfully that he remembered the part he himself had 
 played in concocting the paragraph. " Do you mean to 
 say," he demanded passionately, " that for the sake of that 
 foolish paragraph you gave up your own kindred 1 That 
 you truckled to the mean prejudices of your neighbors and 
 kept that poor, defenseless girl from the only honest roof 
 she could find refuge under ? That you dared to destroy 
 my letter to her, and make her believe I was as selfish and 
 ungrateful as yourself ? " 
 
 " Young feller," said Mr. Tarbox still more deliberately, 
 yet with a certain dignity that Brice had never noticed be- 
 fore, " what 's between you and Flo, and what rights she 
 has fer thinkin' ye ' ez selfish ' and ' ez ongrateful ' ez me ^ 
 ef she does, I dunno! — but when ye talk o' me givin' up 
 my kindred, and sling such hogwash ez ' ongrateful ' and 
 ' selfish ' round this yer sittin'-room, mebbe it mout occur to 
 ye that Harry Dimwood might hev his opinion o' what was 
 ' ongrateful ' and ' selfish ' ef I 'd played in between his 
 niece and a young man o' the express company, his nat'ral 
 enemy. It 's one thing to hev helped ye to see her in her 
 uncle's own camp, but another to help ye by makin' a clan- 
 decent post-offis o' my cabin. Ef, instead o' writin', you 'd 
 
46 A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HARKY'S 
 
 hev posted yourself by comin' to me, you mout hev found 
 out that when I broke -with Harry I offered to take Flo with 
 me for good and all — ef he 'd keep away from us. And 
 that 's the kind o' ' honest roof ' that that thar ' poor de- 
 fenseless girl ' got under when her crippled mother died three 
 weeks ago, and left Harry free. It was by ' trucklin" to 
 them ' mean prejudices, ' and readin' that thar ' foolish para- 
 graph, ' that I settled tnis thing then and thar ! " 
 
 Brice's revulsion ot sentiment was so complete, and the 
 gratitude that beamed in his eyes was so sincere, that Mr. 
 Tarbox hardly needed the profuse apologies which broke 
 from him. " Forgive me I " he continued to stammer, " I 
 have wronged you, wronged her — everybody. But as you 
 know, Mr. Tarbox, how I have felt over this, how deeply 
 — how passionately " — 
 
 " It does make a man loony sometimes," said Mr. Tar- 
 box, relaxing into demure dryness again, "so I reckon you 
 did ! Mebbe she reckoned so, too, for she asked me to give 
 you the handkercher I sent ye. It looked as if she 'd been 
 doin' some fancy work on it." 
 
 Brice glanced quickly at Mr. Tarbox's face. It was stolid 
 and imperturbable. She had evidently kept the secret of 
 what passed in the hollow to herself. For the first time he 
 looked around the room curiously. " I did n't know you 
 were a land agent before," he said. 
 
 " No more I was ! All that kem out o' that paragraph, 
 Mr. Brice. That man Heckshill, who was so mighty per- 
 lite that night, wrote to me afterwards that he did n't know 
 my name till he 'd seed that paragraph, and he wanted to 
 know ef , ez a ' well-known citizen, ' I could recommend him 
 some timber lands. I recommended him half o' my own 
 quarter section, and he took it. He 's puttin' up a mill 
 tliar, and that 's another reason why we want peace and 
 quietness up thar. I 'm try in' (betwixt and between us, 
 Mr. Brice) to get Harry to cl'ar out and sell hia rights in 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAREY'S 47 
 
 the valley and the water power on the Fork to Heckshill 
 and me. I 'm opening a business here." 
 
 " Then you 've left Mrs. Tarhox with Miss Flora in your 
 cabin while you attend to business here," said Brice tenta- 
 Ively. 
 
 " Not exactly, Mr. Brice. The old woman thought it a 
 jood chance to come to 'Frisco and put Flo in one o' them 
 Catholic convent schools — that asks no questions whar the 
 raw logs come from, and turns 'em out first-class plank all 
 round. You f oiler me, Mr. Brice? But Mrs. Tarhox is 
 jest in the next room, and would admire to tell ye all this 
 — and I '11 go in and send her to you." And with a pat- 
 ronizing wave of the hand, Mr. Tarbox complacently dis- 
 appeared in the hall. 
 
 Mr. Brice was not sorry to be left to himself in his utter 
 bewilderment! Flo, separated from her detrimental uncle, 
 and placed in a convent school! Tarbox, the obscure pio- 
 neer, a shrewd speculator emerging into success, and taking 
 the uncle's place! And all this within that month which 
 he had wasted with absurd repinings. How feeble seemed 
 his own adventure and advancement; how even ludicrous 
 his pretensions to any patronage and superiority. How this 
 common backwoodsman had set him in his place as easily as 
 she had evaded the advances of the journalist and Hecks- 
 hill! They had taught him a lesson; perhaps even the 
 sending back of his handkerchief was part of it ! His heart 
 grew heavy; he walked to the window and gazed out with 
 a long sigh. 
 
 A light laugh, that might have been an echo of the one 
 which had attracted him that night in Tarbox's cabin, fell 
 upon his ear. He turned quickly to meet Flora Dimwood's 
 laughing eyes shining upon him as she stood in the door- 
 way. 
 
 Many a time during that month he had thought of this 
 ~"pet?ng — had imagined what it would be like — what 
 
48 A. NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEET'S 
 
 ■would be his manner towards her — what would he her 
 greeting, and what they would say. He would be cold, gen- 
 tle, formal, gallant, gay, sad, trustful, reproachful, even as 
 the moods in which he thought of her came to his foolish 
 brain. He would always begin with respectful seriousness, 
 or a frankness equal to her own, but never, never again 
 would he offend as he had offended under the buckeyes! 
 And now, with her pretty face shining upon him, all his 
 plans, his speeches, his preparations vanished, and left him 
 dumb. Yet he moved towards her with a brief articulate 
 something on his lips, — something between a laugh and a 
 sigh, — but that really was a kiss, and — in point of fact — 
 promptly folded her in his arms. 
 
 Yet it was certainly direct, and perhaps the best that could 
 be done, for the young lady did not emerge from it as coolly, 
 as unemotionally, nor possibly as quickly as she had under 
 the shade of the buckeyes. But she persuaded him — by 
 still holding his hand — to sit beside her on the chilly, 
 highly varnished " green rep " sofa, albeit to him it was a 
 bank in a bower of enchantment. Then she said, with 
 adorable reproachfulness, " You don't ask what I did with 
 the body." 
 
 Mr. Edward Brice started. He was young, and unfa- 
 miliar with the evasive expansiveness of the female mind at 
 such supreme moments. 
 
 " The body — oh, yes — certainly." 
 
 " I buried it myself — it was suthin too awful ! — and 
 the gang would have been sure to have found it, and the 
 empty belt. I burned that. So that nobody knows 
 nothin'." 
 
 It was not a time for strictly grammatical negatives, and 
 I am afraid that the girl's characteristically familiar speech, 
 even when pathetically corrected here and there by the in- 
 fluence of the convent, endeared her the more to him. And 
 when she said, " And now, Mr. Edward Brice, sit over at 
 
A NIECE OF SNAPSHOT HAEEY'S 49 
 
 that end of the sofy and let 's talk," they talked. They 
 talked for an" hour, more or less continuously, until they 
 were surprised by a discreet cough and the entrance of Mrs. 
 Tarbox. Then there was more talk, and the discovery that 
 Mr. Brice was long due at the office. 
 
 " Ye might drop in, now and then, whenever ye feel like 
 it, and Flo is at home," suggested Mrs. Tarbox at parting. 
 
 Mr. Brice did drop in frequently during the next month. 
 On one of these occasions Mr. Tarbox accompanied him to 
 the door. "And now — ez everything is settled and in 
 order, Mr. Brice, and ef you should be wantin' to say any- 
 thing about it to your bosses at the office, ye may mention. 
 my name ez Flo Dimwood's second cousin, and say I 'm 
 a depositor in their bank. And," with greater deliberation, 
 " ef anything at any time should be thrown up at ye for 
 marryin' a niece o' Snapshot Harry's, ye might mention, 
 keerless like, that Snapshot Harry, under the name o' Henry 
 J, Dimwoodj has held shares in their old bank for years ! " 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 PART I 
 
 " Well!" said the editor of the " Mountain Ckrion," 
 looking up impatiently from his copy. " What 's the mat- 
 ter now ! " 
 
 The intruder in his sanctum was his foreman. He was 
 also acting as pressman, as might be seen from his shirt- 
 sleeves spattered with ink, rolled up over the arm that had 
 just been working " the Archimedean lever that moves the 
 world," which was the editor's favorite allusion to the hand- 
 press that strict economy obliged the " Clarion " to use. 
 His braces, slipped from his shoulders during his work, 
 were looped negligently on either side, their functions being 
 replaced by one hand, which occasionally hitched up his 
 trousers to a securer position. A pair of down-at-heel slip- 
 pers — dear to the country printer — completed his negligee. 
 
 But the editor knew that the ink-spattered arm was sin- 
 ewy and ready, that a stout and loyal heart beat under the 
 soiled shirt, and that the slipshod slippers did not prevent 
 its owner's foot from being " put down " very firmly on 
 occasion. He accordingly met the shrewd, good-humored 
 blue eyes of his faithful henchman with an interrogating 
 smile. 
 
 " I won't keep you long," said the foreman, glancing at 
 the editor's copy with his habitual half humorous toleration 
 of that work, it being his general conviction that news and 
 advertisements were the only valuable features of a news- 
 paper, " I only wanted to talk to you a minute about makiu' 
 Buthin more o' this yer accident to Colonel Starbottle." 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 51 
 
 " Well, we 've a full report of it in, have n't we ? " said 
 the editor wonderingly. " I have even made an editorial 
 para, about the frequency of these accidents, and called at- 
 tention to the danger of riding those half broken Spanish 
 mustangs. " 
 
 "Yes, ye did that,'' said the foreman tolerantly; "but 
 ye see, thar 's some folks around here that allow it warn't 
 no accident. There 's a heap of them believe that no run- 
 away boss ever mauled the colonel ez he got mauled. " 
 
 "But I heard it from the colonel's own lips," said the 
 editor, " and he surely ought to know." 
 
 " He mout know and he mout n't, and if he did know, he 
 would n't tell," said the foreman musingly, rubbing his chin 
 with the cleaner side of his arm. " Ye didn't see him 
 when he was picked up, did ye ? " 
 
 "No," said the editor. " Only after the doctor had at- 
 tended him. Why 1 " 
 
 " Jake Parmlee, ez picked him up outer the ditch, says 
 that he was half choked, and his black silk neck-handker- 
 cher was pulled tight around his throat. There was a mark 
 on his nose ez ef some one had tried to gouge out his eye, 
 and his left ear was chawed ez ef he 'd been down in a reg- 
 'lar rough-and-tumble clinch." 
 
 " He told me his horse bolted, buck-jumped, threw him, 
 and he lost consciousness," said the editor positively. " He 
 had no reason for lying, and a man like Starbottle, who car- 
 ries a Derringer and is a dead shot, would have left his mark 
 on somebody if he 'd been attacked." 
 
 " That 's what the boys say is just the reason why he 
 lied. He was took suddent, don't ye see, — he 'd no show 
 — and don't like to confess it. See? A man like him 
 ain't goin' to advertise that he kin be tackled and left sense- 
 less and no one else got hurt by it ! His political influence 
 would be ruined here ! " 
 
 The editor was momentarily staggered at this large truth 
 
ri2 "WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 " Nonsense ! " he said, with a laugh. " Who would at- 
 tack Colonel Starhottle in that fashion ? He might have 
 been shot on sight by some political enemy with whom he 
 had quarreled — but not beaten." 
 
 " S'pose it warn't no political enemy?" said the fore^ 
 man doggedly. 
 
 " Then who else could it be ? " demanded the editor im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "That's jest for the press to find out and expose," 
 returned the foreman, with a significant glance at the 
 editor's desk. " I reckon that 's whar the ' Clarion ' ought 
 to come in." 
 
 " In a matter of this kind," said the editor promptly, 
 " the paper has no business to interfere with a man's state- 
 ment. The colonel has a perfect right to his own secret — 
 if there is one, which I very much doubt. But, " he added, 
 in laughing recognition of the half reproachful, half humor- 
 ous discontent on the foreman's face, "what dreadful the- 
 ory have you and the boys got about it — and what do yoti 
 expect to expose ! " 
 
 "Well," said the foreman very seriously, "it 's jest this: 
 You see, the colonel is mighty sweet on that Spanish woman 
 Ramierez up on the hill yonder. It was her mustang he 
 was ridin' when the row happened near her house." 
 
 "Well?" said the editor, with disconcerting placidity. 
 
 "Well," — hesitated the foreman, "you see, they're a 
 bad lot, those Greasers, especially the Eamierez, her hus- 
 band." 
 
 The editor knew that the foreman was only echoing the 
 provincial prejudice against this race, which he himself had 
 always combated. Ramierez kept a fonda or hostelry on a 
 small estate, — the last of many leagues formerly owned by 
 the Spanish grantee, his landlord, — and had a wife of soms 
 small coquetries and redundant charms. Gambling took 
 place at the fonda, and it was said the common prejudice 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 53 
 
 against the Mexican did not, however, prevent the Ameri- 
 can from trying to win his money. 
 
 " Then you think Ramierez was jealous of the colonel? 
 But in that case he would have knifed him, — Spanish fash- 
 ion, — and not without a struggle." 
 
 " There 's more ways they have o' killin' a man than 
 that; he might hev been dragged off his horse by a lasso 
 and choked," said the foreman darkly. 
 
 The editor had heard of this vaquero method of putting 
 an enemy hors de combat ; but it was a clumsy performance 
 for the public road, and the brutality of its manner '■"ould 
 have justified the colonel in exposing it. 
 
 The foreman saw the incredulity expressed in his face, 
 and said somewhat aggressively, " Of course I know ye 
 don't take no stock in what's said agin the Greasers, and 
 that 's what the boys know, and what they said, and that '3 
 the reason why I thought I oughter tell ye, so that ye 
 mightn't seem to be always favorin' 'em." 
 
 The editor's face darkened slightly, but he kept his 
 temper and his good humor. " So that to prove that the 
 ' Clarion ' is unbiased where the Mexicans are concerned, I 
 ought to make it their only accuser, and cast a doubt on 
 the American's veracity ? " he said, with a smile. 
 
 " I don't mean that," said the foreman, reddening. 
 " Only I thought ye might — as ye understand these folks' 
 ways — ye might be able to get at them easy, and mebbe 
 make some copy outer the blamed thing. It would just 
 make a stir here, and be a big boom for the ' Clarion. ' " 
 
 " I 've no doubt it would," said the editor dryly. " How- 
 ever, I'll make some inquiries; but you might as well let 
 ' the boys ' know that the ' Clarion ' will not publish the 
 colonel's secret without his permission. Meanwhile," he 
 continued, smiling, "if you are very anxious to add the func- 
 tions of a reporter to your other duties and bring me any 
 discoveries you may make, I'll — look over your copy." 
 
64 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 He good humoredly nodded, and took up his pen again, 
 ■ — a hint at -whicli the embarrassed foreman, under cover of 
 hitching up his trousers, awkwardly and reluctantly with- 
 drew. 
 
 It was with some natural youthful curiosity, hut no lack 
 of loyalty to Colonel Starbottle, that the editor that even- 
 ing sought this " war-horse of the Democracy," as he was 
 familiarly known, in his invalid chamber at the Palmetto 
 Hotel. He found the hero with a bandaged ear — and per- 
 haps it was fancy suggested by the story of the choking — 
 cheeks more than usually suffused and apoplectic. Never- 
 theless, he was seated by the table with a mint julep before 
 him, and welcomed the editor by instantly ordering another. 
 
 The editor was glad to find him so much better. 
 
 " Gad, sir, no bones broken, but a good deal of 'possum 
 scratching about the head for such a little throw like that. 
 I must have slid a yard or two on my left ear before I 
 brought up." 
 
 " You were unconscious from the fall, I believe." 
 
 " Only for an instant, sir — a single instant ! I recov- 
 ered myself with the assistance of a No'the'n gentleman — 
 a Mr. Parmlee — who was passing. " 
 
 " Then you think your injuries were entirely due to your 
 fall?" 
 
 The colonel paused with the mint julep halfway to his 
 lips, and set it down. " Sir!" he ejaculated, with as- 
 tounded indignation. , 
 
 " You say you were unconscious," returned the editor 
 lightly, " and some of your friends think the injuries in- 
 consistent with what you believe to be the cause. They are 
 concerned lest you were unknowingly the victim of some 
 foul play." 
 
 " Unknowingly ! Sir ! Do you take me for a chuckle- 
 headed niggah, that I don't know when I 'm thrown from a 
 buck-jumping mustang? or do they think I 'm a Chinaman 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 55 
 
 to be hustled and beaten by a gang of bullies ? Do they 
 know, sir, that the account I have given I am responsible 
 for, sir ? — personally responsible ? " 
 
 There was no doubt to the editor that the colonel was 
 perfectly serious, and that the indignation arose from no 
 guilty consciousness of a secret. A man as peppery as the 
 colonel would have been equally alert in defense. 
 
 " They feared that you might have been ill used by some 
 evilly disposed person during your unconsciousness," ex- 
 plained the editor diplomatically ; " but as you say that was 
 only for a moment, and that you were aware of everything 
 that happened " — He paused. 
 
 " Perfectly, sir ! Perfectly ! As plain as I see this ju- 
 lep before me. I had just left the Eamierez rancho. The 
 senora, — a devilish pretty woman, sir, — after a little play- 
 ful badinage, had offered to lend me her daughter's mustang 
 if I could ride it home. You know what it is, Mr. Grey," 
 he said gallantly. " I 'm an older man than you, sir, but 
 a challenge from a d — d fascinating creature, I trust, sir, I 
 am not yet old enough to decline. Gad, sir, I mounted the 
 brute. I 've ridden Morgan stock and Blue Grass thorough- 
 breds bareback, sir, but I 've never thrown my leg over such 
 a blanked Chinese cracker before. After he bolted I held 
 my own fairly, but he buck-jumped before I could lock my 
 spurs under him, and the second jump landed me ! " 
 
 " How far from the Ramierez fonda were you when you, 
 were thrown ? " 
 
 " A matter of four or five hundred yards, sir." 
 
 " Then your accident might have been seen from the 
 fonda?" 
 
 " Scarcely, sir. For in that case, I may say, without 
 vanity, that — er — the — er senora would have come to my 
 assistance." 
 
 " But not her husband ? " 
 The old-fashioned shirt-frill which the colonel habitually 
 
56 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 wore grew erectile with a swelling indignation, possibly half 
 assumed to conceal a certain conscious satisfaction beneath. 
 " Mr, Grey," he said, with pained severity, "as a personal 
 friend of mine, and a representative of the press, — a power 
 which I respect, — I overlook a disparaging reflection upon a 
 lady, which I can only attribute to the levity of youth and 
 thoughtlessness. At the same time, sir," he added, with 
 illogical sequence, "if Eamierez felt aggrieved at my atten- 
 tions, he knew where I could be found, sir, and that it was 
 not my habit to decline giving gentlemen — of any nation- 
 ality — satisfaction — sir ! — personal satisfaction. " 
 
 He paused, and then added, with a singular blending of 
 anxiety and a certain natural dignity, "I trust, sir, that 
 nothing of this — er — kind will appear in your paper. " 
 
 " It was to keep it out by learning the truth from you, 
 my dear colonel," said the editor lightly, "that I called to- 
 day. Why, it was even suggested," he added, with a laugh, 
 "that you were half strangled by a lasso." 
 
 To his surprise the colonel did not join in the laugh, but 
 brought his hand to his loose cravat with an uneasy gesture 
 and a somewhat disturbed face. 
 
 ''I admit, sir," he said, with a forced smile, "that I 
 experienced a certain sensation of choking, and I may have 
 mentioned it to Mr. Parmlee ; but it was due, I believe, sir, 
 to my cravat, which I always wear loosely, as you perceive, 
 becoming twisted in my fall, and in rolling over." 
 
 He extended his fat white hand to the editor, who shook 
 it cordially, and then withdrew. Nevertheless, althougli 
 perfectly satisfied with his mission, and firmly resolved to 
 prevent any further discussion on the subject, Mr. Grey's 
 curiosity was not wholly appeased. What were the rela- 
 tions of the colonel with the Eamierez family ? From what 
 he himself had said, the theory of the foreman as to the mo- 
 tives of the attack might have been possible, and the assault 
 itself committed while the colonel was unconscious. 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 57 
 
 Mr. Grey, however, kept this to himself, briefly told hia 
 foreman that he found no reason to add to the account al- 
 ready in type, and dismissed the subject from his mind, 
 The colonel left the town the next day. 
 
 One morning a week afterward, the foreman entered the 
 sanctum cautiously, and, closing the door of the composing- 
 room behind him, stood for a moment before the editor with 
 a singular combination of irresolution, shamefacedness, and 
 humorous discomfiture in his face. 
 
 Answering the editor's look of inquiry, he began slowly, 
 "Mebbe ye remember when we was talkin' last week o' 
 Colonel Starbottle's accident, I sorter allowed that he knew 
 all the time why he was attacked that way, only he would 
 n't tell." 
 
 " Yes, I remember you were incredulous, " said the edi- 
 tor, smiling. 
 
 " Well, I take it all back ! I reckon he told all he knew. 
 I was wrong ! I cave ! " 
 
 " Why ? " asked the editor wonderingly. 
 
 " Well, I have been through the mill myself ! " 
 
 He unbuttoned his shirt collar, pointed to his neck, which 
 showed a slight abrasion and a small livid mark of strangu- 
 lation at the throat, and added, with a grim smile, "And 
 I 've got about as much proof as I want." 
 
 The editor put down his pen and stared at him. 
 
 "You see, Mr. Grey, it was partly your fault! When 
 you bedeviled me about gettin' that news, and allowed I 
 might try my hand at reportin', T was fool enough to take 
 up the challenge. So once or twice, when I was off duty 
 here, I hung around the Eamierez shanty. Once I went in 
 thar when they were gamblin' ; thar war one or two Ameri- 
 cans thar that war winnin' as far as I could see, and was 
 pretty full o' that aguardiente that they sell thar — that kills 
 at forty rods. You see, I had a kind o' suspicion that ef 
 thar was any foul play goin' on it might be worked on these 
 
58 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 fellers arter they were drunk, and war goin' home with thai 
 winnin's." 
 
 " So you gave up your theory of the colonel being at- 
 tacked from jealousy ? " said the editor, smiling. 
 
 "Hoi' on! I ain't through yet! I only reckoned that 
 ef thar was a gang of roughs kept thar on the premises they 
 might be used for that purpose, and I only wanted to ketch 
 'em at thar work. So I jest meandered into the road when 
 they war about comin' out, and kept my eye skinned for 
 what might happen. Thar was a kind o' corral about a 
 hundred yards down the road, half adobe wall, and a stock- 
 ade o' palin's on top of it, about six feet high. Some of 
 the palin's were off, and I peeped through, but thar warn't 
 nobody thar. I stood thar, alongside the bank, leanin' my 
 back agin one o' them openin's, and jest watched and waited. 
 
 " All of a suddent I felt myself grabbed by my coat 
 collar behind, and my neck-handkercher and collar drawn 
 tight around my throat till I could n't breathe. The more 
 I twisted round, the tighter the clinch seemed to get. I 
 could n't holler nor speak, but thar I stood with my mouth 
 open, pinned back agin that cursed stockade, and my arms 
 and legs movin' up and down, like one o' them dancin' 
 jacks! It seems funny, Mr. Grey — I reckon I looked like 
 a darned fool — but I don't wanter feel ag'in as I did jest 
 then. The clinch o' my throat got tighter; everything got 
 black about me; I was jest goin' off and kalkilatin' it was 
 about time for you to advertise for another foreman, when 
 suthin broke — fetched away ! 
 
 "It was my collar button, and I dropped like a shot. It 
 was a minute before I could get my breath ag'in, and when 
 I did and managed to climb that darned stockade, and drop 
 on the other side, thar warn't a soul to be seen! A few 
 bosses that stampeded in my gettin' over the fence war all 
 that was there ! I was mighty shook up, you bet ! — and 
 to make the hull thing perfectly ridic'lous, when I got back 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 59 
 
 to the road, after all I'd got through, darn my skin ef thai 
 ■warn't that pesky lot o' drunken men staggerin' along, jin- 
 glin' the scads they had won, and enjoyin' themselves, and 
 nobody a-followin' 'em! I jined 'em jest for kempany's 
 sake, till we got back to town, but nothin' happened." 
 
 "But, my dear Richards," said the editor warmly, "this 
 is no longer a matter of mere reporting, but of business 
 for the police. You must see the deputy sheriff at once, 
 and bring your complaint — or shall I? It's no joking 
 matter. " 
 
 "Hoi' on, Mr. Grey," replied Richards slowly. "I've 
 told this to nobody but you — nor am I goin' to — sahe? 
 It 's an affair of my own — and I reckon I kin take care of 
 it without goin' to the Revised Statutes of the State of 
 California, or callin' out the sheriff's posse." 
 
 His humorous blue eyes just then had certain steely 
 points in them like glittering facets as he turned them away, 
 which the editor had seen before on momentous occasions, 
 and he was speaking slowly and composedly, which the edi- 
 tor also knew boded no good to an adversary. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Richards," he said quietly. "Don't 
 take as a personal affront what was a common, vulgar crime. 
 You would undoubtedly have been robbed by that rascal had 
 not the others come along." 
 
 Richards shook his head. "I might hev been robbed a 
 dozen times afore they came along — ef that was the little 
 game. No, Mr. Grey, — it warn't no robbery." 
 
 "Had you been paying court to the Seiiora Ramierez, 
 like Colonel Starbottle?" asked the editor, with a smile. 
 
 "Not much," returned Richards scornfully; "she ain't 
 my style. But" — he hesitated, and then added, "thar 
 was a mighty purty gal thar — and her darter, I reckon — 
 a reg'lar pink fairy ! She kem in only a minute, and they 
 sorter hustled her out ag'in — for darn my skin ef sho 
 didn't look as much out o' place in that smoky old garlic- 
 
60 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 smellin' room as an angel at a bull-fight. And what got 
 me — she was ez white ez you or me, with blue eyes and a 
 lot o' dark reddish hair in a long braid down her back. 
 Why, only for her purty sing-song voice and her ' Graeias, 
 senor,' you 'd hev reckoned she was a Blue Grass girl jest 
 fresh from across the plains." 
 
 A little amused at his foreman's enthusiasm, Mr. Grey 
 gave an ostentatious whistle and said, " Gome, now, Rich- 
 ards, look here ! Really ! " 
 
 "Only a little girl — a mere child, Mr. Grey — not 
 more 'n fourteen if a day," responded Richards, in embar- 
 rassed depreciation. 
 
 "Yes, but those people marry at twelve," said the edi- 
 tor, with a laugh. "Look out! Your appreciation may 
 have been noticed by some other admirer." 
 
 He half regretted this speech the next moment in the 
 quick flush — the male instinct of rivalry — that brought 
 back the glitter of Richards's eyes. "I reckon I kin take 
 care of that, sir," he said slowly, "and I kalkilate that the 
 next time I meet that chap — whoever he may be — he 
 won't see so much of my back as he did." 
 
 The editor knew there was little doubt of this, and for 
 an instant believed it his duty to put the matter in the 
 hands of the police. Richards was too good and brave a 
 man to be risked in a barroom fight. But reflecting that 
 this might precipitate the scandal he wished to avoid, he 
 concluded to make some personal investigation. A stronger 
 curiosity than he had felt before was possessing him. It 
 was singular, too, that Richards's description of the girl was 
 that of a difi'erent and superior type — the hidalgo, or fair- 
 skinned Spanish settler. If this was true, what was she 
 doing there — and what were her relations to the Ramierez ? 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 61 
 
 PAET II 
 
 The next afternoon he went to the fonda. Situated on 
 the outskirts of the town which had long outgrown it, it 
 still bore traces of its former importance as a hacienda, or 
 smaller farm, of one of the old Spanish landholders. The 
 patio, or central courtyard, still existed as a stable-yard for 
 carts, and even one or two horses were tethered to the rail- 
 ings of the inner corridor, which now served as an open 
 veranda to the fonda or inn. The opposite wing was utilized 
 as a tienda, or general shop, — a magazine for such goods as 
 were used by the Mexican inhabitants, — and belonged also 
 to Eamierez. 
 
 Eamierez himself — round-whiskered and Sancho Panza- 
 like in build — welcomed the editor with fat, perfunctory 
 urbanity. The fonda and all it contained was at his dis- 
 posicion. 
 
 The senora coquettishly bewailed, in rising and falling 
 inflection^, his long absence, his infidelity, and general per- 
 fidiousness. Truly he was growing great in writing of the 
 affairs of his nation — he could no longer see his humble 
 friends ! Yet not long ago — truly that very week — there 
 was the head impresor of Don Pancho's imprenta himself 
 who had been there ! 
 
 A great man, of a certainty, and they must take what 
 they could get! They were only poor innkeepers; when 
 the governor came not they must welcome the alcalde. To 
 which the editor — otherwise Don Pancho — replied with 
 equal effusion. He had indeed recommended the fonda to 
 his impresor, who was but a courier before him. But what 
 was this ? The impresor had been ravished at the sight of a 
 beautiful girl — a mere muchacha — yet of a beauty that 
 deprived the senses — this angel — clearly the daughter of 
 his friend! Here was the old miracle of the orange in full 
 
62 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 fruition and the lovely fragrant blossom all on the same 
 tree — at the f onda. And this had been kept from him ! 
 
 "Yes, it was but a thing of yesterday," said the senora, 
 obviously pleased. "The muchacha — for she was but 
 that — had just returned from the convent at San Jose, 
 where she had been for four years. Ah ! what would you ? 
 The fonda was no place for the child, who should know only 
 the litany of the Virgin — and they had kept her there. 
 And now — that she was home again — she cared only for 
 the horse. From morning to night! Caballeros might come 
 and go ! There might be a festival — all the same to her, 
 it made nothing if she had the horse to ride ! Even now 
 she was with one in the fields. Would Don Panoho attend 
 and see Cota and her horse ? " 
 
 The editor smilingly assented, and accompanied his host- 
 ess along the corridor to a few steps which brought them to 
 the level of the open meadows of the old farm inclosure. A 
 slight white figure on horseback was careering in the dis- 
 tance. At a signal from Senora Ramierez it wheeled and 
 came down rapidly toward them. But when within a hun- 
 dred yards the horse was suddenly pulled up vaquero fash- 
 ion, and the little figure leaped off and advanced toward 
 them on foot, leading the horse. 
 
 To his surprise Mr. Grey saw that she had been riding 
 bareback, and from her discreet halt at that distance he 
 half suspected astride ! His effusive compliments to the 
 mother on this exhibition of skill were sincere, for he was 
 struck by the girl's fearlessness. But when both horse and 
 rider at last stood before him, he was speechless and em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 For Richards had not exaggerated the girl's charms. She 
 was indeed dangerously pretty, from her tawny little head 
 to her small feet, and her figure, although comparatively 
 diminutive, was perfectly proportioned. Gray eyed and 
 blonde as she was in color, her racial peculiarities were dis- 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 63 
 
 tinct,.and only the good humored and enthusiastic Eichards 
 could have likened her to an American girl. 
 
 But he was the more astonished in noticing that her mus- 
 tang was as distinct and peculiar as herself — a mongrel 
 mare of the extraordinary type known as a "pinto," or 
 " calico " horse, mottled in lavender and pink, Arabian in 
 proportions, and half broken I Her greenish gray eyes, in 
 which too much of the white was visible, had, he fancied, 
 a singular similarity of expression to Cota's own! 
 
 Utterly confounded, and staring at the girl in her white, 
 many flounced frock, bare head, and tawny braids, as she 
 stood beside this incarnation of equine barbarism, Grey could 
 remember nothing like it outside of a circus. 
 
 He stammered a few words of admiration of the mare. 
 Miss Cota threw out her two arms with a graceful gesture 
 and a profound curtsey, and said, — 
 
 "A la disposicion de usted, senor." 
 
 Grey was quick to understand the malicious mischief 
 which underlay this formal curtsey and danced in the girl's 
 eyes, and even fancied it shared by the animal itself. But 
 he was a singularly good rider of untrained stock, and rather 
 proud of his prowess. He bowed. 
 
 " I accept that I may have the honor of laying the seno- 
 rita's gift again at her little feet." 
 
 But here the burly Eamierez intervened. "Ah, Mother of 
 God ! May the devil fly away with all this nonsense ! I will 
 have no more of it," he said impatiently to the girl. "Have 
 a care, Don Pancho, " he turned to the editor ; " it is a trick [" 
 
 "One I think I know," said Grey sapiently. The girl 
 looked at him curiously as he managed to edge between her 
 and the mustang, under the pretense of stroking its glossy 
 neck. "I shall keep my own spurs," he said to her in a 
 lower voice, pointing to the sharp, small-roweled American 
 spurs he wore, instead of the large, blunt, five-pointed star 
 of the Mexican pattern. 
 
64 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 The girl evidently did not understand him then — though 
 she did a moment later! For, without attempting to catch 
 hold of the mustang's mane, Grey in a single leap threw 
 himself across its back. The animal, utterly unprepared, 
 was at first stupefied. But by this time her rider had his 
 seat. He felt her sensitive spine arch like a cat's beneath 
 him as she sprang rocket-wise into the air. 
 
 But here she was mistaken ! Instead of clinging tightly 
 to her flanks with the inner side of his calves, after the old 
 vaquero fashion to which she was accustomed, he dropped 
 his spurred heels into her sides and allowed his body to rise 
 with her spring, and the cruel spur to cut its track upward 
 from her belly almost to her back. 
 
 She dropped like a shot, he dexterously withdrawing his 
 spurs, and regaining his seat, jarred but not discomfited. 
 Again she essayed a leap ; the spur again marked its height 
 in a scarifying track along her smooth barrel. She tried a 
 third leap, but this time dropped halfway as she felt the 
 steel scraping her side, and then stood stiU, trembling. 
 Grey leaped off! 
 
 There was a sound of applause from the innkeeper and 
 his wife, assisted by a lounging vaquero in the corridor. 
 Ashamed of his victory. Grey turned apologetically to Cota. 
 To his surprise she glanced indifferently at the trickling 
 sides of her favorite, and only regarded him curiously. 
 
 "Ah," she said, drawing in her breath, "you are strong 
 — and you comprehend ! " 
 
 "It was only a trick for a trick, senorita," he replied, 
 reddening; "let me look after those scratches in the 
 stable," he added, as she was turning away, leading the 
 agitated and excited animal toward a shed in the rear. 
 
 He would have taken the riata which she was still hold- 
 ing, but she motioned him to precede her. He did so by a 
 few feet, but he had scarcely reached the stable-door before 
 she suddenly caught him roughly by the shoulders, and. 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 65 
 
 shoving him into the entrance, slammed the door upon 
 him. 
 
 Amazed and a little indignant, he turned in time to hear 
 a slight sound of scuffling outside, and to see Cota reenter 
 with a flushed face. 
 
 "Pardon, senor," she said quickly, "but I feared she 
 might have kicked you. East tranquil, however, for the 
 servant he has taken her away." 
 
 She pointed to a slouching peon with a malevolent face, 
 ■who was angrily driving the mustang toward the corral. 
 
 " Consider it no more ! I was rude ! Santa Maria ! I 
 almost threw you, tooj but," she added, with a dazzling 
 smile, "you must not punish me as you have her! Por 
 you are very strong — and you comprehend. " 
 
 But Grey did not comprehend, and with a few hurried 
 apologies he managed to escape his fair but uncanny tor- 
 mentor. Besides, this unlooked-for incident had driven 
 from his mind the more important object of his visit, — the 
 discovery of the assailants of Bichards and Colonel Star- 
 bottle. 
 
 His inquiries of the Eamierez produced no result. Senor 
 Eamierez was not aware of any suspicious loiterers among 
 the frequenters of the fonda, and except from some drunken 
 American or Irish revelers he had been free of disturbance. 
 
 Ah! the peon — an old vaquero — was not an angel, 
 trulj^, but he was dangerous only to the bull and the wild 
 horses — and he was afraid even of Cota ! Mr. Grey was 
 fain to ride home empty of information. 
 
 He was still more concerned a week later, on returning 
 unexpectedly one afternoon to his sanctum, to hear a musi- 
 cal, childish voice in the composing-room. 
 
 It was Cota! She was there, as Eichards explained, on 
 his invitation, to view the marvels and mysteries of print- 
 ing at a time when they would not be likely to " disturb 
 Mr. Grey at his work." But the beaming face of Eichards 
 
66 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 and the simple tenderness of his blue eyes plainly revealed 
 the sudden growth of an evidently sincere passion, and the 
 unwonted splendors of his best clothes showed how care- 
 fully he had prepared for the occasion. 
 
 Grey was worried and perplexed, believing the girl 
 malicious flirt. Yet nothing could be more captivating than 
 her simple and childish curiosity, as she watched Richards 
 swing the lever of the press, or stood by his side as he mar- 
 shaled the type into files on his "composing-stick." He 
 had even printed a card with her name, " Senorita Cota 
 Eamierez," the type of which had been set up, to the ac- 
 companiment of ripples of musical laughter, by her little 
 brown fingers. 
 
 The editor might have become quite sentimental and 
 poetical had he not noticed that the gray eyes which often 
 rested tentatively and meaningly on himself, even while 
 apparently listening to Richards, were more than ever like 
 the eyes of the mustang on whose scarred flanks her glance 
 had wandered so coldly. 
 
 He withdrew presently so as not to interrupt his fore- 
 man's innocent t^te-&^t§te, but it was not very long after 
 that Cota passed him on the highroad with the pinto horse 
 in a gallop, and blew him an audacious kiss from the tips 
 of her fingers. 
 
 For several days afterwards Richards' s manner was tinged 
 with a certain reserve on the subject of Cota which the 
 editor attributed to the delicacy of a serious afi'ection, but he 
 was surprised also to find that his foreman's eagerness to dis- 
 cuss his unknown assailant had somewhat abated. Further 
 discussion regarding it naturally dropped, and the editor 
 was beginning to lose his curiosity when it was suddenly 
 awakened by a chance incident. 
 
 An intimate friend and old companion of his — one En- 
 riquez Saltillo — had diverged from a mountain trip espe- 
 >?ially to call upon him. Enriquez was a scion of one of the 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 67 
 
 oldest Spanish-California families, and in addition to his 
 friendship for the editor it pleased him also to affect an in- 
 tense admiration of American ways and habits, and even to 
 combinn the current California slang with his native preci- 
 sion of speeuu — and a certain ironical levity still more his 
 own. 
 
 It seemed, therefore, quite natural to Mr. Grey to find 
 him seated with his feet on the editorial desk, his hat 
 cocked on the back of his head, reading the " Clarion " ex- 
 changes. But he was up in a moment, and had embraced 
 Grey with characteristic effusion. 
 
 "I find myself, my leetle brother, but an hour ago two 
 leagues from this spot ! I say to myself, ' Hola ! It is the 
 home of Don Pancho — my friend ! I shall find him com- 
 posing the magnificent editorial leader, collecting the sub- 
 scription of the big pumpkin and the great gooseberry, or 
 gouging out the eye of the rival editor, at which I shall as- 
 sist ! ' I hesitate no longer ; I fly on the instant, and I am 
 here. " 
 
 Grey was delighted. Saltillo knew the Spanish popula- 
 tion thoroughly — his own superior race and their Mexican 
 and Indian allies. If any one could solve the mystery 
 of the Ramierez fonda, and discover Richards's unknown 
 assailant, it was he I But Grey contented himself, at first, 
 with a few brief inquiries concerning the beautiful Cota and 
 her anonymous association with the Ramierez. Enriquez 
 was as briefly communicative. 
 
 " Of your suspicions, my leetle brother, you are right — 
 on the half ! That leetle angel of a Cota is, without doubt, 
 the daughter of the adorable Senora Ramierez, but not of 
 the admirable senor — her husband. Ah ! what would you ? 
 We are a simple, patriarchal race ; thees Ramierez, he was 
 the Mexican tenant of the old Spanish landlord — such as 
 my father — and we are ever the fathers of the poor, and 
 sometimes of their children. It is possible, therefore, that 
 
68 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 the exquisite Cota resemble the Spanish landlord. Ah! 
 stop — remain tranquil! I remember," he went on, sud- 
 denly striking his forehead with a dramatic gesture, "the 
 old owner of thees ranch was my cousin Tiburcio. Of a 
 consequence, my friend, thees angel is my second cousin ! 
 Behold ! I shall call there on the instant. I shall embrace 
 my long-lost relation. I shall introduce my best friend, 
 Don Pancho, who lofe her. I shall say, ' Bless you, my 
 children, ' and it is f eenish ! I go ! I am gone even now ! " 
 
 He started up and clapped on his hat, but Grey caught 
 him by the arm. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Enriquez, be serious for once," he 
 said, forcing him back into the chair. "And don't speak 
 so loud. The foreman in the other room is an enthusiastic 
 admirer of the girl. In fact, it is on his account that I am 
 making these inquiries." 
 
 " Ah, the gentleman of the pantuflos, whose trousers will 
 not remain! I have seen him, friend. Truly he has the 
 ambition excessif to arrive from the bed to go to the work 
 without the dress or the wash. But," in recognition of 
 Grey's half serious impatience, "remain tranquil. On him 
 I shall not go back ! I have said ! The friend of my friend 
 is ever the same as my friend ! He is truly not seducing to 
 the eye, but without doubt he will arrive a governor or a 
 senator in good time. I shall gif to him my second cousin. 
 It is feenish ! I will tell him now ! " 
 
 He attempted to rise, but was held down and vigorously 
 shaken by Grey. 
 
 " I 've half a mind to let you do it, and get chucked 
 through the window for your pains," said the editor, with 
 a half laugh. "Listen to me. This is a more serious mat- 
 ter than you suppose." 
 
 And Grey briefly recounted the incident of the mysteri- 
 ous attacks on Starbottle and Eichards. As he proceeded 
 he noticed, however, that the ironical light died out of En- 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 69 
 
 riquez's eyes, and a singular thouglitfulness, yet unlike his 
 usuai precise gravity, came over his face. He twirled the 
 ends of his penciled mustache — an unfailing sign of En- 
 riquez's emotion. 
 
 " The same accident that arrive to two men that shall he 
 as opposite as the gallant Starbottle and the excellent Rich- 
 ards shall not prove that it come from Ramierez, though 
 they both were at the fonda," he said gravely. "The cause 
 of it have not come to-day, nor yesterday, nor last week. 
 The cause of it have arrive before there was any gallant 
 Starbottle or excellent Richards; before there was any 
 American in California — before you and I, my leetle bro- 
 ther, have lif! The cause happen first — two hundred 
 years ago ! " 
 
 The editor's start of impatient incredulity was checked 
 by the unmistakable sincerity of Enriquez's face. "It is 
 so," he went on gravely; "it is an old story — it is a long 
 story. I shall make him short — and new. " 
 
 He stopped and lit a cigarette without changing his odd 
 expression. 
 
 "It was when the padres first have the mission, and 
 take the heathen and convert him — and save his soul. It 
 was their business, you comprehend, my Pancho? The 
 more heathen they convert, the more soul they save, the 
 better business for their mission shop. But the heathen 
 do not always wish to be ' convert ; ' the heathen fly, the 
 heathen skedaddle, the heathen will not remain, or will 
 backslide. What will you do ? So the holy fathers make 
 a little game. You do not of a possibility comprehend how 
 the holy fathers make a convert, my leetle brother ? " he 
 added gravely. 
 
 "No," said the editor. 
 
 "I shall tell to you. They take from the presidio five 
 or six dragons — you comprehend — the cavalry soldiers, — ■ 
 and they pursue the heathen from his little hut. When 
 
70 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 they cannot surround him and he fly, they catch him with 
 the lasso, like the wild hoss. The lasso catch him arouni? 
 the neck; he is obliged to remain. Sometime he is stran' 
 gle. Sometime he is dead, but the soul is save ! You be- 
 lieve not, Pancho ? I see you wrinkle the brow — you flash 
 the eye ; you like it not 1 Believe me, I like it not, nei- 
 ther, but it is so ! " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, threw away his half smoked 
 cigarette, and went on. 
 
 " One time a padre who have the zeal excessif for the 
 saving of soul, when he find the heathen, who is a young 
 girl, have escape the soldiers, he of himself have seize the 
 lasso and flung it ! He is lucky ; he catch her — but look 
 you ! She stop not — she still fly ! She not only fly, but 
 of a surety she drag the good padre with her ! He cannot 
 loose himself, for his riata is fast to the saddle; the dragons 
 cannot help, for he is drag so fast. On the instant she 
 have gone — and so have the padre. For why 1 It is not 
 a young girl he have lasso, but the devil! You compre- 
 hend — it is a punishment — a retribution — he is f eenish ! 
 And forever! 
 
 " For every year he must come back a spirit — on a spirit 
 hoss — and swing the lasso, and make as if to catch the 
 heathen. He is condemn ever to play his little game ; now 
 there is no heathen more to convert, he catch what he can. 
 My grandfather have once seen him — it is night and a 
 storm, and he pass by like a flash! My grandfather like it 
 not — he is much dissatisfied! My uncle have seen him, 
 too, but he make the sign of the cross, and the lasso have 
 fall to the side, and my uncle have much gratification. A 
 vaquero of my father and a peon of my cousin have both 
 been picked up, lassoed, and dragged dead. 
 
 "Many peoples have died of him in the strangling. 
 Sometime he is seen, sometime it is the woman only that 
 one sees — sometime it is but the hoss. But ever some- 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 71 
 
 body is dead — strangle ! Of a truth, my friend, the gal- 
 lant Starbottle and the ambitious Richards have just 
 escaped ! " 
 
 The editor looked curiously at his friend. There was 
 not the slightest suggestion of mischief or irony in his tone 
 or manner; nothing, indeed, but a sincerity and anxiety 
 usually rare with his temperament. It struck him also 
 that his speech had but little of the odd California slang 
 which was always a part of his imitative levity. He was 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that this superstition is well 
 known 1 " he asked, after a pause. 
 
 "Among my people — yes." 
 
 " And do you believe in it 1 " 
 
 Enriquez was silent. Then he arose, and shrugged his 
 shoulders. " Qiden sabe ? It is not more difficult to com- 
 prehend than your story." 
 
 He gravely put on his hat. With it he seemed to have 
 put on his old levity. " Come, behold, it is a long time 
 between drinks ! Let us to the hotel and the bar-keep, who 
 shall give up the smash of brandy and the julep of mints 
 before the lasso of Friar Pedro shall prevent us the swal- 
 low! Let us skedaddle! " 
 
 Mr. Grey returned to the " Clarion '' office in a much more 
 satisfied condition of mind. Whatever faith he held in 
 Enriqnez's sincerity, for the first time since the attack on 
 Colonel Starbottle he believed he had found a really legiti- 
 mate journalistic opportunity in the incident. The legend 
 and its singular coincidence with the outrages would make 
 capital "copy." 
 
 No names would be mentioned, yet even if Colonel Star- 
 bottle recognized his own adventure, he could not possibly 
 object to this interpretation of it. The editor had found 
 that few people objected to be the hero of a ghost story, or 
 the favored witness of a spiritual manifestation. Nor could 
 
72 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 Richards find fault with this view of his own experience, 
 hitherto kept a secret, so long as it did not refer to his re- 
 lations with the fair Cota. Summoning him at once to his 
 sanctum, he briefly repeated the story he had just heard, 
 and his purpose of using it. To his surprise, Richards's 
 face assumed a seriousness and anxiety equal to Enriquez's 
 own. 
 
 "It 's a good story, Mr. Grey," he said awkwardly, "and 
 I ain't sayin' it ain't mighty good newspaper stuff, but it 
 won't do now, for the whole mystery's up and the assailant 
 found. " 
 
 "Found! When? Why did n't you tell me before? " 
 exclaimed Grey, in astonishment. 
 
 "I didn't reckon ye were so keen on it," said Richards 
 emharrassedly, " and — and — it was n't my own secret alto- 
 gether. " 
 
 " Go on, " said the editor impatiently. 
 
 "Well," said Richards slowly and doggedly, "ye see 
 there was a fool that was sweet on Cota, and he allowed 
 himself to be bedeviled by her to ride her cursed pink and 
 yaller mustang. Naturally the beast bolted at once, but he 
 managed to hang on by the mane for half a mile or so, when 
 it took to buck-jumpin'. The first ' buck ' threw him clean 
 into the road, but did n't stun him, yet when he tried to rise, 
 the first thing he knowed he was grabbed from behind and 
 half choked by somebody. He was held so tight that he 
 could n't turn, but he managed to get out his revolver and 
 fire two shots under his arm. The grip held on for a min- 
 ute, and then loosened, and the somethin' slumped down on 
 top o' him, but he managed to work himself around. And 
 then — what do you think he saw ? — why, that thar boss ! 
 with two bullet holes in his neck, lyin' beside him, but still 
 grippin' his coat collar and neck-handkercher in his teeth ! 
 Yes, sir! the rough that attacked Colonel Starbottle, the 
 villain that took me behind when I was leauin' agin that 
 
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 73 
 
 cursed fence, was that same God-forsaken, hell-invented 
 pinto hoss ! " 
 
 In a flash of recollection the editor remembered his own 
 experience, and the singular scuffle outside the stable-door 
 of the fonda. Undoubtedly Cota had saved him from a 
 similar attack. 
 
 " But why not tell this story with the other 1 " said the 
 editor, returning to his first idea. "It 's tremendously in- 
 teresting." 
 
 "It won't do," said Eichards, with dogged resolution. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because, Mr. Grey — that fool was myself ! " 
 
 " You ! Again attacked ! " 
 
 "Yes," said Eichards, with a darkening face. "Again 
 attacked, and by the same hoss! Cota's hoss! Whether 
 Cota was or was not knowin' its tricks, she was actually 
 furious at me for killin' it — and it 's all over 'twixt me 
 and her. " 
 
 "Nonsense," said the editor impulsively. "She will 
 forgive you! You didn't know your assailant was a horse 
 when you fired. Look at the attack on you in the road ! " 
 
 Eichards shook his head with dogged hopelessness. 
 
 "It 's no use, Mr. Grey. I oughter guessed it was a hoss 
 then — thar was nothin' else in that corral. No ! Cota 's 
 already gone away back to San Jose, and I reckon the Ea- 
 mierez has got scared of her and packed her off. So on ac- 
 count of it 's bein' her hoss, and what happened betwixt me 
 and her, you see my mouth is shut." 
 
 "And the columns of the ' Clarion ' too," said the editor 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "I know it 's hard, sir, but it 's better so. I 've reck- 
 oned mebbe she was a little crazy, and since you 've told 
 me that Spanish yarn, it mout be that she was sort o' play' 
 in' she was that priest, and trained that mustang ez she 
 did." 
 
T4 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE FONDA 
 
 After a pause, something of his old self came hack into 
 his hlue eyes as he sadly hitched up his braces and passed 
 them over his broad shoulders. " Yes, sir, I was a fool, for 
 we 've lost the only hit of real sensation news that ever came 
 in the way of the ' Clarion. ' " 
 
ME. BILSON'S HOUSEKEEPER 
 
 I 
 
 When Joshua Bilson, of the Summit House, Buckeye 
 Hill, lost his wife, it became necessary for him to take a 
 housekeeper to assist him in the management of the hotel. 
 Already all Buckeye had considered this a mere preliminary 
 to taking another wife, after a decent probation, as the rela- 
 tions of housekeeper and landlord were confidential and deli- 
 cate, and Bilson was a man, and not above female influence. 
 There was, however, some change of opinion on that point 
 when Miss Euphemia Trotter was engaged for that position. 
 Buckeye Hill, which had confidently looked forward to a 
 buxom widow or, with equal confidence, to the promotion 
 of some pretty but inefficient chambermaid, was startled by 
 the selection of a maiden lady of middle age, and above the 
 medium height, at once serious, precise, and masterful, and 
 to all appearances outrageously competent. More carefully 
 " taking stock " of her, it was accepted she had three good 
 points, — dark, serious eyes, a trim but somewhat thin fig- 
 ure, and well-kept hands and feet. These, which in so sus- 
 ceptible a community would have been enough, in the words 
 of one critic, "to have married her to three men," she 
 seemed to make of little account herself, and her attitude 
 toward those who were inclined to make them of account 
 was ceremonious and frigid. Indeed, she seemed to occupy 
 herself entirely with looking after the servants, Chinese and 
 Europeans, examining the bills and stores of traders and 
 shopkeepers, in a fashion that made her respected and — 
 feared. It was whispered, in fact, that Bilson stood in awe 
 
76 ME. bilson's housekeeper 
 
 of her as he never had of his wife, and that he was " hen- 
 pecked in his own farmyard by a strange pullet." 
 
 Nevertheless, he always spoke of her with a respect an J 
 even a reverence that seemed incompatible with their rela- 
 tive positions. It gave rise to surmises more or less in- 
 genious and conflicting: Miss Trotter had a secret interest 
 in the hotel, and represented a San Francisco syndicate; 
 Miss Trotter was a woman of independent property, and had 
 advanced large sums to Bilson; Miss Trotter was a woman 
 of no property, but she was the only daughter of — vari- 
 ously — a late distinguished nobleman, a ruined millionaire, 
 and a foreign statesman, bent on making her own living. 
 
 Alas, for romance! Miss Euphemia Trotter, or "Miss 
 E. Trotter," as she preferred to sign herself, loathing her 
 sentimental prefix, was really a poor girl who had been edu- 
 cated in an Eastern seminary, where she eventually became 
 a teacher. She had survived her parents and a neglected 
 childhood, and had worked hard for lier living since she was 
 fourteen. She had been a nurse in a hospital, an assistant 
 in a reformatory, had observed men and women under con- 
 ditions of pain and weakness, and had known the body only 
 as a tabernacle of helplessness and suffering ; yet had brought 
 out of her experience a hard philosophy which she used 
 equally to herself as to others. That she had ever indulged 
 in any romance of human existence, I greatly doubt; th« 
 lanky girl teacher at the Vermont academy had enough tc 
 do to push herself forward without entangling girl friend 
 ships or confidences, and so became a prematurely hard du- 
 enna, paid to look out for, restrain, and report, if necessary, 
 any vagrant flirtation or small intrigue of her companions. 
 A pronounced " old maid " at fifteen, she had nothing to 
 forget or forgive in others, and still less to learn from them. 
 
 It was spring, and down the long slopes of Buckeye Hill 
 the flowers were already effacing the last dented footprints 
 of the winter rains, and the winds no longer brought then 
 
MR. bilson's housekeeper 77 
 
 monotonous patter. In the pine woods there were the song 
 and flash of birds, and the quickening stimulus of the stir- 
 ring aromatic sap. Miners and tunnelmen were already for- 
 saking the direct road for a ramble through the woodland 
 trail and its sylvan charms, and occasionally breaking into 
 shouts and horseplay like great boys. The school children 
 were disporting there ; there were some older couples senti- 
 mentally gathering flowers side by side. Miss Trotter was 
 also there, but making a short cut from the bank and ex- 
 press office, and by no means disturbed by any gentle re- 
 miniscence of her girlhood or any other instinctive participa- 
 tion in the wanton season. Spring came, she knew, regularly 
 every year, and brought "spring cleaning " and other neces- 
 sary changes and rehabilitations. This year it had brought 
 also a considerable increase in the sum she was putting by, 
 and she was, perhaps, satisfied in a practical way, if not 
 with the blind instinctiveness of others. She was walking 
 leisurely, holding her gray skirt well over her slim ankles 
 and smartly booted feet, and clear of the brushing of daisies 
 and buttercups, when suddenly she stopped. A few paces 
 before her, partly concealed by a myrtle, a young woman, 
 startled at her approach, had just withdrawn herself from 
 the embrace of a young man and slipped into the shadow. 
 Nevertheless, in that moment. Miss Trotter's keen eyes had 
 recognized her as a very pretty Swedish girl, one of her 
 chambermaids at the hotel. Miss Trotter passed without 
 a word, but gravely. She was not shocked nor surprised, 
 but it struck her practical mind at once that if this were an 
 affair with impending matrimony, it meant the loss of a 
 valuable and attractive servant; if otherwise, a serious dis- 
 turbance of that servant's duties. She must look out for 
 another girl to take the place of Frida Pauline Jansen, that 
 was all. It is possible, therefore, that Miss Jansen' s criti- 
 cism of Miss Trotter to her companion as a "spying, jealous 
 old cat" was unfair. This companion Miss Trotter had 
 
78 ME. BILSON'S housekeeper 
 
 noticed, only to observe that his face and figure were unfa- 
 miliar to her. His red shirt and heavy boots gave no indi- 
 cation of his social condition in that locality. He seemed 
 more startled and disturbed at her intrusion than the girl 
 had been, but that was more a condition of sex than of de- 
 gree, she also knew. In such circumstances it is the woman 
 always who is the most composed and self-possessed. 
 
 A few days after this, Miss Trotter was summoned in 
 some haste to the office. Chris Calton, a young man of 
 twenty-six, partner in the Roanoke Ledge, had fractured his 
 arm and collar-bone by a fall, and had been brought to the 
 hotel for that rest and attention, under medical advice, which 
 he could not procure in the Eoanoke company's cabin. She 
 had a retired, quiet room made ready. When he was in- 
 stalled there by the doctor she went to see him, and found 
 a good-looking, curly headed young fellow, even boyish in 
 appearance and manner, who received her with that air of 
 deference and timidity which she was accustomed to excite 
 in the masculine breast — when it was not accompanied with 
 distrust. It struck her that he was somewhat emotional, 
 and had the expression of one who had been spoiled and 
 petted by women, a rather unusual circumstance among the 
 men of the locality. Perhaps it would be unfair to her to 
 say that a disposition to show him that he could expect no 
 such " nonsense " there sprang up in her heart at that mo- 
 ment, for she never had understood any tolerance of such 
 weakness, but a certain precision and dryness of manner was 
 the only result of her observation. She adjusted his pillow, 
 asked him if there was anything that he wanted, but took 
 her directions from the doctor, rather than from himself, 
 with a practical insight and minuteness that was as appall- 
 ing to the patient as it was an unexpected delight to Dr. 
 Duchesne. "I see you quite understand me, Miss Trot- 
 ter," he said, with great relief. 
 
 "I ought to," responded the lady dryly. "I had a dozen 
 
MR. BILSON'S HOUSEKEEPER 79 
 
 such cases, some of them with complications, while I was 
 assistant at the Sacramento Hospital." 
 
 "Ah, then!" returned the doctor, dropping gladly into 
 purely professional detail, " you 'II see this is very simple, 
 not a comminuted fracture; constitution and blood healthy; 
 all you 've to do is to see that he eats properly, keeps free 
 from excitement and worry, but does not get despondent; 
 a little company; his partners and some of the boys from 
 the Ledge will drop in occasionally ; not too much of them, 
 you know ; and of course, absolute immobility of the injured 
 parts." The lady nodded; the patient lifted his blue eyes 
 for an instant to hers with a look of tentative appeal, but it 
 slipped off Miss Trotter's dark pupils — which were as ab- 
 stractedly critical as the doctor's — without being absorbed 
 by them. When the door closed behind her, the doctor 
 exclaimed: "By Jove! you 're in luck, Chris! That's a 
 splendid woman ! Just the one to look after you ! " The 
 patient groaned slightly. "Do what she says, and we'll 
 pull you through in no time. Why! she 's able to adjust 
 those bandages herself ! " 
 
 This, indeed, she did a week later, when the surgeon had 
 failed to call, unveiling his neck and arm with professional 
 coolness, and supporting him in her slim arms against her 
 stiff, erect, buckramed breast, while she replaced the splints 
 with masculine firmness of touch and serene and sexless in- 
 difference. His stammered embarrassed thanks at the re- 
 lief — for he had been in considerable pain — she accepted 
 with a certain pride as a tribute to her skill, a tribute which 
 Dr. Duchesne himself afterward fully indorsed. 
 
 On reentering his room the third or fourth morning after 
 his advent at the Summit House, she noticed with some 
 concern that there was a slight flush on his cheek and a 
 certain exaltation which she at first thought presaged fever. 
 But an examination of his pulse and temperature dispelled 
 that fear, and his talkativeness and good spirits convinced 
 
80 ME. bilson's housekeepee 
 
 her that it was only his youthful vigor at last overcoming 
 his despondency. A few days later, this cheerfulness not 
 being continued, Dr. Duchesne followed Miss Trotter into 
 the hall. " We must try to keep our patient from moping 
 in his confinement, you know," he began, with a slight 
 smUe, " and he seems to be somewhat of an emotional nature, 
 accustomed to be amused and — er — er — petted. " 
 
 "His friends were here yesterday," returned Miss Trotter 
 dryly, " but I did not interfere with them until I thought 
 they had stayed long enough to suit your wishes." 
 
 "I am not referring to them," said the doctor, still smil- 
 ing; "but you know a woman's sympathy and presence in 
 a sick-room is often the best of tonics or sedatives." 
 
 Miss Trotter raised her eyes to the speaker with a half 
 critical impatience. 
 
 " The fact is, " the doctor went on, " I have a favor to 
 ask of you for our patient. It seems that the other morn- 
 ing a new chambermaid waited upon him, whom he found 
 much more gentle and sympathetic in her manner than the 
 others, and more submissive and quiet in her ways — pos- 
 sibly because she is a foreigner, and accustomed to servitude. 
 I suppose you have no objection to her taking charge of 
 his room ? " 
 
 Miss Trotter's cheek slightly flushed. Not from wounded 
 vanity, but from the consciousness of some want of acumen 
 that had made her make a mistake. She had really believed, 
 from her knowledge of the patient's character and the doc- 
 tor's preamble, that he wished her to show some more kind- 
 ness and personal sympathy to the young man, and had even 
 been prepared to question its utility 5 She saw her blunder 
 quickly, and at once remembering that the pretty Swedish 
 girl had one morning taken the place of an absent fellow 
 servant, in the rebound from her error, she said quietly: 
 '' You mean Frida ! Certainly ! she can look after his room, 
 if he prefers her." But for her blunder she might have 
 
ME. BILSON'S housekeeper 81 
 
 added conscientiously that she thought the girl would prove 
 inefficient, but she did not. She remembered the incident 
 of the wood; yet if the girl had a lover in the wood, she 
 could not urge it as a proof of incapacity. She gave the 
 necessary orders, and the incident passed. 
 
 Visiting the patient a few days afterward, she could not 
 help noticing a certain shy gratitude in Mr. Calton's greet- 
 ing of her, which she quietly ignored. This forced the in- 
 genuous Chris to more positive speech. He dwelt with 
 great simplicity and enthusiasm on the Swedish girl's gentle- 
 ness and sympathy. " You have no idea of — her — natural 
 tenderness, Miss Trotter," he stammered naively. Miss 
 Trotter, remembering the wood, thought to herself that she 
 had some faint idea of it, but did not impart what it was. 
 He spoke also of her beauty, not being clever enough to 
 affect an indifference or ignorance of it, which made Miss 
 Trotter respect him and smile an unqualified acquiescence. 
 lYida certainly was pretty ! But when he spoke of her as 
 "Miss Jansen," and said she was so much more "ladylike 
 and refined than the other servants," she replied by asking 
 him if his bandages hurt him, and, receiving a negative 
 answer, graciously withdrew. 
 
 Indeed, his bandages gave him little trouble now, and his 
 improvement was so marked and sustained that the doctor 
 was greatly gratified, and, indeed, expressed as much to 
 Miss Trotter, with the conscientious addition that he be- 
 lieved the greater part of it was due to her capable nursing ! 
 " Yes, ma'am, he has to thank you for it, and no one else ! " 
 
 Miss Trotter raised her dark eyes and looked steadily at 
 him. Accustomed as he was to men and women, the look 
 strongly held him. He saw in her eyes an intelligence 
 equal to his own, a knowledge of good and evil, and a tol- 
 eration and philosophy, equal to his own, but a something 
 else that was as distinct and different as their sex. And 
 therein lay its charm, for it merely translated itself in his 
 
82 MB. bilson's housekeeper 
 
 mind that she had very pretty eyes, which he had nevei 
 noticed before, without any aggressive intellectual quality. 
 And with this, alas! came the man's propensity to reason. 
 It meant of course but one thing ; he saw it all now ! If 
 he, in his preoccupation and coolness, had noticed her eyes, 
 so also had the younger and emotional Chris. The young 
 feUow was in love with her ! It was that which had stimu- 
 lated his recovery, and she was wondering if he, the doctor, 
 had observed it. He smiled back the superior smile of our 
 sex in moments of great inanity, and poor Miss Trotter 
 believed he understood her. A few days after this, she 
 noticed that Frida Jansen was wearing a pearl ring and a 
 somewhat ostentatious locket. She remembered now that 
 Mr. Bilson had told her that the Roanoke Ledge was very 
 rich, and that Calton was likely to prove a profitable guest. 
 But it was not her business. 
 
 It became her business, however, some days later, when 
 Mr. Calton was so much better that he could sit in a chair, 
 or even lounge listlessly in the hall and corridor. It so 
 chanced that she was passing along the upper hall when she 
 saw Frida' s pink cotton skirt disappear in an adjacent room, 
 and heard her light laugh as the door closed. But the room 
 happened to be a card-room reserved exclusively for gentle- 
 men's poker or euchre parties, and the chambermaids had 
 no business there. Miss Trotter had no doubt that Mr. 
 Calton was there, and that Frida knew it; but as this was 
 an indiscretion so open, flagrant, and likely to be discovered 
 by the first passing guest, she called to her sharply. She 
 was astonished, however, at the same moment to see Mr. 
 Calton walking in the corridor at some distance from the 
 room in question. Indeed, she was so confounded that 
 when Frida appeared from the room a little flurried, but 
 with a certain audacity new to her. Miss Trotter withheld 
 her rebuke, and sent her off on an imaginary errand, while 
 she herself opened the card-room door. It contained simply 
 
MR. bilson's housekeeper 83 
 
 Mr. Bilson, her employer; his explanation was glaringlj^ 
 embarrassed and unreal ! Miss Trotter affected oblivious- 
 ness, but was silent; perhaps she thought her employer was 
 better able to take care of himself than Mr. Calton. 
 
 A week later this tension terminated by the return of 
 Calton to Eoanoke Ledge, a convalescent man. A very 
 pretty watch and chain afterward were received by Miss 
 Trotter, with a few lines expressing the gratitude of the ex- 
 patient. Mr. Bilson was highly delighted, and frequently 
 borrowed the watch to show to his guests as an advertise- 
 ment of the healing powers of the Summit Hotel. What 
 Mr. Calton sent to the more attractive and flirtatious Frida 
 did not as publicly appear, and possibly Mr. Bilson did not 
 know it. The incident of the card-room was forgotten. 
 Since that discovery. Miss Trotter had felt herself debarred 
 from taking the girl's conduct into serious account, and it 
 did not interfere with her work. 
 
 II 
 
 One afternoon Miss Trotter received a message that Mr. 
 Calton desired a few moments' private conversation with 
 her. A little curious, she had him shown into one of the 
 sitting-rooms, but was surprised on entering to find that 
 she was in the presence of an utter stranger! This was 
 explained by the visitor saying briefly that he was Chris's 
 elder brother, and that he presumed the name would be 
 sufiicient introduction. Miss Trotter smiled doubtfully, for 
 3 more distinct opposite to Chris could not be conceived. 
 The stranger was apparently strong, practical, and master- 
 ful in all those qualities in which his brother was charm- 
 ingly weak. Miss Trotter, for no reason whatever, felt 
 herself inclined to resent them. 
 
 "I reckon. Miss Trotter," he said bluntly, "that you 
 
84 MK. bilson's housekeeper 
 
 don't know anything of this business that brings me here. 
 At least," he hesitated, with a certain rough courtesy, "I 
 should judge from your general style and gait that you 
 would n't have let it go on so far if you had, but the fact 
 is, that darned fool brother of mine — beg your pardon ! — 
 has gone and got himself engaged to one of the girls that 
 help here, — a yellow-haired foreigner, called Frida 
 Jansen." 
 
 "I was not aware that it had gone so far as that," said 
 Miss Trotter quietly, "although his admiration for her was 
 well known, especially to his doctor, at whose request I 
 selected her to especially attend to your brother." 
 
 "The doctor is a fool," broke in Mr. Calton abruptly. 
 "He only thought of keeping Chris quiet while he finished 
 his job." 
 
 "And really, Mr. Calton," continued Miss Trotter, ignor- 
 ing the interruption, "I do not see what right I have to 
 interfere with the matrimonial intentions of any guest in 
 this house, even though or — as you seem to put it — he- 
 cause, the object of his attentions is in its employ." 
 
 Mr. Calton stared — angrily at first, and then with a 
 kind of wondering amazement that any woman — above all, 
 a housekeeper — should take such a view. "But," he 
 stammered, " I thought you — you — looked after the con- 
 duct of those girls." 
 
 "I 'm afraid you 've assumed too much," said Miss Trot- 
 ter placidly. "My business is to see that they attend to 
 their duties here. Frida Jansen's duty was — as I have 
 just told you — to look after your brother's room. And as 
 far as I understand you, you are not here to complain of her 
 inattention to that duty, but of its resulting in an attach- 
 ment on your brother's part, and, as you tell me, an inten- 
 tion as to her future, which is really the one thing that 
 would make m}' ' looking after her conduct ' an impertinence 
 and interference ! If you had come to tell me that he did 
 
MR. BILSON'S HOUSEKEEPER 85 
 
 not intend to marry her, but was hurting her reputation, I 
 could have understood and respected your motives." 
 
 Mr. Calton felt his face grow red and himself discomfited. 
 He had come there with the firm belief that he would con- 
 vict Miss Trotter of a grave fault, and that in her penitence 
 she would be glad to assist him in breaking off the match. 
 On the contrary, to find himself arraigned and put on his 
 defense by this tall, slim woman, erect and smartly buck- 
 ramed in logic and whalebone, was preposterous ! But it 
 had the effect of subduing his tone. 
 
 "You don't understand," he said awkwardly yet plead- 
 ingly. "My brother is a fool, and any woman could wind 
 him round her finger. She knows it. She knows he is 
 rich and a partner in the Eoanoke Ledge. That 's all she 
 wants. She is not a fit match for him. I 've said he was 
 a fool — but, hang it all! that 's no reason why he should 
 marry an ignorant girl — a foreigner and a servant — when 
 he could do better elsewhere." 
 
 "This would seem to be a matter between .you and your 
 brother, and not between myself and my servant," said Miss 
 Trotter coldly. "If you cannot convince him, your own 
 brother, I do not see how you expect me to convince her, a 
 servant, over whom I have no control except as a mistress 
 of her work, when, on your own showing, she has every- 
 thing to gain by the marriage. If you wish Mr. Bilson, 
 the proprietor, to threaten her with dismissal unless she 
 gives up your brother " — Miss Trotter smiled inwardly at 
 the thought of the card-room incident — "it seems to me 
 you might only precipitate the marriage." 
 
 Mr. Calton looked utterly blank and hopeless. His rea- 
 son told him that she was right. More than that, a certain 
 admiration for her clear-sightedness began to possess him, 
 with the feeling that he would like to have " shown up " a 
 little better than he had in this interview. If Chris had 
 fallen in love with her — but Chris was a fool and would n't 
 have appreciated her! 
 
86 MR. BILSON'S HOUSEKEEPER 
 
 "But you might talk with her, Miss Trotter," he said, 
 now completely subdued. "Even if you could not reason 
 her out of it, you might find out what she expects from 
 this marriage. If you would talk to her as sensibly as you 
 have to me " — 
 
 " It is not likely that she will seek my assistance as you 
 have," said Miss Trotter, with a faint smile which Mr. 
 Calton thought quite pretty, "but I will see about it." 
 
 Whatever Miss Trotter intended to do did not transpire. 
 She certainly was in no hurry about it, as she did not say 
 anything to Frida that day, and the next afternoon it so 
 chanced that business took her to the bank and post office. 
 Her way home again lay through the Summit woods. It 
 recalled to her the memorable occasion when she was first a 
 witness to Frida's flirtations. Neither that nor Mr. Bil- 
 son's presumed gallantries, however, seemed inconsistent, 
 in Miss Trotter's knowledge of the world, with a serious 
 engagement with young Calton. She was neither shocked 
 nor horrified by it, and for that reason she had not thought 
 it necessary to speak of it to the elder Mr. Calton. 
 
 Her path wound through a thicket fragrant with syringa 
 and southernwood; the faint perfume was reminiscent of 
 Atlantic hillsides, where, long ago, a girl teacher, she had 
 walked with the girl pupils of the Vermont academy and kept 
 them from the shy advances of the local swains. She smiled 
 — a little sadly — as the thought occurred to her that after 
 this interval of years it was again her business to restrain 
 the callow affections. Should she never have the match- 
 making instincts of her sex ? never become the trusted con- 
 fidante of youthful passion 1 Young Calton had not con- 
 fessed his passion to her, nor had Frida revealed her secret. 
 Only the elder brother had appealed to her hard, practical 
 common sense against such sentiment. Was there some- 
 thing in her manner that forbade it ? She wondered if it 
 was some uneasy consciousness of this quality which had 
 
ME. BILSON'S HO0SEKEKPER 87 
 
 impelled her to snub the elder Calton, and rebelled against 
 it. 
 
 It was quite warm ; she had been walking a little faster 
 than her usual deliberate gait, and cheeked herself, halting 
 in the warm breath of the syringas. Here she heard her 
 name called in a voice that she recognized, but in tones so 
 faint and subdued that it seemed to her part of her thoughts. 
 She turned quickly and beheld Chris Calton a few feet from 
 her, panting, partly from running and partly from some 
 nervous embarrassment. His handsome but weak mouth 
 was expanded in an apologetic smile; his blue eyes shone 
 •with a kind of youthful appeal so inconsistent with his 
 long brown mustache and broad shoulders that she was 
 divided between a laugh and serious concern. 
 
 "I saw you — go into the wood — but I lost you," he 
 said, breathing quickly, "and then when I did see you 
 again — you were walking so fast I had to run after you. 
 I wanted — to speak — to you — if you '11 let me. I won't 
 detain you — I can walk your way. " 
 
 Miss Trotter was a little softened, but not so much as to 
 help him out with his explanation. She drew her neat 
 skirts aside, and made way for him on the path beside her. 
 
 "You see," he went on nervously, taking long strides to 
 her shorter ones, and occasionally changing sides in his 
 embarrassment, " my brother Jim has been talking to you 
 about my engagement to Frida, and trying to put you 
 against her and me. He said as much to me, and added 
 you half promised to help him ! But I did n't believe him 
 
 Miss Trotter ! — I know you would n't do it — you have 
 
 n't got it in your heart to hurt a poor girl! He says he 
 has every confidence in you — that you 're worth a dozen 
 such girls as she is, and that I 'm a big fool or I 'd see it. 
 I don't say you 're not all he says, Miss Trotter; but I 'm 
 not such a fool as he thinks, for I know your goodness too. 
 I know how you tended me when I was ill, and how you 
 
88 ME. bilson's house keepek 
 
 sent Frida to comfort me. You know, too, — for you 're 
 a woman yourself, — that all you could say, or anybody 
 could, would n't separate two people who loved each other." 
 
 Miss Trotter for the first time felt embarrassed, and this 
 made her a little angry. "I don't think I gave your bro- 
 ther any right to speak for me or of me in this matter," 
 she said icUy; "and if you are quite satisfied, as you say 
 you are, of your own affection and Frida's, I do not see 
 why you should care for anybody's interference." 
 
 "Now you are angry with me," he said in a doleful voice 
 which at any other time would have excited her mirth; 
 " and I 've just done it. Oh, Miss Trotter, don't ! Please 
 forgive me! I did n't mean to say your talk was no good. 
 I did n't mean to say you couldn't help us. Please don't 
 be mad at me ! " 
 
 He reached out his hand, grasped her slim fingers in his 
 own, and pressed them, holding them and even arresting her 
 passage. The act was without familiarity or boldness, and 
 she felt that to snatch her hand away would be an imputa- 
 tion of that meaning, instead of the boyish impulse that 
 prompted it. She gently withdrew her hand as if to con- 
 tinue her walk, and said, with a smile : — 
 
 " Then you confess you need help — in what way ? " 
 
 "With her!" 
 
 Miss Trotter stared. " With her ! " she repeated. This 
 was a new idea. Was it possible that this common, igno- 
 rant girl was playing and trifling with her golden opportu- 
 nity? "Then you are not quite sure of her? " she said a 
 little coldly. 
 
 "She's so high spirited, you know," he said humbly, 
 "and so attractive, and if she thought my friends objected 
 and were saying unkind things of her, — well ! " — he threw 
 out his hands with a suggestion of hopeless despair — 
 " there 's no knowing what she might do. " 
 
 Miss Trotter's obvious thought was that Frida knew on 
 
MR. BILSON'S housekeeper 89 
 
 which side her bread was buttered; but remembering that 
 the proprietor was a widower, it occurred to her that the 
 young woman might also have it buttered on both sides. 
 Her momentary fancy of uniting two lovers somehow weak- • 
 ened at this suggestion, and there was a hardening of her 
 face as she said, "Well, if you can't trust her, perhaps your 
 brother may be right." 
 
 "I don't say that, Miss Trotter," said Chris pleadingly, 
 yet with a slight wincing at her words; "yow could con- 
 vince her, if you would only try. Only let her see that she 
 has some other friends beside myself. Look ! Miss Trotter, 
 I '11 leave it all to you — there ! If you will only help me, 
 I will promise not to see her — not to go near her again — 
 until you have talked with her. There ! Even my brother 
 would not object to that. And if he has every confidence 
 in you, I'm showing you I've more — don't you see? 
 Come, now, promise — won't you, dear Miss Trotter?" 
 He again took her hand, and this time pressed a kiss upon 
 her slim fingers. And this time she did not withdraw them. 
 Indeed, it seemed to her, in the quick recurrence of her 
 previous sympathy, as if a hand had been put into her love- 
 less past, grasping and seeking hers in its loneliness. None 
 of her school friends had ever appealed to her like this sim- 
 ple, weak, and loving young man. Perhaps it was because 
 they were of her own sex, and she distrusted them. 
 
 Nevertheless, this momentary weakness did not disturb 
 her good common sense. She looked at him fixedly for a 
 moment and then said, with a faint smile, "Perhaps she 
 does not trust you. Perhaps you cannot trust yourself." 
 
 He felt himself reddening with a strange embarrassment. 
 It was not so much the question that disturbed him as the 
 eyes of Miss Trotter ; eyes that he had never before noticed 
 as being so beautiful in their color, clearness, and half 
 tender insight. He dropped her hand with a new-found 
 timidity, and yet with a feeling that he would like to hold 
 it longer. 
 
90 MR. BILSON'S HOUSEKEEPER 
 
 "I mean," she said, stopping short in the trail at a point 
 where a fringe of almost impenetrable " buckeyes " marked 
 the extreme edge of the woods, — "I mean that you are 
 still very young, and as Frida is nearly your own age," — 
 she could not resist this peculiarly feminine innuendo, — 
 '■'she may doubt your ability to marry her in the face ol 
 opposition ; she may even think my interference is a proof 
 of it ; but, " she added quickly, to relieve his embarrassment 
 and a certain abstracted look with which he was beginning 
 to regard her, "I will speak to her, and," she concluded 
 playfully, "you must take the consequences." 
 
 He said "Thank you," but not so earnestly as his previ- 
 ous appeal might have suggested, and with the same awk- 
 ward abstraction in his eyes. Miss Trotter did not notice 
 it, as her own eyes were at that moment fixed upon a point 
 on the trail a few rods away. "Look," she said in a lower 
 voice, " I may have the opportunity now, for there is Frida 
 herself passing." Chris turned in the direction of her 
 glance. It was indeed the young girl walking leisurely 
 ahead of them. There was no mistaking the smart pink 
 calico gown in which Frida was wont to array her rather 
 generous figure, nor the long yellow braids that hung Mar- 
 guerite-wise down her back. "With the consciousness of 
 good looks which she always carried, there was, in spite of 
 her affected ease, a slight furtiveness in the occasional swift 
 turn of her head, as if evading or seeking observation. 
 
 "I will overtake her and speak to her now," continued 
 Miss Trotter. " I may not have so good a chance again to 
 see her alone. You can wait here for my return, if you 
 liki." 
 
 Chris started out of his abstraction. " Stay ! " he stam- 
 mered, with a faint, tentative smile. "Perhaps — don't 
 you think? — I had better go first and tell her you want to 
 see her. I can send her here. You see, she might " — 
 He stopped. 
 
ME. bilson's housekeeper 91 
 
 Miss Trotter smiled. "It was part of your promise, you 
 know, that you were not to see her again until I had spoken. 
 But no matter ! Have it as you wish. I will wait liere. 
 Only be quick. She has just gone into the grove." 
 
 Without another word the young man turned away, and 
 she presently saw him walking toward the pine grove into 
 which Prida had disappeared. Then she cleared a space 
 among the matted moss and chickweed, and, gathering her 
 skirts about her, sat down to wait. The unwonted attitude, 
 the whole situation, and the part that she seemed destined 
 to take in this sentimental comedy affected her like some 
 quaint child's play out of her lost youth, and she smiled, 
 albeit with a little heightening of color and lively brighten- 
 ing of her eyes. Indeed, as she sat there listlessly probing 
 the roots of the mosses with the point of her parasol, the 
 casual passer-by might have taken herself for the heroine 
 of some love tryst. She had a faint consciousness of this 
 as she glanced to the right and left, wondering what any 
 one from the hotel who saw her would think of her sylvan 
 rendezvous; and as the recollection of Chris kissing her 
 hand suddenly came back to her, her smile became a nervous 
 laugh, and she found herself actually blushing ! 
 
 But she was recalled to herself as suddenly. Chris was 
 returning. He was walking directly towards her with slow, 
 determined steps, quite different from his previous nervous 
 agitation, and as he drew nearer she saw with some concern 
 an equally strange change in his appearance: his colorful 
 face was pale, his eyes fixed, and he looked ten years older. 
 She rose quickly. 
 
 "I came back to tell you," he said, in a voice from which 
 all trace of his former agitation had passed, "that I relieve 
 you of your promise. It won't be necessary for you to see 
 — Frida. I thank you all the same, Miss Trotter," he 
 said, avoiding her eyes with a slight return to his boyish 
 manner, '" It was kind of you to promise to undertake a 
 
92 MR. bilson's housekeeper 
 
 foolish errand for me, and to wait here, and the best thing 
 I can do is to take myself off now and keep you no longer. 
 Please don't ask me why. Sometime 1 may tell you, but 
 not now." 
 
 " Then you have seen her 1 " asked Miss Trotter quickly, 
 premising Frida's refusal from his face. 
 
 He hesitated a moment, then he said gravely, "Yes. 
 Don't ask me any more, Miss Trotter, please. Good-by!" 
 He paused, and then, with a slight, uneasy glance toward 
 the pine grove, "Don't let me keep you waiting here any 
 longer. " He took her hand, held it lightly for a moment, 
 and said, " Go, now. " 
 
 Miss Trotter, slightly bewildered and unsatisfied, never- 
 theless passed obediently out into the trail. He gazed after 
 her for a moment, and then turned and began rapidly to 
 ascend the slope where he had first overtaken her, and was 
 soon out of sight. Miss Trotter continued her way home; 
 but when she had reached the confines of the wood she 
 turned, as if taking some sudden resolution, and began 
 slowly to retrace her steps in the direction of the pine grove. 
 What she expected to see there possibly she could not have 
 explained; what she actually saw after a moment's waiting 
 were the figures of Frida and Mr. Bilson issuing from the 
 shade! Her respected employer wore an air of somewhat 
 ostentatious importance mingled with rustic gallantry. 
 Frida's manner was also conscious with gratified vanity; 
 and although they believed themselves alone, her voice was 
 already pitched into a high key of nervous affectation, in- 
 dicative of the peasant. But there was nothing to suggest 
 that Chris had disturbed them in their privacy and confi- 
 dences. Yet he had evidently seen enough to satisfy him- 
 self of her faithlessness. Had he ever suspected it before 1 
 
 Miss Trotter waited only until they had well preceded 
 her, and then took a shorter cut home. She was quite 
 prepared that evening for an interview which Mr. Bilson 
 
ME. BILSON'S housekeeper 93 
 
 requested. She found him awkward and embarrassed in 
 her cool, self-possessed presence. He said he deemed it hia 
 duty to inform her of his approaching marriage with Miss 
 Jansen; but it was because he wished distinctly to assure 
 her that it would make no diiference in Miss Trotter's posi- 
 tion in the hotel, except to promote her to the entire con- 
 trol of the establishment. He was to be married in San 
 Francisco at once, and he and his wife were to go abroad 
 for a year or two ; indeed, he contemplated eventually retir- 
 ing from business. If Mr. Bilson was uneasily conscious 
 during this interview that he had once paid attentions to 
 Miss Trotter, which she had ignored, she never betrayed 
 the least recollection of it. She thanked him for his con- 
 fidence and wished him happiness. 
 
 Sudden as was this good fortune to Miss Trotter, an in- 
 dependence she had so often deservedly looked forward to, 
 she was, nevertheless, keenly alive to the fact that she had 
 attained it partly through Chris's disappointment and un- 
 happiness. Her sane mind taught her that it was better 
 for him; that he had been saved an ill-assorted marriage; 
 that the girl had virtually rejected him for Bilson before he 
 had asked her mediation that morning. Yet these reasons 
 failed to satisfy her feelings. It seemed cruel to her that the 
 interest which she had suddenly taken in poor Chris should 
 end so ironically in disaster to her sentiment and success 
 to her material prosperity. She thought of his boyish ap- 
 peal to her; of what must have been his utter discomfiture 
 in the discovery of Frida's relations to Mr. Bilson that 
 afternoon, but more particularly of the singular change it 
 had effected in him. How nobly and gently he had taken 
 his loss! How much more like a man he looked in his 
 defeat than in his passion ! The element of respect which 
 had been wanting in her previous interest in him was novr 
 present in her thoughts. It prevented her seeking him 
 with perfunctory sympathy and worldly counsel; it made 
 
94 MR. bilson's housekeeper 
 
 her feel strangely and unaccountably shy of any othei 
 expression. 
 
 As Mr. Bilson evidently desired to avoid local gossip un- 
 til after his marriage, he had enjoined secrecy upon her, and 
 she was also debarred from any news of Chris through his 
 brother, who, had he known of Frida's engagement, would 
 have naturally come to her for explanation. It also con- 
 vinced her tliat Chris himself had not revealed anything to 
 his brother. 
 
 Ill 
 
 When the news of the marriage reached Buckeye Hill, it 
 did not, however, make much scandal, owing, possibly, to 
 the scant number of the sex who are apt to disseminate it, 
 and to many the name of Miss Jansen was unknown. The 
 intelligence that Mr. Bilson would be absent for a year, and 
 that the superior control of the Summit Hotel would devolve 
 upon Miss Trotter, did, however, create a stir in that prac- 
 tical business community. No one doubted the wisdom of 
 the selection. Every one knew that to Miss Trotter's tact 
 and intellect the success of the hotel had been mainly 
 due. Possibly, the satisfaction of Buckeye Hill was due to 
 something else. Slowly and insensibly Miss Trotter had 
 achieved a social distinction; the wives and daughters of 
 the banker, the lawyer, and the pastor, had made much of 
 her, and now, as an independent woman of means, she stood 
 first in the district. Guests deemed it an honor to have a 
 personal interview with her. The governor of the State and 
 the Supreme Court judges treated her like a private hostess; 
 middle-aged Miss Trotter was considered as eligible a match 
 as the proudest heiress in California. The old romantic 
 fiction of her past was revived again, — they had known sha 
 wai a " real lady " from the first ! She received these at- 
 
MK. BILSON'S HOUSEKEEPER 95 
 
 tentions, as became her sane intellect and cool temperament, 
 without pride, affectation, or hesitation. Only her dark 
 eyes brightened on the day when Mr. Bilson's marriage was 
 made known, and she was called upon by James Calton. 
 
 "I did you a great injustice," he said with a smile. 
 
 "I don't understand you," she replied a little coldly. 
 
 "Why, this woman and her marriage," he said; "you 
 must have known something of it all the time, and perhaps 
 helped it along to save Chris." 
 
 " You are mistaken, " returned Miss Trotter truthfully. 
 "I knew nothing of Mr. Bilson's intentions." 
 
 "Then I have wronged you still more," he said briskly; 
 " for I thought at first that you were inclined to help Chris 
 in his foolishness. Now I see it was your persuasions that 
 changed him." 
 
 "Let me tell you once for all, Mr. Calton," she returned 
 with an impulsive heat which she regretted, "that I did 
 not interfere in any way with your brother's suit. He 
 spoke to me of it, and I promised to see Frida, but he after- 
 wards asked me not to. I know nothing of the matter." 
 
 "Well," laughed Mr. Calton, "whatever you did, it 
 was most efficacious, and you did it so graciously and tact- 
 fully that it has not altered his high opinion of you, if, in- 
 deed, he hasn't really transferred his affections to you." 
 
 Luckily Miss Trotter had her face turned from him at 
 the beginning of the sentence, or he would have noticed the 
 quick flush that suddenly came to her cheek and eyes. Yet 
 for an instant this calm, collected woman trembled, not at 
 what Mr. Calton might have noticed, but at what she had 
 noticed in herself. Mr. Calton, construing her silence and 
 averted head into some resentment of his familiar speech, 
 continued hurriedly : — 
 
 "I mean, don't you see, that I believe no other woman 
 could have influenced my brother as you have." 
 
 " You mean, I think, that he has taken his broken heart 
 
96 ME. BILSON'S HOCSEKEEPEE 
 
 very lightly, " said Miss Trotter with a hitter little laugh, 
 so unlike herself that Mr. Calton was quite concerned at it. 
 
 "No," he said gravely. "I can't say that! He's 
 regularly cut up, you know! And changed; you 'd hardiy 
 know him. More like a gloomy crank than the easy fool 
 he used to he," he went on, with hrotherly directness. "It 
 would n't he a bad thing, you know, if you could manage 
 to see him. Miss Trotter ! In fact, as he 's off his feed, and 
 has some trouble with his arm again, owing to all this I 
 reckon, I 've been thinking of advising him to come up to 
 the hotel once more till he 's better. So long as she 's gone 
 it would be all right, you know ! " 
 
 By this time Miss Trotter was herself again. She rea- 
 soned, or thought she did, that this was a question of the 
 business of the hotel, and it was clearly her duty to assent 
 to Chris's coming. The strange yet pleasurable timidity 
 which possessed her at the thought she ignored completely. 
 
 He came the next day. Luckily, 'she was so much 
 shocked by the change in his appearance that it left no 
 room for any other embarrassment in the meeting. His face 
 had lost its fresh color and round outline ; the lines of his 
 mouth were drawn with pain and accented by his drooping 
 mustache ; his eyes, which had sought hers with a singular 
 seriousness, no longer wore the look of sympathetic appeal 
 which had once so exasperated her, but were filled with an 
 older experience. Indeed, he seemed to have approximated 
 so near to her own age that, by one of those paradoxes of 
 the emotions, she felt herself much younger, and in smile 
 and eye showed it; at which he colored faintly. But she 
 kept her sympathy and inquiries limited to his physical 
 health, and made no allusion to his past experiences ; indeed, 
 ignoring any connection between the two. He had been 
 shockingly careless in his convalescence, had had a relapse 
 in consequence, and deserved a good scolding ! His relapse 
 was a reflection upon the efficacy of the hotel as a perfect 
 
ME. BILSONS HOUSEKEEPER 97 
 
 cure ! She should treat him more severely now, and allow 
 him no indulgences ! I do not know that Miss Trotter in- 
 tended anything covert, but their eyes met and he colored 
 again. Ignoring this also, and promising to look after him 
 occasionally, she quietly withdrew. 
 
 But about this time it was noticed that a change took 
 place in Miss Trotter. Always scrupulously correct, and 
 even severe in her dress, she allowed herself certain privi- 
 leges of color, style, and material. She, who had always 
 affected dark shades and stiff white cuffs and collars, came 
 out in delicate tints and laces, which lent a brilliancy to 
 her dark eyes and short crisp black curls, slightly tinged 
 with gray. One warm summer evening she startled every 
 one by appearing in white, possibly a reminiscence of her 
 youth at the Vermont academy. The masculine guests 
 thought it pretty and attractive; even the women forgave 
 her what they believed a natural expression of her prosper- 
 ity and new condition, but regretted a taste so inconsistent 
 ■with her age. For all that, Miss Trotter had never looked 
 so charming, and the faint autumnal glow in her face madb 
 no one regret her passing summer. 
 
 One evening she found Chris so much better that he was 
 sitting on the balcony, but still so depressed that she was 
 compelled so far to overcome the singular timidity she had 
 felt in his presence as to ask him to come into her own little 
 drawing-room, ostensibly to avoid the cool night air. It 
 was the former "card-room" of the hotel, but now fitted 
 ■with feminine taste and prettiness. She arranged a seat for 
 him on the sofa, which he took with a certain brusque boy- 
 ish surliness, the last vestige of his youth. 
 
 "It 's very kind of you to invite me in here," he began 
 bitterly, " when you are so run after by every one, and to 
 leave Judge Fletcher just now to talk to me; but I suppose 
 you are simply pitying me for being a fool! " 
 
 "I thought you were imprudent in exposing yourself to 
 
98 MR. bilson's housekeeper 
 
 the night air on the balcony, and I think Judge Fletcher 
 is old enough to take care of himself," she returned, with 
 the faintest touch of coquetry, and a smile which was quite 
 as much an amused recognition of that quality in herself as 
 anything else. 
 
 "And I 'm a baby who can't," he said angrily. After 
 a pause he burst out abruptly: "Miss Trotter, will you 
 answer me one question ? " 
 
 " Go on, " she said smilingly. 
 
 " Did you know — that — woman was engaged to Bilson 
 when I spoke to you in the wood ? " 
 
 "No! " she answered quickly, but without the sharp re- 
 sentment she had shown at his brother's suggestion. "I 
 only knew it when Mr. Bilson told me the same evening." 
 
 " And I only knew it when news came of their marriage, " 
 he said bitterly. 
 
 " But you must have suspected something when you saw 
 them together in the wood," she responded. 
 
 " When I saw them together in the wood ? " he repeated 
 dazedly. 
 
 Miss Trotter was startled, and stopped short. Was it 
 possible he had not seen them together ? She was shocked 
 that she had spoken; but it was too late to withdraw her 
 words. "Yes," she went on hurriedly, "I thought that 
 ivas why you came back to say that I was not to speak to 
 Iter." 
 
 He looked at her fixedly, and said slowly : " You thought 
 Ijhat ? Well, listen to me. I s^w no one ! I knew no- 
 thing of this ! I suspected nothing ! I returned before I 
 had reached the wood — because — because — I had changed 
 my mind ! " 
 
 " Changed your mind ! " she repeated wonderingly. 
 
 "Yes! Changed my mind! I couldn't stand it any 
 longer ! I did not love the girl — I never loved her — I 
 was sick of my folly. Sick of deceiving you and myself any 
 
ME. bilson's housekeeper 99 
 
 longer. Now you know why I did n't go into the wood, and 
 why I did n't care where she was nor who was with her! " 
 
 "I don't understand," she said, lifting her clear eyes to 
 his coldly. 
 
 "Of course you don't," he said bitterly. "I did n't un- 
 derstand myself! And when you do understand you will 
 hate and despise me — if you do not laugh at me for a con- 
 ceited fool ! Hear me out, Miss Trotter, for I am speaking 
 the truth to you now, if I never spoke it before. I never 
 asked the girl to marry me ! I never said to her half what 
 I told to you ; and when I asked you to intercede with her, 
 I never wanted you to do it — and never expected you 
 would. " 
 
 " May I ask why you did it, then ! " said Miss Trotter, 
 with an acerbity which she put on to hide a vague, tan- 
 talizing consciousness. 
 
 " You would not believe me if I told you, and you would 
 hate me if you did. " He stopped, and, locking his fingers 
 together, threw his hands over the back of the sofa and 
 leaned Noward her. "You never liked me. Miss Trotter," 
 he said more quietly; "not from the first! From the day 
 that I was brought to the hotel, when you came to see me, 
 I could see that you looked upon me as a foolish, petted 
 boy. When I tried to catch your eye, you looked at the 
 doctor, and took your speech from him. And yet I thought 
 I had never seen a woman so great and perfect as you were, 
 and whose sympathy I longed so much to have. You may 
 not believe me, but I thought you were a queen, for you 
 were the first lady I had ever seen, and you were so differ- 
 ent from the other girls I knew, or the women who had been 
 kind to me. You may laugh, but it 's the truth I 'm telling 
 you. Miss Trotter ! " 
 
 He had relapsed completely into his old pleading, boy- 
 ish way — it had struck her even as he had pleaded to her 
 for Frida! 
 
100 ME. BILSON'S housekeeper 
 
 "I knew you did n't like me that day you came to change 
 the bandages. Although every touch of your hands seemed 
 to ease my pain, you did it so coldly and precisely; and 
 although I longed to keep you there with me, you scarcely 
 waited to take my thanks, but left me as if you had only 
 done your duty to a stranger. And worst of all," he went 
 on more bitterly, " the doctor knew it too — guessed how I 
 felt toward you, and laughed at me for my hopelessness ! 
 That made me desperate, and put me up to act the fool. I 
 did ! Yes, Miss Trotter ; I thought it mighty clever to ap- 
 pear to he in love with Prida, and to get him to ask to have 
 her attend me regularly. And when you simply consented, 
 without a word or thought about it and me, I knew I was 
 nothing to you." 
 
 Miss Trotter felt a sudden thrill. The recollection of 
 Dr. Duchesne's strange scrutiny of her, of her own mistake, 
 which she now knew might have been the truth — flashed 
 across her confused consciousness in swift corroboration of 
 his words. It was a double revelation to her ; for what else 
 was the meaning of this subtle, insidious, benumbing sweet- 
 ness that was now creeping over her sense and spirit and 
 holding her fast. She felt she ought to listen no longer — 
 to speak — to say something — to get up — to turn and con- 
 front him coldly — but she was powerless. H|er reason told 
 her that she had been the victim of a trick — that having 
 deceived her once, he might be doing so again; but she 
 could not break the spell that was upon her, nor did she 
 want to. She must know the culmination of this confes- 
 sion, whose preamble thrilled her so strangely. 
 
 "The girl was kind and sympathetic," he went on, "but 
 I was not so great a fool as not to know that she was a flirt 
 and accustomed to attention. I suppose it was in my des- 
 peration that I told my brother, thinking he would tell you, 
 as he did. He would not tell me what you said to him, 
 except that you seemed to be indignant at the thought that 
 
ME. BILSON'S housekeeper 101 
 
 I was only flirting with Frida. Then I resolved to speak 
 with you myself — and I did. I know it was a stupid, 
 clumsy contrivance. It never seemed so stupid before I 
 spoke to you. It never seemed so wicked as when you 
 promised to help me, and your eyes shone on me for the 
 first time with kindness. And it never seemed so hopeless 
 as when I found you touched with my love for another. 
 You wonder why I kept up this deceit until you promised. 
 Well, I had prepared the bitter cup myself — I thought I 
 ought to drink it to the dregs." 
 
 She turned quietly, passionately, and, standing up, faced 
 him with a little cry. "Why are you telling me this 
 now ? " 
 
 He rose too, and catching her hands in his, said, with a 
 white face, "Because I love you." 
 
 Half an hour later, when the under-housekeeper was 
 summoned to receive Miss Trotter's orders, she found that 
 lady quietly writing at the table. Among the orders she 
 received was the notification that Mr. Calton's rooms would 
 be vacated the next day. When the servant, who, like 
 most of her class, was devoted to the good-natured, good- 
 looking, liberal Chris, asked with some concern if the young 
 gentleman was no better, Miss Trotter, with equal placidity, 
 answered that it was his intention to put himself under the 
 care of a specialist in San Francisco, and that she. Miss 
 Trotter, fully approved of his course. She finished her 
 letter, — the servant noticed that it was addressed to Mr. 
 Bilson at Paris, — and, handing it to her, bade that it 
 should be given to a groom, with orders to ride over to the 
 Summit post office at once to catch the last post. As the 
 housekeeper turned to go, she again referred to the depart- 
 ing guest. "It seems such a pity, ma'am, that Mr. Calton 
 could n't stay, as he always said you did him so much good." 
 Mise Trotter smiled affably. But when the door closed she 
 
102 ME. bilson's housekeeper 
 
 gave a hysterical little laugh, and then, dropping her hand- 
 some gray-streaked head in her slim hands, cried like a girl 
 — or, indeed, as she had never cried when a girl. 
 
 "When the news of Mr. Calton's departure became known 
 the next day, some lady guests jegretted the loss of this 
 most eligible young bachelor. Miss Trotter agreed with 
 them, with the consoling suggestion that he might return 
 for a day or two. He did return for a day ; it was thought 
 that the change to San Francisco had greatly benefited him, 
 though some believed he would be an invalid all his life. 
 
 Meantime Miss Trotter attended regularly to her duties, 
 with the difference, perhaps, that she became daily more 
 socially popular and perhaps less severe in her reception of 
 the attentions of the masculine guests. It was finally whis- 
 pered that the great Judge Boompointer was a serious rival 
 of Judge Fletcher for her hand. When, three months later, 
 some excitement was caused by the intelligence that Mr. 
 Bilson was returning to take charge of his hotel, owing to 
 the resignation of Miss Trotter, who needed a complete 
 change, everybody knew what that meant. A few were 
 ready to name the day when she would become Mrs. Boom- 
 pointer; others had seen the engagement ring of Judge 
 Fletcher on her slim finger. 
 
 Nevertheless, Miss Trotter married neither, and by the 
 time Mr. and Mrs. Bilson had returned she had taken her 
 holiday, and the Summit House knew her no more. 
 
 Three years later, and at a foreign Spa, thousands of miles 
 distant from the scene of her former triumphs. Miss Trotter 
 reappeared as a handsome, stately, gray-haired stranger, 
 whose aristocratic bearing deeply impressed a few of her 
 own countrymen who witnessed her arrival, and believed 
 her to be a grand duchess at the least. They were still more 
 convinced of her superiority when they saw her welcomed 
 by the well-known Baroness X., and afterwards engaged in 
 a very confidential conversation with that lady. But they 
 
MR. BILSON'S housekeeper 103 
 
 would have been still more surprised had they known the 
 tenor of that conversation. 
 
 "I am afraid you will find the Spa very empty just now," 
 said the baroness critically. "But there are a few of your 
 compatriots here, however, and they are always amusing. 
 You see that somewhat faded blonde sitting quite alone in 
 that arbor ? That is her position day after day, while her 
 husband openly flirts or is flirted with by half the women 
 here. Quite the opposite experience one has of American 
 women, where it 's all the other way, is it not ? And there 
 is an odd story about her which may account for, if it does 
 not excuse, her husband's neglect. They 're very rich, but 
 they say she was originally a mere servant in a hotel." 
 
 "You forget that I told you I was once only a house- 
 keeper in one," said Miss Trotter, smiling. 
 
 " Konsense. I mean that this woman was a mere peas- 
 ant, and frightfully ignorant at that ! " 
 
 Miss Trotter put up her eyeglass, and, after a moment's 
 scrutiny, said gently, " I think you are a little severe. I 
 know her; it 's a Mrs. Bilson." 
 
 "No, my dear. You are quite wrong. That was the 
 name of her j^rs^ husband. I am told she was a widow who 
 married again — quite a fascinating young man, and evi- 
 dently her superior — that is what is so funny. She is a 
 Mrs. Calton — ' Mrs. Chris Calton, ' as she calls herself. " 
 
 " Is her husband — Mr. Calton — here ? " said Miss Trotter 
 after a pause, in a still gentler voice. 
 
 "Naturally not. He has gone on an excursion with a 
 party of ladies to the Schwartzberg. He returns to-morrow. 
 You will find her very stupid, but he is very jolly, though a 
 little spoiled by women. Why do we always spoil them ? " 
 
 Miss Trotter smiled, and presently turned the subject. 
 But the baroness was greatly disappointed to find the next 
 day that an unexpected telegram had obliged Miss Trotter 
 to leave the Spa without meeting the Caltons. 
 
JIMMY'S BIG BEOTHER FEOM CALIFOENIA 
 
 As night crept up from the valley that stormy afternoon, 
 Sawyer's Ledge was at first quite blotted out by wind and 
 rain, but presently reappeared in little nebulous star-like 
 points along the mountain side, as the straggling cabins of 
 the settlement were one by one lit up by the miners return- 
 ing from tunnel and claim. These stars were of varying 
 brilliancy that evening, two notably so — one that eventually 
 resolved itself into a many-candled illumination of a cabin 
 of evident festivity ; the other into a glimmering taper in 
 the window of a silent one. They might have represented 
 the extreme mutations of fortune in the settlement that 
 night : the celebration of a strike by Robert Talloner, a lucky 
 miner; and the sick-bed of Dick Lasham, an unlucky one. 
 
 The latter was, however, not quite alone. He was min- 
 istered to by Daddy folsom, a weak but emotional and 
 aggressively hopeful neighbor, who was sitting beside the 
 wooden bunk whereon the invalid lay. Yet there was 
 something perfunctory in his attitude: his eyes were con- 
 tinually straying to the window, whence the illuminated 
 Falloner festivities could be seen between the trees, and his 
 ears were more intent on the songs and laughter that came 
 faintly from the distance than on the feverish breathing 
 and unintelligible moans of the sufferer. 
 
 Nevertheless, he looked troubled equally by the condition 
 of his charge and by his own enforced absence from the 
 revels. A more impatient moan from the sick man, how- 
 ever, brought a change to his abstracted face, and he turned 
 to him with an exaggerated expression of sympathy. 
 
JIMMY S BIG BROTHER FROM CALIFORNIA 105 
 
 "In course! Lordy ! I know jest what those pains are; 
 kinder ez ef you was havin' a tooth pulled that had roots 
 branchin' all over ye! My! I 've jest had 'em so bad I 
 could n't keep from yellin' ! That 's hot rheumatics ! Yes 
 sir, I oughter know! And " (confidentially) "the sing'lei 
 thing about 'em is that they get worse jest as they 're going 
 ofif — sorter wringin' yer hand and punchin' ye in the back 
 to say ' Good-by. ' There ! " he continued, as the man sank 
 exhaustedly back on his rude pillow of flour-sacks. " There ! 
 didn't I tell ye? Ye '11 be all right in a minit, and ez 
 chipper ez a jay bird in the mornin'. Oh, don't tell me 
 about rheumatics — I've bin thar! On'y mine was the 
 cold kind — that hangs on longest — yours is the hot, that 
 burns itself up in no time ! " 
 
 If the flushed face and bright eyes of Lasham were not 
 enough to corroborate this symptom of high fever, the quick, 
 wandering laugh he gave would have indicated the point of 
 delirium. But the too optimistic Daddy Polsom referred 
 this act to improvement, and went on cheerfully: "Yes, sir, 
 you 're better now, and " — here he assumed an air of cau- 
 tious deliberation, extravagant, as all his assumptions were 
 — "I ain't sayin' that — ef — you — was — to — rise — 
 up " (very slowly) " and heave a blankut or two over your 
 shoulders — jest by way o' caution, you know — and lean- 
 in' on me, kinder meander over to Bob Falloner's cabin and 
 the boys, it would n't do you a heap o' goi^d. Changes o' 
 this kind is often prescribed by the facuHy." Another 
 moan from the sufferer, however, here apparently corrected 
 Daddy's too favorable prognosis. "Oh, all right! Well, 
 perhaps ye know best; and I '11 jest run o^'c to Bob's 
 and say how as ye ain't comin', and will be back in a 
 jiffy!" 
 
 "The letter," said the sick man hurriedly, "the letter, 
 the letter!" 
 
 Daddy leaned suddenly over the bed. It was impossible 
 
106 jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 
 
 for even his hopefulness to avoid the fact that Lasham was 
 
 delirious. It was a strong factor in the case — one that 
 
 would certainly justify his going over to Falloner's with the 
 
 news. For the present moment, however, this aberration 
 
 was to be accepted cheerfully and humored after Daddy's 
 
 own fashion. "Of course — the letter, the letter," he said 
 
 convincingly; "that 's what the boys hev bin singin' jest 
 
 now — 
 
 ' 6ood-by, Charley ; when you are away, 
 Write me a letter, love ; send me a letter, love I ' 
 
 That 's what you heard, and a mighty purty song it is too, 
 and kinder clings to you. It 's wonderful how these things 
 gets in your head." 
 
 "The letter — write — send money — money — money, 
 and the photograph — the photograph — photograph — 
 money," continued the sick man, in the rapid reiteration of 
 delirium. 
 
 " In course you will — to-morrow — when the mail goes, " 
 returned Daddy soothingly; "plenty of them. Jest now 
 you try to get a snooze, will ye 1 Hoi' on ! — take some o' 
 this." 
 
 There was an anodyne mixture on the rude shelf, which 
 the doctor had left on his morning visit. Daddy had a 
 comfortable belief that what would relieve pain would also 
 check delirium, and he accordingly measured out a dose with 
 a liberal margin to allow of waste by the patient in swal- 
 lowing in his semi-conscious state. As he lay more quiet, 
 muttering still, but now unintelligibly. Daddy, waiting for 
 a more complete unconsciousness and the opportunity to 
 slip away to Falloner's, cast his eyes around the cabin. He 
 noticed now for the first time since his entrance that a 
 crumpled envelope bearing a Western postmark was lying 
 at the foot of the bed. Daddy knew that the tri-weekly 
 post had arrived an hour before he came, and that Lasliam 
 had evidently received a letter. Sure enough the letter it- 
 
jimmy's big brother from California 10? 
 
 self was lying against the wall beside him. It was open. 
 Daddy felt justified in reading it. 
 
 It was curt and business-like, stating that unless Lasham 
 at once sent a remittance for the support of his brother and 
 sister — two children in charge of the writer — they must 
 find a home elsewhere; that the arrears were long stand- 
 ing, and the repeated promises of Lasham to send money 
 had been unfulfilled; that the writer could stand it no 
 longer. This would be his last communication unless the 
 money were sent forthwith. 
 
 It was by no means a novel or, under the circumstances, 
 a shocking disclosure to Daddy. He had seen similar mis- 
 , sives from daughters, and even wives, consequent on the 
 varying fortunes of his neighbors ; no one knew better than 
 he the uncertainties of a miner's prospects, and yet the in- 
 evitable hopefulness that buoyed him up. He tossed it 
 aside impatiently, when his eye caught a strip of paper he 
 had overlooked lying upon the blanket near the envelope. 
 It contained a few lines in an unformed boyish hand ad- 
 dressed to "my brother," and evidently slipped into the 
 letter after it was written. By the uncertain candlelight 
 Daddy read as follows : — 
 
 Dear Bkothee, Eite to me and Cissy rite off. Why aint 
 you done it 1 It 's so long since you rote any. Mister 
 Eecketts ses you dont care any more. Wen you rite send 
 your fotograff. Folks here ses I aint got no big bruther 
 any way, as I disremember his looks, and cant say wots like 
 him. Cissy 's kryin' all along of it. I 've got a hedake. 
 William Walker make it ake by a bio. So no more at 
 present from your loving little bruther Jim. 
 
 The quick, hysteric laugh with which Daddy read this 
 was quite consistent with his responsive, emotional nature: 
 so, too, were the ready tears that sprang to his eyes. He 
 
108 jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 
 
 put the candle down unsteadily, with a casual glance at the 
 sick man. It was notable, however, that this look contained 
 less sympathy for the ailing " big brother " than his emo- 
 tion might have suggested. For Daddy was carried quite 
 away by his own mental picture of the helpless children, and 
 eager only to relate his impressions of the incident. He 
 east another glance at the invalid, thrust the papers into his 
 pocket, and clapping on his hat slipped from the cabin and 
 ran to the house of festivity. Yet it was characteristic of 
 the man, and so engrossed was he by his one idea, that to 
 the usual inquiries regarding his patient he answered, " He 's 
 all right, " and plunged at once into the incident of the dun- 
 ning letter, reserving — with the instinct of an emotional 
 artist — the child's missive until the last. As he expected, 
 the money demand was received with indignant criticisms 
 of the writer. 
 
 "That's just like 'em in the States," said Captain 
 Fletcher; "darned if they don't believe we 've only got to 
 bore a hole in the ground and snake out a hundred dollars. 
 Why, there 's my wife — with a heap of boss sense in every- 
 thing else — is alius wonderin' why I can't rake in a coa' 
 fifty betwixt one steamer day and another." 
 
 "That 's nothin' to my old dad," interrupted Gus Hous- 
 ton, the " infant " of the camp, a bright-eyed young fellow 
 of twenty; "why, he wrote to me yesterday that if I 'd 
 only pick up a single piece of gold every day and just put 
 it aside, sayin' ' That 's for popper and mommer, ' and no 
 fool it away — it would be all they 'd ask of me." 
 
 "That 's so," added another; "these ignorant relations 
 is just the ruin o' the mining industry. Bob Falloner hez 
 bin lucky in his strike to-day, but he 's a darned sight 
 luckier in being without kith or kin that he knows of." 
 
 Daddy waited until the momentary irritation had sub- 
 sided, and then drew the other letter from his pocket. 
 "That ain't all, boys," he began in a faltering voice, but 
 
JIMMY S BIG BROTHER FROM CALIFORNIA 109 
 
 gradually working himself up to a pitch of pathos; "just 
 as I was thinking all them very things, 1 kinder noticed this 
 yer poor little bit o' paper lyin' thar lonesome like and for- 
 gotten, and I — read it — and well — gentlemen — it just 
 choked me right up! " He stopped, and his voice faltered. 
 
 " Go slow, Daddy, go slow ! " said an auditor smilingly. 
 It was evident that Daddy's sympathetic weakness was well 
 known. 
 
 Daddy read the child's letter. But, unfortunately, what 
 with his real emotion and the intoxication of an audieuco, 
 he read it extravagantly, and interpolated a child's lisp (on 
 no authority whatever), and a simulated infantile delivery, 
 which, I fear, at first provoked the smiles rather than the 
 tears of his audience. Nevertheless, at its conclusion the 
 little note was handed round the party, and then there was 
 a moment of thoughtful silence. 
 
 " Tell you what it is, boys, '"' said Fletcher, looking around 
 the table, "we ought to be doin' suthin' for them kids right 
 oif! Did you," turning to Daddy, "say any thin' about 
 this to Dick?" 
 
 " Nary — why, he 's clean off his head with fever — don't 
 understand a word — and just babbles," returned Daddy, 
 forgetful of his roseate diagnosis a moment ago, "and has 
 n't got a cent." 
 
 "We must make up what we can amongst us afore the 
 mail goes to-night," said the "infant," feeling hurriedly in 
 his pockets. "Come, ante up, gentlemen," he added, lay- 
 ing the contents of his buckskin purse upon the table. 
 
 "Hold on, boys," said a quiet voice. It was th,eir hosV 
 Falloner, who had just risen and was slipping on his oilskin 
 coat. "You 've got enough to do, I reckon, to look after 
 your own folks. I 've none ! Let this be my affair. I 've 
 got to go to the Express Office anyhow to see about my pas- 
 sage home, and I '11 just get a draft for a hundred dollars 
 for that old skeesicks — what's his blamed name? Oh, 
 
110 jimmy's big BROTHEE from CALIFORNIA 
 
 Eicketts" — he made a memorandum from the letter — 
 "and I '11 send it by express. Meantime, you fellows sit 
 down there and write something — you know what — say 
 ing that Dick 's hurt his hand and can't write — you know ; 
 but asked you to send a draft, which you 're doing. Sabe 1 
 That 's all! I '11 skip over to the express now and get the 
 draft off, and you can mail the letter an hour later. So put 
 your dust back in your pockets and help yourselves to the 
 whiskey while I 'm gone." He clapped his hat on his head 
 and disappeared. 
 
 " There goes a white man, you bet ! " said Fletcher ad- 
 miringly, as the door closed behind their host. "Now, 
 boys," he added, drawing a chair to the table, "let 's get 
 this yer letter off, and then go back to our game." 
 
 Pens and ink -were produced, and an animated discussion 
 ensued as to the matter to be conveyed. Daddy's plea for 
 an extended explanatory and sympathetic communication 
 ■was overruled, and the letter was written to Eicketts on the 
 simple lines suggested by Falloner. 
 
 "But what about poor little Jim's letter? That ought 
 to be answered," said Daddy pathetically. 
 
 "If Dick hurt his hand so he can't write to Eicketts, how 
 in thunder is he goin' to write to Jim 1 " was the reply. 
 
 "But suthin' oughter be said to the poor kid," urged 
 Daddy piteously. 
 
 " Well, write it yourself — you and Gus Houston make 
 up somethin' together. I 'm going to win some money," 
 retorted Fletcher, returning to the card-table, where he 
 was presently followed by all but Daddy and Houston. 
 
 "Ye can't write it in Dick's name, because that little 
 brother knows Dick's handwriting, even if he don't re- 
 member his face. See ? " suggested Houston. 
 
 "That 's so," said Daddy dubiously; "but," he added, 
 with elastic cheerfulness, " we can write that Dick ' says. ' 
 See?" 
 
jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 111 
 
 "Your head 's level, old man! Just you wade in on 
 that." 
 
 Daddy seized the pen and "waded in." Into somewhat 
 deep and difficult water, I fancy, for some of it splashed 
 into his eyes, and he sniffed once or twice as he wrote. 
 "Suthin' like this," he said, after a pause: — 
 
 Deak little Jimmie, — Your big brother havin' hurt 
 his hand, wants me to tell you that otherways he is all 
 hunky and Al. He says he don't forget you and little 
 Cissy, you bet! and he's sendin' money to old Ricketts 
 straight off. He says don't you and Cissy mind whether 
 school keeps or not as long as big Brother Dick holds the 
 lines. He says he 'd have written before, but he 's bin 
 follerin' up a lead mighty close, and expects to strike it 
 rich in a few days. 
 
 "You ain't got no sabe about kids," said Daddy imper- 
 .turbably; "they've got to be humored like sick folks. 
 And they want everythin' big — they don't take no stock 
 in things ez they are — even ef they hev 'em worse than 
 they are. ' So, ' " continued Daddy, reading to prevent 
 further interruption, " ' he says you 're just to keep your 
 eyes skinned lookin' out for him comin' home any time — 
 day or night. All you 've got to do is to sit up and wait. 
 He might come and even snake you out of your beds! He 
 might come with four white horses and a nigger driver, or 
 he might come disguised as an ornary tramp. Only you 've 
 got to be keen on watchin'.' Ye see," interrupted Daddy 
 explanatorily, "that '11 jest keep them kids lively. 'He 
 says Cissy 's to stop cryin' right off, and if Willie Walker 
 hits yer on the right cheek you just slug out with your left 
 fist, 'cordin' to Scrip ter.' Gosh," ejaculated Daddy, stop- 
 ping suddenly and gazing anxiously at Houston, "there 's 
 that blamed photograph — I clean forgot that." 
 
112 jimmy's big brother from califoknia 
 
 "And Dick has n't got one in the shop, and never had," 
 returned Houston emphatically. "Golly! that stumps us! 
 Unless," he added, with diabolical thoughtfulness, "we take 
 Bob's? The kids don't remember Dick's face, anr! Bob 's 
 about the same age. And it 's a regular star picture — you 
 bet ! Bob had it taken in Sacramento — in all his war 
 paint. See ! " He indicated a photograph pinned against 
 the wall — a really striking likeness which did full justice 
 to Bob's long silken mustache and large brown determined 
 eyes. "I '11 snake it oif while they ain't lookin', and you 
 jam it in the letter. Bob won't miss it, and we can fix it 
 up with Dick after he 's well, and send another." 
 
 Daddy silently grasped the " infant's " hand, who pre- 
 sently secured the photograph without attracting attention 
 from the card-players. It was promptly inclosed in the 
 letter, addressed to Master James Lasham. The " infant " 
 started with it to the post office, and Daddy Folsom returned 
 to Lasham's cabin to relieve the watcher that had been de- 
 tached from Falloner's to take his place beside the sick man. 
 
 Meanwhile the rain fell steadily and the shadows crept 
 higher and higher up the mountain. Towards midnight the 
 star points faded out one by one over Sawyer's Ledge even 
 as they had come, with the difi'erence that the illumination 
 of Palloner's cabin was extinguished first, while the dim 
 light of Lasham's increased in number. Later, two stars 
 seemed to .shoot from the centre of the ledge, trailing along 
 the descent, until they were lost in the obscurity of the 
 slope — the lights of the stage-coach to Sacramento carry- 
 ing the mail and Eobert Falloner. They met and passed 
 two fainter lights toiling up the road — the buggy lights of 
 the doctor, hastily summoned from Carterville to the bedside 
 of the dying Dick Lasham. 
 
 The slowing up of his train caused Bob Falloner to start 
 from a half doze in a Western Pullman car. As he glanced 
 
jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 113 
 
 from his window he could see that the blinding snowstorm 
 which had followed him for the past six hours had at last 
 hopelessly blocked the line. There was no prospect beyond 
 the interminable snowy level, the whirling flakes, and the 
 monotonous palisades of leafless trees seen through it to 
 the distant banks of the Missouri. It was a prospect that 
 the mountain-bred Falloner was beginning to loathe, and 
 although it was scarcely six weeks since he left California, 
 he was already looking back regretfully to the deep slopes 
 and the free song of the serried ranks of pines. 
 
 The intense cold had chilled his temperate blood, even 
 as the rigors and conventions of Eastern life had checked 
 his sincerity and spontaneous flow of animal spirits begotten 
 in the frank intercourse and brotherhood of camps. He 
 had just fled from the artificialities of the great Atlantic 
 cities to seek out some Western farming lands in which he 
 might put his capital and energies. The unlooked-for in- 
 terruption of his progress by a long-forgotten climate only 
 deepened his discontent. And now — that train was actu- 
 ally backing ! It appeared they must return to the last sta- 
 tion to wait for a snow-plough to clear the line. It was, 
 explained the conductor, barely a mile from Shepherdstown, 
 ■where there was a good hotel and a chance of breaking the 
 journey for the night. 
 
 Shepherdstown! The name touched some dim chord in 
 Bob Falloner's memory and conscience — yet one that was 
 vague. Then he suddenly remembered that before leaving 
 New York he had received a letter from Houston informing 
 him of Lasham's death, reminding him of his previous 
 bounty, and begging him — if he went West — to break the 
 news to the Lasham family. There was also some allusion 
 to a joke about his (Bob's) photograph, which he had dis- 
 missed as unimportant, and even now could not remember 
 clearly. For a few moments his conscience pricked him 
 that he should have forgotten it all, but now he could make 
 
114 jimmy's big bkothee from califoknia 
 
 amends by this providential delay. It was not a task to hia 
 Uking; in any other circumstances he would have written, 
 but he would not shirk it now. 
 
 Shepherdstown was on the main line of the Kansas Pa- 
 cific Eoad, and as he alighted at its station, the big through 
 trains from San Prancisco swept out of the stormy distance 
 and stopped also. He remembered, as he mingled with 
 the passengers, hearing a childish voice ask if this was the 
 California train. He remembered hearing the amused and 
 patient reply of the station-master : " Yes, sonny — here 
 she is again, and here 's her passengers," as he got into the 
 omnibus and drove to the hotel. Here he resolved to per- 
 form his disagreeable duty as quickly as possible, and on 
 his way to his room stopped for a moment at the office to 
 ask for Eicketts' address. The clerk, after a quick glance 
 of curiosity at his new guest, gave it to him readily, with 
 a somewhat familiar smile. It struck Falloner also as being 
 odd that he had not been asked to write his name on the 
 hotel register, but this was a saving of time he was not dis- 
 posed to question, as he had already determined to make 
 his visit to Eicketts at once, before dinner. It was still 
 early evening. 
 
 He was washing his hands in his bedroom when there 
 came a light tap at his sitting-room door. Falloner quickly 
 resumed his coat and entered the sitting-room as the porter 
 ushered in a young lady holding a small boy by the hand. 
 But to Falloner's utter consternation, no sooner had the 
 door closed on the servant than the boy, with a half-apolo- 
 getic glance at the young lady, uttered a childish cry, broke 
 from her, and calling, " Dick ! Dick ! " ran forward and 
 leaped into Falloner's arms. 
 
 The mere shock of the onset and his own amazement left 
 Bob without breath for words. The boy, with arms con- 
 vulsively clasping his body, was imprinting kisses on Bob's 
 waistcoat in default oi reaching his face. At last Falloner 
 
JIMMY'S BIG BROTHER FROM CALIFORNIA 115 
 
 managed gently but firmly to free himself, and turned a 
 half-appealing, half-embarrassed look upon the young lady, 
 whose own face, however, suddenly flushed pink. To add 
 to the confusion, the boy, in some reaction of instinct, sud- 
 denly ran back to her, frantically clutched at her skirts, 
 and tried to bury his head in their folds. 
 
 "He don't love me," he sobbed. "He don't care for 
 me any more." 
 
 The face of the young girl changed. It was a pretty face 
 in its flushing; in the paleness and thoughtfulness that 
 overcast it, it was a striking face, and Bob's attention was 
 for a moment distracted from the grotesqueness of the situ- 
 ation. Leaning over the boy she said in a caressing yet 
 authoritative voice, " Run away for a moment, dear, until 
 I call you," opening the door for him in a maternal way so 
 inconsistent with the youthfulness of her figure that it 
 struck him even in his confusion. There was something 
 also in her dress and carriage that equally affected him : her 
 garments were somewhat old-fashioned in style, yet of good 
 material, with an odd incongruity to the cljmate and season. 
 
 Under her rough outer cloak she wore a polka jacket and 
 the thinnest of summer blouses ; and her hat, though dark, 
 was of rough straw, plainly trimmed. Nevertheless, these 
 peculiarities were carried off with an air of breeding and 
 self-possession that was unmistakable. It was possible that 
 her cool self-possession might have been due to some in- 
 stinctive antagonism, for as she came a step forward with 
 coldly and clearly-opened gray eyes, he was vaguely con- 
 scious that she did n't like him. Nevertheless, her man- 
 ner was formally polite, even, as he fancied, to the point of 
 irony, as she began, in a voice that occasionally dropped 
 into the lazy Southern intonation, and a speech that easily 
 slipped at times into Southern dialect : — 
 
 " I sent the child out of the room, as I could see that his 
 advances were annoying to you, and a good deal. I reckon, 
 
116 jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 
 
 because I knew your reception of them was still more pain- 
 ful to him. It is quite natural, I dare say, you should feel 
 as you do, and I reckon consistent with your attitude 
 towards him. But you must make some allowance for the 
 depth of his feelings, and how he has looked forward to 
 this meeting. When I tell you that ever since he received 
 your last letter, he and his sister — until her illness kept 
 her home — have gone every day when the Pacific train was 
 due to the station to meet you; that they have taken liter- 
 ally as gospel truth every word of your letter " — 
 
 " My letter ? " interrupted Falloner. 
 
 The young girl's scarlet lip curled slightly. "I heg your 
 pardon — I should have said the letter you dictated. Of 
 course it was n't in your handwriting — you had hurt your 
 hand, you know," she added ironically. "At all events, 
 they helieved it all — that j'ou were coming at any moment; 
 they lived in that belief, and the poor things went to the 
 station with your photograph in their hands so that they 
 might he the first to recognize and greet you." 
 
 " With my photograph 1 " interrupted Falloner again. 
 
 The young girl's clear eyes darkened ominously. "I 
 reckon," she said deliberately, as she slowly drew from her 
 pocket the photograph Daddy Folsom had sent, "that that 
 is your photograph. It certainly seems an excellent like- 
 ness, " she added, regarding him with a slight suggestion of 
 contemptuous triumph. 
 
 In an instant the revelation of the whole mystery flashed 
 upon him ! The forgotten passage in Houston's letter about 
 the stolen photograph stood clearly before him; the coin- 
 cidence of his appearance in Shepherdstown, and the natural 
 mistake of the children and their fair protector, were made 
 perfectly plain. But with this relief and the certainty that 
 he could confound her with an explanation came a certain 
 mischievous desire to prolong the situation and increase hia 
 triumph. She certainly had not shown him any favor. 
 
jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 111 
 
 " Have you got the letter also 1 " he asked quietly. 
 
 She whisked it impatiently from her pocket and handed 
 it to him. As he read Daddy's characteristic extravagance 
 and recognized the familiar idiosyncrasies of his old com- 
 panions, he was unable to restrain a smile. He raised his 
 eyes, to meet with surprise the fair stranger's leveled eye- 
 brows and brightly indignant eyes, in which, however, the 
 rain was fast gathering with the lightning. 
 
 "It may be amusing to you, and I reckon likely it was 
 all a California joke," she said with slightly trembling lips; 
 "I don't know No'thern gentlemen and their ways, and 
 you seem to have forgotten our ways as you have your kin- 
 dred. Perhaps all this may seem funny to them: it may not 
 seem so funny to that boy who is now crying his heart out 
 in the hall; it may not be very amusing to that poor Cissy 
 in her sick-bed longing to see her brother. It may be so 
 far from amusing to her, that I should hesitate to bring you 
 there in her excited condition and subject her to the pain 
 that you have caused him. But I have promised her; she 
 is already expecting us, and the disappointment may be 
 dangerous, and I can only implore you — for a few momentt 
 at least — to show a little more affection than you feel." 
 As he made an impulsive, deprecating gesture, yet without 
 changing his look of restrained amusement, she stopped him 
 hopelessly. "Oh, of course, yes, yes, I know it is years 
 since you have seen them; they have no right to expect 
 more; only — only — feeling as you do," she burst out 
 impulsively, " why — oh, why did you come ? " 
 
 Here was Bob's chance. He turned to her politely ; be- 
 gan gravely, "I simply came to " — when suddenly his face 
 changed; he stopped as if struck by a blow. His cheek 
 flushed, and then paled! Good God! What had he come 
 for? To tell them that this brother they were longing for 
 — living for — perhaps even dying for — was dead! In 
 his crass stupidity, his wounded vanity over the scorn of 
 
118 jimmy's big beothee feom califoenia 
 
 the young girl, his anticipation of triumph, he had forgot- 
 ten — totally forgotten — what that triumph meant ! Per- 
 haps if he had felt more keenly the death of Lasham the 
 thought of it would have heen uppermost in his mind ; hut 
 Lasham was not his partner or associate, only a brother 
 liner, and his single act of generosity was in the ordinary 
 .outine of camp life. If she could think him cold and 
 heartless before, what would she think of him now ? The 
 absurdity of her mistake had vanished in the grim tragedy 
 he had seemed to have cruelly prepared for her. The 
 thought struck him so keenly that he stammered, faltered, 
 and sank helplessly into a chair. 
 
 The shock that he had Veceived was so plain to her that 
 her own indignation went out in the breath of it. Her lip 
 quivered. " Don't you mind, " she said hurriedly, dropping 
 into her Southern speech; "I didn't go to hurt you, but I 
 was just that mad with the thought of those pickaninnies, 
 and the easy way you took it, that I clean forgot I 'd no 
 call to catechise you ! And you don't know me from the 
 Queen of Sheba. "Well," she went on, still more rapidly, 
 and in odd distinction to her previous formal slow Southern 
 delivery, "I 'm the daughter of Colonel Boutelle, of Bayou 
 Sara, Louisiana ; and his paw, and his paw before him, had 
 a plantation there since the time of Adam, but he lost it 
 and six hundred niggers during the Wah ! We were pooh 
 as pohverty — paw and maw and we four girls — and no 
 more idea of work than a baby. But I had an education 
 at the convent at New Orleans, and could play, and speak 
 French, and I got a place as school-teacher here ; I reckon 
 the first Southern woman that has taught school in the 
 No'th! Eicketts, who used to be our steward at Bayou 
 Sara, told me about the pickaninnies, and how helpless they 
 were, with only a brother who occasionally sent them money 
 from California. I suppose I cottoned to the pooh little 
 things at first because I knew what it was to be alone 
 
jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA IIS 
 
 amongst strangers, Mr. Lasham; I used to teach them at 
 odd times, and look after them, and go with them to th& 
 train to look for you. Perhaps Eicketts made me think 
 you did n't care for them; perhaps I was wrong in think- 
 ing it was true, from the way you met Jimmy just now. 
 But I 've spoken my mind — and you know why." She 
 ceased and walked to the window. 
 
 Falloner rose. The storm that had swept through him 
 was over. The quick determination, resolute purpose, and 
 infinite patience which had made him what he was, were all 
 there, and with it a conscientiousness which his selfish in- 
 dependence had hitherto kept dormant. He accepted the 
 situation, not passively — it was not in his nature — but 
 threw himself into it with all his energy. 
 
 "You were quite right," he said, halting a moment be- 
 side her; "I don't blame you, and let me hope that later 
 you may think me less to blame than you do now. Now, 
 what 's to be done ? Clearly, I 've first to make it right 
 with Tommy — I mean Jimmy — and then we must make 
 a straight dash over to the girl ! Whoop ! " Before she 
 could understand from his face the strange change in his 
 voice, he had dashed out of the room. In a moment he 
 reappeared with the boy struggling in his arms. " Think 
 of the little scamp not knowing his own brother ! " he 
 laughed, giving the boy a really affectionate, if slightly ex- 
 aggerated hug, "and expecting me to open my arms to the 
 first little boy who jumps into them ! I 've a great mind not 
 to give him the present I fetched all the way from California. 
 Wait a moment." He dashed into the bedroom, opened 
 his valise — where he providentially remembered he had kept 
 with a miner's superstition the first little nugget of gold he 
 had ever found — seized the tiny bit of quartz of gold, and 
 dashed out again to display it before Jimmy's eager eyes. 
 
 If the heartiness, sympathy, and charming kindness of 
 the man's whole manner and face convinced, even while it 
 
120 jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 
 
 slightly startled, the young girl, it was still more effective 
 with the boy. Children are quick to detect the false ring 
 of affected emotion, and Bob's was so genuine — whatever 
 its cause — that it might have easily passed for a fraternal 
 expression with harder critics. The child trustfully nestled 
 against him and would have grasped the gold, but the young 
 man whisked it into his pocket. "Not until we 've shown 
 it to our little sister — where we 're going now! I 'm off 
 to order a sleigh." He dashed out again to the office as if 
 he found some relief in action, or, as it seemed to Miss 
 Boutelle, to avoid embarrassing conversation. When he 
 came back again he was carrying an immense bearskin from 
 his luggage. He cast a critical look at the girl's unseason- 
 able attire. 
 
 " I shall wrap you and Jimmy in this — you know it 's 
 snowing frightfully." 
 
 Miss Boutelle flushed a little. "I 'm warm enough when 
 walking," she said coldly. Bob glanced at her smart little 
 !French shoes, and thought otherwise. He said nothing, 
 but hastily bundled his two guests downstairs and into the 
 street. The whirlwind dance of the snow made the sleigh 
 an indistinct bulk in the glittering darkness, and as the 
 young girl for an instant stood dazedly still. Bob inconti- 
 nently lifted her from her feet, deposited her in the vehicle, 
 dropped Jimmy in her lap, and wrapped them both tightly 
 in the bearskin. Her weight, which was scarcely more than 
 a child's, struck him in that moment as being tantalizingly 
 incongruous to the matronly severity of her manner and its 
 strange effect upon him. He then jumped in himself, tak- 
 ing the direction from his companion, and drove off through 
 the storm. 
 
 The wind and darkness were not favorable to conversa- 
 tion, and only once did he break the silence. "Is there 
 any one who would be likely to remember — me — where 
 we are going 1 " he asked, in a lull of the storm. 
 
jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 121 
 
 Miss Boutelle uncovered enough of her face to glance at 
 him curiously. " Hardly ! You know the children came 
 here from the No'th after your mother's death, while you 
 were in California." 
 
 " Of course," returned Bob hurriedly ; " I was only think- 
 ing — you know that some of my old friends might have 
 called," and then collapsed into silence. 
 
 After a pause a voice came icily, although under the furs : 
 "Perhaps you 'd prefer that your arrival be kept secret from 
 the public 1 But they seem to have already recognized you 
 at the hotel from your inquiry about Eicketts, and the pho- 
 tograph Jimmy had already shown them two weeks ago." 
 Bob remembered the clerk's familiar manner and the omis- 
 sion to ask him to register. "But it need go no further, 
 if you like, " she added, with a slight return of her previous 
 scorn. 
 
 "I 've no reason for keeping it secret," said Bob stoutly. 
 
 No other words were exchanged until the sleigh drew up 
 before a plain wooden house in the suburbs of the town. 
 Bob could see at a glance that it represented the income of 
 some careful artisan or small shopkeeper, and that it pro- 
 mised little for an invalid's luxurious comfort. They were 
 ushered into a chilly sitting-room, and Miss Boutelle ran 
 upstairs with Jimmy to prepare the invalid for Bob's ap- 
 pearance. He noticed that a word dropped by the woman 
 who opened the door made the young girl's face grave again, 
 and paled the color that the storm had buffeted to her cheek. 
 He noticed also that these plain surroundings seemed only 
 to enhance her own superiority, and that the woman treated 
 her with a deference in odd contrast to the ill-concealed 
 disfavor with which she regarded him. Strangely enough, 
 this latter fact was a relief to his conscience. It would have 
 been terrible to have received their kindness under false 
 pretenses ; to take their just blame of the man he person- 
 ated seemed to mitigate the deceit. 
 
122 jimmy's big brother FEOM CALIFORNIA 
 
 The young girl rejoined him presently with troubled eyes. 
 Cissy was worse, and only intermittently conscious, but had 
 asked to see him. It was a short flight of stairs to the bed- 
 room, but before he reached it Bob's heart beat faster than 
 it had in any mountain climb. In one corner of the plainly 
 furnished room stood a small truckle bed, and in it lay the 
 invalid. It needed but a single glance at her flushed face 
 in its aureole of yellow hair to recognize the likeness to 
 Jimmy, although, added to that strange refinement pro- 
 duced by suffering, there was a spiritual exaltation in the 
 child's look — possibly from delirium — that awed and 
 frightened him; an awful feeling that he could not lie to 
 this hopeless creature took possession of him, and his step 
 faltered. But she lifted her small arms pathetically towards 
 faim as if she divined his trouble, and he sank on his knees 
 beside her. With a tiny finger curled around his long mus- 
 tache, she lay there silent. Her face was full of trustful- 
 ness, happiness, and consciousness — but she spoke no word. 
 
 There was a pause, and Falloner, slightly lifting his head 
 ^yithout disturbing that faintly clasping finger, beckoned 
 Miss Boutelle to his side. " Can you drive 1 " he said, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Take my sleigh and get the best doctor in town to come 
 here at once. Bring him with you if you can; if he can't 
 oome at once, drive home yourself. I wiU stay here." 
 
 "But" — hesitated Miss Boutelle. 
 
 "I will stay here," he repeated. 
 
 The door closed on the young girl, and Falloner, still 
 bending over the child, presently heard the sleigh-bells pass 
 away in the storm. He still sat with his bent head held 
 by the tiny clasp of those thin fingers. But the child's 
 eyes were fixed so intently upon him that Mrs. Eicketts 
 leaned over the strangely assorted pair and said, — 
 
 " It 's your brother Dick, dearie. Don't you know him 1 " 
 
jimmy's big brother FROM" CALIFORNIA 123 
 
 The child's lips moved faintly. "Dick 's dead," she 
 whispered. 
 
 "She's wandering," said Mrs. Eicketts. "Speak to 
 her." But Bob, with his eyes on the child's, lifted a pro- 
 te^ing hand. The little sufferer's lips moved again. "It 
 is n't Dick — it 's the angel God sent to tell me." 
 
 She spoke no more. And when Miss Boutelle returned 
 with the doctor she was beyond the reach of finite voices. 
 Falloner would have remained all night with them, but he 
 could see that his presence in the contracted household was 
 not desired. Even his offer to take Jimmy with him to 
 the hotel was declined, and at midnight he returned alone. 
 
 What his thoughts were that night may be easily ima- 
 gined. Cissy's death had removed the only cause he had 
 for concealing his real identity. There was nothing more 
 to prevent his revealing all to Miss Boutelle and to offer to 
 adopt the boy. But he reflected this could not be done 
 until after the funeral, for it was only due to Cissy's 
 memory that he should still keep up the r61e of Dick La- 
 sham as chief mourner. If it seems strange that Bob did 
 not at this crucial moment take Miss Boutelle into his con- 
 fidence, I fear it was because he dreaded the personal effect 
 of the deceit he had practiced upon her more than any 
 ethical consideration ; she had softened considerably in her 
 attitude towards him that night ; he was human, after all, 
 and while he felt his conduct had been unselfish in the main, 
 he dared not confess to himself how much her opinion had 
 influenced him. He resolved that after the funeral he would 
 continue his journey, and write to her, en route, a full ex- 
 planation of his conduct, inclosing Daddy's letter as corrob- 
 orative evidence. But on searching his letter-case he found 
 that he had lost even that evidence, and he must trust solely 
 at present to her faith in his improbable story. 
 
 It seemed as if his greatest sacrifice was demanded at the 
 funeral! For it could not be disguised that the neighbors 
 
124 jimmy's big brother from oalifoenia 
 
 were strongly prejudiced against him. Even the preachei 
 improved the occasion to warn the congregation against the 
 dangers of putting off duty until too late. And when 
 Robert Falloner, pale, but self-restrained, left the church 
 with Miss Boutelle, equally pale and reserved, on his arm, 
 he could with difficulty restrain his fury at the passing of a 
 significant smile across the faces of a few curious bystanders. 
 " It was Amy Boutelle that was the ' penitence ' that 
 fetched him, you bet ! " he overheard, a barely concealed 
 whisper; and the reply, "And it 's a good thing she 's made 
 out of it, too, for he 's mighty rich! " 
 
 At the church door he took her cold hand into his. "I 
 am leaving to-morrow morning with Jimmy," he said, with 
 a white face. " Good-by. " 
 
 "You are quite right; good-by," she replied as briefly, 
 but with the faintest color. He wondered if she had heard 
 it too. 
 
 Whether she had heard it or not, she went home with 
 Mrs. Ricketts in some righteous indignation which found 
 — after the young lady's habit — free expression. What- 
 ever were Mr. Lasham's faults of omission it was most un- 
 christian to allude to them there, and an insult to the poor 
 little dear's memory who had forgiven them. Were she in 
 his shoes she would shake the dust of the town off her feet; 
 and she hoped he would. She was a little softened on ar- 
 riving to find Jimmy in tears. He had lost Dick's photo- 
 graph — or Dick had forgotten to give it back at the hotel, 
 for this was all he had in his pocket. And he produced a 
 letter — the missing letter of Daddy, which by mistake Pal- 
 loner had handed back instead of the photograph. Miss 
 Boutelle saw the superscription and Californian postmark 
 with a vague curiosity. 
 
 "Did you look inside, dear? Perhaps it slipped in." 
 
 Jimmy had not. Miss Boutelle did — and I grieve to 
 eay, ended by reading the whole letter. 
 
jimmy's big brother from CALIFORNIA 125 
 
 Bob Falloner had finished packing his things the next 
 morning, and was waiting for Mr. Eicketts and Jimmy. 
 But when a tap came at the door, he opened it to find Miss 
 Boutelle standing there. "I have sent Jimmy into the 
 bedroom," she said with a faint smile, " to look for the pho- 
 tograph which you gave him in mistake for this. I think 
 for the present he prefers his brother's picture to this letter, 
 which I have not explained to him or any one." She 
 stopped, and raising her eyes to his, said gently : " I think 
 it would have only been a part of your goodness to have 
 trusted me, Mr. Falloner." 
 
 " Then you will forgive me ? " he said eagerly. 
 
 She looked at him frankly, yet with a faint trace of co- 
 quetry that the angels might have pardoned. "Do you 
 want me to say to you what Mrs. Kioketts says were the 
 last words of poor Cissy 1 " 
 
 A year later, when the darkness and rain were creeping 
 up Sawyer's Ledge, and Houston and Daddy Folsom were 
 sitting before their brushwood fire in the old Lasham cabin, 
 the latter delivered himself oracularly. 
 
 "It 's a mighty queer thing, that news about Bob! It 's 
 not that he 's married, for that might happen to any one; 
 but this yer account in the paper of his wedding being at- 
 tended by his ' little brother. ' That gets me ! To think 
 all the while he was here he was lettin' on to us that he 
 had n't kith or kin ! Well, sir, that accounts to me for one 
 thing — the sing'ler way he tumbled to that letter of poor 
 Dick Lasham 's little brother and sent him that draft! 
 Don't ye see? It was a feller feelin' ! Knew how it was 
 himself ! I reckon ye all thought I was kinder soft reading 
 that letter o' Dick Lasham' s little brother to him, but ye 
 Bee what it did." 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 
 
 I DO not think that any of us who enjoyed the acquaint- 
 ance of the Piper girls or the hospitality of Judge Piper, 
 their father, ever cared for the youngest sister. Not on 
 account of her extreme youth, for the eldest Miss Piper con- 
 fessed to twenty-six — and the youth of the youngest sister 
 was established solely, I think, by one big braid down her 
 back. Neither was it because she was the plainest, for the 
 beauty of the Piper girls was a recognized general distinc- 
 tion, and the youngest Miss Piper was not entirely devoid 
 of the family charms. Nor was it from any lack of intel- 
 ligence, nor from any defective social quality ; for her pre- 
 cocity was astounding, and her good-humored frankness 
 alarming. Neither do I think it could be said that a slight 
 deafness, which might impart an embarrassing publicity to 
 any statement — the reverse of our general feeling — that 
 might be confided by any one to her private ear, was a suf. 
 ficient reason ; for it was pointed out that she always under- 
 stood everything that Tom Sparrell told her in his ordinary 
 tone of voice. Briefly, it was very possible that Delaware 
 — the youngest Miss Piper — did not like us. 
 
 Yet it was fondly believed by us that the other sisters 
 failed to show that indifference to our existence shown by 
 Miss Delaware, although the heartburnings, misunderstand- 
 ings, jealousies, hopes, and fears, and finally the chivalrous 
 resignation with which we at last accepted the long foregone 
 conclusion that they were not for us, and far beyond oui 
 reach, is not a part of this veracious chronicle. Enough 
 that none of the flirtations of her elder sisters affected or 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPEK 121 
 
 were shared by the youngest Miss Piper. She moved in 
 this heart-hreaking atmosphere with sublime indifference, 
 treating her sisters' affairs with what we considered rank 
 simplicity or appalling frankness. Their few admirers who 
 were weak enough to attempt to gain her mediation or con- 
 fidence had reason to regret it. 
 
 "It 's no kind o' use givin' me goodies," she said to a 
 helpless suitor of Louisiana Piper's who had offered to bring 
 her some sweets, "for I ain't got no influence with Lu, and 
 if I don't give 'em up to her when she hears of it, she '11 nag 
 me and hate you like pizen. Unless," she added thought- 
 fully, "it was wintergreen. lozenges; Lu can't stand them, 
 or anybody who eats them within a mile." It is needless 
 to add that the miserable man, thus put upon his gallantry, 
 was obliged in honor to provide Del with the wintergreen 
 lozenges that kept him in disfavor and at a distance. Un- 
 fortunately, too, any predilection or pity for any particular 
 suitor of her sister's was attended by even more disastrous 
 consequences. It was reported that while acting as " goose- 
 berry" — a r61e usually assigned to her — between Virginia 
 Piper and an exceptionally timid young surveyor, during a 
 ramble she conceived a rare sentiment of humanity towards 
 the unhappy man. After once or twice lingering behind in 
 the ostentatious picking of a wayside flower, or "running 
 on ahead " to look at a mountain view, without any appar- 
 ent effect on the shy and speechless youth, she decoyed him 
 aside while her elder sister rambled indifferently and some- 
 what scornfully on. The youngest Miss Piper leaped upon 
 the rail of a fence, and with the stalk of a thimbleborry in 
 her mouth swung her small feet to and fro and surveyed him 
 dispassionately. 
 
 "Ye don't seem to be ketchin' on? " she said tentatively. 
 
 The young man smiled feebly and interrogatively. 
 
 "Don't seem to be either follering suit nor trumpin'," 
 continued Del bluntly. 
 
128 THE TOTTNGEST MISS PIPER 
 
 " I suppose so — that is, I fear that Miss Virginia " — ha 
 stammered. 
 
 "Speak up! I 'm a little deaf. Say it again!" said 
 Del, screwing up her eyes and eyebrows. 
 
 The young man was obliged to admit in stentorian. tones 
 that his progress had been scarcely satisfactory. 
 
 "You 're goin' on too slow — that 's it," said Del criti- 
 cally. " Why, when Captain Savage meandered along here 
 with Jinny" (Virginia) "last week, afore we got as far as 
 this he 'd reeled off a heap of Byron and Jamieson " (Ten- 
 nyson), "and sich; and only yesterday Jinny and Doctor 
 Beveridge was blowin' thistletops to know which was a flirt 
 all along the trail past the cross-roads. "Why, ye ain't 
 picked ez much as a single berry for Jinny, let alone Lad's 
 Love or Johnny Jumpups and Kissme's, and ye keep talkin' 
 across me, you two, till I 'm tired. Now look here," she 
 burst out with sudden decision, "Jinny 's gone on ahead in 
 a kind o' huff; but I reckon she 's done that afore too, and 
 you '11 find her, jest as Spinner did, on the rise of the hill, 
 sittin' on a pine stump and lookin' like this." (Here the 
 youngest Miss Piper locked her fingers over her left knee, 
 and drew it slightly up, — with a sublime indifference to 
 the exposure of considerable small-ankled red stocking, — 
 and with a far-off, plaintive stare, achieved a colorable imi- 
 tation of her elder sister's probable attitude.) "Then you 
 jest go up softly, like as you was a bear, and clap your 
 hands on her eyes, and say in a disguised voice like this " 
 (here Del turned on a high falsetto beyond any masculine 
 compass), " ' Who 's who? ' jest like in forfeits." 
 
 "But she'll be sure to know me," said the surveyor 
 timidly. 
 
 "She won't," said Del in scornful skepticism. 
 " I hardly think " — stammered the young man, with an 
 awkward smile, "that I — in fact — she '11 discover me — 
 before I can get beside her." 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 12E 
 
 "Not if you go softly, for she '11 be sittin' back to the 
 road, so — gazing away, so " — the youngest Miss Pipei 
 again stared dreamily in the distance, " and you '11 creep up 
 just behind, like this." 
 
 "But won't she be angry? I have n't known her long 
 — that is — don't you see? " He stopped embarrassedly. 
 
 "Can't hear a word you say," said Del, shaking her head 
 decisively. "You 've got my deaf ear. Speak louder, or 
 come closer." 
 
 But here the instruction suddenly ended, once and for 
 all time ! For whether the young man was seriously anx- 
 ious to perfect himself; whether he was truly grateful to 
 the young girl and tried to show it; whether he was em- 
 boldened by the childish appeal of the long brown distin- 
 guishing braid down her back, or whether he suddenly found 
 something peculiarly provocative in the reddish brown eyes 
 between their thick-set hedge of lashes, and with the trim 
 figure and piquant pose, and was seized with that hysteric 
 desperation which sometimes attacks timidity itself, I can- 
 not say ! Enough that he suddenly put his arm around her 
 waist and his lips to her soft satin cheek, peppered and 
 salted as it was by sun-freckles and mountain air, and re- 
 ceived a sound box on the ear for his pains. The incident 
 was closed. He did not repeat the experiment on either 
 sister. The disclosure of his rebuff seemed, however, to 
 give a singular satisfaction to Eed Gulch. 
 
 While it may be gathered from this that the youngest 
 Miss Piper was impervious to general masculine advances, 
 it was not until later that Red Gulch was thrown into 
 skeptical astonishment by the rumors that all this time she 
 really had a lover! Allusion has been made to the charge 
 that her deafness did not prevent her from perfectly under- 
 standing the ordinary tone of voice of a certain Mr. Thomas 
 Sparrell. 
 
 No undue significance was attached to this fact through 
 
130 THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 
 
 > 
 the very insignificance and " impossibility " of that individ 
 ual, — a lanky, red-haired youth, incapacitated for manual 
 labor through lameness, — a clerk in a general store at the 
 cross-roads! He had never been the recipient of Judge 
 Piper's hospitality ; he had never visited the house even 
 vfith parcels; apparently his only interviews with her or 
 any of the family had been over the counter. To do him 
 justice he certainly had never seemed to seek any nearer 
 acquaintance ; he was not at the church door when her sis- 
 ters, beautiful in their Sunday gowns, filed into the aisle, 
 with little Delaware bringing up the rear; he was not at 
 the Democratic barbecue, that we attended without reference 
 to our personal politics, and solely for the sake of Judge 
 Piper and the girls ; nor did he go to the Agricultural Pair 
 Ball — open to all. His abstention we believed to be owing 
 to his lameness; to a wholesome consciousness of his own 
 social defects; or an inordinate passion for reading cheap 
 scientific text-books, which did not, however, add fluency 
 nor conviction to his speech. Neither had he the abstrac- 
 tion of a student, for his accounts were kept with an accu- 
 racy which struck us, who dealt at the store, as ignobly 
 practical, and even malignant. Possibly we might have 
 expressed this opinion more strongly but for a certain rude 
 vigor of repartee which he possessed, and a suggestion that 
 he might have a temper on occasion. "Them red-haired 
 chaps is like to be tetchy and to kinder see blood through 
 their eyelashes," had been suggested by an observing cus- 
 tomer, t 
 
 In short[ little as we knew of the youngest Miss Piper, 
 he was the last man we should have suspected her to select 
 as an admirer. What we did know of their public rela- 
 tions, purely commercial ones, implied the reverse of any 
 cordial understanding. The provisioning of the Piper 
 household was entrusted to Del, with other practical odds 
 and ends of housekeeping, not ornamental, and the follow- 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 181 
 
 ing is said to be a truthful record of one of their overheard 
 interviews at the store : — 
 
 The youngest Miss Piper, entering, displacing a quantitj 
 of goods in the centre to make a sideways seat for herself, 
 and looking around loftily as she took a memorandum- book 
 and pencil from her pocket. 
 
 "Ahem! If I ain't taking you away from your studies, 
 Mr. Sparrell, maybe you '11 be good enough to look here a 
 minit; — but" (in affected politeness) "if I 'm disturbing 
 you r can come another time." 
 
 Sparrell, placing the book he had been reading carefully 
 under the counter, and advancing to Miss Delaware with a 
 complete ignoring of her irony : " What can we do for you 
 to-day, Miss Piper ? " 
 
 Miss Delaware, with great suavity of manner, examining 
 her memorandum-book: "I suppose it would n't be shock- 
 ing your delicate feelings too much to inform you that the 
 canned lobster and oysters you sent us yesterday was n't fit 
 for hogs 1 " 
 
 Sparrell (blandly): "They weren't intended for them, 
 Miss Piper. If we had known you were having company 
 over from Red Gulch to dinner, we might have provided 
 something more suitable for them. We have a fair quality 
 of oil-cake and corncobs in stock, at reduced figures. But 
 the canned provisions were for your own family." 
 
 Miss Delaware (secretly pleased at this sarcastic allusion 
 to her sister's friends, but concealing her delight): "I ad- 
 mire to hear you talk that way, Mr. Sparrell ; it 's better 
 than minstrels or a circus. I suppose you get it outer that 
 book," indicating the concealed volume. "What do you 
 call it?" 
 
 Sparrell (politely) : " ' The First Principles of Geo 
 logy.'" 
 
 Miss Delaware, leaning sideways and curling her little 
 fingers around her pink ear: "Did you say the first princi- 
 
132 THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 
 
 pies of • geology ' or ' politeness ' ? You know 1 am so 
 deaf; but, of course, it couldn't be that." 
 
 Sparrell (easily): "Oh, no, you seem to have that in 
 your hand" — pointing to Miss Delaware's memorandum- 
 hodk — "you were quoting from it when you came in." 
 
 Miss Delaware, after an affected silence of deep resigna- 
 tion : " Well ! it 's too bad folks can't just spend their lives 
 listenin' to such elegant talk; I 'd admire to do nothing 
 else! But there's my family up at Cottonwood — and 
 they must eat. They 're that low that they expect me to 
 waste my time getting food for 'em here, instead of drink- 
 ing in the ' Pirst Principles of the Grocery. ' " 
 
 "Geology," suggested Sparrell blandly. "The history 
 of rock formation." 
 
 "Geology," accepted Miss Delaware apologetically; "the 
 history of rocks, which is so necessary for knowing just 
 how much sand you can put in the sugar. So I reckon 
 I '11 leave my list here, and you can have the things toted 
 to Cottonwood when you 've got through with your ' First 
 Principles.' " 
 
 She tore out a list of her commissions from a page of her 
 memorandum-book, leaped lightly from the counter, threw 
 her brown braid from her left shoulder to its proper place 
 down her back, shook out her skirts deliberately, and say- 
 ing, "Thank you for a most improvin' afternoon, Mr. 
 Sparrell," sailed demurely out of the store. 
 
 A few auditors of this narrative thought it inconsistent 
 that a daughter of Judge Piper and a sister of the angelic 
 host should put up with a mere clerk's familiarity, but it 
 was pointed out that "she gave him as good as he sent," 
 and the story was generally credited. But certainly no one 
 ever dreamed that it pointed to any more precious confi- 
 dences between them. 
 
 I think the secret burst upon the family, with othei 
 things, at the big picnic at Reservoir Canon. This festiv- 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 133 
 
 ity had been arranged for weeks previously, and was under- 
 taken chiefly by the "Eed Gulch Contingent," as we were 
 called, as a slight return to the Piper family for their fre- 
 quent hospitality. The Piper sisters were expected to bring 
 nothing but their own personal graces and attend to the 
 ministration of such viands and delicacies as the boys had 
 profusely supplied. 
 
 The site selected was Reservoir Canon, a beautiful, tri- 
 angular valley with very steep sides, one of which was 
 crowned by the immense reservoir of the Pioneer Ditch 
 Company. The sheer flanks of the canon descended in fur- 
 rowed lines of vines and clinging bushes, like folds of fall- 
 ing skirts, until they broke again into flounces of spangled 
 shrubbery over a broad level carpet of monkshood, mari- 
 posas, lupines, poppies, and daisies. Tempered and secluded 
 from the sun's rays by its lofty shadows, the delicious ob- 
 scurity of the canon was in sharp contrast to the fiery moun-' 
 tain trail that in the full glare of the noonday sky made its 
 tortuous way down the hillside, like a stream of lava, to 
 plunge suddenly into the valley and extinguish itself in its 
 coolness as in a lake. The heavy odors of wild honey- 
 suckle, syringa, and ceanothus that hung over it were light- 
 ened and freshened by the sharp spicing of pine and bay. 
 The mountain breeze which sometimes shook the serrated 
 tops of the large redwoods above with a chill from the re- 
 mote snow peaks even in the heart of summer, never reached 
 the little valley. 
 
 It seemed an ideal place for a picnic. Everybody was 
 therefore astonished to hear that an objection was suddenly 
 raised to this perfect site. They were still more astonished 
 to know that the objector was the youngest Miss Piper ! 
 Pressed to give her reasons, she had replied that the local- 
 ity was dangerous; that the reservoir placed upon the 
 mountain, notoriously old and worn out, had been rendered 
 more unsafe by false economy in unskillful and hasty re- 
 
134 THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPEE 
 
 pairs to satisfy speculating stockbrokers, and that it had 
 lately shown signs of leakage and sapping of its outer walls; 
 that, in the event of an outbreak, the little triangular val- 
 ley, from which there was no outlet, would be instantly 
 flooded. Asked still more pressingly to give her authority 
 for these details, she at first hesitated, and then gave the 
 name of Tom Sparrell. 
 
 The derision with which this statement was received by 
 us all, as the opinion of a sedentary clerk, was quite natural 
 and obvious, but not the anger which it excited in the 
 breast of Judge Piper; for it was not generally known that 
 the judge was the holder of a considerable number of shares 
 in the Pioneer Ditch Company, and that large dividends 
 had been lately kept up by a false economy of expenditure, 
 to expedite a "sharp deal " in the stock, by which the judge 
 and others could sell out of a failing company. Eather, it 
 was believed, that the judge's anger was due only to the 
 discovery of Sparrell' s influence over his daughter and his 
 interference with the social affairs of Cottonwood. It was 
 said that there was a sharp scene between the youngest Miss 
 Piper and the combined forces of the judge and the elder 
 sisters, which ended in the former's resolute refusal to at- 
 tend the picnic at all if that site was selected. 
 
 As Delaware was known to be fearless even to the point 
 of recklessness, and fond of gayety, her refusal only inteti- 
 sified the belief that she was merely "stickin' up for Spar- 
 rell's judgment " without any reference to her own personal 
 safety or that of her sisters. The warning was laughed 
 away ; the opinion of Sparrell treated with ridicule as tme 
 dyspeptic and envious expression of an impractical msun. 
 It was pointed out that the reservoir had lasted a long tfime 
 even in its alleged ruinous state ; that only a miracle oif co- 
 incidence could make it break down that particular afterncKon 
 of the picnic; that even if it did happen, there was no asi- 
 
 tect proof that it would seriously flood the valley, or at b^st 
 
 t 
 
 i^sl 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 135 
 
 add more than a spice of excitement to the affair. The 
 "Eed Gulch Contingent," who would he there, was quite 
 as capable of taking care of the ladies, in case of any acci- 
 dent, as any lame crank who would n't, hut could only 
 croak a warning to them from a distance. A few even 
 wished something might happen that they might have an 
 opportunity of showing their superior devotion; indeed, 
 the prospect of carrying the half-submerged sisters, in a 
 condition of helpless loveliness, in their arms to a place of 
 safety was a fascinating possibility. The warning was con- 
 spicuously ineffective ; everybody looked eagerly forward to 
 the day and the unchanged locality; to the greatest hope- 
 fulness and anticipation was added the stirring of defiance, 
 Sind when at last the appointed hour had arrived, the picnic 
 party passed down the twisting mountain trail through the 
 heat and glare in a fever of enthusiasm. 
 
 It was a pretty sight to view this sparkling procession ^ 
 the girls cool and radiant in their white, blue, and yellow 
 muslins and flying ribbons, the "Contingent" in its clean- 
 est ducks, and blue and red flannel shirts, the judge white- 
 waistcoated and panama-hatted, with a new dignity bor- 
 rowed from the previous circumstances, and three or four 
 impressive Chinamen bringing up the rear with hampers — 
 as it at last debouched into Reservoir Canon. 
 
 Here they dispersed themselves over the limited area, 
 scarcely half an acre, with the freedom of escaped school 
 chiildren. They were secure in their woodland privacy. 
 Tliey were overlooked by no high road and its passing 
 teKms; they were safe from accidental intrusion from the 
 settlement; indeed, they went so far as to effect the exclu- 
 siveness of " clique. " At first they amused themselves by 
 casfing humorously defiant eyes at the long, low Ditch Re- 
 servoir, which peeped over the green wall of the ridge, six 
 ii.indred feet above them ; at times they even simulated an 
 exixggerated terror of it, and one recognized humorist de" 
 
136 THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 
 
 claimed a grotesque appeal to its forbearance, witli delight- 
 ful local allusions. Others pretended to discover near a 
 ■woodman's hut, among the belt of pines at the top of the 
 descending trail, the peeping figure of the ridiculous and 
 envious Sparrell. But all this was presently forgotten in 
 the actual festivity. Small as -was the range of the val- 
 ley, it still allowed retreats during the dances for waiting 
 couples among the convenient laurel and manzanita bushes 
 which flounced the mountain side. After the dancing, old- 
 fashioned children's games were revived with great laughter 
 and half-hearted and coy protests from the ladies; notably 
 one pastime known as "I 'm a-pinin'," in which ingenious 
 performance the victim was obliged to stand in the centre of 
 a circle and publicly " pine " for a member of the opposite 
 sex. Some hilarity was occasioned by the mischievous 
 Miss " Georgy " Piper declaring, when it came to her turn, 
 that she was " pinin' " for a look at the face of Tom Spar- 
 rell just now! 
 
 In this local trifling two hours passed, until the party sat 
 down to the long-looked-for repast. It was here that the 
 health of Judge Piper was neatly proposed by the editor of 
 the "Argus." The judge responded with great dignity and 
 some emotion. He reminded them that it had been his 
 humble endeavor to promote harmony — that harmony so 
 characteristic of American principles — in social as he had 
 in political circles, and particularly among the strangdy 
 constituted yet purely American elements of frontier li|e. 
 He accepted the present festivity with its overflowing hos- 
 pitalities, not in recognition of himself — (" yes ! yes ! ") *■ — 
 nor of his family — (enthusiastic protests) — but of that 
 American principle! If at one time it seemed proljjable 
 that these festivities might be marred by the machinatMns 
 of envy — (groans) — or that harmony interrupted by tlie 
 importation of low-toned material interests — (groans) — He 
 could say that, looking around him, he had never befqire 
 
 ( 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 137 
 
 felt — er — that — Here the judge stopped short, reeled 
 slightly forward, caught at a camp-stool, recovered himself 
 with an apologetic smile, and turned inquiringly to his 
 neighbor. 
 
 A light laugh — instantly suppressed — at what was at 
 first supposed to be the effect of the " overflowing hospital- 
 ity " upon the speaker himself, went around the male circle 
 until it suddenly appeared that half a dozen others had 
 started to their feet at the same time, with white faces, and 
 that one of the ladies had screamed. 
 
 " What is it 1 " everybody was asking with interrogatory 
 smiles. 
 
 It was Judge Piper who replied. 
 
 "A little shock of earthquake," he said blandly; "a mere 
 thrill ! I think," he added with a faint smile, " we may say 
 that Nature herself has applauded our efforts va good old 
 Californian fashion, and signified her assent. What are 
 you saying, Fludder ? " 
 
 "I was thinking, sir," said Fludder deferentially, in a 
 lower voice, "that if anything was wrong in the reservoir, 
 this shock, you know, might " — 
 
 He was interrupted by a faint crashing and crackling 
 sound, and looking up, beheld a good-sized boulder, evi- 
 dently detached from some greater height, strike the upland 
 plateau at the left of the trail and bound into the fringe of 
 forest beside it. A slight cloud of dust marked its course, 
 and then lazily floated away in mid air. But it had been 
 watched agitatedly, and it was evident that that singular 
 loss of nervous balance which is apt to affect all those who 
 go through the slightest earthquake experience was felt by 
 all. But some sense of humor, however, remained. 
 
 "Looks as if the water risks we took ain't goin' to cover 
 earthquakes," drawled Dick Frisney; "still that wasn't a 
 bad shot, if we only knew what they were aiming at. " 
 
 " Do be quiet, " said Virginia Piper, her cheeks pink with 
 
138 THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 
 
 excitement. " Listen, can't you ? What 's that funny 
 murmuring you hear now and then up there 1 " 
 
 " It 's only tho snow- wind playin' with the pines on the 
 summit. You girls won't allow anybody any fun but your- 
 selves." 
 
 But here a scream from "Georgy," who, assisted by Cap- 
 tain Fairfax, had mounted a camp-stool at the mouth of the 
 valley, attracted everybody's attention. She was standing 
 upright, with dilated eyes, staring at the top of the trail. 
 "Look!" she said excitedly, "if the trail isn't moving!" 
 
 Everybody faced in that direction. At the first glance 
 it seemed indeed as if the trail was actually moving; wrig- 
 gling and undulating its tortuous way down the mountain 
 like a huge snake, only swollen to twice its usual size. But 
 the second glance showed it to be no longer a trail but a 
 channel of watar, whose stream, lifted in a bore-like wall four 
 or five feet high, was plunging down into the devoted valley. 
 
 For an instant they were unable to comprehend even the 
 nature of the catastrophe. The reservoir was directly over 
 their heads; the bursting of its wall they had imagined 
 would naturally bring down the water in a dozen trickling 
 streams or falls over the cliff above them and along the 
 flanks of the mountain. But that its suddenly liberated 
 volume should overflow the upland beyond and then de- 
 scend in a pent-up flood by their own trail and their only 
 avenue of escape, had been beyond their wildest fancy. 
 
 They met this smiting truth with that characteristia 
 short laugh with which the American usually receives the 
 blow of Fate or the unexpected — as if he recognized only 
 the absurdity of the situation. Then they ran to the wo- 
 men, collected them together, and dragged them to vantages 
 of fancied security among the bushes which flounced the 
 long skirts of the mountain walls. But I leave this part 
 of the description to the characteristic language of one of 
 the party : — 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPER 139 
 
 "When the flood struck us, it did not seem to take any 
 stock of us in particular, but laid itself out to ' go for ' that 
 picnic for all it was worth ! It wiped it off the face of the 
 earth in about twenty-iive seconds ! It iirst made a clean 
 break from stem to stern, carrying everything along with 
 it. The first thing I saw was old Judge Piper, puttin' on 
 his best licks to get away from a big can of strawberry ice 
 cream that was trundling after him and trying to empty it- 
 self on his collar, whenever a bigger wave lifted it. He 
 was followed by what was left of the brass band ; the big drum 
 just humpin' itself to keep abreast o' the ice cream, mixed 
 up with camp-stools, music-stands, a few Chinamen, and 
 then what they call in them big San Francisco processions 
 ' citizens generally. ' The hull thing swept up the canon 
 inside o' thirty seconds. Then, what Captain Fairfax 
 called ' the reflex action in the laws o' motion ' happened, 
 and darned if the hull blamed procession didn't sweep back 
 again — this time all the heavy artillery, such as camp-ket- 
 tles, lager beer kegs, bottles, glasses, and crockery that was 
 left behind takin' the lead now, and Jedge Piper and that 
 ice cream can bringin' up the rear. As the jedge passed us 
 the second time, we noticed that that ice cream can — hevin' 
 swallowed water — was kinder losing its wind, and we en- 
 couraged the old man by shoutin' out, ' Five to one on 
 him!' And then, you wouldn't believe what followed. 
 Why, darn my skin, when that ' reflex ' met the current 
 at the other end, it just swirled around again in what Cap- 
 tain Fairfax called the 'centrifugal curve,' and just went 
 round and round the canon ;ike ez when yer washin' the 
 dirt out o' a prospectin' pan — every now and then wash- 
 in' some one of the boys that was in it, like scum, up ag'in 
 the banks. 
 
 "We managed in this way to snake out the jedge, jest 
 ez he was sailin' round on the home stretch, passin' the 
 quarter post two lengths ahead o' the can. A good deal o' 
 
140 THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPEB 
 
 the ice cream had washed away, hut it took us ten minutea 
 to shake the cracked ice and powdered salt out o' the old 
 man's clothes, and warm him up again in the laurel bush 
 where he was clinging. This sort o' ' Here we go round 
 the mulberry bush ' kep' on until most o' the humans was 
 got out, and only the furniture o' the picnic was left in the 
 race. Then it got kinder mixed up, and went sloshin' 
 round here and there, ez the water kep' comin' down by 
 the trail. Then Lulu Piper, what I was holdin' up all the 
 time in a laurel bush, gets an idea, for all she was wet and 
 draggled; and ez the things went bobbin' round, £te calls 
 out the figures o' a cotillon to 'em. ' Two camp-stools 
 forward. ' ' Sashay and back to your places. ' ' Change 
 partners. ' ' Hands all round. ' 
 
 "She was clear grit, you bet! And the joke caught on 
 and the other girls jined in, and it kinder cheered 'em, for 
 they was wantin' it. Then Fludder allowed to pacify 'em 
 by sayin' he just figured up the size o' the reservoir and 
 the size o' the canon, and he kalkilated that the cube was 
 about ekal, and the canon could n't flood any more. And 
 then Lulu — who was peart as a jay and could n't be fooled 
 — speaks up and says, ' What 's the matter with the ditch, 
 Dick?' 
 
 "Lord! then we knew that she knew the worst; for of 
 course all the water in the ditch itself — fifty miles of it ! — 
 was drainin' now into that reservoir and was bound to come 
 down to the canon." 
 
 It was at this point that the situation became really des- 
 perate, for they had now crawled up the steep sides as far 
 as the bushes afforded foothold, and the water was still ris- 
 ing. The chatter of the girls ceased, there were long si- 
 lences, in which the men discussed the wildest plans, and 
 proposed to tear their shirts into strips to make ropes to 
 support the girls by sticks driven into the mountain side. 
 It was in one of those intervals that the distinct strokes 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPES 141 
 
 of a woodman's axe were heard high on the upland at the 
 point where the trail descended to the canon. Every ear 
 ■was alert, but only those on one side of the canon could get 
 a fair view of the spot. This was the good fortune of Cap- 
 tain Fairfax and Georgy Piper, who had climbed to the 
 highest bush on that side, and were now standing up, gaz- 
 ing excitedly in that direction. 
 
 " Some one is cutting down a tree at the head of the 
 trail," shouted Fairfax. The response and joyful explana- 
 tion, "for a dam across the trail," was on everybody's lips 
 at the same time. 
 
 But the strokes of the axe were slow and painfully in- 
 termittent. Impatience burst out. 
 
 "Yell to him to hurry up ! Why have n't they brought 
 two men 1 " 
 
 "It's only one man," shouted the captain, "and he 
 seems to be a cripple. By Jiminy ! — it is — yes ! — it 's 
 Tom Sparrell!" 
 
 There was a dead silence. Then, I grieve to say, shame 
 and its twin brother rage took possession of their weak 
 humanity. Oh, yes ! It was all of a piece ! Why in the 
 name of Folly hadn't he sent for an able-bodied man? 
 Were they to be drowned through his cranky obstinacy? 
 
 The blows still went on slowly. Presently, however, 
 they seemed to alternate with other blows — but alas ! they 
 were slower, and if possible feebler! 
 
 " Have they got another cripple to work ? " roared the 
 Contingent in one furious voice. 
 
 "No — it's a woman — a little one — yes! a girl. 
 Hello! Why, sure as you live, it 's Delaware!" 
 
 A spontaneous cheer burst from the Contingent, partly 
 as a rebuke to Sparrell, I think, partly from some shame 
 over their previous rage. He could take it as he liked. 
 
 Still the blows went on distressingly slow. The girls 
 were hoisted on the men's shoulders; the men were half 
 
142 THE YOUNGEST MISS MPEE 
 
 submerged. Then there was a painful pause; then a 
 crumbling crash. Another cheer went up from the canon. 
 "It's down! straight across the trail," shouted Fair- 
 fax, "and a part of the bank on the top of it." 
 
 There was another moment of suspense. Would it hold 
 or be carried away by the momentum of the flood! It 
 held ! In a few moments Fairfax again gave voice to the 
 cheering news that the flow had stopped and the submerged 
 trail was reappearing. In twenty minutes it was clear — a 
 muddy river bed, but possible of ascent ! Of course there 
 was no diminution of the water in the canon, which had no 
 outlet, yet it now was possible for the party to swing from 
 bush to bush along the mountain side until the foot of the 
 trail — no longer an opposing one — was reached. There 
 were some missteps and mishaps, ■ — flounderings in the 
 water, and some dangerous rescues, — but in half an hour 
 the whole concourse stood upon the trail and commenced 
 the ascent. It was a slow, diflicult, and lugubrious proces- 
 sion — I fear not the best-tempered one, now that the 
 stimulus of danger and chivalry was past. When they 
 reached the dam made by the fallen tree, although they 
 were obliged to make a long detour to avoid its steep sides, 
 they could see how successfully it had diverted the current 
 to a declivity on the other side. 
 
 But strangely enough they were greeted by nothing else ! 
 Sparrell and the youngest Miss Piper were gone ; and when 
 they at last reached the high road, they were astounded to 
 hear from a passing teamster that no one in the settlement 
 knew anything of the disaster ! 
 
 This was the last drop in their cup of bitterness ! They 
 who had expected that the settlement was waiting breath- 
 lessly for their rescue, who anticipated that they would be 
 welcomed as heroes, were obliged to meet the ill-concealed 
 amusement of passengers and friends at their disheveled 
 and bedraggled appearance, which suggested only the blun 
 
THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPEE 143 
 
 dering mishaps of an ordinary summer outing! "Boatin' 
 in the reservoir, and fell in 1 " " Playing at canal-hoat in 
 the Ditch ? " were some of the cheerful hypotheses. The 
 fleeting sense of gratitude they had felt for their deliverers 
 was dissipated by the time they had reached their homes, 
 and their rancor increased by the information that when 
 the earthquake occurred Mr. Tom Sparrell and Miss Dela- 
 ware were enjoying a ''pasear" in the forest — he having 
 a half holiday by virtue of the festival — and that the 
 earthquake had revived his fears of a catastrophe. The two 
 had procured axes in the woodman's hut and did what they 
 thought was necessary to relieve the situation of the picnick- 
 ers. But the very modesty of this account of their own per- 
 formance had the effect of belittling the catastrophe itself, 
 and the picnickers' report of their exceeding peril was re- 
 ceived with incredulous laughter. 
 
 For the first time in the history of Eed Gulch there was 
 a serious division between the Piper family, supported by 
 the Contingent and the rest of the settlement. Tom Spar- 
 rell's warning was remembered by the latter, and the in- 
 gratitude of the picnickers to their rescuers commented 
 upon ; the actual calamity to the reservoir was more or less 
 attributed to the imprudent and reckless contiguity of the 
 revelers on that day, and there were not wanting those who 
 referred the accident itself to the machinations of the schem- 
 ing Ditch Director Piper ! 
 
 It was said that there was a .stormy scene in the Piper 
 household that evening. The judge had demanded that 
 Delaware should break off her acquaintance with Sparrell, 
 and she had refused; the judge had demanded of Sparrell's 
 employer that he should discharge him, and had been met 
 with the astounding information that Sparrell was already 
 a silent partner in the concern. At this revelation Judge 
 Piper was alarmed; while he might object to a clerk who 
 could not support a wife, as a consistent democrat he could 
 
144 THE YOUNGEST MISS PIPEK 
 
 not oppose a fairly prosperous tradesman. A final appeal 
 was made to Delaware; she was implored to consider the 
 situation of her sisters, who had all made more ambitious 
 marriages or were about to make them. Why should she 
 now degrade the family by marrying a country storekeeper ? 
 
 It is said that here the youngest Miss Piper made a 
 memorable reply, and a revelation the truth of which was 
 never gainsaid : — 
 
 "You all wanter know why I 'm going to marry Tom 
 Sparrell ! " she queried, standing up and facing the whole 
 family circle. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why I prefer him to the hull caboodle that you girls 
 have married or are going to marry ? " she continued, medi- 
 tatively biting the end of her braid. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, he 's the only man of the whole lot that has n't 
 proposed to me first." 
 
 It is presumed that Sparrell made good the omission, or 
 that the family were glad to get rid of her, for they were 
 married that autumn. And really a later comparison of 
 the family records shows that while Captain Fairfax re- 
 mained "Captain Fairfax," and the other sons-in-law did 
 not advance proportionately in standing or riches, the lame 
 storekeeper of Ked Gulch became the Hon. Senator Tom 
 SparrelL 
 
A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 The Widow Wade was standing at her bedroom window 
 staring out, in that vague instinct which compels humanity 
 in moments of doubt and perplexity to seek this change of 
 observation or superior illumination. Not that Mrs. Wade's 
 disturbance was of a serious character. She had passed the 
 acute stage of widowhood by at least two years, and the 
 slight redness of her soft eyelids as well as the droop of her 
 pretty mouth were merely the recognized outward and visi- 
 ble signs of the grievously minded religious community in 
 which she lived. The mourning she still wore was also 
 partly in conformity with the sad- colored garments of her 
 neighbors, and the necessities of the rainy season. She 
 was in comfortable circumstances, the mistress of a large 
 ranch in the valley, which had lately become more valuable 
 by the extension of a wagon road through its centre. She 
 was simply worrying whether she should go to a " sociable " 
 ending with a "dance" — a daring innovation of some 
 strangers — at the new hotel, or continue to eschew such 
 follies, that were, according to local belief, unsuited to a 
 "vale of tears." 
 
 Indeed, at this moment the prospect she gazed abstract- 
 edly upon seemed to justify that lugubrious description. 
 The Santa Ana Valley — a long, monotonous level — was 
 dimly visible through moving curtains of rain or veils of 
 mist, to the black mourning edge of the horizon, and had 
 looked like that for months. The valley — in some remote 
 epoch an arm of the San Prancisco Bay — every rainy sea- 
 son seemed to be trying to revert to its original condition, 
 
146 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA AKA VALLEY 
 
 and, long after the early spring had laid on its liberal color 
 in strips, bands, and patches of blue and yellow, the blos- 
 soms of mustard and lupine glistened like wet paint. 
 Nevertheless, on that rich alluvial soil Nature's tears 
 seemed only to fatten the widow's acres and increase her 
 crops. Her neighbors, too, were equally prosperous. Yet 
 for six months of the year the recognized expression of 
 Santa Ana was one of sadness, and for the other six months 
 — of resignation. Mrs. Wade had yielded early to this 
 influence, as she had to others, in the weakness of her gen- 
 tle nature, and partly as it was more becoming the singular 
 tragedy that had made her a widow. 
 
 The late Mr. Wade had been found dead with a bullet 
 through his head in a secluded part of the road over Heavy 
 Tree Hill in Sonora County. Near him lay two other 
 bodies, one afterwards identified as John Stubbs, a resi- 
 dent of the Hill, and probably a traveling companion of 
 Wade's, and the other a noted desperado and highwayman, 
 still masked, as at the moment of the attack. Wade and 
 his companion had probably sold their lives dearly, and 
 against odds, for another mask was found on the ground, 
 indicating that the attack was not single-handed, and as 
 Wade's body had not yet been rifled, it was evident that 
 the remaining highwayman had fled in haste. The hue 
 and cry had been given by apparently the only one of the 
 travelers who escaped, but as he was hastening to take the 
 overland coach to the East at the time, his testimony could 
 not be submitted to the coroner's deliberation. The facts, 
 however, were sufficiently plain for a verdict of willful 
 murder against the highwayman, although it was believed 
 that the absent witness had basely deserted his companion 
 and left him to his fate, or, as was suggested by others, 
 that he might even have been an accomplice. It was this 
 circumstance which protracted comment on the incident, 
 and the sufferings of the widow, far beyond that rapid ob- 
 
A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 147 
 
 literation which usually overtook such affairs in the fever- 
 ish haste of the early days. It caused her to remove to 
 Santa Ana, where her old father had feebly ranched a 
 "quarter section" in the valley. He survived her hus- 
 band only a few months, leaving her the property, and once 
 more in mourning. Perhaps this continuity of woe en- 
 deared her to a neighborhood where distinctive ravages of 
 diphtheria or scarlet fever gave a kind of social preeminence 
 to any household, and she was so sympathetically assisted by 
 her neighbors in the management of the ranch that, from 
 an unkempt and wasteful wilderness, it became paying pro- 
 perty. The slim, willowy figure, soft red-lidded eyes, and 
 deep crape of "Sister Wade" at church or prayer-meeting 
 were grateful to the souls of these gloomy worshipers, and 
 in time she herself found that the arm of these dyspeptics 
 of mind and body was nevertheless strong and sustaining. 
 Small wonder that she should hesitate to-night about plun- 
 ging into inconsistent, even though trifling, frivolities. 
 
 But apart from this superficial reason, there was another 
 instinctive one deep down in the recesses of Mrs. Wade's 
 timid heart which she had kept to herself, and indeed 
 would have tearfully resented had it been offered by an- 
 other. The late Mr. Wade had been, in fact, a singular 
 example of this kind of frivolous existence carried to a 
 man-like excess. Besides being a patron of amusements, 
 Mr. Wade gambled, raced, and drank. He was often home 
 late, and sometimes not at all. Not that this conduct was 
 exceptional in the " roaring days " of Heavy Tree Hill, but 
 it had given Mr.s. Wade perhaps an undue preference for a 
 less uncertain, even if a more serious life. His tragic death 
 was, of course, a kind of martyrdom, which exalted him in 
 the feminine mind to a saintly memory; yet Mrs. Wade 
 was not without a certain relief in that. It was voiced, 
 perhaps crudely, by the widow of Abner Drake in a visit 
 of condolence to the tearful Mrs. Wade a few days after 
 
148 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 Wade's death. "It 's a vale o' sorrow, Mrs. Wade," said 
 the sympathizer, "but it has its ups and downs, and I 
 recken ye '11 he feelin' soon pretty much as I did about 
 A-bner when he was took. It was mighty soothin' and 
 comfortin' to feel that whatever might happen now, I al- 
 ways knew just whar Abner was passin' his nights." Poor 
 slim Mrs. Wade had no disquieting sense of humor to in- 
 terfere with her reception of this large truth, and she ac- 
 cepted it with a burst of reminiscent tears. 
 
 A long volleying shower had just passed down the level 
 landscape, and was followed by a rolling mist from the 
 warm saturated soil like the smoke of the discharge. 
 Through it she could see a faint lightening of the hidden 
 sun, again darkening through a sudden onset of rain, and 
 changing as with her conflicting doubts and resolutions. 
 Thus gazing, she was vaguely conscious of an addition to 
 the landscape in the shape of a man who was passing down 
 the road with a pack on his back like the tramping "pro- 
 spectors " she had often seen at Heavy Tree Hill. That 
 memory apparently settled her vacillating mind; she de- 
 termined she would not go to the dance. But as she was 
 turning away from the window a second figure, a horseman, 
 appeared in another direction by a cross-road, a shorter cut 
 through her domain. This she had no difficulty in recog- 
 nizing as one of the strangers who were getting up the dance. 
 She had noticed him at church on the previous Sunday. 
 As he passed the house he appeared to be gazing at it so 
 earnestly that she drew back from the window lest she 
 should be seen. And then, for no reason whatever, she 
 changed her mind once more, and resolved to go to the 
 dance. Gravely announcing this fact to the wife of hei 
 superintendent, who kept house with her in her loneliness, 
 she thought nothing more about it. She should go in her 
 mourning, with perhaps the addition of a white collar and 
 frill. 
 
A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 149 
 
 It was evident, however, that Santa Ana thought a good 
 deal more than she did of this new idea, which seemed a 
 part of the innovation already begun by the building up of 
 the new hotel. It was argued by some that as the new 
 church and new schoolhouse had been opened by prayer, it 
 was only natural that a lighter festivity should inaugurate 
 the opening of the hotel. " I reckon that dancin' is about 
 the next thing to travelin' for gettin' up an appetite for 
 refreshments, and that 's what the landlord is kalkilatin' 
 to sarve," was the remark of a gloomy but practical citizen 
 on the veranda of "The Valley Emporium." "That 's so," 
 rejoined a bystander; "and I notice on that last box o' 
 pills I got for chills the directions say that a little ' agree- 
 able exercise ' — not too violent — is a great assistance to 
 the working o' the pills." 
 
 "I reckon that 'that Mr. Brooks who 's down here look- 
 in' arter mill property, got up the dance. He 's bin round 
 town canvassin' all the women folks and drummin' up 
 likely gals for it. They say he actooally sent an invite to 
 the Widder Wade," remarked another lounger. "Gosh! 
 he 's got cheek ! " 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said the proprietor judicially, 
 "while we don't intend to hev any minin' camp fandangoes 
 or 'Prisco falals round Santa Any " (Santa Ana was proud 
 of its simple agricultural virtues) " I ain't so hard-shelled 
 as not to give new things a fair trial. And, after all, it 's 
 the women folk that has the say about it. Why, there 's 
 old Miss Ford sez she has n't kicked a fut sence she left 
 Mizoori, but would n't mind trying it ag'in. Ez to Brooks 
 takin' that trouble — well, I suppose it 's along o' his bein' 
 healthy ! " He heaved a deep dyspeptic sigh, which was 
 faintly echoed by the others. "Why, look at him now, 
 ridiu' round on that black boss o' his, in the wet since day- 
 light and not carin' for blind chills or rheumatiz ! " 
 
 He was looking at a serape-draped horseman, the one the 
 
150 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 widow had seen on the previous night, who was now can- 
 tering slowly up the street. Seeing the group on the ve- 
 randa, he rode up, threw himself lightly from his saddle, 
 and joined them. He was an alert, determined, good- 
 looking fellow of about thirty-five, whose smooth, smiling 
 face hardly commended itself to Santa Ana, though his 
 eyes were distinctly sympathetic. He glanced at the de- 
 pressed group around him and became ominously serious. 
 
 " When did it happen ? " he asked gravely. 
 
 " What happen t " said the nearest bystander. 
 
 "The Funeral, Flood, Fight, or Fire. Which of the 
 four F's was it?" 
 
 " What are ye talkin' about 1 " said the proprietor stiffly, 
 scenting some dangerous humor. 
 
 " You," said Brooks promptly. "You 're all standing 
 here, croaking like crows, this fine morning. I passed 
 your farm, Johnson, not an hour ago; the wheat just 
 climbing out of the black adobe mud as thick as rows of 
 pins on paper — what have you to grumble at ? I saw 
 your stock, Briggs, over on Two-Mile Bottom, waddling 
 along, fat as the adobe they were sticking in, their coats 
 shining like fresh paint — what's the matter with you? 
 And," turning to the proprietor, "there 's your shed, 
 Saunders, over on the creek, just bursting with last year's 
 grain that you know has gone up two hundred per cent, 
 since you bought it at a bargain — what are you growling 
 at 1 It 's enough to provoke a fire or a famine to hear you 
 groaning — and take care it don't, some day, as a lesson to 
 you." 
 
 All this was so perfectly true of the prosperous burghers 
 that they could not for a moment reply. But Briggs had 
 recourse to what he believed to be a retaliatory taunt. 
 
 "I heard you 've been askin' Widow Wade to come to 
 your dance," he said, with a wink at the others. "Of 
 course she said ' Yes. ' " 
 
A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 151 
 
 "Of course she did," returned Brooks coolly. "I 've 
 just got her note." 
 
 " What 1 " ejaculated the three men together. " Mrs. 
 Wade comin' 1 " 
 
 "Certainly! Why shouldn't she? And it would do 
 yau good to come too, and shake the limp dampness out o' 
 you," returned Brooks, as he quietly remounted his horse 
 and cantered away. 
 
 "Darned ef I don't think he 's got his eye on the wid- 
 der," said Johnson faintly. 
 
 "Or the quarter section," added Briggs gloomily. 
 
 !For all that, the eventful evening came, with many lights 
 in the staring, undraped windows of the hotel, coldly bright 
 bunting on the still damp walls of the long dining-room, 
 and a gentle downpour from the hidden skies above. A 
 close carryall was especially selected to bring Mrs. Wade 
 and her housekeeper. The widow arrived, looking a little 
 slimmer than usual in her closely buttoned black dress, 
 white collar and cuffs, very glistening in eye and in hair, 
 — whose glossy black ringlets were perhaps more elaborately 
 arranged than was her custom, — and with a faint coming 
 and going of color, due perhaps to her agitation at this ten- 
 tative reentering into worldly life, which was nevertheless 
 quite virginal in effect. A vague solemnity pervaded the 
 introductory proceedings, and a singular want of sociability 
 was visible in the " sociable " part of the entertainment. 
 People talked in whispers or with that grave precision 
 which indicates good manners in rural communities; con- 
 versed painfully with other people whom they did not want 
 to talk to rather than appear to be alone, or rushed aim- 
 lessly together like water drops, and then floated in broken, 
 adherent masses over the floor. The widow became a help- 
 less, religious centre of deacons and Sunday-school teachers, 
 which Brooks, untiring, yet fruitless, in his attempt to pro- 
 duce gayety, tried in vain to oreak. To this gloom the 
 
152 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 untried dangers of the impending dance, duly prefigured 
 by a lonely cottage piano and two violins in a desert of 
 expanse, added a nervous chill. When at last the music 
 struck up — somewhat hesitatingly and protestingly, from 
 the circumstance that the player was the church organist, 
 and fumbled mechanically for his stops, the attempt to 
 make up a cotillion set was left to the heroic Brooks. Yet 
 he barely escaped disaster when, in posing the couples, he 
 incautiously begged them to look a little less as if they 
 were waiting for the coffin to be borne down the aisle be- 
 tween them, and was rewarded by a burst of tears from 
 Mrs. Johnson, who had lost a child two years before, and 
 who had to be led away, while her place in the set was 
 taken by another. Yet the cotillion passed off; a Spanish 
 dance succeeded ; "Moneymusk," with the Virginia Reel, 
 put a slight intoxicating vibration into the air, and healthy 
 youth at last asserted itself in a score of freckled but buxom 
 girls in white muslin, with romping figures and laughter, 
 at the lower end of the room. Still a rigid decorum 
 reigned among the elder dancers, and the figures were 
 called out in grave formality, as if, to Brooks's fancy, they 
 were hymns given from the pulpit, until at the close of the 
 set, in half-real, haH-mock despair, he turned desperately 
 to Mrs. Wade, his partner : — 
 
 "Do you waltz?" 
 
 Mrs. Wade hesitated. She had, before marriage, and 
 ■was a good waltzer. "I do," she said timidly, "but do 
 you think they " — 
 
 But before the poor widow could formulate her fears as 
 to the reception of "round dances," Brooks had darted to 
 the piano, and the next moment she heard with a " fearful 
 joy " the opening bars of a waltz. It was an old Julien 
 waltz, fresh still in the fifties, daring, provocative to foot, 
 swamping to intellect, arresting to judgment, irresistible, 
 supreme! Before Mrs. Wade could protest, Brooks's arm 
 
A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 153 
 
 had gathered up her slim figure, and with one quick hack- 
 ward sweep and swirl they were off ! The floor was cleared 
 for them in a sudden hewilderment of alarm — a suspense 
 of hurning curiosity. The widow's little feet tripped 
 (juickly, her long black skirt swung out; as she turned the 
 corner there was not only a sudden revelation of her pretty 
 ankles, but, what was more startling, a dazzling flash of 
 frilled and laced petticoat, which at once convinced every 
 woman in the room that the act had been premeditated for 
 days ! Yet even that criticism was presently forgotten in 
 the pervading intoxication of the music and the movement. 
 The younger people fell into it with wild rompings, whirl- 
 ings, and clasping of hands and waists. And stranger than 
 all, a corybantic enthusiasm seized upon the emotionally 
 religious, and those priests and priestesses of Cybele who 
 were famous for their frenzy and passion in camp-meeting 
 devotions seemed to find an equal expression that night in 
 the waltz. And when, flushed and panting, Mrs. Wade 
 at last halted on the arm of her partner, they were nearly 
 knocked over by the revolving Johnson and Mrs. Stubbs 
 in a whirl of gloomy exultation ! Deacons and Sunday- 
 school teachers waltzed together until the long room shook, 
 and the very bunting on the walls waved and fluttered with 
 the gyrations of those religious dervishes. Nobody knew 
 : — nobody cared — how long this frenzy lasted; it ceased 
 only with the collapse of the musicians. Then, with much 
 Tague hewilderment, inward trepidation, awkward and in- 
 coherent partings, everybody went dazedly home; there 
 was no other dancing after that — the waltz was the one 
 event of the festival and of the history of Santa Ana. And 
 Irfter that night, when the timid Mrs. Wade, in the seclu- 
 sion of her own room and the disrobing of her slim figure, 
 glanced at her spotless frilled and laced petticoat lying on a 
 (jhair, a faint smile — the first of her widowhood — curved 
 the corners of her pretty mouth. 
 
154 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 A Vfeek of ominous silence regarding the festival suc- 
 ceeded in Santa Ana. The local paper gave the fullest 
 particulars of the opening of the hotel, but contented itseli 
 with saying: "The entertainment concluded with a dance." 
 Mr. Brooks, who felt himself compelled to call upon his 
 late charming partner twice during the week, characteristic- 
 ally soothed her anxieties as to the result. " The fact of it 
 is, Mrs. Wade, there 's really nobody in particular to blame 
 — and that 's what gets them. They 're all mixed up in 
 it, deacons and Sunday-school teachers; and when old 
 Johnson tried to be nasty the other evening and hoped you 
 had n't suffered from your exertions that night, I told him 
 you had n't quite recovered yet from the physical shock of 
 having been run into by him and Mrs. Stubbs, but that, 
 you being a lady, you did n't tell just how you felt at the 
 exhibition he and she made of themselves. That shut him 
 up." 
 
 "But you shouldn't have said that," said Mrs. Wade 
 with a frightened little smile. 
 
 "No matter," returned Brooks cheerfully. "I '11 take 
 the blame of it with the others. You see they '11 have to 
 have a scapegoat — and I 'm just the man, for I got up the 
 dance ! And as I 'm going away, I suppose I shall bear off 
 the sin with me into the wilderness." 
 
 "You're going away?" repeated Mrs. Wade in more 
 genuine concern. 
 
 "Not for long," returned Brooks laughingly. "I cam* 
 here to look up a mill site, and I 've found it. Meantime 
 I think I 've opened their eyes." 
 
 "You have opened mine," said the widow with timid 
 frankness. 
 
 They were soft pretty eyes when opened, in spite of 
 ftieir heavy red lids, and Mr. Brooks thought that Santa 
 Ana would be no worse if they remained open. Possibly 
 he looked it, for Mrs. Wade said hurriedly, " I mean — that 
 
A "WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 155 
 
 is — I've been thinking that life needn't always be as 
 gloomy as we make it here. And even here, you know, 
 Mr. Brooks, we have six months' sunshine — though we 
 always forget it in the rainy season." 
 
 "That's so," said Brooks cheerfully. "I once lost a 
 heap of money through my own foolishness, and I 've man- 
 aged to forget it, and I even reckon to get it back again 
 out of Santa Ana if my mill speculation holds good. So 
 good-by, Mrs. Wade — but not for long. " He shook her 
 hand frankly and departed, leaving the widow conscious of 
 a certain sympathetic confidence and a little grateful for — 
 she knew not what. 
 
 This feeling remained with her most of the afternoon, 
 and even imparted a certain gayety to her spirits, to the 
 extent of causing her to hum softly to herself; the air 
 being oddly enough the Julien Waltz. And when, later 
 in the day, the shadows were closing in with the rain, 
 word was brought to her that a stranger wished to see her 
 in the sitting-room, she carried a less mournful mind to 
 this function of her existence. For Mrs. Wade was ac- 
 customed to give audience to traveling agents, tradesmen, 
 working-hands, and servants, as chatelaine of her ranch, 
 and the occasion was not novel. Yet, on entering the 
 room, which she used partly as an office, she found some 
 difficulty in classifying the stranger, who at first glance re- 
 minded her of the tramping miner she had seen that night 
 from her window. He was rather incongruously dressed, 
 some articles of his apparel being finer than others; he 
 wore a diamond pin in a scarf folded over a rough "hick- 
 ory " shirt ; his light trousers were tucked in common min- 
 ing boots that bore stains of travel and a suggestion that he 
 had slept in his clothes. What she could see of his un- 
 shaven face in that uncertain light expressed a kind of 
 dogged concentration, overlaid by an assumption of ease. 
 He got up as she came in, and with a slight " How do. 
 
156 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 ma'am," shut the door behind her, and glanced furtively 
 around the room. 
 
 "What I 've got to say to ye, Mrs. Wade, —as I reckon 
 you be, — is strictly private and confidential! Why, ye '11 
 see afore I get through. But I thought I might just as 
 well caution ye agin our being disturbed." 
 
 Overcoming a slight instinct of repulsion, Mrs. Wade 
 returned, " You can speak to me here ; no one will interrupt 
 you — unless I call them," she added with a little feminine 
 caution. 
 
 "And I reckon ye won't do that," he said with a grim 
 smile. "You are the widow o' Pulaski Wade, late o' 
 Heavy Tree Hill, I reckon?" 
 
 "I am," said Mrs. Wade. 
 
 "And your husband 's buried up thar in the graveyard, 
 with a monument over him setting forth his virtues ez a 
 Christian and a square man and a high-minded citizen? 
 And that he was foully murdered by highwaymen ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Wade, "that is the inscription." 
 
 "Well, ma'am, a bigger pack o' lies never was cut on 
 stone ! " 
 
 Mrs. Wade rose, half in indignation, half in terror. 
 
 "Keep your sittin'," said the stranger, with a warning 
 wave of his hand. "Wait till I 'm through, and then you 
 call in the hull State o' Californy, ef ye want." 
 
 The stranger's manner was so doggedly confident that 
 Mrs. Wade sank back tremblingly in her chair. The man 
 put his slouch hat on his knee, twirled it round once or 
 twice, and then said with the same stubborn deliberation : — 
 
 " The highwayman in that business was your husband — 
 Pulaski Wade — and his gang, and he was killed by one o' 
 the men he was robbin'. Ye see, ma'am, it used to be 
 your husband's little game to rope in three or four strangers 
 in a poker deal at Spanish Jim's saloon — I see you 've 
 heard o' the place," he interpolated as Mrs. Wade drew 
 
A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 157 
 
 back suddenly — "and when he couldn't clean 'em out in 
 that way, or they showed a little more money than they 
 played, he 'd lay for 'em with his gang in a lone part of 
 the trail, and go through them like any road agent. That 's 
 what he did that night — and that 's how he got killed." 
 
 " How do you know this 1 " said Mrs. Wade, with quiv- 
 ering lips. 
 
 "I was one o' the men he went through before he was 
 killed. And I 'd hev got my money back, but the rest o' 
 the gang came up, and I got away jest in time to save my 
 life and nothin' else. Ye might remember thar was one 
 man got away and giv' the alarm, but he was goin' on to 
 the States by the overland coach that night and could n't 
 stay to be a witness. I was that man. I had paid my 
 passage through, and I could n't lose that too with my 
 other money, so I went." 
 
 Mrs. Wade sat stunned. She remembered the missing 
 ffitness, and how she had longed to see the man who was 
 last with her husband; she remembered Spanish Jim's 
 saloon — his well-known haunt ; his frequent and unac- 
 countable absences, the sudden influx of money which he 
 always said he had won at cards; the diamond ring he had 
 given her as the result of " a bet ; " the forgotten recurrence 
 of other robberies by a secret masked gang ; a hundred other 
 things that had worried her, instinctively, vaguely. She 
 knew now, too, the meaning of the unrest that had driven 
 her from Heavy Tree Hill — the strange unformulated fears 
 that had haunted her even here. Yet, with all this she 
 felt, too, her present weakness — knew that this man had 
 taken her at a disadvantage, that she ought to indignantly 
 assert herself, deny everything, demand proof, and brand 
 him a slanderer! 
 
 " How did — you — know it was my husband ? " she 
 stammered. 
 
 " His mask fell ofi' in the fight ; you know another mask 
 
158 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 was found — it was his. I saw him as plainly as I see him 
 there ! " he pointed to a daguerreotype of her husband which 
 stood upon her desk. 
 
 Mrs. Wade could only stare vacantly, hopelessly. After 
 a pause the man continued in a less aggressive manner and 
 more confidential tone, which, however, only increased her 
 terror. "I ain't say in' that you knowed anything about 
 this, ma'am, and whatever other folks might say when they 
 know of it, I '11 allers say that you did n't." 
 
 " What, then, did you come here for ? " said the widow 
 desperately. 
 
 " What do I come here for ? " repeated the man grimly, 
 looking around the room; "what did I come to this yer 
 comfortable home — this yer big ranch and to a rich woman 
 like yourself for? Well, Mrs. Wade, I come to get the 
 six hundred dollars your husband robbed me of, that 's all! 
 I ain't askin' more! I ain't askin' interest! I ain't askin' 
 compensation for havin' to run for my life — and," again 
 looking grimly round the walls, "I ain't askin' more than 
 you will give — or is my rights. " 
 
 "But this house never was his; it was my father's," 
 gasped Mrs. Wade; "you have no right" — 
 
 "Mebbe 'yes' and mebbe 'no,' Mrs. Wade," inter- 
 rupted the man, with a wave of his hat; "but how about 
 them two checks to bearer for two hundred dollars each 
 found among your husband's effects, and collected by your 
 lawyer for you — my checks, Mrs. Wade ? " 
 
 A wave of dreadful recollection overwhelmed her. She 
 remembered the checks found upon her husband's body, 
 known only to her and her lawyer, believed to be gambling 
 gains, and collected at once under his legal advice. Yet 
 she made one more desperate effort in spite of the instinct 
 that told her he was speaking the truth. 
 
 "But you shall have to prove it — before witnesses." 
 
 " Do you want me to prove it before witnesses ! " said 
 
A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 159 
 
 the man, coming nearer her. "Do you want to take my 
 ■word and keep it between ourselves, or do you want to call 
 in your superintendent and his men, and all Santy Any, to 
 hear me prove your husband was a highwayman, thief, and 
 murderer ? Do you want to knock over that monument on 
 Heavy Tree Hill, and upset your standing here among the 
 deacons and elders 1 Do you want to do all this and be 
 forced, even by your neighbors, to pay me in the end, as 
 you will? Ef you do, call in your witnesses, now, and 
 let 's have it over. Mebbe it would look better ef I got 
 the money out of your friends than ye — a woman ! P'raps 
 you 're right ! " 
 
 He made a step towards the door, but she stopped 
 him. 
 
 "No! no! wait! It 's a large sum — I have n't it with 
 me," she stammered, thoroughly beaten. 
 
 "Ye kin get it." • 
 
 " Give me time ! " she implored. " Look ! I '11 give you 
 a hundred down now, — all I have here, — the rest another 
 time ! " She nervously opened a drawer of her desk and 
 taking out a buckskin bag of gold thrust it in his hand. 
 " There ! go away now ! " She lifted her thin hands de- 
 spairingly to her head. " Go ! do ! " 
 
 The man seemed struck by her manner. "I don't want 
 to be hard on a woman," he said slowly. "I '11 go now 
 and come back again at nine to-night. You can git tha 
 money, or what 's as good, a check to bearer, by then. 
 And ef ye '11 take my advice, you won't ask no advice from 
 others, ef you want to keep your secret. Just now it 's 
 safe with me ; I 'm a square man, ef I seem to be a hard 
 one." He made a gesture as if to take her hand, but as 
 she drew shrinkingly away, he changed it to an awkward 
 bow, and the next moment was gone. 
 
 She started to her feet, but the unwonted strain upon 
 her nerves and frail body had been greater than she knew. 
 
160 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 She made a step forward, felt the room whirl round het 
 and then seem to collapse beneath her feet, and, clutching 
 at her chair, sank back into it, fainting. 
 
 How long she lay there she never knew. She was at 
 last conscious of some one bending over her, and a voice — 
 the voice of Mr. Brooks — in her ear, saying, " I beg your 
 pardon ; you seem ill. Shall I call some one ? " 
 
 "No!" she gasped, quickly recovering herself with an 
 effort, and staring round her. " Where is — when did you 
 come in 1 " 
 
 "Only this moment. I was leaving to-night, sooner 
 than I expected, and thought I 'd say good-by. They told 
 me that you had been engaged with a stranger, but he had 
 just gone. I beg your pardon — I see you are iU. I 
 won't detain you any longer." 
 
 "No! no! don't go! I am better — better," she said 
 feverishly. As she glanced at his strong and sympathetic 
 face a wild idea seized her. He was a stranger here, an 
 alien to these people, like herself. The advice that she 
 dare not seek from others, from her half-estranged religious 
 friends, from even her superintendent and his wife, dare 
 she ask from him 1 Perhaps he saw this frightened doubt, 
 this imploring appeal, in her eyes, for he said gently, "Is 
 it anything I can do for you 1 " 
 
 "Yes," she said, with the sudden desperation of weak- 
 ness; "I want you to keep a secret." 
 
 " Yours 1 — yes ! " he said promptly. 
 
 Whereat poor Mrs. Wade instantly burst into tears. 
 Then, amidst her sobs, she told him of the stranger's visit, 
 of his terrible accusations, of his demands, his expected 
 return, and her own utter helplessness. To her terror, as 
 she went on she saw a singular change in his kind face ; he 
 was following her with hard, eager intensity. She had half 
 hoped, even through her fateful instincts, that he might 
 have laughed, man-like, at her fears, or pooh-poohed the 
 
A "WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 161 
 
 whole thing. But he did not. " You say he positivelj 
 recognized your husband ? " he repeated quickly. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " sobbed the widow, " and knew that daguerre 
 otype ! " she pointed to the desk. 
 
 Brooks turned quickly in that direction. Luckily his 
 back was towards her, and she could not see his face, and 
 the quick, startled look that came into his eyes. But when 
 they again met hers it was gone, and even their eager in- 
 tensity had changed to a gentle commiseration. "You have 
 only his word for it, Mrs. Wade," he said gently, "and in 
 telling your secret to another, you have shorn the rascal of 
 half his power over you. And he knew it. Now, dismiss 
 the matter from your mind and leave it all to me. I will 
 be here a few minutes before nine — and alone in this 
 room. Let your visitor be shown in here, and don't let 
 us be disturbed. Don't be alarmed," he added with a faint 
 twinkle in his eye, "there will be no fuss and no ex- 
 posure ! " 
 
 It lacked a few minutes of nine when Mr. Brooks was 
 ushered into the sitting-room. As soon as he was alone he 
 quietly examined the door and the windows, and having 
 satisfied himself, took his seat in a chair casually placed 
 behind the door. Presently he heard the sound of voices 
 and a heavy footstep in the passage. He lightly felt his 
 waistcoat pocket — it contained a pretty little weapon of 
 power and precision, with a barrel scarcely two inches long. 
 
 The door opened, and the person outside entered the 
 room. In an instant Brooks had shut the door and locked 
 it behind him. The man turned fiercely, but was faced by 
 Brooks quietly, with one finger calmly hooked in his waist- 
 coat pocket. The man slightly recoiled from him — not as 
 much from fear as from some vague stupefaction. "What 's 
 that for? What's your little game ? " he said half con- 
 temptuously. 
 
162 A WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 
 
 "No game at all," returned Brooks coolly. "You came 
 nere to sell a secret. I don't propose to have it given away 
 first to any listener." 
 
 " You don't — who are you ? " 
 
 " That 's a queer question to ask of the man you are try- 
 ing to personate — hut I don't wonder! You 're doing it 
 d d badly." 
 
 "Personate — you ? " said the stranger, with staring eyes. 
 
 "Yes, me," said Brooks quietly. "I am the only man 
 who escaped from the robbery that night at Heavy Tree 
 HiU and who went home by the Overland Coach." 
 
 The stranger stared, but recovered himself with a coarse 
 laugh. " Oh, well ! we 're on the same lay, it appears ! 
 Both after the widow — afore we show up her husband." 
 
 "Not exactly," said Brooks, with his eyes fixed intently 
 on the stranger. " You are here to denounce a highway- 
 man who is dead and escaped justice. I am here to de- 
 nounce one who is living ! — Stop ! drop your hand; it 's 
 no use. You thought you had to deal only with a woman 
 to-night, and your revolver is n't quite handy enough. 
 There ! do wn ! — do wn ! So ! That ' 11 do. " 
 
 "You can't prove it," said the man hoarsely. 
 
 "Fool! In your story to that woman you have given 
 yourself away. There were but two travelers attacked by 
 the highwayman. One was killed — I am the other. 
 Where do you come in 1 What witness can you be — ex- 
 cept as the highwayman that you are! Who is left to 
 identify Wade but — his accomplice ! " 
 
 The man's suddenly whitened face made his unshaven 
 heard seem to bristle over his face like some wild animal's. 
 "Well, ef you kalkilate to blow me, you 've got to blow 
 Wade and his widder, too. Jest you remember that," he 
 said whiningly. 
 
 "I 've thought of that," said Brooks coolly, "and I cal- 
 culate that to prevent it is worth about that hundred dol- 
 
A "WIDOW OF THE SANTA ANA VALLEY 163 
 
 lars you got from that poor woman — and no more ! Now, 
 sit down at that table, and write as I dictate." 
 
 The man looked at him in wonder, but obeyed. 
 
 " Write," said Brooks, " ' I hereby certify that my accu- 
 sations against the late Pulaski Wade of Heavy Tree HiU. 
 are erroneous and groundless, and the result of mistaken 
 identity, especially in regard to any complicity of his in the 
 robbery of John Stubbs, deceased, and Henry Brooks, at 
 Heavy Tree Hill, on the night of the 13th August, 1854.' " 
 
 The man looked up with a repulsive smile. "Who's 
 the fool now, Cap'n? What 's become of your hold on the 
 widder, now ? " 
 
 "Write! " said Brooks fiercely. 
 
 The sound of a pen hurriedly scratching paper followed 
 this first outburst of the quiet Brooks. 
 
 "Sign it," said Brooks. 
 
 The man signed it. 
 
 "Now go," said Brooks, unlocking the door, "but re- 
 member, if you should ever be inclined to revisit Santa 
 Ana, you will find me living here also." 
 
 The man slunk out of the door and into the passage like 
 a wild animal returning to the night and darkness. Brooks 
 took up the paper, rejoined Mrs. Wade in the parlor, and 
 laid it before her. 
 
 "But," said the widow, trembling even in her joy, "do 
 you — do you think he was really mistaken ! " 
 
 "Positive," said Brooks coolly. "It 's true it 's a mis- 
 take that has cost you a hundred dollars, but there are some 
 mistakes that are worth that to be kept quiet." 
 
 They were married a year later; but there is no record 
 that in after years of conjugal relations with a weak, charm, 
 ing, but sometimes trying woman, Henry Brooks was ever 
 tempted to tell her the whole truth of the robbery of Heavy 
 Tree Hill. 
 
THE MEEMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 Some forty years ago, on the northern coast of California, 
 near the Golden Gate, stood a lighthouse. Of a primitive 
 class, since superseded by a building more in keeping with 
 the growing magnitude of the adjacent port, it attracted 
 little attention from the desolate shore, and, it was alleged, 
 still less from the desolate sea beyond. A gray structure 
 of timber, stone, and glass, it was buffeted and harried by 
 the constant trade winds, baked by the unclouded six 
 months' sun, lost for a few hours in the afternoon sea-fog, 
 and laughed over by circling guillemots from the Farallones. 
 It was kept by a recluse — a preoccupied man of scientific 
 tastes, who, in shameless contrast to his fellow immigrants, 
 had applied to the government for this scarcely lucrative 
 position as a means of securing the seclusion he valued 
 more than gold. Some believed that he was the victim of 
 an early disappointment in love — a view charitably taken 
 by those who also believed that the government would not 
 have appointed " a crank " to a position of responsibility. 
 Howbeit, he fulfilled his duties, and, with the assistance of 
 an Indian, even cultivated a small patch of ground beside 
 the lighthouse. His isolation was complete! There was 
 little to attract wanderers here : the nearest mines were fifty 
 miles away ; the virgin forest on the mountains inland were 
 penetrated only by sawmills and woodmen from the Bay 
 settlements, equally remote. Although by the shore-line 
 the lights of the great port were sometimes plainly visible, 
 yet the solitude around him was peopled only by Indians, 
 — a branch of the great northern tribe of " root-diggers," -^ 
 
THE MEKMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 165 
 
 peaceful and simple in their habits, as yet undisturbed by 
 the white man, nor stirred into antagonism by aggression. 
 Civilization only touched him at stated intervals, and then 
 by the more expeditious sea from the government boat that 
 brought him supplies. But for his contiguity to the per- 
 petual turmoil of v^ind and sea, he might have passed a rest- 
 ful Arcadian life in his surroundings; for even his solitude 
 ■was sometimes haunted by this faint reminder of the great 
 port hard by that pulsated with an equal unrest. Never- 
 theless, the sands before his door and the rocks behind him 
 seemed to have been untrodden by any other white man's 
 foot since their upheaval from the ocean. It was true that 
 the little bay beside him was marked on the map as "Sir 
 Francis Drake's Bay," tradition having located it as the spot 
 where that ingenious pirate and empire-maker had once 
 landed his vessels and scraped the barnacles from his adven- 
 turous keels. But of this Edgar Pomfrey — or " Captain 
 Pomfrey, " as he was called by virtue of his half-nautical 
 office — had thought little. 
 
 For the first six months he had thoroughly enjoyed his 
 seclusion. In the company of his books, of which he had 
 brought such a fair store that their shelves lined his snug 
 corners to the exclusion of more comfortable furniture, he 
 found his principal recreation. Even his unwonted manual 
 labor, the trimming of his lamp and cleaning of his reflec- 
 tors, and his personal housekeeping, in which his Indian 
 help at times assisted, he found a novel and interesting oc- 
 cupation. For outdoor exercise, a ramble on the sands, a 
 climb to the rocky upland, or a pull in the lighthouse boat, 
 amply sufficed him. " Crank " as he was supposed to be, 
 he was sane enough to guard against any of those early 
 lapses into barbarism which marked the lives of some soli- 
 tary gold-miners. His own taste, as well as the duty of 
 his office, kept his person and habitation sweet and clean, 
 and his habits regular. Even the little cultivated patch of 
 
166 THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 ground on the lee side of the tower was symmetrical and 
 well ordered. Thus the outward light of Captain Pomfrey 
 shone forth over the wilderness of shore and wave, even 
 like his heacon, whatever his inward illumination may have 
 been. 
 
 It was a bright summer morning, remarkable even in the 
 monotonous excellence of the season, with a slight touch of 
 warmth which the invincible Northwest Trades had not yet 
 chilled. There was still a faint haze off the coast, as if last 
 night's fog had been caught in the quick sunshine, and the 
 shining sands were hot, but without the usual dazzling glare. 
 A faint perfume from a quaint lilac-colored beach-flower, 
 whose clustering heads dotted the sand like bits of blown 
 spume, took the place of that smell of the sea which the 
 odorless Pacific lacked. A few rocks, half a mile away, 
 lifted themselves above the ebb tide at varying heights as 
 they lay on the trough of the swell, were crested with foam 
 by a striking surge, or cleanly erased in the full sweep of 
 the sea. Beside, and partly upon one of the higher rocks, 
 a singular object was moving. 
 
 Pomfrey was interested but not startled. He had once 
 or twice seen seals disporting on these rocks, and on one 
 occasion a sea-lion, — an estray from the familiar rocks on 
 the other side of the Golden Gate. But he ceased work in 
 his garden patch, and coming to his house, exchanged his 
 hoe ioT a telescope. When he got the mystery in focus he 
 suddenly stopped and rubbed the object-glass with his hand- 
 kerchief. But even when he applied the glass to his eye 
 for a second time, he could scarcely believe his eyesight. 
 For the object seemed to be a woman, the lower part of 
 her figure submerged in the sea, her long hair depending 
 over her shoulders and waist. There was nothing in her 
 attitude to suggest terror or that she was the victim of some 
 accident. She moved slowly and complacently with the 
 sea, and even — a more staggering suggestion — appeared 
 
THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 167 
 
 to be combing out the strands of her long hair with her 
 fingers. With her body half concealed she might have been 
 a mermaid ! 
 
 He swept the foreshore and horizon with his glass; there 
 was neither boat nor ship — nor anything that moved, ex- 
 cept the long swell of the Pacific. She could have come 
 only from the sea; for to reach the rocks by land she 
 would have had to pass before the lighthouse, while the 
 narrow strip of shore which curved northward beyond his 
 range of view he knew was inhabited only by Indians. 
 But the woman was unhesitatingly and appallingly white, 
 and her hair light even to a golden gleam in the sunshine. 
 
 Pomfrey was a gentleman, and as such was amazed, dis- 
 mayed, and cruelly embarrassed. If she was a simple 
 bather from some vicinity hitherto unknown and unsus- 
 pected by him, it was clearly his business to shut up his 
 glass and go back to his garden patch — although the pro- 
 pinquity of himself and the lighthouse must have been as 
 plainly visible to her as she was to him. On the other 
 hand, if she was the survivor of some wreck and in distress 
 — or, as he even fancied from her reckless manner, bereft 
 of her senses, his duty to rescue her was equally clear. In 
 his dilemma he determined upon a compromise and ran to 
 his boat. He would pull out to sea, pass between the rocks 
 and the curving sand-spit, and examine the sands and sea 
 more closely for signs of wreckage, or some overlooked 
 waiting boat near the shore. He would be within hail if 
 she needed him, or she could escape to her boat if she had 
 one. 
 
 In another moment his boat was lifting on the swell 
 towards the rocks. He pulled quickly, occasionally turn- 
 ing to note that the strange figure, whose movements were 
 quite discernible to the naked eye, was still there, but gaz- 
 ing more earnestly towards the nearest shore for any sign 
 ot lite or occupation. In ten minutes he had reached tha 
 
168 THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 curve where the trend opened northward, and the long line 
 of shore stretched before him. He swept it eagerly with a 
 single searching glance. Sea and shore were empty. He 
 turned quickly to the rock, scarcely a hundred yards on his 
 beam. It was empty, too ! Forgetting his previous scru- 
 ples, he pulled directly for it until his keel grated on its 
 submerged base. There was nothing there but the rock, 
 slippery with the yellow-green slime of seaweed and kelp 
 — neither trace nor sign of the figure that had occupied it 
 a moment ago. He pulled around it; there was no cleft or 
 hiding-place. For an instant his heart leaped at the sight 
 of something white, caught in a jagged tooth of the outly- 
 ing reef, but it was only the bleached fragment of a bam- 
 boo orange-crate, cast from the deck of some South Sea 
 trader, such as often strewed the beach. He lay off the 
 rock, keeping way in the swell, and scrutinizing the glit- 
 tering sea. At last he pulled back to the lighthouse, per- 
 plexed and discomfited. 
 
 Was it simply a sporting seal, transformed by some trick 
 of his vision 1 But he had seen it through his glass, and now 
 remembered such details as the face and features framed in 
 their contour of golden hair, and believed he could even 
 have identified them. He examined the rock again with 
 his glass, and was surprised to see how clearly it was out- 
 lined now in its barren loneliness. Yet he must have been 
 mistaken. His scientific and accurate mind allowed of no 
 errant fancy, and he had always sneered at the marvelous 
 as the result of hasty or superficial observation. He was a 
 little worried at this lapse of his healthy accuracy, — fearing 
 that it might be the result of his seclusion and loneliness, 
 ■ — akin to the visions of the recluse and solitary. It wap 
 strange, too, that it should take the shape of a woman ; for 
 Edgar Pomfrey had a story — the usual old and foolish one. 
 
 Then his thoughts took a lighter phase, and he turned 
 to the memory of his books, and finally to the books them- 
 
THE MERMAID OP LIGHTHOUSE POINT 169 
 
 selves. From a shelf he picked out a volume of old voy- 
 ages, and turned to a remembered passage: "In other seas 
 doe abound marvells soche as Sea Spyders of the bigness of 
 a pinnace, the wich they have been known to attack and 
 destroy ; Sea Vypers ■which reach to the top of a goodly 
 maste, whereby they are able to draw marinners from the 
 rigging by the suction of their breathes; and Devill JFyshe, 
 which vomit fire by night, which makyth the sea to shine 
 prodigiously, and mermaydes. They are half fyshe and 
 half mayde of grate Beauty, and have been seen of divers 
 godly and creditable witnesses swymming beside rocks, hid- 
 den to their waist in the sea, combing of their hayres, to 
 the help of whych they carry a small mirrore of the bigness 
 of their fingers." Pomfrey laid the book aside with a faint 
 smile. To even this credulity he might come ! 
 
 Nevertheless, he used the telescope again that day. But 
 there was no repetition of the incident, and he was forced 
 to believe that he had been the victim of some extraordinary 
 illusion. The next morning, however, with his calmer 
 judgment doubts began to visit him. There was no one of 
 whom he could make inquiries but his Indian helper, and 
 their conversation had usually been restricted to the lan- 
 guage of signs or the use of a few words he had picked up. 
 He contrived, however, to ask if there was a "waugee" 
 (white) woman in the neighborhood. The Indian shook 
 his head in surprise. There was no " waugee " nearer than 
 the remote mountain-ridge to which he pointed. Pomfrey 
 was obliged to be content with this. Even had his vo- 
 cabulary been larger, he would as soon have thought of 
 revealing the embarrassing secret of this woman, whom he 
 believed to be of his own race, to a mere barbarian as he 
 would of asking him to verify his own impressions by al- 
 lowing him to look at her that morning. The next day, 
 however, something happened which forced him to resume 
 his inquiries. He was rowing around the curving spot 
 
170 THE MERMAID OIT LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 when he saw a number of black objects on the northern 
 sands moving in and out of the surf, which he presently 
 made out as Indians. A nearer approach satisfied him that 
 they were wading squaws and children gathering seaweed 
 and shells. He would have pushed his acquaintance still 
 nearer, but as his boat rounded the point, with one accord 
 they all scuttled away like frightened sandpipers. Pomfrey, 
 on his return, asked his Indian retainer if they could swim. 
 " Oh, yes ! " "As far as the rock ? " " Yes. " Yet Pom- 
 frey was not satisfied. The color of his strange apparition 
 remained unaccounted for, and it was not that of an Indian 
 woman. 
 
 Trifling events linger long in a monotonous existence, 
 and it was nearly a week before Pomfrey gave up his daily 
 telescopic inspection of the rock. Then he fell back upon 
 his books again, and, oddly enough, upon another volume 
 of voyages, and so chanced upon the account of Sir Francis 
 Drake's occupation of the bay before him. He had always 
 thought it strange that the great adventurer had left no 
 trace or sign of his sojourn there; still stranger that he 
 should have overlooked the presence of gold, known even 
 to the Indians themselves, and have lost a discovery far 
 beyond his wildest dreams and a treasure to which the car- 
 goes of those Philippine galleons he had more or less suc- 
 cessfully intercepted were trifles. Had the restless explorer 
 been content to pace those dreary sands during three weeks 
 of inactivity, with no thought of penetrating the inland for- 
 ests behind the range, or of even entering the nobler bay 
 beyond 1 Or was the location of the spot a mere tradition 
 as wild and unsupported as the " marvells " of the other 
 volume? Pomfrey had the skepticism of the scientific, 
 inquiring mind. 
 
 Two weeks had passed and he was returning from a long 
 climb inland, when he stopped to rest in his descent to the 
 sea. The panorama of the shore was before him, from its 
 
THE MEFMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 171 
 
 uttermost limit to the liglithouse on the northern point. 
 The sun was still one hour high, it would take him about 
 that time to reach home. But from this coign of vantage 
 he could see — what he had not before observed — that 
 what he had always believed was a little cove on the north- 
 ern shore was really the estuary of a small stream which 
 rose near him and eventually descended into the ocean at 
 that point. He could also see that beside it was a long, 
 low erection of some kind, covered with thatched brush, 
 which looked like a " barrow, " yet showed signs of habita- 
 tion in the slight smoke that rose from it and drifted inland. 
 It was not far out of his way, and he resolved to return in 
 that direction. On his way down he once or twice heard 
 the barking of an Indian dog, and knew that he must be 
 in the vicinity of an encampment. A camp-fire, with the 
 ashes yet warm, proved that he was on the trail of one of 
 the nomadic tribes, but the declining sun warned him to 
 hasten home to his duty. When he at last reached the 
 estuary, he found that the building beside it was little else 
 than a long hut, whose thatched and mud-plastered mound- 
 like roof gave it the appearance of a cave. Its single open- 
 ing and entrance abutted on the water's edge, and the smoke 
 he had noticed rolled through this entrance from a smoul- 
 dering fire within. Pomfrey had little difficulty in recog- 
 nizing the purpose of this strange structure from the ac- 
 counts he had heard from "loggers " of the Indian customs. 
 The cave was a "sweat-house" — a calorific chamber in 
 which the Indians closely shut themselves, naked, with a 
 " umudge " or smouldering fire of leaves, until, perspiring 
 and half suffocated, they rushed from the entrance and 
 threw themselves into the water before it. The still 
 smouldering fire told him that the house had been used 
 that morning, and he made no doubt that the Indians were 
 ijiicamped near by. He would have liked to pursue his 
 lasearches further, but he found he had already trespassed 
 
172 THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 upon his remaining time, and he turned somewhat abruptly 
 away, — so abruptlj', in fact, that a ligure, which had evi- 
 dently been cautiously following him at a distance, had not 
 time to get away. His heart leaped with astonishment. 
 It was the woman he had seen on the rock. 
 
 Although her native dress now only disclosed her head 
 and hands, there was no doubt about her color, and it was 
 distinctly white, save for the tanning of exposure and a 
 slight red ochre marking on her low forehead. And her 
 hair, long and unkempt as it was, showed that he had not 
 erred in his first impression of it. It was a tawny flaxen, 
 with fainter bleachings where the sun had touched it most. 
 Her eyes were of a clear Northern blue. Her dress, which 
 was quite distinctive in that it was neither the cast-off 
 finery of civilization nor the cheap "government" flannels 
 and calicoes usually worn by the Californian tribes, was 
 purely native, and of fringed deerskin, and consisted of a 
 long, loose skirt and leggings worked with bright feathers 
 and colored shells. A necklace, also of shells and fancy 
 pebbles, hung round her neck. She seemed to be a fnlly 
 developed woman, in spite of the girlishness of her flow- 
 ing hair, and notwithstanding the shapeless length of her 
 gaberdine-like garment, taller than the ordinary squaw. 
 
 Pomfrey saw all this in a single flash of perception, for 
 the next instant she was gone, disappearing behind the 
 sweat-house. He ran after her, catching sight of her again, 
 half doubled up, in the characteristic Indian trot, dodging 
 around rocks and low bushes as she fled along the banks of 
 the stream. But for her distinguishing hair, she looked in 
 her flight like an ordinary frightened squaw. This, which 
 gave a sense of unmanliness and ridicule to his own pursuit 
 of her, with the fact that his hour of duty was drawing 
 near and he was still far from the lighthouse, checked him 
 in full career, and he turned regretfully away. He had 
 called after her at first, and she had not heeded him. 
 
THE MEEMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 173 
 
 What he would have said to her he did not know. He 
 hastened home discomfited, even embarrassed — yet ex- 
 cited to a degree he had not deemed possible in himself. 
 
 During the morning his thoughts were full of her. The- 
 ory after theory for her strange existence there he examined 
 and dismissed. His first thought, that she was a white 
 woman — some settler's wife — masquerading in Indian 
 garb, he abandoned when he saw her moving; no white 
 woman could imitate that Indian trot, nor would remember 
 to attempt it if she were frightened. The idea that she 
 was a captive white, held by the Indians, became ridiculous 
 when he thought of the nearness of civilization and the 
 peaceful, timid character of the " digger " tribes. That she 
 was some unfortunate demented creature who had escaped 
 from her keeper and wandered into the wilderness, a glance 
 at her clear, frank, intelligent, curious eyes had contradicted. 
 There was but one theory left — the most sensible and prac- 
 tical one — that she was the offspring of some white man 
 and Indian squaw. Yet this he found, oddly enough, the 
 least palatable to his fancy. And the few half-breeds he 
 had seen were not at all like her. 
 
 The next morning he had recourse to his Indian retainer, 
 ' ' Jim. " With infinite diificulty, protraction, and not a little 
 embarrassment, he finally made him understand that he had 
 seen a ''white squaw" near t^e "sweat-house," and that 
 he wanted to know more about her. With equal difficulty 
 Jim finally recognized the fact of the existence of such a 
 person, but immediately afterwards shook his head in ar 
 emphatic negation. With greater difficulty and greate 
 mortification Pomfrey presently ascertained that Jim's 
 negative referred to a supposed abduction of the woman 
 which he understood that his employer seriously contem- 
 plated. But he also learned that she was a real Indian, 
 and that there were three or four others like her, male and 
 female, in that vicinity, that from a "skeena mowitch" 
 
174 THE MEEMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 (little baby) they were all like that, and that their parents 
 ■were of the same color, but never a white or " waugee " 
 man or woman among them ; that they were looked upon 
 as a distinct and superior caste of Indians, and enjoyed cer- 
 tain privileges with the tribe; that they superstitiously 
 avoided white men, of whom they had the greatest fear, 
 and that they were protected in this by the other Indians; 
 that it was marvelous and almost beyond belief that Pom- 
 frey had been able to see one, for no other white man had, 
 or was even aware of their existence. 
 
 How much of this he actually understood, how much of 
 it was lying and due to Jim's belief that he wished to 
 abduct the fair stranger, Pomf rey was unable to determine. 
 There was enough, however, to excite his curiosity strongly 
 and occupy his mind to the exclusion of his books — save 
 one. Among his smaller volumes he had found a travel 
 book of the "Chinook Jargon," with a lexicon of many of 
 the words commonly used by the Northern Pacific tribes. 
 An hour or two's trial with the astonished Jim gave him 
 an increased vocabulary and a new occupation. Each day 
 the incongruous pair took a lesson from the lexicon. In a 
 week Pomfrey felt he would be able to accost the mysteri- 
 ous stranger. But he did not again surprise her in any of 
 his rambles, or even in a later visit to the sweat-house. 
 He had learned from Jim that the house was only used by 
 the "bucks," or males, and that her appearance there had 
 been accidental. He recalled that he had had the impres- 
 sion that she had been stealthily following him, and the 
 recollection gave him a pleasure he could not account for. 
 But an incident presently occurred which gave him a new 
 idea of her relations towards him. 
 
 The difficulty of making Jim understand had hitherto 
 prevented Pomfrey from intrusting him with the care of 
 the lantern ; but with the aid of the lexicon he had been 
 able to make him comprehend its working, and under 
 
THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 175 
 
 Pomfrey's personal guidance the Indian had once or twice 
 lit the lamp and set its machinery in motion. It remained 
 for him only to test Jim's unaided capacity, in case of his 
 own absence or illness. It happened to he a warm, beauti- 
 ful sunset, when the afternoon fog had for once delayed its 
 invasion of the shore-line, that he left the lighthouse to 
 Jim's undivided care, and reclining on a sand-dune still 
 warm from the sun, lazily watched the result of Jim's first 
 essay. As the twilight deepened, and the first flash of the 
 lantern strove with the dying glories of the sun, Pomfrey 
 presently became aware that he was not the only watcher. 
 A little gray figure creeping on all fours suddenly glided 
 out of the shadow of another sand-dune and then halted, 
 falling back on its knees, gazing fixedly at the growing 
 light. It was the woman he had seen. She was not a 
 dozen yards away, and in her eagerness and utter absorption 
 in the light had evidently overlooked him. He could see 
 her face distinctly, her lips parted half in wonder, half 
 with the breathless absorption of a devotee. A faint sense 
 of disappointment came over him. It was not he she was 
 watching, but the light ! As it swelled out over the dark- 
 ening gray sand she turned as if to watch its effect around 
 her, and caught sight of Pomfrey. With a little startled 
 cry — the first she had uttered — she darted away. He did 
 not follow. A moment before, when he first saw her, an 
 Indian salutation which he had learned from Jim had risen 
 to his lips, but in the odd feeling which her fascination of 
 the light had caused him he had not spoken. He watched 
 her bent figure scuttling away like some frightened animal, 
 with a critical consciousness that she was really scarce hu- 
 man, and went back to the lighthouse. He would not run 
 after her again ! Yet that evening he continued to think 
 of her, and recalled her voice, which struck him now as 
 having been at once melodious and childlike, and wished 
 he had at least spoken, and perhaps elicited a reply. 
 
176 THE MKRMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 He did not, however, haunt the sweat-house near the 
 river again. Yet he still continued his lessons with Jim, 
 and in this way, perhaps, although quite unpremeditatedly, 
 enlisted a humble ally. A week passed in which he had 
 not alluded to her, when one morning, as he was returning 
 from a row, Jim met him mysteriously on the beach. 
 
 "S'pose him come slow, slow," said Jim gravely, airing 
 his newly acquired English; "make no noise — plenty 
 catchee Indian maiden." The last epithet was the polite 
 lexicon equivalent of squaw. 
 
 Pomfrey, not entirely satisfied in his mind, nevertheless 
 softly followed the noiselessly gliding Jim to the lighthouse. 
 Here Jim cautiously opened the door, motioning Pomfrey 
 to enter. 
 
 The base of the tower was composed of two living rooms, 
 a storeroom, and oil-tank. As Pomfrey entered, Jim closed 
 the door softly behind him. The abrupt transition from 
 the glare of the sands and sun to the semi-darkness of the 
 storeroom at first prevented him from seeing anything, but 
 he was instantly distracted by a scurrying flutter and wild 
 beating of the walls, as of a caged bird. In another mo- 
 ment he could make out the fair stranger, quivering with 
 excitement, passionately dashing at the barred window, the 
 walls, the locked door, and circling around the room in her 
 desperate attempt to find an egress, like a captured seagull. 
 Amazed, mystified, indignant with Jim, himself, and even 
 his unfortunate captive, Pomfrey called to her in Chinook 
 to stop, and going to the door, flung it wide open. She 
 darted by him, raising her soft blue eyes for an instant in 
 a swift, sidelong glance of half appeal, half-frightened ad- 
 miration, and rushed out into the open. But here, to his 
 surprise, she did not run away. On the contrary, she drew 
 herself up with a dignity that seemed to increase her height 
 and walked majestically towards Jim, who, at her unex- 
 pected exit, had suddenly thrown himself upon the sand. 
 
THK MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POIXT 177 
 
 in utterly abject terror and supplication. She approached 
 him slowly, with one small hand uplifted in a menacing 
 testure. The man writhed and squirmed before her. Then 
 she turned, caught sight of Pomfrey standing in the door- 
 way, and walked quietly away. Amazed, yet gratified with 
 this new assertion of herself, Pomfrey respectfully, but 
 alas ! incautiously, called after her. In an instant, at the 
 sound of his voice, she dropped again into her slouching 
 Indian trot and glided away over the sandhills. 
 
 Pomfrey did not add any reproof of his own to the dis- 
 comfiture of his Indian retainer. Neither did he attempt 
 to inquire the secret of this savage girl's power over him. 
 It was evident he had spoken truly when he told his master 
 that she was of a superior caste. Pomfrey recalled her erect 
 and indignant figure standing over the prostrate Jim, and 
 was again perplexed and disappointed at her sudden lapse 
 into the timid savage at the sound of his voice. Would 
 not this well-meant but miserable trick of Jim's have the 
 effect of increasiag her unreasoning animal-like distrust of 
 him ? A few days later brought an unexpected answer to 
 his question. 
 
 It was the hottest hour of the day. He had been fish- 
 ing off the reef of rocks where he had first seen her, and 
 had taken in his line and was leisurely pulling for the light- 
 house. Suddenly a little musical cry not unlike a bird's 
 struck his ear. He lay on his oars and listened. It was 
 repeated; but this time it was unmistakably recognizable 
 as the voice of the Indian girl, although he had heard it 
 but once. He turned eagerly to the rock, but it was 
 empty ; he pulled around it, but saw nothing. He looked 
 towards the shore, and swung his boat in that direction, 
 when again the cry was repeated with the faintest quaver of 
 a laugh, apparently on the level of the sea before him. For 
 the first time he looked down, and there on the crest of a 
 wave not a dozen yards ahead danced the yellow hair and 
 
178 THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 laughing eyes of the girl. The frightened gravity of heS 
 look was gone, lost in the flash of her white teeth and quiv' 
 Bring dimples as her dripping face rose above the sea. When 
 their eyes met she dived again, but quickly reappeared on 
 the other bow, swimming with lazy, easy strokes, her smil- 
 ing head thrown back over her- white shoulder, as if luring 
 him to a race. If her smile was a revelation to him, still 
 more so was this first touch of feminine coquetry in her at- 
 titude. He pulled eagerly towards her; with a few long 
 overhand strokes she kept her distance, or, if he approached 
 too near, she dived like a loon, coming up astern of him 
 with the same childlike, mocking cry. In vain he pursued 
 her, calling her to stop in her own tongue, and laughingly 
 protested; she easily avoided his boat at every turn. Sud- 
 denly, when they were nearly abreast of the river estuary, 
 she rose in the water, and, waving her little hands with a 
 gesture of farewell, turned, and curving her back like a dol- 
 phin, leaped into the surging swell of the estuary bar and 
 was lost in its foam. It would have been madness for him 
 to have attempted to follow in his boat, and he saw that 
 she knew it. He waited until her yellow crest appeared in 
 the smoother water of the river, and then rowed back. In 
 his excitement and preoccupation he had quite forgotten his 
 long exposure to the sun during his active exercise, and 
 that he was poorly equipped for the cold sea-fog which the 
 heat had brought in earlier, and which now was quietly 
 obliterating sea and shore. This made his progress slower 
 and more difficult, and by the time he had reached the 
 lighthouse he was chilled to the bone. 
 
 The next morning he woke with a dull headache and 
 great weariness, and it was with considerable difficulty that 
 he could attend to his duties. At nightfall, feeling worse, 
 he determined to transfer the care of the light to Jim, but 
 was amazed to find that he had disappeared, and what was 
 more ominous, a bottle of spirits which Pomfrey had taken 
 
THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSK POINT 179 
 
 from his locker the night before had disappeared too. Like 
 all Indians, Jim's rudimentary knowledge of civilization 
 included "fire-water; " he evidently had been tempted, had 
 fallen, and was too ashamed or too drunk to face his master. 
 Pomfrey, however, managed to get the light in order and 
 working, and then, he scarcely knew how, betook himself 
 to bed in a state of high fever. He turned from side to 
 side racked by pain, with burning lips and pulses. Strange 
 fancies beset him ; he had noticed when he lit his light that 
 a strange sail was looming off the estuary — a place where 
 no sail had ever been seen or should be — and was relieved 
 that the lighting of the tower might show the reckless or 
 ignorant mariner his real bearings for the "Gate." At 
 times he had heard voices above the familiar song of the 
 surf, and tried to rise from his bed, but could not. Some- 
 times these voices were strange, outlandish, dissonant, in 
 his own language, yet only partly intelligible; but through 
 them always rang a single voice, musical, familiar, yet of a 
 tongue not his own — hers ! And then, out of his delirium 
 — for such it proved afterwards to be — came a strange 
 vision. He thought that he had just lit the light when, 
 from some strange and unaccountable reason, it suddenly 
 became dim and defied all his efforts to revive it. To add 
 to his discomfiture, he could see quite plainly through the 
 lantern a strange-looking vessel standing in from the sea. 
 She was so clearly out of her course for the Gate that he 
 knew she had not seen the light, and his limbs trembled 
 with shame and terror as he tried in vain to rekindle the 
 dying light. Yet to his surprise the strange ship kept 
 steadily on, passing the dangerous reef of rocks, until she 
 was actually in the waters of the bay. But stranger than 
 all, swimming beneath her bows was the golden head and 
 laughing face of the Indian girl, even as he had seen it the 
 day before. A strange revulsion of feeling overtook him. 
 Believing that she was luring the ship to its destruction, 
 
180 THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 he ran out on the heach and strove to hail the vessel and 
 warn it of its impending doom. But he could not speak — 
 no sound came from his lips. And now his attention was 
 absorbed by the ship itself. High-bowed and pooped, and 
 curved like the crescent moon, it was the strangest craft 
 that he had ever seen. Even as he gazed it glided on 
 nearer and nearer, and at last beached itself noiselessly on 
 the sands before his own feet. A score of figures as bizarre 
 and outlandish as the ship itself now thronged its high fore- 
 castle — really a castle in shape and warlike purpose — and 
 leaped from its ports. The common seamen were nearly 
 naked to the waist; the officers looked more like soldiers 
 than sailors. What struck him more strangely was that 
 they were one and all seemingly unconscious of the exist- 
 ence of the lighthouse, sauntering up and down carelessly, 
 as if on some uninhabited strand, and even talking — so far 
 as he could understand their old bookish dialect — as if in 
 some hitherto undiscovered land. Their ignorance of the 
 geography of the whole coast, and even of the sea from 
 which they came, actually aroused his critical indignation ; 
 their coarse and stupid allusions to the fair Indian swimmer 
 as the " mermaid " that they had seen upon their bow made 
 him more furious still. Yet he was helpless to express his 
 contemptuous anger, or even make them conscious of his 
 presence. Then an interval of incoherency and utter blank- 
 ness followed. When he again took up the thread of his 
 fancy the ship seemed to be lying on her beam ends on the 
 sand; the strange arrangement of her upper deck and top- 
 hamper, more like a dwelling than any ship he had ever 
 seen, was fully exposed to view, while the seamen seemed 
 to be at work with the rudest contrivances, calking and 
 scraping her barnacled sides. He saw that phantom crew, 
 when not working, at wassail and festivity; heard the 
 shouts of drunken roisterers; saw the placing of a guard 
 around some of the most uncontrollable, and later detected 
 
THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 181 
 
 the stealthy escape of half a dozen sailors inland, amidst 
 the fruitless volley fired upon them from obsolete blunder- 
 busses. Then his strange vision transported him inland 
 where he saw these seamen following some Indian women 
 Suddenly one of them turned and ran frenziedly toward 
 him as if seeking succor, closely pursued by one of the sail- 
 ors. Pomfrey strove to reach her, struggled violently with 
 the fearful apathy that seemed to hold his limbs, and then, 
 as she uttered at last a little musical cry, burst his bonds 
 and — awoke ! 
 
 As consciousness slowly struggled back to him, he could 
 see the bare wooden-like walls of his sleeping-room, the 
 locker, the one window bright with sunlight, the open door 
 of the tank-room, and the little staircase to the tower. 
 There was a strange smoky and herb-like smell in the room. 
 He made an effort to rise, but as he did so a small sun- 
 burnt hand was laid gently yet restrainingly upon his 
 shoulder, and he heard the same musical cry as before, but 
 this time modulated to a girlish laugh. He raised his head 
 faintly. Half squatting, half kneeling by his bed, was the 
 yellow-haired stranger. 
 
 With the recollection of his vision still perplexing him, 
 he said in a weak voice, " Who are you 1 " 
 
 Her blue eyes met his own with quick intelligence and 
 no trace of her former timidity. A soft, caressing light 
 had taken its place. Pointing with her finger to her breast 
 in a childlike gesture, she said, "Me — Olooya." 
 
 "Olooya!" He remembered suddenly that Jim hac? 
 always used that word in speaking of her, but until then 
 he had always thought it was some Indian term for her 
 distinct class. 
 
 "Olooya," he repeated. Then, with difficulty attempt- 
 ing to use her own tongue, he asked, "When did you come 
 here?" 
 
 " Last night, " she answered in the same tongue. " There 
 
182 THE MERMAIB OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 ■was no witch-fire there," she continued, pointing to the 
 tower; "when it came not, Olooya came! Olooya found 
 ■white chief sick and alone. White chief could not get up ! 
 Olooya lit witch-fire for him." 
 
 "You?" he repeated in astonishment. "I lit it my- 
 self." 
 
 She looked at him pityingly, as if still recognizing his 
 delirium, and shook her head. " White chief was sick — 
 how can know 1 Olooya made witch-fire. " 
 
 He cast a hurried glance at his watch hanging on the 
 ■wall beside him. It had run doiun, although he had ■wound 
 it the last thing before going to bed. He had evidently 
 been lying there helpless beyond the twenty-four hours! 
 
 He groaned and turned to rise, but she gently forced him 
 down again, and gave him some herbal infusion, in which 
 he recognized the taste of the Yerba Buena vine which grew 
 by the river. Then she made him comprehend in her own 
 tongue that Jim had been decoyed, while drunk, aboard a 
 certain schooner lying off the shore at a spot where she had 
 seen some men digging in the sands. She had not gone 
 there, for she was afraid of the bad men, and a slight return 
 of her former terror came into her changeful eyes. She 
 knew how to light the witch-light; she reminded him she 
 had been in the tower before. 
 
 "You have saved my light, and perhaps my life," he 
 said weakly, taking her hand. 
 
 Possibly she did not understand him, for her only answer 
 was a vague smile. But the next instant she started up, 
 listening intently, and then with a frightened cry drew 
 away her hand and suddenly dashed out of the building. 
 In the midst of his amazement the door was darkened by a 
 figure — a stranger dressed like an ordinary miner. Paus- 
 ing a moment to look after the flying Olooya, the man 
 turned and glanced around the room, and then with a 
 coarse, familiar smile approached Pomfrey. 
 
THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 18S 
 
 "Hope I ain't disturbin' ye, but I allowed I 'd just be 
 neighborly and drop in — seein' as this is gov'nment pro- 
 perty, and me and my pardners, as American citizens and 
 tax-payers, helps to support it. We 're coastin' from 
 Trinidad down here and prospectin' along the beach for gold 
 in the sand. Ye seem to hev a mighty soft berth of it here 
 — nothing to do — and lots of purty half-breeds hangin' 
 round ! " 
 
 The man's effrontery was too much for Ponrfrey's self- 
 control, weakened by illness. "It is government pro- 
 perty," he answered hotly, "and you have no more right 
 to intrude upon it than you have to decoy away my servant, 
 a government employee, during my illness, and jeopardize 
 that property." 
 
 The unexpectedness of this attack, and the sudden reve- 
 lation of the fact of Pomfrey's illness in his flushed face 
 and hollow voice, apparently frightened and confused the 
 stranger. He stammered a surly excuse, backed out of the 
 doorway, and disappeared. An hour later Jim appeared, 
 crestfallen, remorseful, and extravagantly penitent. Pom- 
 frey was too weak for reproaches or inquiry, and he was 
 thinking only of Olooya. 
 
 She did not return. His recovery in that keen air, aided, 
 as he sometimes thought, by the herbs she had given him, 
 was almost as rapid as his illness. The miners did not 
 again intrude upon the lighthouse nor trouble his seclusion. 
 When he was able to sun himself on the sands, he could 
 see them in the distance at work on the beach. He re- 
 flected that she would not come back while they were there, 
 and was reconciled. But one morning Jim appeared, awk- 
 ward and embarrassed, leading another Indian, whom he 
 introduced as Olooya's brother. Pomfrey's suspicions were 
 aroused. Except that the stranger had something of the 
 girl's superiority of manner, there was no likeness whatever 
 to his fair-haired acquaintance. But a fury of indignation 
 
184 THE MERMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 
 
 ■was added to his suspicions when he learned the amazing 
 purport of their visit. It was nothing less than an offer 
 from the alleged brother to sell his sister to Pomfrey for 
 forty dollars and a jug of whiskey! Unfortunately, Pom- 
 frey' s temper once more got the better of his judgment. 
 With a scathing exposition of the laws under which the 
 Indian and white man equally lived, and the legal punish- 
 ment of kidnapping, he swept what he believed was the 
 impostor from his presence. He was scarcely alone again 
 before he remembered that his imprudence might affect the 
 girl's future access to him, but it was too late now. 
 
 Still he clung to the belief that he should see her when 
 the prospectors had departed, and he hailed with delight 
 the breaking up of the camp near the " sweat-house " and 
 the disappearance of the schooner. It seemed that their 
 gold-seeking was unsuccessful ; but Pomfrey was struck, on 
 visiting the locality, to find that in their excavations in the 
 sand at the estuary they had uncovered the decaying tim- 
 bers of a ship's small boat of some ancient and obsolete con- 
 struction. This made him think of his strange dream, with 
 a vague sense of warning which he could not shake off, and 
 on his return to the lighthouse he took from his shelves a 
 copy of the old voyages to see how far his fancy had been 
 affected by his reading. In the account of Drake's visit to 
 the coast he found a footnote which he had overlooked be- 
 fore, and which ran as follows: "The Admiral seems to 
 have lost several of his crew by desertion, who were sup- 
 posed to have perished miserably by starvation in the inhos 
 pitable interior or by the hands of savages. But later voy 
 agers have suggested that the deserters married Indian wives, 
 and there is a legend that a hundred years later a singular 
 race of half-breeds, bearing unmistakable Anglo-Saxon char- 
 acteristics, was found in that locality." Pomfrey fell into 
 a reverie of strange hypotheses and fancies. He resolved 
 that, when he again saw Olooya, he would question her ; her 
 
THE MEKMAID OF LIGHTHOUSE POINT 185 
 
 terror of these men might be simply racial or some heredi- 
 tary transmission. 
 
 But his intention was never fulfilled. For when days 
 and weeks had elapsed, and he had vainly haunted the river 
 estuary and the rocky reef before the lighthouse without a 
 sign of her, he overcame his pride sufficiently to question 
 Jim. The man looked at him with dull astonishment. 
 
 "Olooya gone," he said. 
 
 "Gone! — where?" 
 
 The Indian made a gesture to seaward which seemed to 
 encompass the whole Pacific. 
 
 " How ? With whom 1 " repeated his angry yet half- 
 frightened master, 
 
 " With white man in ship. You say you no want Olooya 
 — forty dollars too much. White man give fifty dollars — 
 takee Olooya all same." 
 
THEEE VAGABONDS OF TEINEDAD 
 
 "Oh! it 's you, is it?" said the Editor. 
 
 The Chinese hoy to whom the colloquialism was addressed 
 answered literally, after his habit : — 
 
 "AUee same Li Tee; me no changee. Me no oUee 
 China boy." 
 
 "That 's so," said the Editor with an air of conviction. 
 "I don't suppose there .'s another imp like you in all 
 Trinidad County. Well, next time don't scratch outside 
 there like a gopher, but come in." 
 
 "Lass time," suggested Li Tee blandly, "me tap tappee. 
 You no like tap tappee. You say, allee same dam wood- 
 peckel. " 
 
 It was quite true — the highly sylvan surroundings of 
 the Trinidad " Sentinel " office — a little clearing in a pine 
 forest — and its attendant fauna, made these signals confus- 
 ing. An accurate imitation of a woodpecker was also one 
 of Li Tee's accomplishments. 
 
 The Editor without replying finished the note he was 
 writing; at which Li Tee, as if struck by some coincident 
 recollection, lifted up his long sleeve, which served him as 
 a pocket, and carelessly shook out a letter on the table like 
 a conjuring trick. The Editor, with a reproachful glance 
 at him, opened it. It was only the ordinary request of an 
 agricultural subscriber — one Johnson — that the Editor 
 would "notice " a giant radish grown by the subscriber and 
 sent by the bearer. 
 
 "Where 's the radish, Li Tee? " said the Editor suspi- 
 ciously. 
 
THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 187 
 
 "No hab got. Ask Mellikan boy." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Here Li Tee condescended to explain that on passing 
 the schoolhouse he had been set upon by the schoolboys, 
 and that in the struggle the big radish — being, like most 
 such monstrosities of the quick Californian soil, merely a 
 mass of organized water — was "mashed" over the head 
 of some of his assailants. The Editor, painfully aware of 
 these regular persecutions of his errand boy, and perhaps 
 realizing that a radish which could not be used as a blud- 
 geon was not of a sustaining nature, forebore any reproof. 
 "But I cannot notice what I haven't seen, Li Tee," he 
 said good-humoredly. 
 
 "S'pose you lie — allee same as Johnson," suggested Li 
 with equal cheerfulness. "Hefoolee you with lotten stuff 
 — you foolee Mellikan man, allee same." 
 
 The Editor preserved a dignified silence until he had ad- 
 dressed his letter. "Take this to Mrs. Martin," he said, 
 handing it to the boy; "and mind you keep clear of the 
 schoolhouse. Don't go by the Flat either if the men are 
 at work, and don't, if you value your skin, pass Elanigan's 
 shanty, where you set off those firecrackers and nearly 
 burnt him out the other day. Look out for Barker's dog 
 at the crossing, and keep off the main road if the tunnel 
 men are coming over the hill." Then remembering that he 
 had virtually closed all the ordinary approaches to Mrs. 
 Martin's house, he added, "Better go round by the woods, 
 where you won't meet any one." 
 
 The boy darted off through the open door, and the Edi- 
 tor stood for a moment looking regretfully after him. He 
 liked his little protege ever since that unfortunate child — 
 a waif from a Chinese wash-house — was impounded by 
 some indignant miners for bringing home a highly imper- 
 fect and insufficient washing, and kept as hostage for a more 
 proper return of the garments. Unfortunately, another gang 
 
188 THREE VAGABONDS OF TEIOTDAD 
 
 of miners, equally aggrieved, had at the same time looted 
 the wash-house and driven off the occupants, so that Li 
 Tee remained unclaimed. For a few weeks he became a 
 sporting appendage of the miners' camp; the stolid butt of 
 good-humored practical jokes, the victim alternately of care- 
 less indifference or of extravagant generosity. He received 
 kicks and half-dollars intermittently, and pocketed both 
 with stoical fortitude. But under this treatment he pre- 
 sently lost the docility and frugality which was part of his 
 inheritance, and began to put his small wits against his 
 tormentors, until they grew tired of their own mischief and 
 his. But they knew not what to do with him. His pretty 
 nankeen-yellow skin debarred him from the white "public 
 school," while, although as a heathen he might have rea- 
 sonably claimed attention from the Sabbath-school, the 
 parents who cheerfully gave their contributions to the 
 heathen abroad, objected to him as a companion of their 
 children in the church at home. At this juncture the 
 Editor offered to take him into his printing office as a 
 "devil." For a while he seemed to be endeavoring, in his 
 old literal way, to act up to that title. He inked everything 
 but the press. He scratched Chinese characters of an abu- 
 sive import on "leads," printed them, and stuck them 
 about the office ; he put " punk " in the foreman's pipe, 
 and had been seen to swallow small type merely as a dia- 
 bolical recreation. As a messenger he was fleet of foot, 
 but uncertain of delivery. Some time previously the Edi- 
 tor had enlisted the sympathies of Mrs. Martin, the good- 
 natured wife of a farmer, to take him in her household on 
 trial, but on the third day Li Tee had run away. Yet the 
 Editor had not despaired, and it was to urge her to a second 
 attempt that he dispatched that letter. 
 
 He was still gazing abstractedly into the depths of the 
 wood when he was conscious of a slight movement — but 
 no sound — in a clump of hazel near him, and a stealthy 
 
THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 189 
 
 figure glided from it. He at once recognized it as "Jim," 
 a well-known drunken Indian vagrant of the settlement — ■ 
 tied to its civilization by the single link of "fire-water," 
 for which he forsook equally the Reservation, where it was 
 forbidden, and his own camps, where it was unknown. 
 Unconscious of his silent observer, he dropped upon all 
 fours, with his ear and nose alternately to the ground like 
 some tracking animal. Then, having satisfied himself, he 
 rose, and bending forward in a dogged trot, made a straight 
 line for the woods. He was followed a few seconds later 
 by his dog — a slinking, rough, wolf-like brute, whose 
 superior instinct, however, made him detect the silent pre- 
 sence of some alien humanity in the person of the Editor, 
 and to recognize it with a yelp of habit, anticipatory of the 
 stone that he knew was always thrown at him. 
 
 "That 's cute," said a voice, "but it 's just what I ex- 
 pected all along." 
 
 The Editor turned quickly. His foreman was standing 
 behind him, and had evidently noticed the whole inci- 
 dent. 
 
 "It's what I alius said," continued the man. "That 
 boy and that Injin are thick as thieves. Ye can't see one 
 without the other — and they 've got their little tricks and 
 signals by which they follow each other. T' other day 
 when you was kalkilatin' Li Tee was doin' your eriands 
 I tracked him out on the marsh, just by followin' that 
 ornery, pizenous dog o' Jim's. There was the whole ca- 
 boodle of 'em — including Jim — campin' out, and eatin' 
 raw fish that Jim had ketched, and green stuff they had 
 both sneaked outer Johnson's garden. Mrs. Martin may 
 take him, but she won't keep him long while Jim 's round. 
 What makes Li foller that blamed old Injin soaker, and 
 what makes Jim, who, at least, is a 'Merican, take up with 
 4 furrin' heathen, just gets me." 
 
 The Editor did not reply. He had heard something of 
 
190 THREE VAGABONDS OF TEINIDAD 
 
 this before. Yet, after all, why should not these equal 
 outcasts of civilization cling together? 
 
 ■ •••••••-■ 
 
 Li Tee's stay with Mrs. Martin was brief. His depar- 
 ture was hastened by an untoward event — apparently ush- 
 ered in, as in the case of other great calamities, by a myste- 
 rious portent in the sky. One morning an extraordinary 
 bird of enormous dimensions was seen approaching from 
 the horizon, and eventually began to hover over the de- 
 voted town. Careful scrutiny of this ominous fowl, how- 
 ever, revealed the fact that it was a monstrous Chinese 
 kite, in the shape of a flying dragon. The spectacle im- 
 parted considerable liveliness to the community, which, 
 however, presently changed to some concern and indigna- 
 tion. It appeared that the kite was secretly constructed 
 by Li Tee in a secluded part of Mrs. Martin's clearing, but 
 when it was first tried by him he found that through some 
 error of design it required a tail of unusual proportions. 
 This he hurriedly supplied by the first means he found — 
 Mrs. Martin's clothes-line, with part of the weekly wash 
 depending from it. This fact was not at first noticed by 
 the ordinary sightseer, although the tail seemed peculiar — 
 yet perhaps not more peculiar than a dragon's tail ought 
 to be. But when the actual theft was discovered and re- 
 ported through the town, a vivacious interest was created, 
 and spy-glasses were used to identify the various articles of 
 apparel still hanging on that ravished clothes-line. These 
 garments, in the course of their slow disengagement from 
 the clothes-pins through the gyrations of the kite, impar- 
 tially distributed themselves over the town — one of Mrs. 
 Martin's stockings falling upon the veranda of the Polka 
 Saloon, and the other being afterwards discovered on the 
 belfry of the First Methodist Church — to the scandal of 
 the congregation. It would have been well if the result of 
 Li Tee's invention had ended here. Alas! the kite-flyer 
 
THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 191 
 
 and his accomplice, "Injin Jim," were tracked by means of 
 the kite's tell-tale cord to a lonely part of the marsh and 
 rudely dispossessed of their charge by Deacon Hornblower 
 and a constable. Unfortunately, the captors overlooked the 
 fact that the kite-flyers had taken the precaution of making 
 a " half-turn " of the stout cord around a log to ease the 
 tremendous pull of the kite — whose power the captors had 
 not reckoned upon — and the Deacon incautiously substi- 
 tuted his own body for the log. A singular spectacle is 
 said to have then presented itself to the on-lookers. The 
 Deacon was seen to be running wildly by leaps and bounds 
 over the marsh after the kite, closely followed by the con- 
 stable in equally wild efforts to restrain him by tugging at 
 the end of the line. The extraordinary race continued to 
 the town until the constable fell, losing his hold of the 
 line. This seemed to impart a singular specific levity to 
 the Deacon, who, to the astonishment of everybody, incon- 
 tinently sailed up into a tree ! When he was succored and 
 cut down from the demoniac kite, he was found to have 
 sustained a dislocation of the shoulder, and the constable 
 was severely shaken. By that one infelicitous stroke the 
 two outcasts made an enemy of the Law and the Gospel as 
 represented in Trinidad County. It is to be feared also 
 that the ordinary emotional instinct of a frontier commu- 
 nity, to which they were no'v simply abandoned, was as 
 little to be trusted. In this dilemma they disappeared from 
 the town the next day — no one knew where. A pale blue 
 smoke rising from a lonely island in the bay for some days 
 afterwards suggested their possible refuge. But nobody 
 greatly cared. The sympathetic mediation of the Editor 
 was characteristically opposed by Mr. Parkin Skinner, a 
 prominent citizen: — 
 
 "It 's all very well for you to talk sentiment about nig- 
 gers. Chinamen, and Injins, and you fellers can laugh 
 about the Deacon being snatched up to heaven like Elijah 
 
192 THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 
 
 in that blamed Chinese chariot of a kite — but I kin tell 
 you, gentlemen, that this is a white man's country ! Yes, 
 sir, you can't get over it! The nigger of every description 
 — yeller, brown, or black, call him ' Chinese, ' ' Injin, ' or 
 ' Kanaka, ' or what you like — hez to clar off of God's foot- 
 stool when the Anglo-Saxon gets started! It stands to 
 reason that they can't live alongside o' printin' presses, 
 M'Cormick's reapers, and the Bible! Yes, sir! the Bible; 
 and Deacon Hornblower kin prove it to you. It 's our 
 manifest destiny to clar them out — that 's what we was 
 put here for — and it 's just the work we ' ve got to do ! " 
 
 I have ventured to quote Mr. Skinner's stirring remarks 
 to show that probably Jim and Li Tee ran away only in 
 anticipation of a possible lynching, and to prove that ad- 
 vanced sentiments of this high and ennobling nature really 
 obtained forty years ago in an ordinary American frontier 
 town which did not then dream of Expansion and Empire ! 
 
 Howbeit, Mr. Skinner did not make allowance for mere 
 human nature. One morning Master Bob Skinner, his 
 son, aged twelve, evaded the schoolhouse, and started in an 
 old Indian " dug-out " to invade the island of the miserable 
 refugees. His purpose was not clearly defined to himself, 
 but was to be modified by circumstances. He would either 
 capture Li Tee and Jim, or join them in their lawless 
 existence. He had prepared himself for either event by 
 surreptitiously borrowing his father's gun. He also carried 
 victuals, having heard that Jim ate grasshoppers and Li 
 Tee rats, and misdoubting his own capacity for either diet. 
 He paddled slowly, well in shore, to be secure from obser- 
 vation at home, and then struck out boldly in his leaky 
 canoe for the island — a tufted, tussocky shred of the 
 marshy promontory torn off in some tidal storm. It was a 
 lovely day, the bay being barely ruffled by the afternoon 
 " trades ; " but as he neared the island he came upon the 
 swell from the bar and the thunders of the distant Pacific, 
 
THEEE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 193 
 
 and grew a little frightened. The canoe, losing way, fell 
 into the trough of the swell, shipping salt water, still more 
 alarming to the prairie-bred boy. Forgetting his plan of 
 a stealthy invasion, he shouted lustily as the helpless and 
 water- logged boat began to drift past the island; at which 
 a lithe hgure emerged from the reeds, threw off a tattered 
 blanket, and slipped noiselessly, like some animal, into the 
 water. It was Jim, who, half wading, half swimming, 
 brought the canoe and boy ashore. Master Skinner at once 
 gave up the idea of invasion, and concluded to join the 
 refugees. 
 
 This was easy in his defenseless state, and his manifest 
 delight in their rude encampment and gypsy life, although 
 he had been one of Li Tee's oppressors in the past. But 
 that stolid pagan had a philosophical indifference which 
 might have passed for Christian forgiveness, and Jim's na- 
 tive reticence seemed like assent. And, possibly, in the 
 minds of these two vagabonds there might have been a nat- 
 ural sympathy for this other truant from civilization, and 
 some delicate flattery in the fact that Master Skinner was 
 not driven out, but came of his own accord. Howbeit, 
 they fished together, gathered cranberries on the marsh, 
 shot a wild duck and two plovers, and when Master Skinner 
 assisted in the cooking of their fish in a conical basket sunk 
 in the ground, filled with water, heated by rolling red-hot 
 stones from their drift-wood fire into the buried basket, 
 the boy's felicity was supreme. And what an afternoon! 
 To lie, after this feast, on their bellies in the grass, replete 
 like animals, hidden from everything but the sunshine 
 above them ; so quiet that gray clouds of sandpipers settled 
 fearlessly around them, and a shining brown muskrat 
 slipped from the ooze within a few feet of their faces — 
 was to feel themselves a part of the wild life in earth and 
 sky. Not that their own predatory instincts were hushed 
 by this divine peace ; that intermitting black spot upon the 
 
194 THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 
 
 water, declared by the Indian to be a seal, the stealthy 
 glide of a yellow fox in the ambush of a callow brood of 
 mallards, the momentary straying of an elk from the upland 
 upon the borders of the marsh, awoke their tingling nerves 
 to the happy but fruitless chase. And when night came, 
 too soon, and they pigged together around the warm ashes 
 of their camp-fire, under the low lodge poles of their wig- 
 wam of dried mud, reeds, and driftwood, with the combined 
 odors of fish, wood-smoke, and the warm salt breath of the 
 marsh in their nostrils, they slept contentedly. The dis- 
 tant lights of the settlement went out one by one, the stars 
 came out, very large and very silent, to take their places. 
 The barking of a dog on the nearest point was followed by 
 another farther inland. But Jim's dog, curled at the feet 
 of his master, did not reply. What had he to do with 
 civilization ? 
 
 The morning brought some fear of consequences to Mas- 
 ter Skinner, but no abatement of his resolve not to return. 
 But here he was oddly combated by Li Tee. " S'pose you 
 go back aUee same. You tellee fam'lee canoe go topside 
 down — you plentee swimee to bush. AUee night in bush. 
 Housee big way off — how can get? Sabe? " 
 
 "And I '11 leave the gun, and tell Dad that when the 
 canoe upset the gun got drowned," said the boy eagerly. 
 
 Li Tee nodded. 
 
 "And come again Saturday, and bring more powder and 
 shot and a bottle for Jim, " said Master Skinner excitedly. 
 
 " Good ! " gi'unted the Indian. 
 
 Then they ferried the boy over to the peninsula, and set 
 him on a trail across the marshes, known only to them- 
 selves, which would bring him home. And when the Edi- 
 tor the next morning chronicled among his news, "Adrift 
 on the Bay — A Schoolboy's Miraculous Escape," he knew 
 as little what part his missing Chinese errand boy had 
 taken in it as the rest of his readers. 
 
THEEE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 195 
 
 Meantime the two outcasts returned to their island camp. 
 It may have occurred to them that a little of the sunlight 
 had gone from it with Bob; for they were in a dull, stupid 
 way fascinated by the little white tyrant who had broken 
 bread with them. He had been delightfully selfish and 
 frankly brutal to them, as only a schoolboy could be, with 
 the addition of the consciousness of his superior race. Yet 
 they each longed for his return, although he was seldom 
 mentioned in their scanty conversation — carried on in 
 monosyllables, each in his own language, or with some 
 common English word, or more often restricted solely to 
 signs. By a delicate flattery, when they did speak of him 
 it was in what they considered to be his own language. 
 
 "Boston boy, plenty like catchee him," Jim would say, 
 pointing to a distant swan. Or Li Tee, hunting a striped 
 water snake from the reeds, would utter stolidly, " Mellikan 
 hoy no likee snake." Yet the next two days brought some 
 trouble and physical discomfort to them. Bob had con- 
 sumed, or wasted, all their provisions — and, still more 
 unfortunately, his righteous visit, his gun, and his super- 
 abundant animal spirits had frightened away the game, 
 which their habitual quiet and taciturnity had beguiled 
 into trustfulness. They were half starved, but they did 
 not blame him. It would come all right when he returned. 
 They counted the days, Jim with secret notches on the 
 long pole, Li Tee with a string of copper " cash " he always 
 kept with him. The eventful day came at last, — a warm 
 autumn day, patched with inland fog like blue smoke and 
 smooth, tranquil, open surfaces of wood and sea; but to 
 their waiting, confident eyes the boy came not out of either. 
 They kept a stolid silence all that day until night fell, 
 when Jim said, "Mebbe Boston boy go dead." Li Tee 
 nodded. It did not seem possible to these two heathens 
 that anything else could prevent the Christian child from 
 keeping his word. 
 
196 THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 
 
 After that, by the aid of the canoe, they went much on 
 the marsh, hunting apart, but often meeting on the trail 
 ■which Bob had taken, with grunts of mutual surprise. 
 These suppressed feelings, never made known by word or 
 gesture, at last must have found vicarious outlet in the 
 taciturn dog, who so far forgot his usual discretion as to 
 once or twice seat himself on the water's edge and indulge 
 in a fit of howling. It had been a custom of Jim's on cer- 
 tain days to retire to some secluded place, where, folded in 
 his blanket, with his back against a tree, he remained mo- 
 tionless for hours. In the settlement this had been usually 
 referred to the after effects of drink, known as the "hor- 
 rors," but Jim had explained it by saying it was "when his 
 heart was bad." And now it seemed, by these gloomy ab- 
 stractions, that " his heart was bad " very often. And then 
 the long-withheld rains came one night on the wings of a 
 fierce southwester, beating down their frail lodge and scat- 
 tering it abroad, quenching their camp-fire, and rolling up 
 the bay until it invaded their reedy island and hissed in 
 their ears. It drove the game from Jim's gun; it tore tha 
 net and scattered the bait of Ei Tee, the fisherman. Cold 
 and half starved in heart and body, but more dogged and 
 silent than ever, they crept out in their canoe into the storm- 
 tossed bay, barely escaping with their miserable lives to the 
 marshy peninsula. Here, on their enemy's ground, skulk- 
 ing in the rushes, or lying close behind tussocks, they at 
 last reached the fringe of forest below the settlement. 
 Here, too, sorely pressed by hunger, and doggedly reckless 
 of consequences, they forgot their caution, and a flight of 
 teal fell to Jim's gun on the very outskirts of the settle- 
 ment. 
 
 It was a fatal shot, whose echoes awoke the forces of 
 civilization against them. For it was heard by a logger in 
 his hut near the marsh, who, looking out, had seen Jim 
 pass. A careless, good-natured frontiersman, he might 
 
THKEE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 197 
 
 have kept the outcasts' mere presence to himself; but there 
 was that damning shot! An Indian with a gun! That 
 weapon, contraband of law, with dire fines and penalties to 
 whoso sold or gave it to him I A thing to be looked into 
 — some one to be punished ! An Indian with a weapon 
 that made him the equal of the white ! Who was safe 1 
 He hurried to town to lay his information before the con- 
 stable, but, meeting Mr. Skinner, imparted the news to him. 
 The latter pooh-poohed the constable, who he alleged had 
 not yet discovered the whereabouts of Jim, and suggested 
 that a few armed citizens should make the chase them- 
 selves. The fact was that Mr. Skinner, never quite satisfied 
 in his mind with his son's account of the loss of the gun, had 
 put two and two together, and was by no means inclined to 
 have his own gun possibly identified by the legal authority. 
 Moreover, he went home and at once attacked Master Bob 
 with such vigor and so highly colored a description of the 
 crime he had committed, and the penalties attached to it, 
 that Bob confessed. More than that, I grieve to say that 
 Bob lied. The Indian had "stoled his gun," and threat- 
 ened his life if he divulged the theft. He told how he 
 was ruthlessly put ashore, and compelled to take a trail 
 only known to them to reach his home. In two hours it 
 was reported throughout the settlement that the infamous 
 Jim had added robbery with violence to his illegal posses- 
 sion of the weapon. The secret of the island and the trail 
 over the marsh was told only to a few. 
 
 Meantime it had fared hard with the fugitives. Their 
 nearness to the settlement prevented them from lighting a 
 fire, which might have revealed their hiding-place, and they 
 crept together, shivering all night in a clump of hazel. 
 Scared thence by passing but unsuspecting wayfarers wan- 
 dering off the trail, they lay part of the next day and night 
 amid some tussocks of salt grass, blown on by the cold sea- 
 breeze; chilled, but securely hidden from sight. Indeed, 
 
198 THEKE VAGABONDS OF TEINIDAD 
 
 thanks to some mysterious power they had of utter immo- 
 bility, it was wonderful how they could efface themselves, 
 through quiet and the simplest environment. The lee side 
 of a straggling vine in the meadow, or even the thin ridge 
 of cast-up drift on the shore, behind which they would lie 
 for hours motionless, was a sufficient barrier against prying 
 eyes. In this occupation they no longer talked together, 
 but followed each other with the blind instinct of animals. 
 — yet always unerringly, as if conscious of each other's 
 plans. Strangely enough, it was the real animal alone — 
 their nameless dog — who now betrayed impatience and a 
 certain human infirmity of temper. The concealment they 
 were resigned to, the sufferings they mutely accepted, he 
 alone resented! When certain scents or sounds, impercep- 
 tible to their senses, were blown across their path, he would, 
 with bristling back, snarl himself into guttural and stran- 
 gulated fury. Yet, in their apathy, even this would have 
 passed them unnoticed, but that on the second night he 
 disappeared suddenly, returning after two hours' absence 
 with bloody jaws — replete, but still slinking and snappish. 
 It was only in the morning that, creeping on their hands 
 and knees through the stubble, they came upon the torn 
 and mangled carcass of a sheep. The two men looked at 
 each other without speaking — they knew what this act of 
 rapine meant to themselves. It meant a fresh hue and cry 
 after them, — it meant that their starving companion had 
 helped to draw the net closer round them. The Indian 
 grunted, Li Tee smiled vacantly ; but with their knives and 
 fingers they finished what the dog had begun, and became 
 equally culpable. But that they were heathens, they could 
 not have achieved a delicate ethical responsibility in a more 
 Christian-like way. 
 
 Yet the rice-fed Li Tee suffered most in their privations. 
 His habitual apathy increased with a certain physical leth- 
 argy which Jim could not understand. When they were 
 
THREE VAGABONDS OF TKINIDAD 199 
 
 apart he sometimes found Li Tee stretched on his back 
 with an odd stare in his eyes, and once, at a distance, he 
 thought he saw a vague thin vapor drift from where the 
 Chinese boy was lying and vanish as he approached. When 
 he tried to arouse him there was a weak drawl in his voice 
 and a drug-like odor in his breath. Jim dragged him to a 
 more substantial shelter, a thicket of alder. It was dan- 
 gerously near the frequented road, but a' vague idea had 
 sprung up in Jim's now troubled mind that, equal vaga- 
 bonds though they were, Li Tee had more claims upon civi- 
 lization, through those of his own race who were permitted 
 to live among the white men, and were not hunted to "re- 
 servations " and confined there like Jim's people. If Li 
 Tee was "heap sick," other Chinamen might find and nurse 
 him. As for Li Tee, he had lately said, in a more lucid 
 interval: "Me go dead — allee samee Mellikan boy. You 
 go dead too — allee samee, " and then lay down again with 
 a glassy stare in his eyes. Far from being frightened at 
 this, Jim attributed his condition to some enchantment 
 that Li Tee had evoked from one of his gods — just as he 
 himself had seen " medicine-men " of his own tribe fall into 
 strange trances, and was glad that the boy no longer suf- 
 fered. The day advanced, and Li Tee still skpt. Jim 
 could hear the church bells ringing; he knew it was Sun- 
 day — the day on which he was hustled from the main 
 street by the constable; the day on which the shops were 
 closed, and the drinking saloons open only at the back 
 door; the day whereon no man worked — and for that 
 reason, though he knew it not, the day selected by the in- 
 genious Mr. Skinner and a few friends as especially fitting 
 and convenient for a chase of the fugitives. The bell 
 brought no suggestion of this — though the dog snapped 
 under his breath and stiffened his spine. And then he 
 heard another sound, far off and vague, yet one that brought 
 a flash into his murky eye, that lit up the heaviness of his 
 
200 THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 
 
 H»braic face, and even showed a slight color in his high 
 cheek-bones. He lay down on the ground, and listened 
 with suspended breath. He heard it now distinctly. It 
 was the Boston boy calling, and the word he was calling 
 was "Jim." 
 
 Then the fire dropped out of his eyes as he turned with 
 his usual stolidity to where Li Tee was lying. Him he 
 shook, saying briefly : " Boston boy come back ! " But 
 there was no reply, the dead body rolled over inertly under 
 his hand; the head fell back, and the jaw dropped under 
 the pinched yellow face. The Indian gazed at him slowly, 
 and then gravely turned again in the direction of the voice. 
 Yet his dull mind was perplexed, for, blended with that 
 voice were other sounds like the tread of clumsily stealthy 
 feet. But again the voice called "Jim!" and raising his 
 hands to his lips he gave a low whoop in reply. This was 
 followed by silence, when suddenly he heard the voice — 
 the boy's voice — once again, this time very near him, say- 
 ing eagerly, — 
 
 "There he is!" 
 
 Then the Indian knew all. His face, however, did not 
 change as he took up his gun, and a man stepped out of 
 the thicket into the trail : — 
 
 "Drop that gun, you d d Injin! " 
 
 The Indian did not move. 
 
 "Drop it, I say!" 
 
 The Indian remained erect and motionless. 
 
 A rifle shot broke from the thicket. At first it seemed 
 to have missed the Indian, and the man who had spoken 
 cocked his own rifle. But the next moment the tall figure 
 of Jim collapsed where he stood into a mere blanketed 
 heap. 
 
 The man who had fired the shot walked towards the heap 
 with the easy air of a conqueror. But suddenly there arose 
 before him an awful phantom, the incarnation of savagery 
 
THREE VAGABONDS OF TRINIDAD 201 
 
 — a creature of blazing eyeballs, flashing tusks, and hot 
 carnivorous breath. He had barely time to cry out "A 
 wolf ! " before its jaws met in his throat, and they rolled 
 together on the ground. 
 
 But it was no wolf — as a second shot proved — only 
 Jim's slinking dog; the only one of the outcasts who at 
 that supreme moment had gone back to his original nature. 
 
A MERCUEY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 It was high hot noon on the Casket Ridge. Its very 
 scant shade was restricted to a few dwarf Scotch firs, and 
 ■was so perpendicularly cast that Leonidas Boone, seeking 
 shelter from the heat, was obliged to draw himself up under 
 one of them, as if it were an umbrella. Occasionally, with 
 a boy's perversity, he permitted one bared foot to pro- 
 trude beyond the sharply marked shadow until the burning 
 sun forced him to draw it in again with a thrill of sat- 
 isfaction. There was no earthly reason why he had not 
 sought the larger shadows of the pine trees which reared 
 themselves against the Ridge on the slope below him, ex- 
 cept that he was a boy, and perhaps even more superstitious 
 and opinionated than most boys. Having got under this 
 tree with iniinite care, he had made up his mind that he 
 would not move from it until its line of shade reached and 
 touched a certain stone on the trail near him ! Why he 
 did this he did not know, but he clung to his sublime pur- 
 pose with the courage and tenacity of a youthful Casa- 
 bianca. He was cramped, tickled by dust and fir sprays ; 
 he was supremely uncomfortable — but he stayed ! A 
 woodpecker was monotonously tapping in an adjacent pine, 
 with measured intervals of silence, which he always firmly 
 believed was a certain telegraphy of the bird's own making ; 
 a green-and-gold lizard flashed by his foot to stiffen itself 
 suddenly with a rigidity equal to his own. Still he stirred 
 not. The shadow gradually crept nearer the mystic stone 
 . — and touched it. He sprang up, shook himself, and pre- 
 pared to go about his business. This was simply an errand 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 208 
 
 to the post office at the cross-roads, scarcely a mile from 
 his father's house. He was already halfway there. He 
 had taken only the better part of one hour for this desul- 
 tory journey! 
 
 However, he now proceeded on his way, diverging only 
 to follow a fresh rabbit-track a few hundred yards, to note 
 that the animal had doubled twice against the wind, and 
 then, naturally, he was obliged to look closely for other 
 tracks to determine its pursuers. He paused also, but only 
 for a moment, to rap thrice on the trunk of the pine where 
 the woodpecker was at work, which he knew would make 
 it cease work for a time — as it did. Having thus renewed 
 his relations with nature, he discovered that one of the let- 
 ters he was taking to the post office had slipped in some 
 mysterious way from the bosom of his shirt, where he car- 
 ried them, past his waist- band, into his trouser-leg, and was 
 about to make a casual delivery of itself on the trail. This 
 caused him to take out his letters and count them, when he 
 found one missing. He had been given four letters to post 
 — he had only three. There was a big one in his father's 
 handwriting, two indistinctive ones of his mother's, and a 
 smaller one of his sister's — that was gone! Not at all 
 disconcerted, he calmly retraced his steps, following his 
 own tracks minutely, with a grim face and a distinct de- 
 light in the process, while looking — perfunctorily — for 
 the letter. In the midst of this slow progress a bright idea 
 struck him. He walked back to the fir tree where he had 
 rested, and found the lost missive. It had slipped out of 
 his shirt when he shook himself. He was not particularly 
 pleased. He knew that nobody would give him credit for 
 his trouble in going back for it, or his astuteness in guessing 
 where it was. He heaved the sigh of misunderstood genius, 
 and again started for the post office. This time he carried 
 the letters openly and ostentatiously in his hand. 
 
 Presently he heard a voice say, " Hey ! " It was a gen- 
 
204 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 tie, musical voice, — a stranger's voice, for it evidently did 
 not know how to call him, and did not say, " Oh, Leoni- 
 das ! " or " You — look here ! " He was abreast of a little 
 clearing, guarded by a low stockade of bark palings, and 
 beyond it was a small white dwelling-house. Leonidas 
 knew the place perfectly well. It belonged to the superin- 
 tendent of a mining tunnel, who had lately rented it to 
 some strangers from San Francisco. Thus much he had 
 heard from his family. He had a mountain boy's contempt 
 for city folks, and was not himself interested in them. Yet 
 as he heard the call, he was conscious of a slightly guilty 
 feeling. He might have been trespassing in following the 
 rabbit's track; he might have been seen by some one when 
 he lost the letter and had to go back for it — all grown-up 
 people had a way of offering themselves as witnesses against 
 him ! He scowled a little as he glanced around him. Then 
 his eye fell on the caller on the other side of the stockade. 
 
 To his surprise it was a woman : a pretty, gentle, fragile 
 creature, all soft muslin and laces, with her fingers inter- 
 locked, and leaning both elbows on the top of the stockade 
 as she stood under the checkered shadow of a buckeye. 
 
 "Come here — please — won't you!" she said plea- 
 santly. 
 
 It would have been impossible to resist her voice if Leon- 
 idas had wanted to, which he didn't. He walked confi 
 dently up to the fence. She really was very pretty, with 
 eyes like his setter's, and as caressing. And there were 
 little puckers and satiny creases around her delicate nostrils 
 and mouth when she spoke, which Leonidas knew were 
 "expression." 
 
 "I — I" — she began, with charming hesitation; then 
 suddenly, "What 's your name? " 
 
 "Leonidas." 
 
 " Leonidas ! That 's a pretty name ! " He thought it 
 did sound pretty. " "Well. Leonidas, I want you to be a 
 
A MEECUET OV THE FOOT-HILLS 205 
 
 good boy and do a great favor for me, — a very great 
 favor. " 
 
 Leonidas's face fell. This kind of prelude and formula 
 was familiar to him. It was usually followed by, "Pro- 
 mise me that you will never swear again," or, "that you 
 will go straight home and wash your face," or some other 
 irrelevant personality. But nobody with that sort of eyes 
 had ever said it. So he said, a little shyly but sincerely, 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " You are going to the post office ? " 
 
 This seemed a very foolish, womanish question, seeing 
 that he was holding letters in his hand; but he said, "Yes." 
 
 "I want you to put a letter of mine among yours and 
 post them all together, " she said, putting one little hand to 
 her bosom and drawing out a letter. He noticed that she 
 purposely held the addressed side so that he could not see 
 it, but he also noticed that her hand was small, thin, and 
 white, even to a faint tint of blue in it, unlike his sister's, 
 the baby's, or any other hand he had ever seen. "Can 
 you read ? " she said suddenly, withdrawing the letter. 
 
 The boy flushed slightly at the question. " Of course I 
 can," he said proudly. 
 
 "Of course, certainly," she repeated quickly; "but," 
 she added, with a mischievous smile, "you mustn't now! 
 Promise me! Promise me that you won't read this ad- 
 dress, but just post the letter, like one of your own, in the 
 letter-box with the others." 
 
 Leonidas promised readily ; it seemed to him a great fuss 
 about nothing ; perhaps it was some kind of game or a bet. 
 He opened his sunburnt hand, holding his own letters, and 
 she slipped hers, face downward, between them. Her soft 
 fingers touched his in the operation, and seemed to leave a 
 pleasant warmth behind them. 
 
 "Promise me another thing," she added; "promise me 
 you won't say a word of this to any one." 
 
206 A MEECUEY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 "Of course! " said Leonidas. 
 
 "That's a good boy, and I know you will keep your 
 word. " She hesitated a moment, smilingly and tentatively, 
 and then held out a bright half-dollar. Leonidas backed 
 from the fence. "I 'd rather not," he said shyly. 
 
 " But as a present from me ? " 
 
 Leonidas colored — he was really proud ; and he was also 
 bright enough to understand that the possession of such 
 unbounded wealth would provoke dangerous inquiry at 
 home. But he didn't like to say it, and only replied, "I 
 can't." 
 
 She looked at him curiously. "Then — thank you," 
 she said, offering her white hand, which felt like a bird in 
 his. "Now run on, and don't let me keep you any 
 longer." She drew back from the fence as she spoke, and 
 waved him a pretty farewell. Leonidas, half sorry, half 
 relieved, darted away. 
 
 He ran to the post office, which he never had done be- 
 fore. Loyally he never looked at her letter, nor, indeed, 
 at his own again, swinging the hand that held them 'far 
 from his side. He entered the post office directly, going 
 At once to the letter-box and depositing the precious mis- 
 sive with the others. The post office was also the "coun- 
 try store," and Leonidas was in the habit of still further 
 protracting his errands there by lingering in that stimulat- 
 ing atmosphere of sugar, cheese, and coffee. But to-day 
 his stay was brief, so transitory that the postmaster himself 
 inferred audibly that "old man Boone must have been tan- 
 ning Lee with a hickory switch." But the simple reason 
 was that Leonidas wished to go back to the stockade fence 
 and the fair stranger, if haply she was still there. His 
 heart sank as, breathless with unwonted haste, he reached 
 the clearing and the empty buckeye shade. He walked 
 slowly and with sad diffidence by the deserted stockade 
 fence. But presently his quick eye discerned a glint of 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 207 
 
 white among the laurels near the house. It was she, walk- 
 ing with apparent indifference away from him towards the 
 corner of the clearing and the road. But this he knew 
 would bring her to the end of the stockade fence, where he 
 must pass — and it did. She turned to him with a bright 
 smile of affected surprise. " Why, you 're as swift-footed 
 as Mercury ! " 
 
 Leonidas understood her perfectly. Mercury was the 
 other name for quicksilver — and that was lively, you bet ! 
 He had often spilt some on the floor to see it move. She 
 must be awfully cute to have noticed it too — cuter than 
 his sisters. He was quite breathless with pleasure. 
 
 "I put your letter in the box all right," he burst out at 
 last. 
 
 " Without any one seeing it ? " she asked. 
 
 " Sure pop ! — nary one ! The postmaster stuck out his 
 hand to grab it, but I just let on that T didn't see him, 
 and shoved it in myself." 
 
 "You're as sharp as you're good," she said smilingly. 
 "Now, there's just one thing more I want you to do. 
 Torget all about this — won't you? " 
 
 Her voice was very caressing. Perhaps that was why 
 he said boldly, "Yes, ma'am, all except you." 
 
 " Dear me, what a compliment ! How old are you 1 " 
 
 "Goin' on fifteen," said Leonidas confidently. 
 
 "And going very fast," said the lady mischievously. 
 "Well, then, you needn't forget we. On the contrary," 
 she added, after looking at him curiously, "I would rather 
 ypu 'd remember me. Good -by — or, rather, good-after- 
 noon — if I 'm to be remembered, Leon." 
 
 "Good-afternoon, ma'am." 
 
 She moved away, and presently disappeared among the 
 laurels. But her last words were ringing in his ears, 
 '"Leon" — everybody else called him "Lee "for brevity; 
 " Leon " — it was pretty as she said it. 
 
208 A MERCUEY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 He turned away. But it so chanced that their parting 
 was not to pass unnoticed, for, looking up the hill, Leoni- 
 das perceived his elder sister and little brother coming 
 down the road, and knew that they must have seen him 
 from the hilltop. It was like their "snoopin'!" They 
 ran to him eagerly. 
 
 "You were talking to the stranger," said his sister 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "She spoke to me first," said Leonidas, on the defen- 
 sive. 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 " Wanted to know the eleckshun news, " said Leonidas 
 ■with cool mendacity," and I told her." 
 
 This improbable fiction nevertheless satisfied them. 
 "What was she like! Oh, do tell us, Lee!" continued 
 his sister. 
 
 Nothing would have delighted him more than to expa- 
 tiate upon her loveliness, the soft white beauty of her 
 hands, the " cunning " little puckers around her lips, her 
 bright tender eyes, the angelic texture of her robes, and 
 the musical tinkle of her voice. But Leonidas had no con- 
 fidant, and what healthy boy ever trusted his sister in such 
 matter! " Tou saw what she was like," he said, with eva- 
 sive bluntness. 
 
 "But, Lee" — 
 
 But Lee was adamant. " Go and ask her, " he said. 
 
 "Like as not you were sassy to her, and sh6 shut you 
 up," said his sister artfully. But even this cruel sugges- 
 tion, which he could have so easily flouted, did not draw 
 him, and his ingenious relations flounced disgustedly away. 
 
 But Leonidas was not spared any further allusion to the 
 fair stranger ; for the fact of her having spoken to him was 
 duly reported at home, and at dinner his reticence was 
 again sorely attacked. " Just like her, in spite of all her 
 airs and graces, to hang out along the fence like any ordi- 
 
A MEEOURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 209 
 
 nary hired girl, jabberin' with anybody that went along 
 the road," said his mother incisively. He knew that she 
 did n't like her new neighbors, so this did not surprise nor 
 greatly pain him. Neither did the prosaic facts that were 
 now first made plain to him. His divinity was a Mrs. 
 Burroughs, whose husband was conducting a series of min- 
 ing operations, and prospecting with a gang of men on the 
 Casket Kidge. As his duty required his continual presence 
 there, Mrs. Burroughs was forced to forego the civilized 
 pleasures of San Francisco for a frontier life, for which she 
 was ill fitted and in which she had no interest. All this 
 was a vague irrelevance to Leonidas, who knew her only as 
 a goddess in white who had been familiar to him, and kind, 
 and to whom he was tied by the delicious joy of having a 
 secret in common, and having done her a special favor. 
 Healthy youth clings to its own impressions, let reason, 
 experience, and even facts argue ever to the contrary. 
 
 So he kept her secret and his intact, and was rewarded a 
 few days afterwards by a distant view of her walking in the 
 garden, with a man whom he recognized as her husband. 
 It is needless to say that, without any extraneous thought, 
 the man sufi'ered in Leonidas's estimation by his propin- 
 quity to the goddess, and that he deemed him vastly inferior. 
 
 It was a still greater reward to his fidelity that she seized 
 an opportunity when her husband's head was turned to 
 wave her hand to him. Leonidas did not approach the 
 fence, partly through shyness and partly through a more 
 subtle instinct that this man was not in the secret. He 
 was right, for only the next day, as he passed to the post 
 office, she called him to the fence. 
 
 " Did you see me wave my hand to you yesterday ? " she 
 asked pleasantly. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am; but" — he hesitated — "I didn't come 
 up, for I did n't think you wanted me when any one else 
 was there." 
 
210 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 She laughed merrily, and lifting his straw hat from his 
 head, ran the fingers of the other hand through his damp 
 curls. " You 're the brightest, dearest boy I ever knew, 
 Leon," she said, dropping her pretty face to the level of 
 his own, "and I ought to have remembered it. But I 
 don't mind telling you I was dreadfully frightened lest 
 you might misunderstand me and come and ask for another 
 letter — before him." As she emphasized the personal 
 pronoun, her whole face seemed to change : the light of her 
 blue eyes became mere glittering points, her nostrils grew 
 white and contracted, and her pretty little mouth seemed 
 to narrow into a straight cruel line, like a cat's. "Not a 
 word ever to him, of all men ! Do you hear ? " she said 
 almost brusquely. Then, seeing the concern in the boy's 
 face, she laughed, and added explanatorily : " He 's a bad, 
 bad man, Leon, remember that." 
 
 The fact that she was speaking of her husband did not 
 shock the boy's moral sense in the least. The sacredness 
 of those relations, and even of blood kinship, is, I fear, 
 not always so clear to the youthful mind as we fondly im- 
 agine. That Mr. Burroughs was a bad man to have ex- 
 cited this change in this lovely woman was Leonidas's only 
 conclusion. He remembered how his sister's soft, pretty 
 little kitten, purring on her lap, used to get its back up 
 and spit at the postmaster's yellow hound. 
 
 "I never wished to come unless you called me first," he 
 said frankly. 
 
 "What?" she said, in her half- playful, half -reproachful, 
 hut wholly caressing way. " You mean to say you would 
 never come to see me unless I sent for you ? Oh, Leon ! 
 and you 'd abandon me in that way? " 
 
 But Leonidas was set in his own boyish superstition. 
 " I 'd just delight in being sent for by you any time, Mrs. 
 Burroughs, and you kin always find me," he said shyly, 
 but doggedly ; " but " — He stopped. 
 
A MEECUEY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 211 
 
 "What an opinionated yonng gentleman! Well, I see 
 I must do all the courting. So consider that I sent for 
 you this morning. I 've got another letter for you to mail." 
 She put her hand to her breast, and out of the pretty frill- 
 ings of her frock produced, as before, with the same faint 
 perfume of violets, a letter like the first. But it was un- 
 sealed. "Now, listen, Leon; we. are going to be great 
 friends — you and I." Leonidas felt his cheeks glowing. 
 " You are going to do me another great favor, and we are 
 going to have a little fun and a great secret all by our own 
 selves. Now, first, have you any correspondent — you 
 know — any one who writes to you — any hoy or girl — 
 from San Francisco 1 " 
 
 Leonidas's cheeks grew redder — alas! from a less happy 
 consciousness. He never received any letters ; nobody 
 ever wrote to him. He was obliged to make this shameful 
 admission. 
 
 Mrs. Burroughs looked thoughtful, "But you have 
 some friend in San Francisco — some one who might write 
 to you 1 " she suggested pleasantly. 
 
 "I knew a boy once who went to San Francisco," said 
 Leonidas doubtfully. " At least, he allowed he was goin' 
 there. " 
 
 "That will do," said Mrs. Burroughs. "I suppose your 
 parents know him or of him ? " 
 
 "Why," said Leonidas, "he used to live here." 
 
 "Better still. For, you see, it wouldn't be strange if 
 he did write. What was the gentleman's name 1 " 
 
 "Jim Belcher," returned Leonidas hesitatingly, by no 
 means sure that the absent Belcher knew how to write. 
 Mrs. Burroughs took a tiny pencil from her belt, opened 
 the letter she was holding in her hand, and apparently 
 wrote the name in it. Then she folded it and sealed it, 
 smiling charmingly at Leonidas's puzzled face. 
 
 " Now, Leon, listen ; for here is the favor I am asking. 
 
212 A MERCUET OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 Mr. Jim Belcher " — she pronounced the name with great 
 gravity — " will write to you in a few days. But inside 
 of your letter will be a little note to me, which you will 
 bring me. You can show your letter to your family, if 
 they want to know who it is from; but no one must see 
 mine. Can you manage that ? " ■ 
 
 "Yes," said Leonidas. Then, as the whole idea flashed 
 upon his quick intelligence, he smiled until he showed his 
 dimples. Mrs. Burroughs leaned forward over the fence, 
 lifted his torn straw hat, and dropped a fluttering little kiss 
 on his forehead. It seemed to the boy, flushed and rosy 
 as a maid, as if she had left a shining star there for every 
 one to see. 
 
 "Don't smile like that, Leon, you're positively irresist- 
 ible! It will be a nice little game, won't it? Nobody in 
 it but you and me — and Belcher! We'll outwit them 
 yet. And, you see, you '11 be obliged to come to me, after 
 all, without my asking." 
 
 They both laughed; indeed, quite a dimpled, bright- 
 eyed, rosy, innocent pair, though I think Leonidas was the 
 more maidenly. 
 
 "And," added Leonidas, with breathless eagerness, "I 
 can sometimes write to — to — Jim, and inclose your let- 
 ter." 
 
 "Angel of wisdom! certainly. Well, now, let 's see — 
 have you got any letters for the post to-day ? " He colored , 
 again, for in anticipation of meeting her he had hurried up 
 the family post that morning. He held out his letters: 
 she thrust her OTto among them. "Now," she said, laying 
 her cool, soft hand against his hot cheek, "run along, dear; 
 you must not be seen loitering here." 
 
 Leonidas ran off, buoyed up on ambient air. It seemed 
 just like a fairy-book. Here he was, the confidant of the 
 most beautiful creature he had seen, and there was a mys- 
 terious letter coming to him — Leonidas — and no one to 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 213 
 
 know why. And now he had a "call" to see her often; 
 she would not forget him — he need n't loiter by the fence- 
 post to see if she wanted him — and his boyish pride and 
 shyness were appeased. There was no question of moral 
 ethics raised in Leonidas's mind; he knew that it would 
 not be the real Jim Belcher who would write to him, 
 but that made the prospect the more attractive. Nor did 
 another circumstance trouble his conscience. When he 
 reached the post office, he was surprised to see the man 
 whom he knew to be Mr. Burroughs talking with the post- 
 master. Leonidas brushed by him and deposited his letters 
 in the box in discreet triumph. The postmaster was evi- 
 dently officially resenting some imputation of carelessness, 
 and, concluding his defense, "No, sir," he said, "you kin 
 bet your boots that ef any letter hez gone astray for you 
 or your wife — Ye said your wife, did n't ye ? " 
 
 " Yes, " said Burroughs hastily, with a glance around the 
 shop. 
 
 "Well, for you or anybody at your house — it ain't here 
 that 's the fault. You hear me! I know every letter that 
 comes in and goes outer this office, I reckon, and handle 
 'em all," — Leonidas pricked up his ears, — "and if any- 
 body oughter know, it 's me. Ye kin paste that in your 
 hat, Mr. Burroughs." Burroughs, apparently disconcerted 
 by the intrusion of a third party — Leonidas — upon what 
 was. evidently a private inquiry, murmured something sur- 
 lily, and passed out. 
 
 Leonidas was puzzled. That big man seemed to be 
 "snoopin' " around for something! He knew that he dared 
 not touch the letter-bag, — Leonidas had heard somewhere 
 that it was a deadly crime to touch any letters after the 
 Government had got hold of them once, and he had no 
 fears for the safety of hers. But ought he not go back at 
 once and tell her about her husband's visit, and the alarm- 
 ing fact that the postmaster was personally acquainted with 
 
214 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 all the letters 1 He instantly saw, too, the wisdom of hei 
 inclosing her letter hereafter in another address. Tet he 
 finally resolved not to tell her to-day, — ^ it would look like 
 " hanging round " again ; and — another secret reason — he 
 was afraid that any allusion to her husband's interference 
 would bring back that change in her beautiful face whicli 
 he did not like. The better to resist temptation, he went 
 back another way. 
 
 It must not be supposed that, while Leonidas indulged 
 in this secret passion for the beautiful stranger, it was to 
 the exclusion of his boyish habits. It merely took the 
 place of his intellectual visions and his romantic reading. 
 He no longer carried books in his pocket on his lazy ram- 
 bles. "What were mediaeval legends of high-born ladies and 
 their pages to this real romance of himself and Mrs. Bur- 
 roughs 1 What were the exploits of boy captains and juve- 
 nile trappers and the Indian maidens and Spanish senoritas 
 to what was now possible to himself and his divinity here 
 — upon Casket Eidge! The very ground around her was 
 now consecrated to romance and adventure. Consequently, 
 he visited a few traps on his way back which he had set for 
 "jackass-rabbits" and wildcats, — the latter a vindictive 
 reprisal for aggression upon an orphan brood of mountain 
 quail which he had taken under his protection. For, while 
 he nourished a keen love of sport, it was controlled by a 
 boy's larger understanding of nature: a pantheistic sympa- 
 thy with man and beast and plant, which made him keenly 
 alive to the strange cruelties of creation, revealed to him 
 some queer animal feuds, and made him a chivalrous parti- 
 san of the weaker. He had even gone out of his way to 
 defend, by ingenious contrivances of his own, the hoard of 
 a golden squirrel and the treasures of some wild bees from 
 a predatory bear, although it did not prevent him later 
 from capturing the squirrel by an equally ingenious contriv- 
 ance, and from eventually eating some of the honey. 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 21i5 
 
 He was late home that evening. But this was "vaca- 
 tion," — the district school was closed, and hut for the 
 household "chores," which occupied his early mornings, 
 each long summer day was a holiday. So two or three 
 passed; and then one morning, on his going to the post 
 office, the postmaster threw down upon the counter a real 
 and rather bulky letter, duly stamped, and addressed to 
 Mr. Leonidas Boone! Leonidas was too discreet to open 
 it before witnesses, but in the solitude of the trail home 
 broke the seal. It contained another letter with no ad- 
 dress — clearly the one she expected — and, more marvel- 
 ous still, a sheaf of trout-hooks, with delicate gut-snells 
 such as Leonidas had only dared to dream of. The letter 
 to himself was written in a clear, distinct hand, and ran as 
 follows : — 
 
 Deak Lee, — How are you getting on on old Casket 
 Ridge? It seems a coon's age since you and me was to- 
 gether, and times I get to think I must just run up and see 
 you ! We 're having bully times in 'Frisco, you bet ! 
 though there ain't anything wild worth shucks to go to see 
 — 'cept the sea lions at the Cliff House. They 're just 
 stunning — big as a grizzly, and bigger — climbing over a 
 big rock or swimming in the sea like an otter or muskrat. 
 I 'm sending you some snells and hooks, such as you can't 
 get at Casket. Use the fine ones for pot-holes and the 
 bigger ones for running water or falls. Let me know when 
 you 've got 'em. Write to Lock Box No. 1290. That 's 
 where dad's letters come. So no more at present. 
 Prom yours truly 
 
 Jim Belchee. 
 
 Not only did Leonidas know that this was not from the 
 real Jim, but he felt the vague contact of a new, charming, 
 and original personality that fascinated him. Of course, it 
 
216 A MERCUEY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 ■was only natural that one of her friends — as he must he 
 — should be equally delightful. There was no jealousy in 
 Leonidas's devotion; he knew only a joy in this fellowship 
 of admiration for her which he was satisfied that the other 
 hoy must feel. And only the right kind of boy could know 
 the importance of his ravishing gift, and this Jim was evi- 
 dently "no slouch"! Yet, in Leonidas's new joy he did 
 not forget her! He ran back to the stockade fence and 
 lounged upon the road in view of the house, hut she did 
 not appear. 
 
 Leonidas lingered on the top of the hill, ostentatiously 
 examining a young hickory for a green switch, but to no 
 effect. Then it suddenly occurred to him that she might 
 be staying in purposely, and, perhaps a little piqued by her 
 indifference, he ran off. There was a mountain stream hard 
 by, now dwindled in the summer drouth to a mere trickling 
 thread among the boulders, and there was a certain " pot- 
 hole " that he had long known. It was the lurking-place 
 of a phenomenal trout, — an almost historic fish in the dis- 
 trict, which had long resisted the attempt of such rude 
 sportsmen as miners, or even experts like himself. Few 
 had seen it, except as a vague, shadowy bulk in the four 
 feet of depth and gloom in which it hid; only once had 
 Leonidas's quick eye feasted on its fair proportions. On 
 that memorable occasion Leonidas, having exhausted every 
 kind of lure of painted fly and living bait, was rising from 
 his knees behind the bank, when a pink five-cent stamp 
 dislodged from his pocket fluttered in the air, and descended 
 slowly upon the still pool. Horrified at his loss, Leonidas 
 leaned over to recover it, when there was a flash like light- 
 ning in the black depths, a dozen changes of light and 
 shadow on the surface, a little whirling wave splashing 
 against the side of the rock, and the postage stamp was 
 gone. More than that — for one instant the trout remained 
 visible, stationary, and expectant! Whether it was the in- 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 217 
 
 stinct of sport, or whether the fish had detected a new, 
 subtle, and original flavor in the gum and paper, Leonidas 
 never knew. Alas! he had not another stamp; he was 
 obliged to leave the fish, but carried a brilliant idea away 
 with him. Ever since then he had cherished it — and an- 
 other extra stamp in his pocket. And now, with this 
 strong but gossaraer-like snell, this new hook, and this 
 freshly cut hickory rod, he would make the trial! 
 
 But fate was against him ! He had scarcely descended 
 the narrow trail to the pine-fringed margin of the stream 
 before his quick ear detected an unusual rustling through 
 the adjacent underbrush, and then a voice that startled 
 him ! It was hers ! In an instant all thought of sport 
 had fled. With a beating heart, half-opened lips, and up- 
 lifted lashes', Leonidas awaited the coming of his divinity 
 like a timorous virgin at her first tryst. 
 
 But Mrs. Burroughs was clearly not in an equally re- 
 sponsive mood. With her fair face reddened by the sun, 
 the damp tendrils of her unwound hair clinging to her fore- 
 head, and her smart little slippers red with dust, there 
 was also a querulous light in her eyes, and a still more 
 querulous pinch in her nostrils, as she stood panting be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " You tiresome boy ! " she gasped, holding one little hand 
 to her side as she gripped her brambled skirt around her 
 ankles with the other. " Why did n't you wait ? Why did 
 you make me run all this distance after you ? " 
 
 Leonidas timidly and poignantly protested. He had 
 waited before the house and on the hill; he thought she 
 didn't want him. 
 
 "Couldn't you see that that ynan kept me in?" she 
 went on peevishly. "Haven't you sense enough to know 
 that he suspects something, and follows me everywhere, 
 dogging my footsteps every time the post comes in, and 
 even going to the post office himself, to make sure that he 
 
218 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 sees all my letters? Well," she added impatiently, "have 
 you anything for me? Why don't you speak ? " 
 
 Crushed and remorseful, Leonidas produced her letter. 
 She almost snatched it from his hand, opened it, read a few 
 lines, and her face changed. A smile strayed from her eyes 
 to her lips, and hack again. Leonidas's heart was lifted: 
 she was so forgiving &nd so heautiful ! 
 
 " Is he a hoy, Mrs. Burroughs 1 " asked Leonidas shyly. 
 
 "Well — not exactly," she said, her charming face all 
 radiant again. "He 's older than you. What has he writ- 
 ten to you ! " 
 
 Leonidas put his letter in her hand for reply. 
 
 "I wish I could see him, you know," he said shyly. 
 " That letter 's bully — it 's just rats ! I like him pow'ful." 
 
 Mrs. Burroughs had skimmed through the letter, but not 
 interestedly. 
 
 "You mustn't like him more than you like me," she 
 said laughingly, caressing him with her voice and eyes, and 
 even her straying hand. 
 
 "I couldn't do that! I never could like anybody as I 
 like you," said Leonidas gravely. There was such appall- 
 ing truthfulness in the boy's voice and frankly opened eyes 
 that the woman could not evade it, and was slightly discon- 
 certed. But she presently started up with a vexatious cry. 
 "There's that wretch following me again, I do believe," 
 she said, staring at the hilltop. " Yes ! Look, Leon, he 's 
 turning to come down this trail. What 's to be done ? He 
 must n't see me here ! " 
 
 Leonidas looked. It was indeed Mr. Burroughs; but 
 he was evidently only taking a short cut towards the Kidge, 
 where his men were working. Leonidas had seen him take 
 it before. But it was the principal trail on the steep hill- 
 .side, and they must eventually meet. A man might evade 
 it by scrambling through the brush to a lower and rougher 
 trail; but a woman, never! But an idea had seized Leon- 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 219 
 
 idas. "I can stop him," he said confidently to her. "You 
 just lie low here behind that rock till I come back. He 
 hasn't seen yon yet." 
 
 She had barely time to draw back before Leonidas darted 
 down the trail towards her husband. Yet, in her intense 
 curiosity, she leaned out the next moment to watch him. 
 He paused at last, not far from the approaching figure, and 
 seemed to kneel down on the trail. What was he doing? 
 Her husband was still slowly advancing. Suddenly he 
 stopped. At the same moment she heard their two voices 
 in excited parley, and then, to her amazement, she saw her 
 husband scramble hurriedly down the trail to the lower 
 level, and with an occasional backward glance, hasten away 
 until he had passed beyond her view. 
 
 She could scarcely realize her narrow escape when Leon- 
 idas stood by her side. " How did you do it ? " she said 
 eagerly. 
 
 "With a rattler! " said the boy gravely. 
 
 "With a what I " 
 
 "A rattlesnake — pizen snake, you know." 
 
 ' ■ A rattlesnake ? " she said, staring at Leonidas with a 
 quick snatching away of her skirts. 
 
 The boy, who seemed to have forgotten her in his other 
 abstraction of adventure, now turned quickly, with devoted 
 eyes and a reassuring smile. 
 
 "Yes; but I wouldn't let him hurt you," he said 
 gently. 
 
 " But what did you do ? " 
 
 He looked at her curiously. "You won't be frightened 
 if I show you? " he said doubtfully. "There 's nothin' to 
 be afeerd of s' long as you 're with me," he added proudly. 
 
 "Yes — that is" — she stammered, and then, her cvwi- 
 osity getting the better of her fear, she added in a whisper, 
 " Show me quick ! " 
 
 He led the way up the narrow trail until he stopped 
 
220 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 where he had knelt hefore. It was a narrow, sunny ledge 
 of rock, scarcely wide enough for a single person to pass. 
 He silently pointed to a cleft in the rock, and kneeling 
 down again, hegan to whistle in a soft, fluttering way. 
 There was a moment of suspense, and then she was con- 
 scious of an awful gliding something, — a movement so mea- 
 sured yet so exquisitely graceful that she stood enthralled. 
 A narrow, flattened, expressionless head was followed by 
 a foot-long strip of yellow-barred scales; then there was a 
 pause, and the head turned, in a beautifully symmetrical 
 half-circle, towards the whistler. The whistling ceased; 
 the snake, with half its body out of the cleft, remained 
 poised in air as if stiffened to stone. 
 
 "There," said Leonidas quietly, "that's what Mr. Bur- 
 roughs saw and that 's why he scooted off the trail. I just 
 called out William Henry, — I call him William Henry, 
 and he knows his name, — and then I sang out to Mr. 
 Burroughs what was up; and it was lucky I did, for the 
 next moment he 'd have been on top of him and have been 
 struck, for rattlers don't give way to any one." 
 
 "Oh, why didn't you let" — She stopped herself 
 quickly, but could not stop the fierce glint in her eye nor 
 the sharp curve in her nostril. Luckily, Leonidas did not 
 see this, being preoccupied with his other graceful charmer, 
 William Henry. 
 
 " But how did you know it was here ? " said Mrs. Bur- 
 roughs, recovering herself. 
 
 "Fetched him here," said Leonidas briefly. 
 
 "What — in your hands? " she said, drawing back. 
 
 "No! made him follow! I have handled him, but it 
 was after I 'd first made him strike his pizeu out upon a 
 stick. Ye know, after he strikes four times he ain't got 
 any pizen left. Then ye kin do anythin' with him, and 
 he knows it. He knows me, you bet! I've been three 
 months trainin' him. Look! Don't be frightened," he 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 221 
 
 said, as Mrs. Burroughs drew hurriedly hack; "see him 
 mind me. Now scoot home, William Henry. " 
 
 He accompanied the command with a slow, dominant 
 movement of the hickory rod he was carrying. The snake 
 dropped its head, and slid noiselessly out of the cleft across 
 the trail and down the hill. 
 
 "Thinks my rod is witch-hazel, which rattlers can't 
 ahide," continued Leonidas, dropping into a boy's breath- 
 less abbreviated speech. "Lives down your way — just 
 hack of your farm. Show ye some day. Suns himself on 
 a flat stone every day — always cold — never can get warm. 
 Eh?" 
 
 She had not spoken, but was gazing into space with a 
 breathless rigidity of attitude and a fixed look in her eye, 
 not unlike the motionless orbs of the reptile that had glided 
 away. 
 
 " Does anybody else know you keep him ? " she asked. 
 
 "Nary one. I never showed him to anybody but you," 
 replied the boy. 
 
 "Don't! You must show me where he hides to-mor- 
 row," she said, in her old laughing way. "And now, 
 Leon, I must go back to the house." 
 
 "May I write to him — to Jim Belcher, Mrs. Bur- 
 roughs ? " said the boy timidly. 
 
 "Certainly. And come to me to-morrow with your let- 
 ter — I will have mine ready. Good- by." She stopped 
 and glanced at the trail. "And you say that if that man 
 had kept on, the snake would have bitten him ? " 
 
 " Sure pop ! — if he 'd trod on him — as he was sure to. 
 The snake would n't have known he did n't mean it. It 's 
 only natural," continued Leonidas, with glowing partisan- 
 ship for the gentle and absent William Henry. " You 
 wouldn't like to be trodden upon, Mrs. Burroughs!" 
 
 "No! I'd strike out! "she said quickly. She made a 
 rapid motion forward with her low forehead and level head. 
 
222 A MEKCUEY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 leaving it rigid the next moment, so that it reminded him 
 of the snake, and he laughed. At which she laughed too, 
 and tripped away. 
 
 Leonidas went back and caught his trout. But even this 
 triumph did not remove a vague sense of disappointment 
 which had come over him. He had often pictured to him- 
 self a Heaven-sent meeting with her in the woods, a walk 
 with her, alone, where he could pick her the rarest flowers 
 and herbs and show her his woodland friends; and it had 
 only ended in this, and an exhibition of William Henry ! 
 He ought to have saved her from something, and not her 
 husband. Yet he had no ill-feeling for Burroughs, only a 
 desire to circumvent him, on behalf of the unprotected, as 
 he would have baffled a hawk or a wildcat. He went home 
 in dismal spirits, but later that evening constructed a boy- 
 ish letter of thanks to the apocryphal Belcher and told him 
 all about — the trout! 
 
 He brought her his letter the next day, and received hers 
 to inclose. She was pleasant, her own charming self again, 
 but she seemed more interested in other things than him- 
 self, as, for instance, the docile William Henry, whose 
 hiding-place he showed, and whose few tricks she made 
 him exhibit to her, and which the gratified Leonidas ac- 
 cepted as a delicate form of flattery to himself. But his 
 yearning, innocent spirit detected a something lacking, 
 which he was too proud to admit even to himself. It was 
 his own fault; he ought to have waited for her, and not 
 gone for the trout ! 
 
 So a fortnight passed with an interchange of the vicari- 
 ous letters, and brief, hopeful, and disappointing meetings 
 to Leonidas. To add to his unhappiness, he was obliged 
 to listen to sneering disparagement of his goddess from his 
 family, and criticisms which, happily, his innocence did 
 not comprehend. It was his own mother who accused her 
 of shamefully "making up" to the good-looking express- 
 
A MBECUEY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 223 
 
 man at church last Sunday, and declared that Burroughs 
 ought to "look after that wife of his," — two statements 
 which the simple Leonidas could not reconcile. He had 
 seen the incident, and only thought her more lovely than 
 ever. Why should not the expressman think so tool 
 And yet the boy was not happy ; something intruded upon 
 his sports, upon his books, making them dull and vapid, 
 and yet that something was she ! He grew pale and pre- 
 occupied. If he had only some one in whom to confide — 
 some one who could explain his hopes and fears. That one 
 was nearer than he thought ! 
 
 It was quite three weeks since the rattlesnake incident, 
 and he was wandering moodily over Casket Eidge. He 
 was near the Casket, that abrupt upheaval of quartz and 
 gneiss, shaped like a coffer, from which the mountain took 
 its name. It was a favorite haunt of Leonidas, one of 
 whose boyish superstitions was that it contained a treasure 
 of gold, and one of whose brightest dreams had been that 
 he should yet discover it. This he did not do to-day, but 
 looking up from the rocks that he was listlessly examining, 
 he made the almost as thrilling discovery that near him on 
 the trail was a distinguished-looking stranger. 
 
 He was bestriding a shapely mustang, which well became 
 his handsome face and slight, elegant figure, and he was 
 looking at Leonidas with an amused- curiosity and a certain 
 easy assurance that were difficult to withstand. It was 
 with the same fascinating self-confidence of smile, voice, 
 and manner that he rode up to the boy, and leaning lightly 
 over his saddle, said with exaggerated politeness: "I be- 
 lieve I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Leonidas Boone ? " 
 
 The rising color in Leonidas's face was apparently a suf- 
 ficient answer to the stranger, for he continued smilingly, 
 "Then permit me to introduce myself as Mr. James Belcher. 
 As yovi perceive, I have grown considerably since you last 
 saw me. In fact, I 've done nothing else. It 's surprising 
 
224 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 ■what a fellow can do when he sets his mind on one thing. 
 And then, you know, they 're always telling you that San 
 Francisco is a ' growing place. ' That accounts for it ! " 
 
 Leonidas, dazed, dazzled, but delighted, showed all his 
 white teeth in a shy laugh. At which the enchanting 
 stranger leaped from his horse like a very boy, drew his 
 arm through the rein, and going up to Leonidas, lifted the 
 boy's straw hat from his head and ran his fingers through 
 his curls. There was nothing original in that — everybody 
 did that to him as a preliminary to conversation. But when 
 this ingenuous fine gentleman put his own Panama hat on 
 Leonidas's head, and clapped Leonidas's torn straw on his 
 own, and, passing his arm through the boy's, began to walk 
 on with him, Leonidas's simple heart went out to him at 
 once. 
 
 "And now, Leon," said the delightful stranger, "let's 
 you and me have a talk. There 's a nice cool spot under 
 these laurels; I '11 stake out Pepita, and we '11 just lie off 
 there and gab, and not care if school keeps or not." 
 
 "But you know you ain't really Jim Belcher," said the 
 •boy shyly. 
 
 "I 'm as good a man as he is any day, whoever I am," 
 said the stranger, with humorous defiance, "and can lick 
 him out of his boots, whoever he is. That ought to satisfy 
 you. But if you want my certificate, here 's your own let- 
 ter, old man," he said, producing Leonidas's last scrawl 
 from his pocket. 
 
 " And hers ? " said the boy cautiously. 
 
 The stranger's face changed a little. "And hers," he 
 repeated gravely, showing a little pink note which Leon- 
 idas recognized as one of Mrs. Burroughs's inclosures. The 
 boy was silent until they reached the laurels, where the 
 stranger tethered his horse and then threw himself in an 
 easy attitude beneath the tree, with the back of his head 
 upon his clasped hands. Leonidas could see his curved 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 225 
 
 brown mustaches and silky lashes that were almost as long, 
 and thought him the handsomest man he had ever beheld. 
 
 ''Well, Leon," said the stranger, stretching himself out 
 comfortably and pulling the boy down beside him, "how 
 are things going on the Casket ? All serene, eh t " 
 
 The inquiry so dismally recalled Leonidas's late feelings 
 that his face clouded, and he involuntarily sighed. The 
 stranger instantly shifted his head and gazed curiously at 
 him. Then he took the boy's sunburnt hand in his own, 
 and held it a moment. "Well, go on," he said. 
 
 "Well, Mr. — Mr. — I can't go on — I won't!" said 
 Leonidas, with a sudden fit of obstinacy. "I don't know 
 what to call you." 
 
 " Call me ' Jack ' — ' Jack Hamlin ' when you 're not in 
 a hurry. Ever heard of me before ? " he added, suddenly 
 turning his head towards Leonidas. 
 
 The boy shook his head. "No." 
 
 Mr. Jack Hamlin lifted his lashes in affected expostu- 
 lation to the skies. " And this is Fame ! " he murmured 
 audibly. 
 
 But this Leonidas did not comprehend. Nor could he 
 understand why the stranger, who clearly must have come 
 to see her, should not ask about her, should not rush to 
 seek her, but should lie back there all the while so con- 
 tentedly on the grass. He would n't. He half resented it, 
 and then it occurred to him that this fine gentleman was 
 like himself — shy. Who could help being so before such 
 an angel t He would help him on. 
 
 And so, shyly at first, but bit by bit emboldened by a 
 word or two from Jack, he began to talk of her — of her 
 beauty — of her kindness — of his own un worthiness — of 
 what she had said and done — until, finding in this gra- 
 cious stranger the vent his pent-up feelings so long had 
 sought, he sang then and there the little idyl of his boyish 
 life. He told of his decline in her affections after his 
 
226 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 unpardonable sin in keeping her waiting while he went foi 
 the trout, and added the miserable mistake of the rattle- 
 snake episode. "For it was a mistake, Mr. Hamlin. I 
 ought n't to have let a lady like that know anything about 
 snakes — just because Z" happen to know them." 
 
 "It was an awful slump, Lee," said Hamlin gravely. 
 " Get a woman and a snake together — and where are you ? 
 Think of Adam and Eve and the serpent, you know." 
 
 "But it wasn't that way," said the boy earnestly. 
 "And I want to tell you something else that 's just makin' 
 me sick, Mr. Hamlin. You know I told you William 
 Henry lives down at the bottom of Burroughs's garden, and 
 how I showed Mrs. Burroughs his tricks ! Well, only two 
 days ago I was down there looking for him, and couldn't 
 find him anywhere. There 's a sort of narrow trail from 
 the garden to the hill, a short cut up to the Eidge, instead 
 o' going by their gate. It 's just the trail any one would 
 take in a hurry, or if they did n't want to be seen from the 
 road. Well ! I was looking this way and that for William 
 Henry, and whistlin' for him, when I slipped on to the trail. 
 There, in the middle of it, was an old bucket turned upside 
 down — just the thing a man would kick away or a woman 
 lift up. Well, Mr. Hamlin, I kicked it away, and " — the 
 boy stopped, with rounded eyes and bated breath, and added 
 — "I just had time to give one jump and save myself! 
 For under that pail, cramped down so he couldn't get out, 
 and just bilin' over with rage, and chockful of pizen, was 
 William Henry ! If it had been anybody else less spry, 
 they 'd have got bitten, — and that 's just what the sneak 
 who put it there knew." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin uttered an exclamation under his breath, 
 and rose to his feet. 
 
 " What did you say ? " asked the boy quickly. 
 
 "Nothing," said Mr. Hamlin. 
 
 But it had sounded to Leonidas like an oath. 
 
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 227 
 
 Mr. Hamlin walked a few steps, as if stretching his 
 limbs, and then said: "And you think Burroughs would 
 have been bitten 1 " 
 
 " Why, no ! " said Leonidas in astonished indignation ; 
 "of course not — not Burroughs. It would have been 
 poor Mrs. Burroughs. For of course he set that trap for 
 her — don't you see? Who else would do it?" 
 
 "Of course, of course! Certainly," said Mr. Hamlin 
 coolly. "Of course, as you say, Ae set the trap — yes — 
 you just hang on to that idea." 
 
 But something in Mr. Hamlin's manner, and a peculiar 
 look in his eye, did not satisfy Leonidas. "Are you going 
 to see her now ? " he said eagerly. " I can show you the 
 house, and then run in and tell her you 're outside in the 
 laurels. " 
 
 "Not just yet," said Mr. Hamlin, laying his hand on 
 the boy's head after having restored his own hat. "You 
 see, I thought of giving her a surprise. A big surprise ! " 
 he added slowly. After a pause, he went on, "Did you 
 tell her what you had seen ? " 
 
 " Of course I did, " said Leonidas reproachfully. " Did 
 you think I was going to let her get bit ? It might have 
 killed her." 
 
 "And it might not have been an unmixed pleasure for 
 William Henry. I mean," said Mr. Hamlin gravely, cor- 
 recting himself, "you woujd never have forgiven him. 
 But what did she say ? " 
 
 The boy's face clouded. "She thanked me and said it 
 was very thoughtful — and kind — though it might have 
 been only an accident " — he stammered — " and then she 
 said perhaps I was hanging round and coming there a little 
 too much lately, and that as Burroughs was very watchful, 
 I 'd better quit for two or three days. " The tears were rising 
 to .his eyes, but by putting his two clinched fists into his 
 pockets, he managed- to hold them down. Perhaps Mr. 
 
228 A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 
 
 Hamlin's soft hand on his head assisted him. Mr. Hanilia 
 took from his pocket a note-hook, and tearing out a leaf, 
 sat down again and began to write on his knee. After a 
 pause, Leonidas said, -^ 
 
 " Was you ever in love, Mr. Hamlin 1 " 
 
 "Never," said Mr. Hamlin, quietly continuing to write. 
 "But, now you speak of it, it 's a long-felt want in my na- 
 ture that I intend to supply some day. But not until I 've 
 made my pile. And don't you either." He continued 
 writing, for it was this gentleman's peculiarity to talk 
 without apparently the slightest concern whether anybody 
 else spoke, whether he was listened to, or whether his re- 
 marks were at all relevant to the case. Yet he was always 
 listened to for that reason. When he had finished writ- 
 ing, he folded up the paper, put it in an envelope, and 
 addressed it. 
 
 " Shall I take it to her ? " said Leonidas eagerly. 
 
 "It 's not for her ; it 's for him — Mr. Burroughs," said 
 Mr. Hamlin quietly. 
 
 The boy drew back. "To get him out of the way," 
 added Hamlin explanatorily. "When he gets it, lightning 
 wouldn't keep him here. Now, how to send it," he said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "You might leave it at the post office," said Leonidas 
 timidly. "He always goes there to watch his wife's let- 
 ters. " 
 
 For the first time in their interview Mr. Hamlin dis- 
 tinctly laughed. 
 
 " Your head is level, Leo, and I '11 do it. Now the best 
 thing you can do is to follow Mrs. Burroughs's advice. 
 Quit going to the house for a day or two." He walked 
 towards his horse. The boy's face sank, but he kept up 
 bravely. " And will I see you again 1 " he said wistfully. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin lowered his face so near the boy's that 
 Leonidas could see himself in the brown depths of Mr. 
 
A MEKCUKY OF THE FOOT-HILLS 229 
 
 Hamlin's eyes. "I hope you -will," he said gravely. He 
 mounted, shook the hoy's hand, and rode away in the 
 lengthening shadows. Then Leonidas wallced sadly home. 
 
 There was no need for him to keep his promise ; for the 
 next morning the family were stirred hy the announcement 
 that Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs had left Casket Eidge that 
 night by the down stage for Sacramento, and that the house 
 was closed. There were various rumors concerning the rea- 
 son of this sudden, departure, but only one was persistent, 
 and borne out by the postmaster. It was that Mr. Bur- 
 roughs had received that afternoon an anonymous note that 
 his wife was about to elope with the notorious San Fran- 
 cisco gambler. Jack Hamlin. 
 
 But Leonidas Boone, albeit half understanding, kept his 
 miserable secret with a still hopeful and trustful heart. It 
 grieved him a little that William Henry was found a few 
 days later dead, with his head crushed. Yet it was not 
 until years later, when he had made a successful " prospect " 
 on Casket Ridge, that he met Mr. Hamlin in San Francisco, 
 and knew how he had played the part of Mercury upon 
 that "heaven- kissing hill.'' 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLATNTIEf 
 
 It had been a day of triumph for Colonel Starbottle, 
 First, for his personality, as it would have been difficult to 
 separate the Colonel's achievements from his individuality ; 
 second, for his oratorical abilities as a sympathetic pleader; 
 and third, for his functions as the leading legal counsel for 
 the Eureka Ditch Company versus the State of California. 
 On his strictly legal performances in this issue 1 prefer not 
 to speak; there were those who denied them, although the 
 jury had accepted them in the face of the ruling of the half- 
 amused, half-cynical Judge himself. For an hour they had 
 laughed with the Colonel, wept with him, been stirred to 
 personal indignation or patriotic exaltation by his passion- 
 ate and lofty periods, — what else could they do than give 
 him their verdict? If it was alleged by some that the 
 American eagle, Thomas Jefferson, and the Resolutions of 
 '98 had nothing whatever to do with the contest of a ditch 
 company over a doubtfully worded legislative document; 
 that wholesale abuse of the State Attorney and his political 
 motives had not the slightest connection with the legal 
 question raised — it was, nevertheless, generally accepted 
 that the losing party would have been only too glad to have 
 the Colonel on their side. And Colonel Starbottle knew 
 this, as, perspiring, florid, and panting, he rebuttoned the 
 lower buttons of his blue frock-coat, which had become 
 loosed in an oratorical spasm, and readjusted his old-fash- 
 ioned, spotless shirt frill above it as he strutted from the 
 court-room amidst the handshakings and acclamations of his 
 {riends. 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 231 
 
 And here an unprecedented thing occurred. The Colo- 
 nel absolutely declined spirituous refreshment at the neigh- 
 boring Palmetto Saloon, and declared his intention of 
 proceeding directly to his office in the adjoining square. 
 Nevertheless, the Colonel quitted the building alone, and 
 apparently unarmed, except for his faithful gold-headed 
 stick, which hung as usual from his forearm. The crowd 
 gazed after him with undisguised admiration of this new 
 evidence of his pluck. It was remembered also that a myste- 
 rious note had been handed to him at the conclusion of his 
 speech, — evidently a challenge from the State Attorney. 
 It was quite plain that the Colonel — a practiced duelist — 
 was hastening home to answer it. 
 
 But herein they were wrong. The note was in a female 
 hand, and simply requested the Colonel to accord an inter- 
 view with the writer at the Colonel's office as soon as he 
 left the court. But it was an engagement that the Colonel 
 — as devoted to the fair sex as he was to the " code " — 
 was no less prompt in accepting. He flicked away the 
 dust from his spotless white trousers and varnished boots 
 with his handkerchief, and settled his black cravat under 
 his Byron collar as he neared his office. He was surprised, 
 however, on opening the door of his private office, to find 
 his visitor already there ; he was still more startled to find 
 her somewhat past middle age and plainly attired. But the 
 Colonel was brought up in a school of Southern politeness, 
 already antique in the republic, and his bow of courtesy 
 belonged to the epoch of his shirt frill and strapped trou- 
 sers. No one could have detected his disappointment in 
 his manner, albeit his sentences were short and incomplete. 
 But the Colonel's colloquial speech was apt to be fragmen- 
 tary incoherencies of his larger oratorical utterances. 
 
 " A thousand pardons — for — er — having kept a lady 
 waiting — er ! But — er — congratulations of friends — ■ 
 and — er — courtesy due to them — er — interfered with 
 
232 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOK THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 — though perhaps only heightened — by procrastination — 
 the pleasure of — ha!" And the Colonel completed his 
 sentence with a gallant wave of his fat but white and well- 
 kept hand. 
 
 "Yes! I came to see you along o' that speech of yours. 
 I was in court. When I heard you gettin' it off on that 
 jury, I says to myself, ' That 's the kind o' lawyer I want. 
 A man that 's flowery and convincin' ! Just the man to 
 take up our case. ' " 
 
 "Ah! It 's a matter of business, I see," said the Colo- 
 nel, inwardly relieved, but externally careless. "And — er 
 
 — may I ask the nature of the case ? " 
 
 "Well! it's a breach-o'-promise suit," said the visitor 
 calmly. 
 
 If the Colonel had been surprised before, he was now 
 really startled, and with an added horror that required all 
 his politeness to conceal. Breach-of-promise cases were 
 his peculiar aversion. He had always held them to be a 
 kind of litigation which could have been obviated by the 
 prompt killing of the masculine offender — in which case 
 he would have gladly defended the killer. But a suit for 
 damages, — damages ! — with the reading of love-letters 
 before a hilarious jury and court, was against all his in- 
 stincts. His chivalry vas outraged ; his sense of humor 
 was small, and in the course of his career he had lost one 
 or two important cases through an unexpected development 
 of this quality in a jury. 
 
 The woman had evidently noticed his hesitation, but 
 mistook its cause. "It ain't me — but my darter." 
 
 The Colonel recovered his politeness. "Ah! I am re- 
 lieved, my dear madam! I could hardly conceive a man 
 ignorant enough to — er — er — throw away such evident 
 good fortune — or base enough to deceive the trustfulness 
 of womanhood — matiired and experienced only in the 
 chivalry of our sex, ha ! " 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 233 
 
 The woman smiled grimly. "Yes! — it's my darteij 
 Zaidee Hooker — so ye might spare some of them pretty 
 speeches for her — before the jury." 
 
 The Colonel winced slightly before this doubtful pros- 
 pect, but smiled. "Ha! Yes! — certainly — the jury. 
 But — er — my dear lady, need we go as far as that 1 Can- 
 not this affair be settled — er — out of court 1 Could not 
 this — er — individual — be admonished — told that he 
 must give satisfaction — personal satisfaction — for his das- 
 tardly conduct — to — er — near relative — or even valued 
 personal friend 1 The — er — arrangements necessary for 
 that purpose I myself would undertake." 
 
 He was quite sincere ; indeed, his small black eyes shone 
 with that fire which a pretty woman or an "affair of honor " 
 could alone kindle. The visitor stared vacantly at him, 
 and said slowly, " And what good is that goin' to do us ? " 
 
 "Compel him to — er — perform his promise," said the 
 Colonel, leaning back in his chair. 
 
 " Ketch him doin' it ! " she exclaimed scornfully. " No 
 — that ain't wot we're after. We must make him pay / 
 Damages — and nothin' short o' that." 
 
 The Colonel bit his lip. "I suppose," he said gloomily, 
 "you have documentary evidence — written promises and 
 protestations — er — er — love-letters, in fact 1 " 
 
 "No — nary a letter! Ye see, that's jest it — and 
 that 's where you come in. You 've got to convince that 
 jury yourself. You 've got to show what it is — tell the 
 whole story your own way. Lord! to a man like you 
 that 'a nothin'." 
 
 Startling as this admission might have been to any other 
 lawyer, Starbottle was absolutely relieved by it. The ab- 
 sence of any mirth-provoking correspondence, and the ap- 
 peal solely to his own powers of persuasion, actually struck 
 his fancy. He lightly put aside the compliment with a 
 wave of his white hand. 
 
234 COLONEL STAUBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 "Of course," he said confidently, " tliere is strongly pre- 
 Esumptive and corroborative evidence 1 Perhaps you can 
 give me — er — a brief outline of the affair ? " 
 
 " Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon," said the 
 ■woman ; " what I want to know first is, kin you take the 
 case?" 
 
 The Colonel did not hesitate ; his curiosity was piqued, 
 " I certainly can. I have no doubt your daughter will put 
 me in possession of sufficient facts and details — to consti- 
 tute what we call — er — a brief." 
 
 " She kin be brief enough — or long enough — for the 
 matter of that," said the woman, rising. The Colonel ac- 
 cepted this implied witticism with a smile. 
 
 " And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her ? " he 
 asked politely. 
 
 " Well, I reckon as soon as I can trot out and call her. 
 She's just outside, meanderin' in the road — kinder shy, 
 ye know, at first." 
 
 She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel never- 
 theless gallantl}' accompanied her as she stepped out into 
 the street and called shrilly, " you Zaidee ! " 
 
 A young girl here apparently detached herself from a 
 tree and the ostentatious perusal of an old election poster, 
 and sauntered down towards the office door. Like her 
 mother, she was plainly dressed ; unlike her, she had a 
 pale, rather refined face, with a demure mouth and down- 
 cast eyes. This was all the Colonel saw as he bowed pro- 
 foundly and led the way into his office, for she accepted 
 his salutations without lifting her head. He helped her 
 gallantly to a chair, on which she seated herself sideways, 
 somewhat ceremoniously, with her eyes following the point 
 of her parasol as she traced a pattern on the carpet. A 
 second chair offered to the mother, that lady, however, de- 
 clined. " I reckon to leave you and Zaidee together to talk 
 it out," she said ; turning to her daughtei', she added, 
 
COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 236 
 
 "Jest you tell him all, Zaidee," and before the Colonel 
 could rise again, disappeared from the room. In spite of 
 his professional experience, Starbottle was for a moment 
 embarrassed. The young girl, however, broke the silence 
 without looking up. 
 
 "Adoniram K. Hotchkiss," she began, in a monotonous 
 voice, as if it were a recitation addressed to the public, 
 " first began to take notice of me a year ago. Arter that ^ 
 off and on " — 
 
 "One moment," interrupted the astounded Colonel; "do 
 you mean Hotchkiss the President of the Ditch Company 1 " 
 He had recognized the name of a prominent citizen — a 
 rigid, ascetic, taciturn, middle-aged man — a deacon — and 
 more than that, the head of the company he had just de- 
 fended. It seemed inconceivable. 
 
 "That's him," she continued, with eyes still fixed on 
 the parasol and without changing her monotonous tone — 
 " off and on ever since. Most of the time at the Free- Will 
 Baptist Church — at morning service, prayer-meetings, and 
 such. And at home — outside — er — in the road. " 
 
 " Is it this gentleman — Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss — 
 who — er — promised marriage ? " stammered the Colonel. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. "Most ex- 
 traordinary ! for — you see — my dear young lady — this 
 becomes — a — er — most delicate affair. " 
 
 "That's what maw said," returned the young woman 
 simply, yet with the faintest smile playing around her de- 
 mure lips and downcast cheek. 
 
 "I mean," said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous 
 smile, " that this — er — gentleman — is in fact — er — one 
 of my clients." 
 
 "That 's what maw said too, and of course your know- 
 ing him will make it all the easier for you." 
 
 A slight flush crossed the Colonel's cheek as he returned 
 
236 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOB THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 quickly and a little stiffly, " On the contrary — er — it may 
 make it impossible for me to — er — act in this matter." 
 
 The girl lifted her eyes. The Colonel held his breath 
 as the long lashes were raised to his level. Even to an or- 
 dinary observer that sudden revelation of her eyes seemed 
 to transform her face with subtle witchery. They were 
 large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an extraordinary 
 penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an ex- 
 perienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. 
 What else the Colonel saw there Heaven only knows ! He 
 felt his inmost secrets plucked from him — his whole soul 
 laid bare — his vanity, belligerency, gallantry — even his 
 mediaeval chivalry, penetrated, and yet illuminated, in that 
 single glance. And when the eyelids fell again, he felt 
 that a greater part of himself had been swallowed up in 
 them. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said hurriedly. "I mean — 
 this matter may be arranged — er — amicably. My interest 
 with — and as you wisely say — my — er — knowledge of 
 my client — er — Mr. Hotchkiss — may efi'ect — a compro- 
 mise." 
 
 "And damages," said the young girl, readdressing her 
 parasol, as if she had never looked up. 
 
 The Colonel winced. " And — er — undoubtedly com- 
 pensation — if you do not press a fulfillment of the promise. 
 Unless," he said, with an attempted return to his former 
 easy gallantry, which, however, the recollection of her eyes 
 made difiBcult, "it is a question of — er — the affections." 
 
 " Which 1 " asked his fair client softly. 
 
 "If you still love him? " explained the Colonel, actually 
 blushing. 
 
 Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel's 
 breath away with eyes that expressed not only the fullest 
 perception of what he had said, but of what he thought 
 and had not said, and with an added subtle suggestion of 
 
COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 237 
 
 what he might have thought. "That 's tellin'," she said, 
 dropping her long lashes again. 
 
 The Colonel laughed vacantly. Then feeling himself 
 growing imbecile, he forced an equally weak gravity. 
 " Pardon me — I understand there are no letters ; may I 
 know the way in which he formulated his declaration and 
 promises 1 " 
 
 " Hymn-books. " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said the mystified lawyer. 
 
 "Hymn-books — marked words in them with pencil — 
 and passed 'em on to me," repeated Zaidee. "Like ' love,' 
 ' dear, ' ' precious, ' ' sweet, ' and ' blessed, ' " she added, ac- 
 centing each word with a push of her parasol on the carpet. 
 " Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady — and Sol- 
 omon's Song, you know, and sioh." 
 
 "I believe," said the Colonel loftily, "that the — er — 
 phrases of sacred psalmody lend themselves to the language 
 of the affections. But in regard to the distinct promise of 
 marriage — was there — er — no other expression ! " 
 
 " Marriage Service in the prayer-book — lines and words 
 outer that — all marked," Zaidee replied. 
 
 The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly. "Very 
 good. Were others cognizant of this ? Were there any 
 witnesses 1 " 
 
 " Of course not, " said the girl. " Only me and him. It 
 was generally at church-time — or prayer-meeting. Once, 
 in passing the plate, he slipped one o' them peppermint 
 lozenges with the letters stamped on it ' I love you ' for 
 me to take." 
 
 The Colonel coughed slightly. "And you have the 
 lozenge ? " 
 
 "late it." 
 
 "Ah," said the Colonel. After a pause he added deli- 
 cately, "But were these attentions — er — confined to — el 
 — aacred precincts? Did he meet you elsewhere! " 
 
238 COLONEL STAKBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 ■'Useter pass our house on the road," returned the girl 
 dropping into her monotonous recital, " and useter signal.' 
 
 " Ah, signal 1 " repeated the Colonel approvingly. 
 
 "Yes! He'd say 'Keerow,' and I'd say 'Keeree. 
 Suthing like a bird, you know." 
 
 Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call, 
 the Colonel thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. 
 At least as she gave it. With his remembrance of the grim 
 deacon he had doubts as to the melodiousness of his utter- 
 ance. He gravely made her repeat it. 
 
 " And after that signal t " he added suggestively. 
 
 "He'd pass on." 
 
 The Colonel again coughed slightly, and tapped his desk 
 with his penholder. 
 
 "Were there any endearments — er — caresses — er — 
 such as taking your hand — er — clasping your waist ? " he 
 suggested, with a gallant yet respectful sweep of his white 
 hand and bowing of his head; " er — slight pressure of your 
 fingers in the changes of a dance — I mean, " he corrected 
 himself, with an apologetic cough — "in the passing of the 
 plate 1 " 
 
 " No; he was not what you 'd call ' fond, ' " returned the 
 girl. 
 
 " Ah ! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not * fond ' in the 
 ordinary acceptance of the word," noted the Colonel, with 
 professional gravity. 
 
 She lifted her disturbing eyes, and again absorbed his in 
 her own. She also said "Yes," although her eyes in their 
 mysterious prescience of all he was thinking disclaimed the 
 necessity of any answer at all. He smiled vacantly. There 
 was a long pause; on which she slowly disengaged her 
 parasol from the carpet pattern, and stood up, 
 
 "I reckon that's about all," she said. 
 
 "Er — yes — but one moment," began the Colonel 
 vaguely. He would have liked to keep her longer, but 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 239 
 
 ■with her strange premonition of him he felt powerless to 
 detain her, or explain his reason for doing so. He instinc- 
 tively knew she had told him all; his professional judg- 
 ment told him that a more hopeless case had never come to 
 his knowledge. Yet he was not daunted, only embarrassed. 
 "No matter," he said. "Of course I shall have to consult 
 with you again." 
 
 Her eyes again answered that she expected he would, 
 and she added simply, " When 1 " 
 
 "In the course of a day or two," he replied quickly. 
 "I will send you word." 
 
 She turned to go. In his eagerness to open the door for 
 her, he upset his chair, and with some confusion, that was 
 actually youthful, he almost impeded her movements in the 
 hall, and knocked his broad-brimmed Panama hat from his 
 bowing hand in a final gallant sweep. Yet as her small, 
 trim, youthful figure, with its simple Leghorn straw hat 
 confined by a blue bow under her round chin, passed away 
 before him, she looked more like a child than ever. 
 
 The Colonel spent that afternoon in making diplomatic 
 inquiries. He found his youthful client was the daughter 
 of a widow who had a small ranch on the cross-roads, near 
 the new Free- Will Baptist Church — the evident theatre 
 of this pastoral. They led a secluded life, the girl being 
 little known in the town, and her beauty and fascination 
 apparently not yet being a recognized fact. The Colonel 
 felt a pleasurable- relief at this, and a general satisfaction he 
 could not account for. His few inquiries concerning Mr. 
 Hotchkiss only confirmed his own impressions of the al 
 leged lover, — a serious-minded, practically abstracted man, 
 abstentive of youthful society, and the last man apparently 
 capable of levity of the affections or serious flirtation. The 
 Colonel was mystified, but determined of purpose, whatever 
 that purpose might have been. 
 
 The next day he was at his office at the same hour. He 
 
240 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 was alone — as usual — the Colonel's office being really hia 
 private lodgings, disposed in connecting rooms, a single 
 apartment reserved for consultation. He had no clerk, his 
 papers and lariefs being taken by his faithful body-servant 
 and ex-slave " Jim " to another firm who did his oifice work 
 since the death of Major Stryker, the Colonel's only law 
 partner, who fell in a duel some years previous. With a 
 fine constancy the Colonel still retained his partner's name 
 on his doorplate, and, it was alleged by the superstitious, 
 kept a certain invincibility also through the manes of that 
 lamented and somewhat feared man. 
 
 The Colonel consulted his watch, whose heavy gold case 
 still showed the marks of a providential interference with 
 a bullet destined for its owner, and replaced it with some 
 difiiculty and shortness of breath in his fob. At the same 
 moment he heard a step in the passage, and the door opened 
 to Adoniram K. Hotchkiss. The Colonel was impressed; 
 he had a duelist's respect for punctuality. 
 
 The man entered with a nod and the expectant inquiring 
 look of a busy man. As his feet crossed that sacred thresh- 
 old the Colonel became all courtesy; he placed a chair for 
 his visitor, and took his hat from his half-reluctant hand. 
 He then opened a cupboard and brought out a bottle of 
 whiskey and two glasses. 
 
 "A — er — slight refreshment, Mr. Hotchkiss," he sug- 
 gested politely. 
 
 "I never drink," replied Hotchkiss, with the severe at- 
 titude of a total abstainer. 
 
 " Ah — er — not the finest Bourbon whiskey, selected 
 by a Kentucky friend ? No ? Pardon me ! A cigar, then 
 ■ — the mildest Havana." 
 
 "I do not use tobacco nor alcohol in any form," repeated 
 Hotchkiss ascetically. "I have no foolish weaknesses." 
 
 The Colonel's moist, beady eyes swept silently over his 
 client's sallow face. He leaned hack comfortably in hia 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 241 
 
 ctair, and half closing his eyes as in dreamy reminiscence, 
 said slowly: "Your reply, Mr. Hotchkiss, reminds me of 
 
 — er — sing'lar circumstance that — er — occurred, in point 
 of fact — at the St. Charles Hotel, New Orleans. Pinkey 
 Hornblower — personal friend — invited Senator Doolittle 
 to join him in social glass. Received, sing'larly enough, 
 reply similar to yours. 'Don't drink nor smoke!' said 
 Pinkey. ' Gad, sir, you must be mighty sweet on the la» 
 dies. ' Ha ! " The Colonel paused long enough to allow 
 the faint flush to pass from Hotchkiss's cheek, and wenl 
 on, half closing his eyes : '"I allow no man, sir, to discusl 
 my personal habits, ' declared Doolittle, over his shirt col- 
 lar. ' Then I reckon shootin' must be one of those habits, ' 
 said Pinkey coolly. Both men drove out on the Shell 
 Eoad back of cemetery next morning. Pinkey put bullet 
 at twelve paces through Doolittle's temple. Poor Doo 
 never spoke again. Left three wives and seven children, 
 they say — two of 'em black." 
 
 "I got a note from you this morning," said Hotchkiss, 
 with badly concealed impatience. "I suppose in reference 
 to our case. You have taken judgment, I believe. " 
 
 The Colonel, without replying, slowly filled a glass of 
 whiskey and water. For a moment he held it dreamily 
 before him, as if still engaged in gentle reminiscences called 
 up by the act. Then tossing it off, he wiped his lips with 
 a large white handkerchief, and leaning back comfortably 
 in his chair, said, with a wave of his hand, " The interview 
 I requested, Mr. Hotchkiss, concerns a subject — which I 
 may say is — er — er — at present not of a public or busi- 
 ness nature — although later it might become — er — er — 
 both. It is an affair of some — er — delicacy." 
 
 The Colonel paused, and Mr. Hotchkiss regarded him 
 with increased impatience. The Colonel, however, contin- 
 ued, with unchanged deliberation : " It concerns — er — er 
 
 — a young lady — a beautiful, high-souled creature, sir. 
 
242 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 who, apart from her personal loveliness — er — er — I may 
 say is of one of the first families of Missouri, and — er — 
 not remotely connected by marriage with one of — er — er 
 
 — my boyhood's dearest friends." The latter, I grieve to 
 say, was a pure invention of the Colonel's — an oratorical 
 addition to the scanty information he had obtained the 
 previous day. " The young lady, " he continued blandly, 
 "enjoys the further distinction of being the object of such 
 attention from you as would make this interview — really 
 
 — a confidential matter — er — er — among friends and — 
 er — er — relations in present and future. I need not say 
 that the lady I refer to is Miss Zaidee Juno Hooker, only 
 daughter of Almira Ann Hooker, relict of Jefferson Brown 
 Hooker, formerly of Boone County, Kentucky, and latterly 
 of — er — Pike County, Missouri." 
 
 The sallow, ascetic hue of Mr. Hotchkiss's face had 
 passed through a livid and then a greenish shade, and finally 
 settled into a sullen red. " What 's all this about ! " he 
 demanded roughly. 
 
 The least touch of belligerent fire came into Starbottle's 
 eye, but his bland courtesy did not change. "I believe," 
 he said politely, " I have made myself clear as between — 
 er — gentlemen, though perhaps not as clear as I should to 
 
 — er — er — jury. " 
 
 Mr. Hotchkiss was apparently struck with some signifi- 
 cance in the lawyer's reply. "I don't know," he said, in 
 a lower and more cautious voice, " what you mean by what 
 you call ' my attentions ' to — any one — or how it con- 
 cerns you. I have not exchanged half a dozen words with 
 
 — the person you name — have never written her a line — 
 nor even called at her house." 
 
 He rose with an assumption of ease, pulled down his 
 waistcoat, buttoned his coat, and took up his hat. The 
 Colonel did not move. 
 
 "I believe I have already indicated my meaning in what 
 
COLONEL STaRBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 243 
 
 I have called ' your attentions, ' " said the Colonel blandly, 
 " and given you my ' concern ' for speaking as — er — ei 
 — mutual friend. As to your statement of your relations 
 with Miss Hooker, I may state that it is fully corroborated 
 by the statement of the young lady herself in this very 
 oiifice yesterday." 
 
 "Then what does this impertinent nonsense mean? 
 Why am I summoned here ? " demanded Hotchkiss furi- 
 ously. 
 
 "Because," said the Colonel deliberately, "that state- 
 ment is infamously — yes, damnably to your discredit, 
 sir!" 
 
 Mr. Hotchkiss was here seized by one of those impotent 
 and inconsistent rages which occasionally betray the habit- 
 ually cautious and timid man. He caught up the Colo- 
 nel's stick, which was lying on the table. At the same 
 moment the Colonel, without any apparent effort, grasped 
 it by the handle. To Mr. Hotchkiss's astonishment, the 
 stick separated in two pieces, leaving the handl,e and about 
 two feet of narrow glittering steel in the Colonel's hand. 
 The man recoiled, dropping the useless fragment. The 
 Colonel picked it up, fitted the shining blade in it, clicked 
 the spring, and then rising with a face of courtesy yet of 
 unmistakably genuine pain, and with even a slight tremor 
 in his voice, said gravely, — 
 
 "Mr. Hotchkiss, I owe you a thousand apologies, sir, 
 that — er — a weapon should be drawn by me — even 
 through your own inadvertence — under the sacred protec- 
 tion of my roof, and upon an unarmed man. I beg your 
 pardon, sir, and I even withdraw the expressions which 
 provoked that inadvertence. Nor does this apology pre- 
 vent you from holding me responsible — personally respon- 
 sible — elseivhere for an indiscretion committed in behalf 
 of a lady — my — er — client. " 
 
 "Your client? Do you mean you have taken her case? 
 
244 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 You, the counsel for the Ditch Company 1 " asked Mr. 
 Hotchkiss, in trembling indignation. 
 
 " Having won your case, sir, " replied the Colonel coolly, 
 "the — er — usages of advocacy do not prevent me from 
 espousing the cause of the weak and unprotected." 
 
 " We shall see, sir, " said Hotchkiss, grasping the handle 
 of the door and backing into the passage. "There are 
 other lawyers who " — 
 
 "Permit me to see you out," interrupted the Colonel, 
 rising politely. 
 
 — " will be ready to resist the attacks of blackmail, " 
 continued Hotchkiss, retreating along the passage. 
 
 "And then you will be able to repeat your remarks to 
 me in the street," continued the Colonel, bowing, as he 
 persisted in following his visitor to the door. 
 
 But here Mr. Hotchkiss quickly slammed it behind him, 
 and hurried away. The Colonel returned to his oflSce, and 
 sitting down, took a sheet of letter-paper bearing the in- 
 scription " Starbottle and Stryker, Attorneys and Counsel- 
 ors," and wrote the following lines: — 
 
 HooKEK versus Hotchkiss. 
 
 Dear Madam, — Having had a visit from the defend- 
 ant in above, we should be pleased to have an interview 
 with you at two p. m. to-morrow. 
 
 Your obedient servants, 
 
 Staebottle and Stktkee. 
 
 This he sealed and dispatched by his trusted servant 
 Jim, and then devoted a few moments to reflection. It 
 was the custom of the Colonel to act first, and justify the 
 action by reason afterwards. 
 
 He knew that Hotchkiss would at once lay the matter 
 before rival counsel. He knew that they would advise 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 245 
 
 him that Miss Hooker had "no case" — that she would be 
 nonsuited on her own evidence, and he ought not to com- 
 promise, but be ready to stand trial. He believed, how- 
 ever, that Hotchkiss feared such exposure, and although 
 his own instincts had been at first against this remedy, he 
 was now instinctively in favor of it. He remembered his 
 own power with a jury; his vanity and his chivalry alike 
 approved of this heroic method; he was bound by no pro- 
 saic facts — he had his own theory of the case, which no 
 mere evidence could gainsay. In fact, Mrs. Hooker's ad- 
 mission that he was to " tell the story in his own way " 
 actually appeared to him an inspiration and a prophecy. 
 
 Perhaps there was something else, due possibly to the 
 lady's wonderful eyes, of which he had thought much. 
 Yet it was not her simplicity that affected him solely ; on 
 the contrary, it was her apparent intelligent reading of the 
 character of her recreant lover — and of his own ! Of all 
 the Colonel's previous "light" or "serious" loves, none 
 had ever before flattered him in that way. And it was 
 this, combined with the respect which he had held for their 
 professional relations, that precluded his having a more 
 familiar knowledge of his client, through serious question- 
 ing or playful gallantry. I am not sure it was not part of 
 the charm to have a rustic f&mme incomprise as a client. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the respect with which he greeted 
 her as she entered his ofiice the next day. He even af- 
 fected not to notice that she had put on her best clothes, 
 and, he made no doubt, appeared as when she had first at- 
 tracted the mature yet faithless attentions of Deacon Hotch- 
 kiss at church. A white virginal muslin was belted around 
 her slim figure by a blue ribbon, and her Leghorn hat was 
 drawn around her oval cheek by a bow of the same color. 
 She had a Southern girl's narrow feet, encased in white 
 stockings and kid slippers, which were crossed primly be- 
 fore her as she sat in a chair, supporting her arm by has 
 
246 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTITF 
 
 faithful parasol planted firmly on the floor. A faint odoi 
 of southernwood exhaled from her, and, oddly enough, 
 stirred the Colonel with a far-off recollection of a pine- 
 shaded Sunday-school on a Georgia hillside, and of his first 
 love, aged ten, in a short starched frock. Possibly it was 
 the same recollection that revived something of the awk- 
 wardness he had felt then. 
 
 He, however, smiled vaguely, and sitting down, coughed 
 slightly, and placed his finger-tips together. "I have had 
 an — er — interview with Mr. Hotchkiss, hut — I — er — 
 regret to say there seems to be no prospect of — er — com- 
 promise. " 
 
 He paused, and to his surprise her listless " company " 
 face lit up with an adorable smile. " Of course ! — ketch 
 him ! " she said. " Was he mad when you told him 1 " 
 She put her knees comfortably together and leaned forward 
 for a reply. 
 
 For all that, wild horses could not have torn from the 
 Colonel a word about Hotchkiss' s anger. "He expressed 
 his intention of employing counsel — and defending a suit," 
 returned the Colonel, affably basking in her smile. 
 
 She dragged her chair nearer his desk. "Then you '11 
 fight him tooth and nail 1 " she asked eagerly ; " you '11 
 show him up 1 You '11 tell the whole story your own way ? 
 You'll give him fits? — and you'll make him pay? 
 Sure ? " she went on breathlessly. 
 
 "I — er — will," said the Colonel almost as breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 She caught his fat white hand, which was lying on the 
 table, between her own and lifted it to her lips. He felt 
 her soft young fingers even through the lisle-thread gloves 
 that encased them, and the warm moisture of her lips upon 
 his skin. He felt himself flushing — but was unable to 
 break the silence or change his position. The next moment 
 she had ■scuttled back with her chair to her old position. 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 247 
 
 "I — er — certainly shall do my best," stammered the 
 Colonel, in an attempt to recover his dignity and compo- 
 sure. 
 
 "That's enough! You'll do it," said she enthusiasti- 
 cally. " Lordy ! Just you talk for me as ye did for his 
 old Ditch Company, and you'll fetch it — every time! 
 Why, when you made that jury sit up the other day — 
 when you got that oif about the Merrikan flag waving 
 equally over the rights of honest citizens banded together 
 in peaceful commercial pursuits, as well as over the fortress 
 of oflficial proflig — " 
 
 "Oligarchy," murmured the Colonel courteously. 
 
 — "oligarchy," repeated the girl quickly, "my breath 
 was just took away. I said to maw, ' Ain't he too sweet 
 for anything!' I did, honest Injin! And when you 
 rolled it all off at the end — never missing a word (you 
 didn't need to mark 'em in a lesson-book, but had 'em all 
 ready on your tongue) — and walked out — Well ! I did 
 n't know you nor the Ditch Company from Adam, but I 
 could have just run over and kissed you there before the 
 whole court ! " 
 
 She laughed, with her face glowing, although her strange 
 eyes were cast down. Alack! the Colonel's face was 
 equally flushed, and his own beady eyes were on his desk. 
 To any other woman he would have voiced the banal gal- 
 lantry that he should now, himself, look forward to that 
 reward, but the words never reached his lips. He laughed, 
 coughed slightly, and when he looked up again she had 
 fallen into the same attitude as on her first visit, with her 
 parasol point on the floor. 
 
 " I must ask you to — er — direct your memory to — er 
 — another point : the breaking off of the — er — er — er — ■ 
 engagement. Did he — er — give any reason for it 1 Oi 
 show any cause ? " 
 
 "No; he never said anything," returned the girl. 
 
248 COLONEL STARBOTTLB FOK THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 "Not in his usual way? — er — no reproaches out of the 
 hymn-book ? — or the sacred writings ? " 
 
 "'No; he just quit." 
 
 "Er — ceased his attentions," said the Colonel gravely. 
 "And naturally you — er — were not conscious of any 
 cause for his doing so." 
 
 The girl raised her wonderful eyes so suddenly and so 
 penetratingly without replying in any other way that the 
 Colonel could only hurriedly say: "I see! None, of 
 course ! " 
 
 At which she rose, the Colonel rising also. "We — 
 shall begin proceedings at once. I must, however, caution 
 you to answer no questions, nor say anything about this 
 case to any one until you are in court." 
 
 She answered his request with another intelligent look 
 and a nod. He accompanied her to the door. As he took 
 her proffered hand, he raised the lisle-thread fingers to his 
 lips with old-fashioned gallantry. As if that act had con- 
 doned for his first omissions and awkwardness, he became 
 his old-fashioned self again, buttoned his coat, pulled out 
 his shirt frill, and strutted back to his desk. 
 
 A day or two later it was known throughout the town 
 that Zaidee Hooker had sued Adoniram Hotchkiss for 
 breach of promise, and that the damages were laid at five 
 thousand dollars. As in those bucolic days the Western 
 press was under the secure censorship of a revolver, a cau- 
 tious tone of criticism prevailed, and any gossip was con- 
 fined to personal expression, and even then at the risk of 
 the gossiper. Nevertheless, the situation provoked the in- 
 tensest curiosity. The Colonel was approached — until his 
 statement that he should consider any attempt to overcome 
 his professional secrecy a personal reflection withheld fur- 
 ther advances. The community were left to the more os- 
 tentatious information of the defendant's counsel, Messrs. 
 Kitcham and Bilser, that the <!ase was " ridiculous " and 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOK THE PLAINTIFF 249 
 
 "rotten," that the plaintiff would be nonsuited, and the 
 fire-eating Starbottle would be taught a lesson that he could 
 not " bully " the law, and there were some dark hints of a 
 conspiracy. It was even hinted that the "case" was the 
 revengeful and preposterous outcome of the refusal of 
 Hotchkiss to pay Starbottle an extravagant fee for his late 
 services to the Ditch Company. It is unnecessary to say 
 that these words were not reported to the Colonel. It was, 
 however, an unfortunate circumstance for the calmer, ethi- 
 cal consideration of the subject that the Church sided with 
 Hotchkiss, as this provoked an equal adherence to the 
 plaintiff and Starbottle on the part of the larger body of 
 non-church-goers, who were delighted at a possible expo- 
 sure of the weakness of religious rectitude. "I've alius 
 had my suspicions o' them early candle-light meetings 
 down at that gospel shop," said one critic, "and I reckon 
 Deacon Hotchkiss did n't rope in the gals to attend jest 
 for psalm-singing." "Then for him to get up and leave 
 the board afore the game 's finished and try to sneak out 
 of it," said another, — "I suppose that's what they call 
 religious." 
 
 It was therefore not remarkable that the court-house 
 three weeks later was crowded with an excited multitude 
 of the curious and sympathizing. The fair plaintiff, with 
 her mother, was early in attendance, and under the Colo- 
 nel's advice appeared in the same modest garb in which she 
 had first visited his office. This and her downcast, modest 
 demeanor were perhaps at first disappointing to the crowd, 
 who had evidently expected a paragon of loveliness in this 
 Circe of that grim, ascetic defendant, who sat beside his 
 counsel. But presently all eyes were fixed on the Colonel, 
 who certainly made up in his appearance any deficiency of 
 his fair client. His portly figure was clothed in a blue dress 
 coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat which permitted 
 his frilled shirt-front to become erectile above it, a black 
 
250 COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 satin stock which confined a boyish turned-down coUai 
 around his full neck, and immaculate drUl trousers, 
 strapped over varnished boots. A murmur ran round the 
 court. " Old ' Personally Responsible ' has got his war- 
 paint on;" "The Old War-Horse is smelling powder," 
 were whispered comments. Yet for all that, the most ir- 
 reverent among them recognized vaguely, in this bizarre 
 figure, something of an honored past in their country's his- 
 tory, and possibly felt the spell of old deeds and old names 
 that had once thrilled their boyish pulses. The new Dis- 
 trict Judge returned Colonel Starbottle's profoundly punc- 
 tilious bow. The Colonel was followed by his negro ser- 
 vant, carrying a parcel of hymn-books and Bibles, who, 
 with a courtesy evidently imitated from his master, placed 
 one before the opposite counsel. This, after a first curious 
 glance, the lawyer somewhat superciliously tossed aside. 
 But when Jim, proceeding to the jury-box, placed ~ith 
 equal politeness the remaining copies before the jury, the 
 opposite counsel sprang to his feet. 
 
 "I want to direct the attention of the Court to this un- 
 precedented tampering with the jury, by this gratuitous 
 exhibition of matter impertinent and irrelevent to the 
 i§sue. " 
 
 The Judge cast an inquiring look at Colonel Starbottle. 
 
 "May it please the Court," returned Colonel Starbottle 
 /rith dignity, ignoring the counsel, "the defendant's coun- 
 sel will observe that he is already furnished with the mat- 
 ter — which I regret to say he has treated — in the pre. 
 sence of the Court — and of his client, a deacon of the 
 church — with — er — great superciliousness. When I 
 state to your Honor that the books in question are hymn- 
 books and copies of the Holy Scriptures, and that they are 
 for the instruction of the jury, to whom I shall have to 
 refer them in the course of my opening, I believe I am 
 within my rights." 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 25] 
 
 "The act is certainly unprecedented," said the Judge 
 dryly, " but unless the counsel for the plaintiff expects the 
 jury to sinff from these hymn-books, their introduction is 
 not improper, and I cannot admit the objection. As de- 
 fendant's counsel are furnished with copies also, they can- 
 not plead ' surprise, ' as in the introduction of new matter, 
 and as plaintiff's counsel relies evidently upon the jury's 
 attention to his opening, he would not be the first person 
 to distract it." After a pause he added, addressing the 
 Colonel, who remained standing, "The Court is with you, 
 sir; proceed." 
 
 But the Colonel remained motionless and statuesque, 
 with folded arms. 
 
 "I have overruled the objection," repeated the Judge; 
 "you may go on." 
 
 " I am waiting, your Honor, for the — er — withdrawal 
 by the defendant's counsel of the word 'tampering,' as 
 refers to myself, and of ' impertinent, ' as refers to the sa- 
 cred volumes." 
 
 " The request is a proper one, and I have no doubt will 
 be acceded to," returned the Judge quietly. The defend- 
 ant's counsel rose and mumbled a few words of apology, 
 and the incident closed. There was, however, a general 
 feeling that the Colonel had in some way "scored," and if 
 his object had been to excite the greatest curiosity about 
 the books, he had made his point. 
 
 But impassive of his victory, he inflated his chest, with 
 his right hand in the breast of his buttoned coat, and be- 
 gan. His usual high color had paled slightly, but the 
 small pupils of his prominent eyes glittered like steel. The 
 young girl leaned forward in her chair Avith an attention so 
 breathless, a sympathy so quick, and an admiration so art- 
 less and unconscious that in an instant she divided with 
 the speaker the attention of the whole assemblage. It was 
 very hot; the court was crowded to suffocation; even the 
 
252 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 open windows revealed a crowd of faces outside the build- 
 ing, eagerly following the Colonel's words. 
 
 He would remind the jury that only a few weeks ago he 
 stood there as the advocate of a powerful Company, then 
 represented by the present defendant. He spoke then as 
 the champion of strict justice against legal oppression; no 
 less should he to-day champion the cause of the unprotected 
 and the comparatively defenseless — save for that para- 
 mount power which surrounds beauty and innocence — 
 even though the plaintiff of yesterday was the defendant of 
 to-day. As he approached the court a moment ago he had 
 raised his eyes and beheld the starry flag flying from its 
 dome, and he knew that glorious banner was a symbol of 
 the perfect equality, under the Constitution, of the rich 
 and the poor, the strong and the weak — an equality which 
 made the simple citizen taken from the plough in the field, 
 the pick in the gulch, or from behind the counter in the 
 mining town, who served on that jury, the equal arbiters 
 of justice with that highest legal luminary whom they were 
 proud to welcome on the bench to-day. The Colonel 
 paused, with a stately bow to the impassive Judge. It 
 was this, he continued, which lifted his heart as he ap- 
 proached the building. And yet — he had entered it with 
 an uncertain — he might almost say — a timid step. And 
 why 1 He knew, gentlemen, he was about to confront a 
 profound — ay ! a sacred responsibility ! Those hymn- 
 books and holy writings handed to the jury were not, as 
 his Honor had surmised, for the purpose of enabling the 
 jury to indulge in — er — preliminary choral exercise ! He 
 ' might, indeed, say, " Alas, not ! " They were the damn- 
 ing, incontrovertible proofs of the perfidy of the defendant. 
 And they would prove as terrible a warning to him as the 
 fatal characters upon Belshazzar's wall. There was a strong 
 sensation. Hotchkiss turned a sallow green. His lawyers 
 assumed a careless smile. 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 253 
 
 It was his duty to tell them that this was not one of 
 those ordinary " breach-of-pronaise " cases which were too 
 often the occasion of ruthless mirth and indecent levity in 
 the court-room. The jury would find nothing of that here. 
 There were no love-letters with the epithets of endearment, 
 nor those mystic crosses and ciphers which, he had been 
 credibly informed, chastely hid the exchange of those mu- 
 tual caresses known as "kisses." There was no cruel tear- 
 ing of the veil from those sacred privacies of the human 
 affection; there was no forensic shouting out of those fond 
 confidences meant only for one. But there was, he was 
 shocked to say, a new sacrilegious intrusion. The weak 
 pipings of Cupid were mingled with the chorus of the 
 saints, — the sanctity of the temple known as the " meeting- 
 house " was desecrated by proceedings more in keeping with 
 the shrine of Venus ; and the inspired writings themselves 
 were used as the medium of amatory and wanton flirtation 
 by the defendant in his sacred capacity as deacon. 
 
 The Colonel artistically paused after this thunderous de- 
 nunciation. The jury turned eagerly to the leaves of the 
 hymn-books, but the larger gaze of the audience remained 
 fixed upon the speaker and the girl, who sat in rapt admi- 
 ration of his periods. After the hush, the Colonel contin- 
 ued in a lower and sadder voice: "There are, perhaps, few 
 of us here, gentlemen, — with the exception of the defend- 
 ant, — who can arrogate to themselves the title of regular 
 church-goers, or to whom these humbler functions of the 
 prayer-meeting, the Sunday-school, and the Bible-class are 
 habitually familiar. Yet" — more solemnly — "down in 
 our hearts is the deep conviction of our shortcomings and 
 failings, and a laudable desire that others, at least, should 
 profit by the teachings we neglect. Perhaps," he contin- 
 ued, closing his eyes dreamily, "there is not a man here 
 who does not recall the happy days of his boyhoodj the 
 rustic village spire, the lessons shared with some artless 
 
254 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOK THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 village maiden, with whom he later sauntered, hand in 
 hand, through the woods, as the simple rhyme rose upon 
 their lips, — 
 
 * Always make it a point to have it a rule, 
 Never to be late at the Sabbath-school.' 
 
 He would recall the strawheiry feasts, the welcome annual 
 picnic, redolent with hunks of gingerbread and sarsaparilla. 
 How would they feel to know that these sacred recollec- 
 tions were now forever profaned in their memory by the 
 knowledge that the defendant was capable of using such oc- 
 casions to make love to the larger girls and teachers, whilst 
 his artless companions were innocently — the Court will 
 pardon me for introducing what I am credibly informed is 
 the local expression — ' doing gooseberry ' 1 " The tremu- 
 lous flicker of a smile passed over the faces of the listening 
 crowd, and the Colonel slightly winced. But he recovered 
 himself instantly, and continued, — 
 
 " My client, the only daughter of a widowed mother — 
 who has for years stemmed the varying tides of adversity, 
 in the western precincts of this town — stands before you 
 to-day invested only in her own innocence. She wears no 
 — er — rich gifts of her faithless admirer — is panoplied in 
 no jewels, rings, nor mementos of affection such as lovers 
 delight to hang upon the shrine of their affections; hers is 
 not the glory with which Solomon decorated the Queen of 
 Sheba, though the defendant, as I shall show later, clothed 
 her in the less expensive flowers of the king's poetry. No, 
 gentlemen ! The defendant exhibited in this affair a cer- 
 tain frugality of — er — pecuniary investment, which I am 
 willing to admit may be commendable in his class. His 
 only gift was characteristic alike of his methods and his 
 economy. There is, I understand, a certain not unimpor- 
 tant feature of religious exercise known as ' taking a collec- 
 tion. ' The defendant, on this occasion, by the mute pre- 
 sentation of a tin plate covered with baize, solicited the 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 255 
 
 pecuniary contributions of the faithful. On approaching 
 the plaintiff, however, he himself slipped a love-token upon 
 the plate and pushed it towards her. That love-token was 
 a lozenge — a small disk, I have reason to helieve, con- 
 cocted of peppermint and sugar, bearing upon its reverse 
 surface the simple words, ' I love you ! ' I have since as- 
 certained that these disks may be bought for five cents a 
 dozen — or at considerably less than one half cent for the 
 single lozenge. Yes, gentlemen, the words ' I love you ! ' 
 — the oldest legend of all ; the refrain ' when the morning 
 stars sang together ' — were presented to the plaintiff by a 
 medium so insignificant that there is, happily, no coin in 
 the republic low enough to represent its value. 
 
 "I shall prove to you, gentlemen of the jury," said the 
 Colonel solemnly, drawing a Bible from his coat-taU pocket, 
 "that the defendant for the last twelve months conducted 
 an amatory correspondence with the plaintiff by means of 
 underlined words of Sacred Writ and church psalmody, 
 such as ' beloved, ' ' precious, ' and ' dearest, ' occasionally 
 appropriating whole passages which seemed apposite to his 
 tender passion. I shall call your attention to one of them. 
 The defendant, while professing to be a total abstainer, — 
 a man who, in my own knowledge, has refused spirituous 
 refreshment as an inordinate weakness of the flesh, — with 
 shameless hypocrisy underscores with his pencil the follow- 
 ing passage, and presents it to the plaintiff. The gentle- 
 men of the jury will find it in the Song of Solomon, page 
 548, chapter ii., verse 5." After a pause, in which the 
 rapid rustling of leaves was heard in the jury-box. Colonel 
 Starboitle declaimed in a pleading, stentorian voice, " ' Stay 
 me with — er — flagons, comfort me with — er — apples — • 
 for I am — er ■ — sick of love. ' Yes, gentlemen ! — yes, 
 you may well turn from those accusing pages and look at 
 the double-faced defendant. He desires — to — er — be — 
 ' stayed with flagons ' ! I am not aware at present what 
 
256 COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 kind of liquor is habitually dispensed at these meetings, 
 and for which the defendant so urgently clamored; but it 
 will be my duty, before this trial is over, to discover it, if 
 I have to summon every barkeeper in this district. For 
 the moment I will simply call your attention to the quan- 
 tity. It is not a single drink that the defendant asks for 
 — not a glass of light and generous wine, to be shared with 
 his inamorata, but a number of flagons or vessels, each pos- 
 sibly holding a pint measure — for himself! " 
 
 The smile of the audience had become a laugh. The 
 Judge looked up warningly, when his eye caught the fact 
 that the Colonel had again winced at this mirth. He re- 
 garded him seriously. Mr. Hotchkiss's counsel had joined 
 in the laugh affectedly, but Hotchkiss himself sat ashy pale. 
 There was also a commotion in the jury-box, a hurried turn- 
 ing over of leaves, and an excited discussion. 
 
 "The gentlemen of the jury," said the Judge, with ofii- 
 cial gravity, " will please keep order and attend only to the 
 speeches of counsel. Any discussion here is irregular and 
 premature, and must be reserved for the jury-room after 
 they have retired." 
 
 The foreman of the jury struggled to his feet. He was 
 a powerful man, with a good-humored face, and, in spite of 
 his unfelicitous nickname of "The Bone- Breaker," had a 
 kindly, simple, but somewhat emotional nature. Neverthe- 
 less, it appeared as if he were laboring under some powerful 
 indignation. 
 
 " Can we ask a question. Judge ? " he said respectfully, 
 although his voice had the unmistakable Western American 
 ring in it, as of one who was unconscious that he could be 
 addressing any but his peers. 
 
 "Yes," said the Judge good-humoredly. 
 
 "We're finding in this yere piece, out o' which the 
 Kernel hes just bin a-quotin', some language that me and 
 my pardners allow hadn't orter be read out afore a young 
 
COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 257 
 
 lady in court, and we want to know of you — ez a fa'r- 
 minded and impartial man — ef this is the reg'lar kind o' 
 book given to gals and babies down at the meetin'-house." 
 
 " The jury will please follow the counsel's speech with- 
 out comment," said the Judge briefly, fuUy aware that the 
 defendant's counsel would spring to his feet, as he did 
 promptly. 
 
 " The Court will allow us to explain to the gentlemen 
 that the language they seem to object to has been accepted 
 by the best theologians for the last thousand years as being 
 purely mystic. As I will explain later, those are merely 
 symbols of the Church " — 
 
 " Of wot ? " interrupted the foreman, in deep scorn. 
 
 "Of the Church!" 
 
 "We ain't askin' any questions o' you, and we ain't 
 takin any answers," said the foreman, sitting down 
 abruptly. 
 
 "I must insist," said the Judge sternly, "that the 
 plaintiff's counsel be allowed to continue his opening with- 
 out interruption. You" (to defendant's counsel) "wiU 
 have your opportunity to reply later." 
 
 The counsel sank down in his seat with the bitter con- 
 viction that the jury was manifestly against him, and the 
 case as good as lost. But his face was scarcely as disturbed 
 as his client's, who, in great agitation, had begun to argue 
 with him wildly, and was apparently pressing some point 
 against the lawyer's vehement opposal. The Colonel's 
 murky eyes brightened as he stiU stood erect, with his 
 hand thrust in his breast. 
 
 "It will be put to you, gentlemen, when the counsel on 
 the other side refrains from mere interruption and confines 
 himself to reply, that my unfortunate client has no action 
 — no remedy at law — because there were no spoken words 
 of endearment. But, gentlemen, it will depend upon you 
 to say what are and what are not articulate expressions of 
 
258 COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 love. We all know that among the lower animals, with 
 whom you may possibly be called upon to classify the de- 
 fendant, there are certain signals more or less harmonious, 
 as the case may be. The ass brays, the horse neighs, the 
 sheep bleats — the feathered denizens of the grove call to 
 their mates in more musical roundelays. These are recog- 
 nized facts, gentlemen, which you yourselves, as dwellers 
 among nature in this beautiful land, are all cognizant of. 
 They are facts that no one would deny — and we should 
 have a poor opinion of the ass who, at — er — such a su- 
 preme moment, would attempt to suggest that his caU was 
 unthinking and without significance. But, gentlemen, I 
 shall prove to you that such was the foolish, seK-convicting 
 custom of the defendant. With the greatest reluctance, 
 and the — er — greatest pain, I succeeded in wresting from 
 the maidenly modesty of my fair client the innocent confes- 
 sion that the defendant had induced her to correspond with 
 him in these methods. Picture to yourself, gentlemen, the 
 lonely moonlight road beside the widow's humble cottage. 
 It is a beautiful night, sanctified to the affections, and the 
 innocent girl is leaning from her casement. Presently there 
 appears upon the road a slinking, stealthy figure, the de- 
 fendant on his way to church. True to the instruction she 
 has received from him, her lips part in the musical utter- 
 ance " (the Colonel lowered his voice in -a faint falsetto, 
 presumably in fond imitation of his fair client), " ' Keeree ! ' 
 Instantly the night becomes resonant with the impassioned 
 reply " (the Colonel here lifted his voice in stentorian 
 tones), " ' Keerow. ' Again, as he passes, rises the soft 
 ' Keeree ; ' again, as his form is lost in the distance, comes 
 back the deep ' Keerow. ' " 
 
 A burst of laughter, long, loud, and irrepressible, struck 
 the whole court-room, and before the Judge could lift his 
 half-composed face and take his handkerchief from his 
 mouth, a faint " Keeree " from some unrecognized obscurity 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF 253 
 
 of the court-room was followed by a loud " Keerow " from 
 some opposite locality. "The Sheriff will clear the court," 
 said the Judge sternly ; but, alas ! as the embarrassed and 
 choking officials rushed hither and thither, a soft " Keeree " 
 from the spectators at the window, outside the court-house, 
 was answered by a loud chorus of " Keerows " from the 
 opposite windows, filled with onlookers. Again the laugh- 
 ter arose everywhere, — even the fair plaintiff herself sat 
 convulsed behind her handkerchief. 
 
 The figure of Colonel Starbottle alone remained erect — 
 white and rigid. And then the Judge, looking up, saw — 
 what no one else in the court had seen — that the Colonel 
 was sincere and in earnest; that what he had conceived to 
 be the pleader's most perfect acting and most elaborate 
 ■ irony were the deep, serious, mirthless convictions of a 
 man without the least sense of humor. There was the re- 
 spect of this conviction in the Judge's voice as he said to 
 him gently, "You may proceed. Colonel Starbottle." 
 
 "I thank your Honor," said the Colonel slowly, "for 
 recognizing and doing all in your power to prevent an in- 
 terruption that, during my thirty years' experience at the 
 bar, I have never been subjected to without the privilege 
 of holding the instigators thereof responsible — personally 
 responsible. It is possibly my fault that I have failed, 
 oratorically, to convey to the gentlemen of the jury the full 
 force and significance of the defendant's signals. I am 
 aware that my voice is singularly deficient in producing 
 either the dulcet tones of my fair client or the impassioned 
 vehemence of the defendant's response. I will," continued 
 the Colonel, with a fatigued but blind fatuity that ignored 
 the hurriedly knit brows and warning eyes of the Judge, 
 " try again. The note uttered by my client " (lowering his 
 voice to the faintest of falsettos) "was 'Keeree;' the re- 
 sponse was ' Keerow-ow. ' " And the Colonel's voice fairly 
 shook the dome above him. 
 
260 COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFP 
 
 Another uproar of laughter followed this apparently au- 
 dacious repetition, but was interrupted by an unlooked-foi 
 incident. The defendant rose abruptly, and tearing himself 
 away from the withholding hand and pleading protestations 
 of his counsel, absolutely fled from the court-room, his 
 appearance outside being recognized by a prolonged "Kee- 
 row " from the bystanders, which again and again followed 
 him in the distance. 
 
 In the momentary silence which followed, the Colonel's 
 voice was heard saying, "We rest here, your Honor," and 
 he sat down. No less white, but more agitated, was the 
 face of the defendant's counsel, who instantly rose. 
 
 "For some unexplained reason, your Honor, my client 
 desires to suspend further proceedings, with a view to effect 
 a peaceable compromise with the plaintiff. As he is a man 
 of wealth and position, he is able and willing to pay liber- 
 ally for that privilege. While I, as his counsel, am still 
 convinced of his legal irresponsibility, as he has chosen 
 publicly to abandon his rights here, I can only ask your 
 Honor's permission to suspend further proceedings until I 
 can confer with Colonel Starbottle. " 
 
 "As far as I can follow the pleadings," said the Judge 
 gravely, " the case seems to be hardly one for litigation,, and 
 I approve of the defendant's course, while I strongly urge 
 the plaintiff to accept it." 
 
 Colonel Starbottle bent over his fair client. Presently 
 he rose, unchanged in look or demeanor. "I yield, your 
 Honor, to the wishes of my client, and — er — lady. We 
 accept. " 
 
 Before the court adjourned that day it was known through- 
 out the town that Adoniram K. Hotchkiss had compro- 
 mised the suit for four thousand dollars and costs. 
 
 Colonel Starbottle had so far recovered his equanimity 
 as to strut jauntily towards his office, where he was to 
 meet his fair client. He was surprised, however, to find 
 
COLONEL STAEBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 261 
 
 her already there, and in company with a somewhat sheep- 
 ish-looking young man — a stranger. If the Colonel had 
 any disappointment in meeting a third party to the inter- 
 view, his old-fashioned courtesy did not permit him to show 
 it. He howed graciously, and politely motioned them each 
 to a seat. 
 
 "I reckoned I 'd hring Hiram round with me," said the 
 young lady, lifting her searching eyes, after a pause, to the 
 Colonel's, "though he loas awful shy, and allowed that 
 you did n't know him from Adam, or even suspect his ex- 
 istence. But I said, ' That 's just where you slip up, Hi- 
 ram; a pow'ful man like the Colonel knows everything — 
 and I 've seen it in his eye. ' Lordy ! " she continued, 
 with a laugh, leaning forward over her parasol, as her eyes 
 again sought the Colonel's, "don't you remember when 
 you asked me if I loved that old Hotchkiss, and I told you, 
 ' That 's tellin', ' and you looked at me — Lordy ! I knew 
 then you suspected there was a Hiram somewhere, as good 
 as if I 'd told you. Now you jest get up, Hiram, and give 
 the Colonel a good handshake. !For if it was n't for him 
 and his searchin' ways, and his awful power of language, 
 I would n't hev got that four thousand dollars out o' that 
 flirty fool Hotchkiss — enough to buy a farm, so as you and 
 me could get married! That's what you owe to hivi. 
 Don't stand there like a stuck fool starin' at him. He 
 won't eat you — though he 's killed many a better man. 
 Come, have I got to do all the kissin' 1 " 
 
 It is of record that the Colonel bowed so courteously and 
 so profoundly that he managed not merely to evade the prof- 
 fered hand of the shy Hiram, but to only lightly touch the 
 franker and more impulsive finger-tips of the gentle Zaidee. 
 "I — er — offer my sincerest congratulations — though I 
 think you — er — overestimate — my — er — powers of pene- 
 tration. Unfortunately, a pressing engagement, which may 
 oblige me also to leave town to-night, forbids my saying 
 
262 COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOE THE PLAINTIFF 
 
 more. I have — er — left the — er — business settlement 
 of this — er — case in the hands of the lawyers who do my 
 office work, and who will show you every attention. And 
 now let me wish you a very good afternoon." 
 
 Nevertheless, the Colonel returned to his private room, 
 and it was nearly twilight when the faithful Jim entered, 
 to find him sitting meditatively before his desk. " To' 
 God ! Kernel, I hope day ain't nuffin de matter, but you 's 
 lookin' mighty solemn! I ain't seen you look dat way. 
 Kernel, since de day pooh Massa Stryker was fetched home 
 shot froo de head." 
 
 "Hand me down the whiskey, Jim," said the Colonel, 
 rising slowly. 
 
 The negro flew to the closet joyfully, and brought out 
 the bottle. The Colonel poured out a glass of the spirit 
 and drank it with his old deliberation. 
 
 "You're quite right, Jim," he said, putting down his 
 glass, " but I'm — er — getting old — and — somehow — 1 
 am missing poor Stryker damnably ! " 
 
THE LANDLOED OF THE BIG FLUME 
 HOTEL 
 
 The Big Flume stage-coach had just drawn up at the 
 Big Flume Hotel simultaneously with the ringing of a large 
 dinner bell in the two hands of a negro waiter, who, by 
 certain gyrations of the bell was trying to impart to his 
 performance that picturesque elegance and harmony which 
 the instrument and its purpose lacked. For the refresh- 
 ment thus proclaimed was only the ordinary station dinner, 
 protracted at Big Flume for three quarters of an hour, to 
 allow for the arrival of the connecting mail from Sacra- 
 mento, although the repast was of a nature that seldom 
 prevailed upon the traveler to linger the full period over its 
 details. The ordinary cravings of hunger were generally 
 satisfied in half an hour, and the remaining minutes were 
 employed by the passengers in drowning the memory of 
 their meal in "drinks at the bar," in smoking, and even in 
 a hurried game of "old sledge," or dominoes. Yet to-day 
 the deserted table was still occupied by a belated traveler, 
 and a lady — separated by a wilderness of empty dishes — 
 who had arrived after the stage-coach. Observing which, 
 the landlord, perhaps touched by this unwonted apprecia- 
 tion of his fare, moved forward to give them his personal 
 attention. 
 
 He was a man, however, who seemed to be singularly 
 deficient in those supreme qualities which in the West have 
 exalted the ability to " keep a hotel " into a proverbial 
 synonym for superexcellence. He had little or no innovat- 
 ing genius, no trade devices, no assumption, no faculty for 
 
264 THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 advertisement, no progressiveness, and no "racket." He 
 had the tolerant good-humor of tha Southwestern pioneer, 
 to whom cyclones, famine, drought, floods, pestilence, and 
 savages were things to be accepted, and whom disaster, if 
 it did not stimulate, certainly did not appall. He received 
 the insults, complaints, and criticisms of hurried and hun- 
 gry passengers, the comments and threats of the Stage Com- 
 pany as he had submitted to the aggressions of a stupid, 
 unjust, but overruling Nature — with unshaken calm. 
 Perhaps herein lay his strength. People were obliged to 
 submit to him and his hotel as part of the unfinished civi- 
 lization, and they even saw something humorous in his im- 
 passiveness. Those who preferred to remonstrate with him 
 emerged from the discussion with the general feeling of hav- 
 ing been played with by a large-hearted and paternally dis- 
 posed bear. Tall and long-limbed, with much strength in 
 his lazy muscles, there was also a prevailing impression that 
 this feeling might be intensified if the discussion were ever 
 carried to physical contention. Of his personal history it 
 was known only that he had emigrated from Wisconsin in 
 1855, that he had calmly unyoked his ox teams at Big 
 Plume, then a trackless wilderness, and on the opening of 
 a wagon road to the new mines had built a wayside station 
 which eventually developed into the present hotel. He 
 had been divorced in a Western State by his wife "Rosalie," 
 locally known as "The Prairie Plower of Elkham Creek," 
 for incompatibility of temper ! Her temper was not stated. 
 
 Such was Abner Langworthy, the proprietor, as he 
 moved leisurely down towards the lady guest, who was 
 nearest, and who was sitting with her back to the passage 
 between the tables. Stopping, occasionally, to profession- 
 ally adjust the tablecloths and glasses, he at last reached 
 her side. 
 
 "Ef there 's anythin' more ye want that ye ain't seein', 
 ma'am," he began — and stopped suddenly. For the lady 
 
THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 265 
 
 had looked up at the sound of his voice. It was his di- 
 vorced wife, whom he had not seen since their separation. 
 The recognition was instantaneous, mutual, and character- 
 ized by perfect equanimity on both sides. 
 
 " Well ! I wanter know ! " said the lady, although the . 
 exclamation point was purely conventional. " Ahner Lang- 
 worthy ! though perhaps I 've no call to say ' Abner. ' " 
 
 " Same to you, Kosalie — though I say it too, " returned 
 the landlord. "But hoi' on just a minit." He moved for- 
 ward to the other guest, put the same perfunctory question 
 regarding his needs, received a negative answer, and then 
 returned to the lady and dropped into a chair opposite to 
 her. 
 
 " You 're looking peart and — fleshy, " he said resignedly, 
 as if he were tolerating his own conventional politeness 
 with his other difficulties; "unless," he added cautiously, 
 "you're takin' on some new disease." 
 
 "No! I 'm fairly comf'ble," responded the lady calmly, 
 " and you 're gettin' on in the vale, ez is natural — though 
 you still kind o' run to bone, as you used." 
 
 There was not a trace of malevolence in either of their 
 comments, only a resigned recognition of certain unpleasant 
 truths which seemed to have been habitual to both of them. 
 Mr. Langworthy paused to flick away some flies from the 
 butter with his professional napkin, and resumed, — 
 
 "It must be a matter o' five years sens I last saw ye, 
 Is n't it ? — in court arter you got the decree — you re- 
 member 1 " 
 
 "Yes — the 28th o' July, '51. I paid Lawyer Hos- 
 kins's bill that very day — that's how I remember," re- 
 turned the lady. "You 've got a big business here," she 
 continued, glancing round the room; "I reckon you're 
 makin' it pay. Don't seem to be in your line, though ; 
 but then, thar wasn't many things that was." 
 
 "No, — that 's so," responded Mr. Langworthy, nodding 
 
266 THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 his head, as assenting to an undeniable proposition, "and 
 you — I suppose you're gettin' on too. I reckon you're 
 — er — married — eh ? " — with a slight suggestion of put- 
 ting the question delicately. 
 
 The lady nodded, ignoring the hesitation. "Yes, let 
 me see, it 's just three years and three days. Constantine 
 Byers — I don't reckon you know him — from Milwaukee. 
 Timber merchant. Standin' timber 's his specialty." 
 
 "And I reckon he 's — satisfactory ? " 
 
 "Yes! Mr. Byers is a good provider — and handy. 
 And you ? I should say you 'd want a wife in this busi- 
 ness 1 " 
 
 Mr. Langworthy's serious half-perfunctory manner here 
 took on an appearance of interest. "Yes — I've been 
 thinkin' that way. Thar 's a young woman helpin' in the 
 kitchen ez might do, though I 'm not certain, and I ain't 
 lettin' on anything as yet. You might take a look at her, 
 Eosalie, — I orter say Mrs. Byers ez is, — and kinder size 
 her up, and gimme the result. It 's still wantin' seven min- 
 utes o' schedule time afore the stage goes, and — if you ain't 
 wantin' more food " — delicately, as became a landlord — 
 "and ain't got any thin' else to do, it might pass the time." 
 
 Strange as it may seem, Mrs. Byers here displayed an 
 equal animation in her fresh face as she rose promptly to 
 her feet and began to rearrange her dust cloak around her 
 buxom figure. "I don't mind, Abner," she said, "and I 
 don't think that Mr. Byers would mind either; " then see- 
 ing Langworthy hesitating at the latter unexpected sugges- 
 tion, she added confidently, "and I wouldn't mind even if 
 he did, for I 'm sure if I don't know the kind o' woman 
 you 'd be likely to need, I don't know who would. Only 
 last week I was sayin' like that to Mr. Byers " — 
 
 " To Mr. Byers 1 " said Abner, with some surprise. 
 
 "Yes — to him. I said, 'We've been married three 
 years, Constantine, and ef I don't know by this time what 
 
THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 267 
 
 kind o' woman you need now — and might need in future 
 — why, thar ain't much use in matrimony.' " 
 
 " You was always wise, Eosalia, " said Abner, with re- 
 miniscent appreciation. 
 
 "I was always there, Abner," returned Mrs. Byers, with 
 a complacent show of dimples, which she, however, chas- 
 tened into that resignation which seemed characteristic of 
 the pair. "Let 's see your ' intended ' — as might be." 
 
 Thus supported, Mr. Langworthy led Mrs. Byers into 
 the hall through a crowd of loungers, into a smaller hall, 
 and there opened the door of the kitchen. It was a large 
 room, whose windows were half darkened by the encom- 
 passing pines which still pressed around the house on the 
 scantily cleared site. A number of men and women, among 
 them a Chinaman and a negro, were engaged in washing 
 dishes and other culinary duties; and beside the window 
 stood a young blonde girl, who was wiping a tin pan which 
 she was also using to hide a burst of laughter evidently 
 caused by the abrupt entrance of her employer. A quan- 
 tity of fluffy hair and part of a white, bared arm were nev- 
 ertheless visible outside the disk, and Mrs. Byers gathered 
 from the direction of Mr. Langworthy 's eyes, assisted by 
 a slight nudge from his elbow, that this was the selected 
 fair one. His feeble explanatory introduction, addressed 
 to the occupants generally, "Just showing the house to 
 Mrs. — er — Dusenberry, " convinced her that the circum- 
 stances of his having been divorced he had not yet confided 
 to the young woman. As he turned almost immediately 
 away, Mrs. Byers in following him managed to get a bettei 
 look at the girl, as she was exchanging some facetious re- 
 mark to a neighbor. Mr. Langworthy did not speak until 
 they had reached the deserted dining-room again. 
 
 "Weill" he said briefly, glancing at the clock, "what 
 did ye think o' Mary Ellen 1 " 
 
 To any ordinary observer the girl in question would 
 
268 THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 have seemed the least fitted in age, sobriety of deportmeni^ 
 and administrative capacity to fill the situation thus pro- 
 posed for her, but Mrs. Byers was not an ordinary observer, 
 and her auditor was not an ordinary listener. 
 
 "She 's older than she gives herself out to be," said Mrs. 
 Byers tentatively, "and them kitten ways don't amount to 
 much. " 
 
 Mr. Langworthy nodded. Had Mrs. Byers discovered 
 a homicidal tendency in Mary Ellen he would have been 
 equally unmoved. 
 
 "She don't handsome much," continued Mrs. Byers 
 musingly, " but " — 
 
 " I never was keen on good looks in a woman, Kosalie. 
 You know that ! " 
 
 Mrs. Byers received the equivocal remark unemotionally, 
 and returned to the subject. 
 
 " Well ! " she said contemplatively, " I should think you 
 could make her suit." 
 
 Mr. Langworthy nodded with resigned toleration of all 
 that might have influenced her judgment and his own. "I 
 was wantin' a fa'r-minded opinion, Kosalie, and you hap- 
 pened along jest in time. Kin I put up any thin' in the 
 way of food for ye ? " he added, as a stir outside and the 
 words " All aboard ! " proclaimed the departing of the stage- 
 coach, — "an orange or a hunk o' gingerbread, freshly 
 baked?" 
 
 "Thank ye kindly, Abner, but I shan't be usin' any- 
 thin' afore supper," responded Mrs. Byers, as they passed 
 out into the veranda beside the waiting coach. 
 
 Mr. Langworthy helped her to her seat. "Ef you're 
 passin' this way ag'in" — he hesitated delicately. 
 
 "I'll drop in, or I reckon Mr. Byers might, he havin' 
 business along the road," returned Mrs. Byers with a cheer- 
 ful nod, a§ the coach rolled away and the landlord of the 
 Big Flume Hotel reentered his house. 
 
THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 269 
 
 For the next three weeks, however, it did not appear 
 that Mr. Langworthy was in any hurry to act upon the ad- 
 vice of his former wife. His relations to Mary Ellen Budd 
 were characterized by his usual tolerance tp his employees' 
 failings, — which in Mary Ellen's case included many 
 "breakages," — but were not marked by the invasion oi 
 any warmer feeling, or a desire for confidences. The only 
 perceptible divergence from his regular habits was a dispo- 
 sition to be on the veranda at the arrival of the stage-coach, 
 and when his duties permitted this, a cautious survey of 
 his female guests at the beginning of dinner. This prob- 
 ably led to his more or less ignoring any peculiarities in his 
 masculine patrons or their claims to his personal attention. 
 Particularly so, in the case of a, red-bearded man, in a long 
 linen duster, both heavily freighted with the red dust of 
 the stage road, which seemed to have invaded his very eyes 
 as he watched the landlord closely. Towards the close of 
 the dinner, when Abner, accompanied by a negro waiter 
 after his usual custom, passed down each side of the long 
 table, collecting payment for the meal, the stranger looked 
 up. "You air the landlord of this hotel, I reckon] " 
 
 "I am," said Abner tolerantly. 
 
 "I 'd like a word or two with ye." 
 
 But Abner had been obliged to have a formula for such 
 occasions. "Ye '11 pay for yer dinner first," he said sub- 
 missively but firmly, "and make yer remarks agin the food 
 arter. " 
 
 The stranger flushed quickly, and his eye took an addi- 
 tional shade of red, but meeting Abner's serious gray ones, 
 he contented himself with ostentatiously taking out a hand- 
 ful of gold and silver and paying his bill. Abner passed 
 on, but after dinner was over he found the stranger in the 
 hall. 
 
 "Ye pulled me up rather short in thar," said the man 
 gloomily, "but it 's just as well, as the talk I was wantin' 
 
270 THE LANBLORB OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 with ye was kinder betwixt and between ourselves, and 
 not hotel business. My name 's Byers, and my wife let on 
 she met ye down here." 
 
 For the first time it struck Abner as incongruous that 
 another man should call Rosalie "his wife," although the 
 fact of her remarriage had been made sufficiently plain to 
 him. He accepted it as he would an earthquake, or any 
 other dislocation, with his usual tolerant smile, and held 
 out his hand. 
 
 Mr. Byers took it, seemingly mollified, and yet inwardly 
 disturbed, — more even than was customary in Abner's 
 guests after dinner. 
 
 "Have a drink with me," he suggested, although it had 
 struck him that Mr. Byers had been drinking before din- 
 ner. 
 
 "I'm agreeable," responded Byers promptly; "but," 
 with a glance at the crowded bar-room, "couldn't we go 
 somewhere, jest you and me, and have a quiet confab 1 " 
 
 "1 reckon. But ye must wait tUl we get her off." 
 
 Mr. Byers started slightly, but it appeared that the im- 
 pedimental sex in this case was the coach, which, after a 
 slight feminine hesitation, was at last started. Where- 
 upon Mr. Langworthy, followed by a negro with a tray 
 bearing a decanter and glasses, grasped Mr. Byers's arm, 
 and walked along a small side veranda the depth of the 
 house, stepped off, and apparently plunged with his guest 
 into the primeval wilderness. 
 
 It has already been indicated that the site of the Big 
 Flume Hotel had been scantily cleared; but Mr. Byers, 
 backwoodsman though he was, was quite unprepared for so 
 abrupt a change. The hotel, with its noisy crowd and gar- 
 ish newness, although scarcely a dozen yards away, seemed 
 lost completely to sight and sound. A slight fringe of old 
 tin cans, broken china, shavings, and even of the long- 
 dried chips of the felled trees, once crossed, the two men 
 
THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 271 
 
 ■were alone ! From the tray, deposited at the foot of an 
 enormous pine, they took the decanter, filled their glasses, 
 and then disposed of themselves comfortably against a 
 spreading root. The curling tail of a squirrel disappeared 
 behind them; the far-off tap of a woodpecker accented the 
 loneliness. And then, almost magically as it seemed, the 
 thin veneering of civilization on the two men seemed to be 
 cast off like the bark of the trees around them, and they 
 lounged before each other in aboriginal freedom. Mr. 
 Byers removed his restraining duster and undercoat. Mr. 
 Langworthy resigned his dirty white jacket, his collar, and 
 unloosed a suspender, with which he played. 
 
 "Would it be a fair question between two fa'r-minded 
 men, ez hez lived alone, " said Mr. Byers, with a gravity so 
 supernatural that it could be referred only to liquor, " to ask 
 ye in what sort o' way did Mrs. Byers show her temper? " 
 
 " Show her temper 1 " echoed Abner vacantly. 
 
 "Yes — in course, I mean when you and Mrs. Byers 
 was — was — one 1 You know the di-vorce was for in- 
 com-pat-ibility of temper." 
 
 "But she got the divorce from me, so T reckon I had 
 the temper," said Langworthy, with great simplicity. 
 
 " Wha-at 1 " said Mr. Byers, putting down his glass and 
 gazing with drunken gravity at the sad-eyed yet good- 
 humoredly tolerant man before him. " You ? — you had 
 the temper 1 " 
 
 "I reckon that 's what the court allowed," said Abner 
 simply. 
 
 Mr. Byers stared. Then after a moment's pause he 
 nodded with a significant yet relieved face. " Yes, I see, 
 in course. Times when you 'd h'isted too much o' this 
 corn juice," lifting up his glass, "inside ye — ye sorter 
 bu'st out ravin' 1 " 
 
 But Abner shook his head. " I wuz a total abstainer in 
 them days," he said quietly. 
 
272 THE LANDLOED OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 Mr. Byers got unsteadily on his legs and looked around 
 bim. "Wot might hev been the general gait o' your tem- 
 per, pardner ? " he said in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 "Don't know. I reckon that's jest whar the incom- 
 patibility kem in." 
 
 "And when she hove plates at your head, wot did you 
 do?" 
 
 "She didn't hove no plates," said Abner gravely; "did 
 she say she did ? " 
 
 "No, no! " returned Byers hastily, in crimson confusion. 
 "I kinder got it mixed with suthin' else." He waved his 
 hand in a lordly way, as if dismissing the subject. " How- 
 sumever, you and her is 'off' anyway," he added with 
 badly concealed anxiety. 
 
 "I reckon: there's the decree," returned Abner, with 
 his usual resigned acceptance of the fact. 
 
 "Mrs. Byers wuz allowin' ye wuz thinkin' of a second. 
 How 's that comin' on ? " 
 
 "Jest whar it was," returned Abner. "I ain't doin' 
 anything yet. Ye see I 've got to tell the gal, naterally, 
 that I 'm di-vorced. And as that is n't known hereabouts, 
 I don't keer to do so till I 'm pretty certain. And then, 
 in course, I 've got to." 
 
 " Why hev ye ' got to ' 1 " asked Byers abruptly. 
 
 "Because it wouldn't be on the square with the girl," 
 said Abner. " How would you like it if Mrs. Byers had 
 never told you she'd been married to me? And s'pose 
 you 'd happen to hev been a di-vorced man and had n't told 
 her, eh? Well," he continued, sinking back resignedly 
 against the tree, "I ain't sayin' anythin' but she 'd hev got 
 another di-vorce, and from, you on the spot — you bet ! " 
 
 "Well! all I kin say is," said Mr. Byers, lifting his 
 voice excitedly, " that " — but he stopped short,, and was 
 about to fill his glass again from the decanter when the 
 hand of Abner stopped him. 
 
THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 273 
 
 "Ye've got ez muuh ez ye kin carry now, Byers," he 
 said slowly, "and that 's about ez much ez I allow a man 
 to take in at the Big Flume Hotel. Treatin' is treatin', 
 hospitality is hospitality ; ef you and me was squattin' out 
 on the prairie I 'd let you fill your skin with that pizen and 
 wrap ye up in yer blankets afterwards. But here at Big 
 Flume, the Stage Kempenny and the wimen and children 
 passengers hez their rights." He paused a moment, and 
 added, "And so I reckon hez Mrs. Byers, and I ain't goin' 
 to send you home to her outer my house blind drunk. It 's 
 mighty rough on you and me, I know, but there 's a lot o' 
 roughness in this world ez hez to be got over, and life, ez 
 far ez I kiu see, ain't all a clearin'." 
 
 Perhaps it was his good-humored yet firm determination, 
 perhaps it was his resigned philosophy, but something in the 
 speaker's manner affected Mr. Byers's alcoholic susceptibil- 
 ity, and hastened his descent from the passionate heights of 
 intoxication to the maudlin stage whither he was drifting. 
 The fire of his red eyes became filmed and dim, an equal 
 moisture gathered in his throat as he pressed Abner's hand 
 with drunken fervor. "Thash so! your thinking o' me 
 an' Mish Byersh is like troo fr'en'," he said thickly. "I 
 wosh only goin' to shay that wotever Mish Byersh wosh — 
 even if she wosh wife o' yours — she wosh — noble woman ! 
 Such a woman," continued Mr. Byers, dreamily regarding 
 space, "can't have too many husbands." 
 
 " You jest sit back here a minit, and have a quiet smoke 
 till I come back," said Abner, handing him his tobacco 
 plug. "I've got to give the butcher his order — but I 
 won't be a minit." He secured the decanter as he spoke, 
 and evading an apparent disposition of his companion to fall 
 upon his neck, made his way with long strides to the hotel, 
 as Mr. Byers, sinking back against the tree, began certain 
 futile efforts to light his unfilled pipe. 
 
 Whether Abner's attendance on the butcher was merelj 
 
274 THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 an excuse to withdraw with the decanter, I cannot say. 
 He, however, dispatched his business quickly, and returned 
 to the tree. But to his surprise Mr. Byers was no longer 
 there. He explored the adjacent woodland with non-suc- 
 cess, and no reply to his shouting. Annoyed but not 
 alarmed, as it seemed probable that the missing man had 
 fallen in a drunken sleep in some hidden shadows, he re- 
 turned to the house, when it occurred to him that Byers 
 might have sought the bar-room for some liquor. But he 
 was still more surprised when the barkeeper volunteered the 
 information that he had seen Mr. Byers hurriedly pass down 
 the side veranda into the high-road. An hour later this 
 was corroborated by an arriving teamster, who had passed 
 a man answering to the description of Byers, " mor' 'n half 
 full," staggeringly but hurriedly walking along the road 
 " two miles back. " There seemed to be no doubt that the 
 missing man had taken himself off in a fit of indignation or 
 of extreme thirst. Either hypothesis was disagreeable to 
 Abner, in his queer sense of responsibility to Mrs. Byers, 
 but he accepted it with his usual good-humored resignation. 
 Yet it was difficult to conceive what connection this epi- 
 sode had in his mind with his suspended attention to Mary 
 Ellen, or why it should determine his purpose. But he had 
 a logic of his own, and it seemed to have demonstrated to 
 him that he must propose to the girl at once. This was no 
 easy matter, however; he had never shown her any previ- 
 ous attention, and her particular functions in the hotel — 
 the charge of the few bedrooms for transient guests — sel- 
 dom brought him in contact with her. His interview would 
 have to appear to be a business one — which, however, he 
 wished to avoid from a delicate consciousness of its truth. 
 While making up his mind, for a few days he contented 
 himself with gravely regarding her in his usual resigned, 
 tolerant way, whenever he passed her. Unfortunately the 
 first effect of this was an audible giggle from Mary Ellen, 
 
THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 275 
 
 later some confusion and anxiety in her manner, and finally 
 a demeanor of resentment and defiance. 
 
 This was so different from what he had expected that 
 he was obliged to precipitate matters. The next day was 
 Sunday, — a day on which his employees, in turns, were 
 allowed the recreation of being driven to Big Flume City, 
 eight miles distant, to church, or for the day's holiday. In 
 the morning Mary Ellen was astonished by Abner's inform- 
 ing her that he designed giving her a separate holiday with 
 himself. It must be admitted that the girl, who was already 
 " prinked up " for the enthrallment of the youth of Big 
 Flume City, did not appear as delighted with the change of 
 plan as a more exacting lover would have liked. Howbeit, 
 as soon as the wagon had left with its occupants, Abner, in 
 the unwonted disguise of a full suit of black clothes, turned 
 to the girl, and offering her his arm, gravely proceeded along 
 the side veranda across the mound of debris already de- 
 scribed, to the adjacent wilderness and the very trees undei 
 which he and Byers had sat. 
 
 "It 's about ez good a place for a little talk. Miss Budd," 
 he said, painting to a tree root, " ez ef we went a spell fur- 
 ther, and it 's handy to the house. And ef you '11 jest say 
 what you 'd like outer the cupboard or the bar — no matter 
 which — I '11 fetch it to you." 
 
 But Mary Ellen Budd seated herself sideways on the 
 root, with her furled white parasol in her lap, her skirts 
 fastidiously tucked about her feet, and glancing at the 
 fatuous Abner from under her stack of fluffy hair and 
 light eyelashes, simply shook her head and said that "she 
 reckoned she was n't hankering much for anything " that 
 morning. 
 
 "I 've been calkilatin' to myself, Miss Budd," said Ab- 
 ner resignedly, " that when two folks — like ez you and me 
 — meet together to kinder discuss things that might go so 
 far ez to keep them together, if they hez had anything of 
 
276 THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 that sort in their lives afore, they ought to speak of it con- 
 fidentially like together." 
 
 "Ef any one o' them sneakin', soulless critters in the 
 kitchen hez been slingin' lies to ye about me — or carryin' 
 tales, " broke in Mary Ellen Budd, setting every one of her 
 thirty-two strong, white teeth together with a snap, "well 
 
 — ye might hev told me so to oncet without spilin' my 
 Sunday! But ez fer yer keepin' me a minit longer, ye 've 
 only got to pay me my salary to-day and " — but here she 
 stopped, for the astonishment in Abner's face was too plain 
 to be misunderstood. 
 
 "Nobody 's been slinging any lies about ye. Miss Budd," 
 he said slowly, recovering himself resignedly from this last 
 back-handed stroke of fate. "I warn't talkin' o' you, but 
 myself. I was only allowin' to say that I was a di-vorced 
 man. " 
 
 As a sudden flush came over Mary Ellen's brownish- 
 white face while she stared at him, Abner hastened to deli- 
 cately explain. "It wasn't no onfaitMulness, Miss Budd 
 
 — no philanderin' o' mine, but only ' incompatibility o' 
 temper. ' " 
 
 " Temper — your temper ! " gasped Mary Ellen. 
 
 "Yes," said Abner. 
 
 And here a sudden change came over Mary Ellen's face, 
 and she burst into a shriek of laughter. She laughed with 
 her hands slapping the sides of her skirt, she laughed with 
 her bands clasping her narrow, hollow waist, laughed with her 
 head down on her knees and her fluiFy hair tumbling over 
 it. Abner was relieved, and yet it seemed strange to him 
 that this revelation of his temper should provoke such mani- 
 fest incredulity in both Byers and Mary Ellen. But perhaps 
 these things would be made plain to him hereafter ; at present 
 they must be accepted "in the day's work'' and tolerated. 
 
 "Your temper," gurgled Mary Ellen. "Saints alive! 
 What kind o' temper 1 " 
 
THE LANDLOED OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 277 
 
 "Well, I reckon," returned Abner submissively, and se- 
 lecting a word to give his meaning more comprehension, ^ 
 "I reckon it was kinder — aggeravokin'." 
 
 Mary Ellen sniffed the air for a moment in speechless 
 incredulity, and then, locking her hands around her knees 
 and bending forward, said, "Look here! Ef that old wo- 
 man o' yours ever knew what temper was in a man; ef 
 she 's ever been tied to a brute that treated her like a nigger 
 till she daren't say her soul was her own; who struck her 
 with, his eyes and tongue when he had n't anythin' else 
 handy; who made her life miserable when he was sober, 
 and a terror when he was drunk; who at last drove her 
 away, and then divorced her for desertion — then — then 
 she might talk. But ' incompatibility o' temper ' with you ! 
 Oh, go away — it makes me sick ! " 
 
 How far Abner was impressed with the truth of this, 
 how far it prompted his next question, nobody but Abner 
 knew. Eor he said deliberately, "I was only goin' to ask 
 ye, if, knowin' I was a di-vorced man, ye would mind mar- 
 ryin' me ! " 
 
 Mary Ellen's face changed ; the evasive instincts of her 
 sex rose up. "Didn't I hear ye sayin' suthin' about re- 
 freshments?" she said archly. "Mebbe you wouldn't 
 mind gettin' me a bottle o' lemming sody outer the bar ! " 
 
 Abner got up at once, perhaps not dismayed by this di- 
 version, and departed for the refreshment. As he passed 
 along the side veranda the recollection of Mr. Byers and 
 his mysterious flight occurred to him. For a wild moment 
 he thought of imitating him. But it was too late now — 
 he had spoken. Besides, he had no wife to fly to, and the 
 thirsty or indignant Byers had — his wife! Fate was in- 
 deed hard. He returned with the bottle of lemon soda on 
 a tray and a resigned spirit equal to her decrees. Mary 
 Ellen, remarking that he had brought nothing for himself, 
 archly insisted upon his sharing with her the bottle of soda, 
 
278 THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 and even coquettishly touched his lips with her glass. Ah- 
 ner smiled patiently. 
 
 But here, as if playfully exhilarated by the naughty 
 foaming soda, she regarded him with her head — and a 
 good deal of her blonde hair — very much on one side, as 
 she said, "Do you know that all along o' you bein' so free 
 with me in tellin' your affairs I kinder feel like just telling 
 you mine 1 " 
 
 "Don't," said Abner promptly. 
 
 " Don't 1 " echoed Miss Budd. 
 
 " Don't," repeated Abner. " It 's nothing to me. What 
 I said about myself is different, for it might make some 
 difference to you. But nothing you could say of yourself 
 would make any change in me. I stick to what I said just 
 now." 
 
 "But," said Miss Budd, — in half- real, half-simulated 
 threatening, — "what if it had suthin' to do with my an- 
 swer to what you said just now ? " 
 
 " It could n't. So, if it 's all the same to you. Miss 
 Budd, I 'd rather ye would n't." 
 
 "That," said the lady still more archly, lifting a playful 
 finger, "is your temper." 
 
 "Mebbe it is," said Abner suddenly, with a wondering 
 sense of relief. 
 
 It was, however, settled that Miss Budd should go to 
 Sacramento to visit her friends, that Abner would join her 
 later, when their engagement would be announced, and that 
 she should not return to the hotel until they were married. 
 The compact was sealed by the interchange of a friendly 
 kiss from Miss Budd with a patient, tolerating one from 
 Abner, and then it suddenly occurred to them both that 
 they might as well return to their duties in the hotel, which 
 they did. Miss Budd's entire outing that Sunday lasted 
 only half an hour. 
 
 A week elapsed. Miss Budd was in Sacramento, and the 
 
THE LANDLOED OP THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 279 
 
 landlord of the Big Flume Hotel -was standing at his usual 
 post in the doorway during dinner, when a waiter handed 
 him a note. It contained a single line scrawled in pencil : — 
 
 "Come out and see me behind the house as before. I 
 dussent come in on account of her. 
 
 C. Btebs." 
 
 " On account of '- her ' ! " Abner cast a hurried glance 
 around the tables. Certainly Mrs. Byers was not there ! 
 He walked in the hall and the veranda — she was not there. 
 He hastened to the rendezvous evidently meant by the 
 writer, the wilderness behind the house. Sure enough, 
 Byers, drunk and maudlin, supporting himself by the tree 
 root, staggered forward, clasped him in his arms, and mur- 
 mured hoarsely, — 
 
 "She's gone!" 
 
 " Gone 1 " echoed Abner, with a whitening face. " Mrs. 
 Byers? Where!" 
 
 " Eun away ! Never come back no more ! Gone ! " 
 
 A vague idea that had been in Abner's mind since Byers's 
 last visit now took awful shape. Before the unfortunate 
 Byers could collect his senses he felt himself seized in a 
 giant's grasp and forced against the tree. 
 
 "You coward!" said all that was left of the tolerant 
 Abner — his even voice — " you hound ! Did you dare to 
 abuse her ? to lay your vile hands on her — to strike her ? 
 Answer me." 
 
 The shock — the grasp — perhaps Abner's words, mo- 
 mentarily silenced Byers. " Did I strike her ? " he said 
 dazedly ; "' did I abuse her ? Oh, yes I " with deep irony. 
 " Certainly ! In course ! Look yer, pardner ! " — he sud- 
 denly dragged up his sleeve from his red, hairy arm, expos- 
 ing a blue cicatrix in its centre — "that 's a jab from her 
 scissors about three months ago ; look yer ! " — he bent his 
 
280 THE LANDLOKD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 
 
 head and showed a scar along the scalp — " that 's her play- 
 fulness with a fire shovel ! Look yer ! " — he quickly 
 opened his collar, where his neck and cheek were striped 
 and crossed with adhesive plaster — "that's all that was 
 left o' a glass jar o' preserves — the preserves got away, 
 but some of the glass got stuck! That 's when she heard 
 I was a di-vorced man and hadn't told her." 
 
 " Were you a di-vorced man ? " gasped Abner. 
 
 "You know that; in course I was," said Byers scorn- 
 fully ; " d' ye meanter say she did n't tell ye 1 " 
 
 " She ? " echoed Abner vaguely. " Your wife — you said 
 just now she didn't know it before." 
 
 " My wife ez oncet was, I mean ! Mary Ellen — your 
 wife ez is to be," said Byers with deep irony. "Oh, come 
 now. Pretend ye don't know! Hi there! Hands off! 
 Don't strike a man when he 's down, like I am." 
 
 But Abner' s clutch of Byers 's shoulder relaxed, and he 
 sank down to a sitting posture on the root. In the mean 
 time Byers, overcome by a sense of this new misery added 
 to his manifold grievances, gave way to maudlin silent 
 tears. 
 
 "Mary Ellen — your first wife?" repeated Abner va- 
 cantly. 
 
 "Yesh! " said Byers thickly, "my first wife — shelected 
 and picked out f er your shecond wife — by your first — 
 
 like d d conundrum. How wash 1 1' know 1 " he said, 
 
 with a sudden shriek of public expostulation — "thasi 
 what I wanter know. Here I come to talk with fr'en', 
 like man to man, unshuspecting, innoshent as chile, about 
 my shecond wife! Fr'en' drops out, carryin' off the whis- 
 key. Then I hear all o' suddent voice o' Mary Ellen 
 talkin' in kitchen; then I come round softly and see Mary 
 Ellen — my wife as useter be — standin' at fr'en's kitchen 
 winder. Then I lights out quicker 'n lightnin' and scoots! 
 And when I gets back home, I ups and tells my wife. And 
 
THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL 281 
 
 whosh fault ish't! Who shaid a man oughter tell hish 
 wife? You! Who keepsh other mensh' first wivesh at 
 kishen winder to frighten 'em to tell? You! " 
 
 But a change had already come over the face of Abner 
 Langworthy. The anger, anxiety, astonishment, and va- 
 cuity that was there had vanished, and he looked up with 
 his usual resigned acceptance of the inevitable as he said, 
 "I reckon that's so! And seein' it's so," with good- 
 natured tolerance, he added, "I reckon I '11 break rules for 
 oncet and stand ye another drink." 
 
 He stood another drink and yet another, and eventually 
 put the doubly widowed Byers to bed in his own room. 
 These were but details of a larger tribulation, — and yet 
 he knew instinctively that his cup was not yet full. The 
 further drop of bitterness came a few days later in a line 
 from Mary Ellen: "I needn't tell you that all betwixt you 
 and me is ofi', and you kin tell your old woman that her 
 selection for a second wife for you wuz about as bad as 
 your own first selection. Ye kin tell Mr. Byers — yer 
 great friend whom ye never let on ye knew — that when I 
 want another husband I shan't take the trouble to ask him 
 to fish one out for me. It would be kind — but confus- 
 in'." 
 
 He never heard from her again. Mr. Byers was duly 
 notified that Mrs. Byers had commenced action for divorce 
 in another State in which concealment of a previous divorce 
 invalidated the marriage, but he did not respond. The two 
 men became great friends — and assured celibates. Yet 
 they always spoke reverently of their "wife," with the 
 touching prefix of "our." 
 
 "She was a good woman, pardner," said Byers. 
 
 "And she understood us," said Abner resignedly. 
 
 Perhaps she had. 
 
THE KEINCAENATION OF SMITH 
 
 The extravagant supper party by which .Mr. James 
 Farendell celebrated the last day of his bachelorhood was 
 protracted so far into the night, that the last guest who 
 parted from him at the door of the principal Sacramento 
 restaurant was for a moment impressed with the belief that 
 a certain ruddy glow in the sky was already the dawn. But 
 Mr. Farendell had kept his head clear enough to recognize 
 it as the light of some burning building in a remote busi- 
 ness district, a not infrequent occurrence in the dry season. 
 When he had dismissed his guest he turned away in that 
 direction for further information. His own counting-house 
 was not in that immediate neighborhood, but Sacramento 
 had been once before visited by a rapid and far-sweeping 
 conflagration, and it behooved him to be on the alert even 
 on this night of festivity. 
 
 Perhaps also a certain anxiety arose out of the occasion. 
 He was to be married to-morrow to the widow of his late 
 partner, and the marriage, besides being an attractive one, 
 would settle many business difficulties. He had been a 
 fortunate man, but, like many more fortunate men, was not 
 blind to the possibilities of a change of luck. The death 
 of liis partner in a successful business had at first seemed to 
 betoken that change, but his successful though hasty court- 
 ship of the inexperienced widow had restored his chances 
 without greatly shocking the decorum of a pioneer com- 
 munity. Nevertheless, he was not a contented man, and 
 hardly a determined — although an energetic one. 
 
 A walk of a few moments brought him to the levee of 
 
THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH 283 
 
 the river, — a favored district, where his counting-house, 
 with many others, was conveniently situated. In these 
 early days only a few of these buildings could be said to be 
 permanent, — fire and flood perpetually threatened them. 
 They were merely temporary structures of wood, or in the 
 case of Mr. Farendell's office, a shell of corrugated iron, 
 sheathing a one-storied wooden frame, more or less elaborate 
 in its interior decorations. By the time he had reached it, 
 the distant fire had increased. On his way he had met and 
 recognized many of his business acquaintances hurrying 
 thither, — some to save their own property, or to assist the 
 imperfectly equipped volunteer tire department in their un- 
 selfish labors. It was probably Mr. Farendell's peculiar 
 preoccupation on that particular night which had prevented 
 his joining in their brotherly zeal. 
 
 He unlocked the iron door, and lit the hanging lamp 
 that was used in all-night sittings on steamer days. It re- 
 vealed a smartly furnished office, with a high desk for his 
 clerks, and a smaller one for himself in one corner. In 
 the centre of the wall stood a large safe. This he also un- 
 locked and took out a few important books, as well as a 
 small drawer containing gold coin and dust to the amount 
 of about five hundred dollars, the large balance having been 
 deposited in bank on the previous day. The act was only 
 precautionary, as he did not exhibit any haste in removing 
 them to a place of safety, and remained meditatively ab- 
 sorbed in looking over a packet of papers taken from the 
 same drawer. The closely shuttered building, almost her- 
 metically sealed against light, and perhaps sound, prevented 
 his observing the steadily increasing light of the conflagra- 
 tion, or hearing the nearer tumult of the firemen, and the 
 invasion of his quiet district by other equally solicitous 
 tenants. The papers seemed also to possess some impor- 
 tance, for the stillness being suddenly broken by the turn- 
 ing of the handle of the heavy door he had just closed, and 
 
284 THE EEINCARNATION OF SMITH 
 
 its opening with difficulty, his lirst act was to hurriedly 
 conceal them, without apparently paying a thought to the 
 exposed gold before him. And his expression and attitude 
 in facing round towards the door was quite as much of ner- 
 vous secretiveness as of indignation at the interruption. 
 
 Yet the intruder appeared, though singular, by no means 
 formidable. He was a man slightly past the middle age, 
 with a thin face, hollowed at the cheeks and temples as if 
 by illness or asceticism, and a grayish beard that encircled 
 his throat like a soiled worsted " comforter " below his 
 clean-shaven chin and mouth. His manner was slow and 
 methodical, and even when he shot the bolt of the door be- 
 hind him, the act did not seem aggressive. Nevertheless 
 Mr. Farendell half rose with his hand on his pistol-pocket, 
 but the stranger merely lifted his own hand with a gesture 
 of indifferent warning, and, drawing a chair towards him, 
 dropped into it deliberately. 
 
 Mr. Farendell's angry stare changed suddenly to one of 
 surprised recognition. "Josh Scranton," he said hesitat- 
 ingly. 
 
 "I reckon," responded the stranger slowly. "That's 
 the name I alius bore, and yon called yourself Farendell. 
 "Well, we ain't seen each other sens the spring o' '50, when 
 ye left me lying nigh petered out with chills and fever on 
 the Stanislaus River, and sold the claim that me and Duffy 
 worked under our very feet, and skedaddled for 'Frisco! " 
 
 "I only exercised my right as principal owner, and to 
 secure my advances, " began the late Mr. Farendell sharply. 
 
 But again the thin hand was raised, this time with a 
 slow, scornful waiving of any explanations. "It ain't that 
 in partickler t^iat I 've kem to see ye for to-night," said the 
 stranger slowly, "nor it ain't about your takin' the name 
 o' ' Farendell,' that friend o' yours who died on the passage 
 here with ye, and whose papers ye borrowed ! Nor it ain't 
 on account o' that wife of yours ye left behind in Missouri, 
 
THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 285 
 
 and whose letters you never answered. It 's them thinga 
 all together — and suthin' else ! " 
 
 " "What the d 1 do you want, then 1 " said Farendell, 
 
 with a desperate directness that was, however, a tacit con- 
 fession of the truth of these accusations. 
 
 "Yer allowin' that ye '11 get married to-morrow?" said 
 Scranton slowly. 
 
 "Yes, and be d d to you," said Farendell fiercely. 
 
 "Yer not," returned Scranton. "Not if / knows it. 
 Yer goin' to climb down. Yer goin' to get up and get ! 
 Yer goin' to step down and out! Yer goin' to shut up 
 your desk and your books and this hull consarn inside of 
 an hour, and vamose the ranch. Arter an hour from now 
 thar won't be any Mr. Farendell, and no weddin' to-mor- 
 row. " 
 
 "If that's your game — perhaps you'd like to murder 
 me at once?" said Farendell with a shifting eye, as his 
 hand again moved towards his revolver. 
 
 But again the thin hand of the stranger was also lifted. 
 "We ain't in the business o' murderin' or bein' murdered, 
 or we might hev kem here together, me and Duffy. Now 
 if anything happens to me Duffy wiU be left, and he 's got 
 the proofs." 
 
 Farendell seemed to recognize the fact with the same di- 
 rectness. "That's it, is it?" he said bluntly. "Well, 
 how much do you want ? Only, I warn you that I have n't 
 much to give. " 
 
 " Wotever you 've got, if it was millions, it ain't enough 
 to buy us up, and ye ought to know that by this time,' 
 responded Scranton, with a momentary flash in his eyes. 
 But the next moment his previous passionless deliberation 
 returned, and leaning his arm on the desk of the man be- 
 fore him he picked up a paperweight carelessly and turned 
 it over as he said slowly, "The fact is, Mr. Farendell, 
 you 've been making us, me and Duffy, tired. We 'ye been 
 
286 THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 
 
 watchin' you and your doin's, lyin' low and sayin' nothin'. 
 till we concluded that it was about time you handed in youi 
 checks and left the board. We ain't wanted nothin' of ye, 
 we ain't begrudged ye nothin', but we 've allowed that thia 
 yer thing must stop." 
 
 "And what if I refuse? " said Farendell. 
 
 " Thar '11 be some cussin' and a big row from you, I kal- 
 kilate — and maybe some fightin' all round," said Scranton 
 dispassionately. "But it wiU. be all the same in the end. 
 The hull thing will come out, and you '11 hev to slide just 
 the same. T' otherwise, ef ye slide out now, it 's without 
 a row." 
 
 " And do you suppose ?- business man like me can disap- 
 pear without a fuss over it ? " said Farendell angrily. " Are 
 you mad ! " 
 
 "I reckon the hole you '11 make kin be filled up," said 
 Scranton dryly. "But ef ye go now, you won't be both- 
 ered by the fuss, while if you stay you '11 have to face the 
 music, and go too ! " 
 
 Farendell was silent. Possibly the truth of this had 
 long since been borne upon him. No one but himself knew 
 the incessant strain of these years of evasion and conceal- 
 ment, and how he often had been near to some such des- 
 perate culmination. The sacrifice ofi^ered to him was not, 
 therefore, so great as it might have seemed. The know- 
 ledge of this might have given him a momentary superiority 
 over his antagonist had Scranton's motive been a purely 
 selfish or malignant one, but as it was not, and as he may 
 have had some instinctive idea of Farendell' s feeling also, it 
 made his ultimatum appear the more passionless and fateful. 
 And it was this quality which perhaps caused Farendell to 
 burst out with desperate abruptness, — 
 
 " What in h 11 ever put you up to this ! " 
 
 Scranton folded his arms upon Farendell' s desk, ana 
 slowly wiping his clean jaw with one hand, repeated delib; 
 
THE EEINOARNATION OF SMITH 287 
 
 erately, "Wall — I reckon I told ye that before! You 've 
 been making us — me and Duffy — tired ! " He paused for 
 a moment, and then, rising abruptly, with a careless gesture 
 towards the uncovered tray of gold, said, " Come ! ye kin 
 take enuif o' that to get away with; the less ye take, 
 though, the less likely you '11 be to be followed ! " 
 
 He went to the door, unlocked and opened it. A strange 
 light, as of a lurid storm interspersed by sheet-like light- 
 ning, fiUed the outer darkness, and the silence was now 
 broken by dull crashes and nearer cries and shouting. A 
 few figures were also dimiy flitting around the neighboring 
 empty offices, some of which, like Farendell's, had been 
 entered by their now alarmed owners. 
 
 "You've got a good chance now," continued Scranton; 
 "ye couldn't hev a better. It's a big fire — a scorcher 
 — and jest the time for a man to wipe himself out and 
 not be missed. Make tracks where the crowd is thickest 
 and whar ye 're likely to be seen, ez ef ye were helpin' ! 
 Ther' '11 be other men missed to-morrow beside you," he 
 added with grim significance; "but nobody '11 know that 
 you was one who really got away." 
 
 Where the imperturbable logic of the strange man might 
 have failed, the noise, the tumult, the suggestion of swift- 
 coming disaster, and the necessity for some immediate ao 
 tion of any kind, was convincing. Farendell hastily stuff'cd 
 his pockets with gold and the papers he had found, and 
 moved to the door. Already he fancied he felt the hot 
 breath of the leaping conflagration beyond. "And you? " 
 he said, turning suspiciously to Scranton. 
 
 "When you 're shut of this and clean off', I 'U fix things 
 and leave too — but not before. I reckon, " he added 
 grimly, with a glance at the sky, now streaming with sparks 
 like a meteoric shower, "thar won't be much left here in 
 the morning." 
 
 A few dull embers pattered on the iron roof of the low 
 
288 THE EEIKOAENATION OF SMITH 
 
 building and bounded off in ashes. Tarendell cast a final 
 glance around him, and then darted from the building. 
 The iron door clanged behind him — he was gone. 
 
 Evidently not too soon, for the other buildings were al- 
 ready deserted by their would-be salvors, who had filled the 
 streets with piles of books and valuables waiting to be car- 
 ried away. Then occurred a terrible phenomenon, which 
 had once before in such disasters paralyzed the eflorts of 
 the firemen. A large wooden warehouse in the centre 
 of the block of offices, many hundred feet from the scene of 
 active conflagration — which had hitherto remained intact 
 — suddenly became enveloped in clouds of smoke, and with 
 out warning burst as suddenly from roof and upper story 
 into vivid flame. There were eye-witnesses who declared 
 that a stream of living fire seemed to leap upon it from the 
 burning district, and connected the space between them 
 with an arch of luminous heat. In another instant the 
 whole district was involved in a whirlwind of smoke and 
 flame, out of whose seething vortex the corrugated iron 
 buildings occasionally showed their shriveling or glowing 
 outlines. And then the fire swept on and away. 
 
 When the sun again arose over the panic-stricken and 
 devastated city, all personal incident and disaster was forgot- 
 ten in the larger calamity. It was two or three days before 
 the full particulars could be gathered — even while the 
 dominant and resistless energy of the people was erecting 
 new buildings upon the still-smoking ruins. ' It was only 
 on the third day afterwards that James Farendell, on the 
 deck of a coasting steamer, creeping out through the fogs 
 of the Golden Gate, read the latest news in a San Francisco 
 paper brought by the pilot. As he hurriedly comprehended 
 the magnitude of the loss, which was far beyond his pre- 
 vious conception, he experienced a certain satisfaction in 
 finding his position no worse materially than that of many 
 of his feUow workers. They were ruined like himself; 
 
THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 289 
 
 they must begin their life afresh — but then ! Ah ! there 
 ■was still that terrible difference. He drew his breath 
 quickl}', and read on. Suddenly he stopped, transfixed by 
 a later paragraph. For an instant he failed to grasp its full 
 significance. Then he read it again, the words imprinting 
 themselves on his senses with a slow deliberation that 
 seemed to him as passionless as Scranton's utterances on 
 that fateful night. 
 
 " The loss of life, it is now feared, is much greater than at 
 first imagined. To the list that has been already published 
 we must add the name of James Farendell, the energetic 
 contractor so well known to our citizens, who was missing 
 the morning after the fire. His calcined remains were 
 found this afternoon in the warped and twisted iron shell of 
 his counting-house, the wooden frame having been reduced 
 to charcoal in the intense heat. The unfortunate mat 
 seems to have gone there to remove his books and papers^ 
 — as was evidenced by the iron safe being found open, — 
 but to have been caught and imprisoned in the building 
 through the heat causing the metal sheathing to hermetically 
 seal the doors and windows. He was seen by some neigh- 
 bors to enter the building while the fire was still distant, and 
 his remains were identified by his keys, which were found 
 beneath him. A poignant interest is added to his untimely 
 fate by the circumstance that he was to have been married 
 on the following day to the widow of his late partner, and 
 that he had, at the call of duty, that very evening left a 
 dinner party given to celebrate the last day of his bachelor- 
 hood — or, as it has indeed proved, of his earthly exist- 
 ence. Two families are thus placed in mourning, and it is 
 a singular sequel that by this untoward calamity the well- 
 known firm of Farendell & Cutler may be said to have 
 ceased to exist." 
 
 Mr. Farendell started to his feet. But a lurch of the 
 schooner as she rose on the long swell of the Pacific sent 
 
290 THE REINCARNATIOK OF SMITH 
 
 him staggering dizzily back to his seat, and checked his 
 first wild impulse to return. He saw it all now, — the fire 
 had avenged him by wiping out his persecutor, Scranton, but 
 in the eyes of his contemporaries it had only erased him ! 
 He might return to refute the story in his own person, but 
 the dead man's partner still lived with his secret, and his 
 own rehabilitation could only revive his former peril. 
 
 Four years elapsed before the late Mr. Farendell again 
 set foot on the levee of Sacramento. The steamboat that 
 brought him from San Francisco was a marvel to him in 
 size, elegance, and comfort; so different from the little, 
 crowded, tri- weekly packet he remembered ; and it might, 
 in a manner, have prepared him for the greater change in 
 the city. But he was astounded to find nothing to remind 
 him of the past, — no landmark, nor even ruin, of the place 
 he had known. Blocks of brick buildings, with thorough- 
 fares having strange titles, occupied the district where his 
 counting-house had stood, and even obliterated its site; 
 equally strange names were upon the shops and warehouses. 
 In his four years' wanderings he had scarcely found a place 
 as unfamiliar. He had trusted to the great change in his 
 own appearance — the full beard that he wore and the tan- 
 ning of a tropical sun — to prevent recognition, but the 
 precaution was unnecessary; there were none to recognize 
 him in the new faces which were the only ones he saw in 
 the transformed city. A cautious allusion to the past 
 which he had made on the boat to a fellow passenger had 
 brought only the surprised rejoinder, "Oh, that must have 
 been before the big fire," as if it was an historic epoch. 
 There was something of pain even in this assured security 
 of his loneliness. His obliteration was complete. 
 
 For the late Mr. Farendell had suffered some change of 
 mind with his other mutations. He had been singularly 
 lucky. The schooner in which he had escaped brought him 
 
THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH 291 
 
 to Acapulco, where, as a returning Californian, and a pre- 
 sumably successful one, his services and experience were 
 eagerly sought by an English party engaged in developing 
 certain disused Mexican mines. As the post, however, was 
 perilously near the route of regular emigration, as soon as 
 he had gained a sufficient sum he embarked with some 
 goods to Callao, where he presently established himself in 
 business, resuming his real name — the unambitious but 
 indistinctive one of "Smith." It is highly probable that 
 this prudential act was also his first step towards rectitude. 
 For whether the change was a question of moral ethics, or 
 merely a superstitious essay in luck, he was thereafter 
 strictly honest in business. He became prosperous. He 
 had been sustained in his flight by the intention that, if he 
 were successful elsewhere, he would endeavor to communi- 
 cate with his abandoned _/iaraeee, and ask her to join him, 
 and share not his name but fortune in exile. But as he 
 grew rich, the difficulties of carrying out this intention be- 
 came more apparent; he was by no means certain of hei 
 loyalty surviving the deceit he had practiced and the reve- 
 lation he would have to make ; he was doubtful of the suc- 
 cess of any story which at other times he would have glibly 
 invented to take the place of truth. Already several 
 months had elapsed since his supposed death; could he 
 expect her to be less accessible to premature advances now 
 than when she had been a widow ? Perhaps this made him 
 think of the wife he had deserted so long ago. He had 
 been quite content to live without regret or affection, for- 
 getting and forgotten ; but in his present prosperity he felt 
 there was some need of putting his domestic affairs into a 
 more secure and legitimate shape, to avert any catastrophe 
 like the last. Here at least would be no difficulty; hus- 
 bands had deserted their wives before this in Californian 
 emigration, and had been heard of only after they had made 
 their fortune. Any plausible story would be accepted by 
 
292 THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 
 
 her m the joy of his reappearance ; or if, indeed, as he re^ 
 fleeted with equal complacency, she was dead or divorced 
 from him through his desertion — a sufficient cause in her 
 own State — and re-married, he would at least he more se- 
 cure. He hegan, without committing himself, hy inquiry 
 and anonymous correspondence. His wife, he learnt, had 
 left Missouri for Sacramento only a month or two after his 
 own disappearance from that place, and her address was 
 unknown ! 
 
 A complication so unlooked for disquieted him, and yet 
 whetted his curiosity. The only person she might meet in 
 California who could possibly identify him with the late 
 Mr. Farendell was Duffy; he had often wondered if that 
 mysterious partner of Scranton's had heen deceived with 
 the others, or had ever suspected that the body discovered 
 in the counting-house was Scranton's. If not, he must 
 have accepted the strange coincidence that Scranton had 
 disappeared also the same night. In the first six months 
 of his exile he had searched the Californian papers thor- 
 oughly, but had found no record of any doubt having been 
 thrown on the accepted belief. It was these circumstances, 
 and perhaps a vague fascination not unlike that which im- 
 pels the malefactor to haunt the scene of his crime, that, at 
 the end of four years, had brought him, a man of middle 
 age and assured occupation and fortune, back to the city 
 he had fled from. 
 
 A few days at one of the new hotels convinced him thor- 
 oughly that he was in no danger of recognition, and gave ^ 
 him the assurance to take rooms more in keeping with his 
 circumstances and his own frankly avowed position as the 
 head of a South American house. A cautious acquaintanct 
 — through the agency of his banker — with a few business, 
 men gave him some occupation, and the fact of his South 
 American letters being addressed to Don Diego Smith gave 
 a foreign flavor to his individuality, which his tanned face 
 
THE EEINCAKNATION OF SMITH 293 
 
 and dark beard had materially helped. A stronger test 
 convinced him how complete was the obliteration of his 
 former identity. One day at the bank he was startled at 
 being introduced by the manager to a man whom he at once 
 recognized as a former business acquaintance But the 
 shock was his alone; the formal approach and unfamiliar 
 manner of the man showed that he had failed to recognize 
 even a resemblance. But would he equally escape detec- 
 tion by his wife if he met her as accidentally, — an en- 
 counter not to be thought of until he knew something more 
 of her? He became more cautious in going to public 
 places, but luckily for him the proportion of women to men 
 was still small in California, and they were more observed 
 than observing. 
 
 A month elapsed; in that time he had thoroughly ex- 
 hausted the local Directories in his cautious researches 
 among the " Smiths, " for in his fear of precipitating a pre- 
 mature, disclosure he had given up his former anonymous 
 advertising. And there was a certain occupation in this 
 personal quest that filled his business time. He was in no 
 hurry. He had a singular faith that he would eventually 
 discover her whereabouts, be able to make all necessary in- 
 quiries into her conduct and habits, and perhaps even enjoy 
 a brief season of unsuspected personal observation before 
 revealing himself. And this faith was as singularly re- 
 warded. 
 
 Having occasion to get his watch repaired one day, he en- 
 tered a large jeweler's shop, and while waiting its examina- 
 tion his attention was attracted by an ordinary old-fashioned 
 daguerreotype case in the form of a heart-shaped locket 
 lying on the counter with other articles left for repairs. 
 Something in its appearance touched a chord in his memory ; 
 he lifted the half-opened case and saw a much faded da^ 
 guerreotype portrait of himself taken in Missouri before he 
 left in the Californian emigration. He recognized it at once 
 
294 THE EEINCAKNATION OF SMITH 
 
 as one he had given to his wife; the faded likeness was so 
 little like his present self that he holdly examined it and 
 asked the jeweler one or two questions. The man was com- 
 municative. Yes, it was an old-fashioned affair which had 
 been left for repairs a few days ago by a lady whose name 
 and address, written by herself, were on the card tied to it. 
 Mr. James Smith had by this time fully controlled the 
 emotion he felt as he recognized his wife's name and hand- 
 writing, and knew that at last the clue was found! He 
 laid down the case carelessly, gave the final directions for 
 the repairs of his watch, and left the shop. The address, 
 of which he had taken a mental note, was, to his surprise, 
 very near his own lodgings; but he went straight home. 
 Here a few inquiries of his janitor elicited the information 
 that the building indicated in the address was a large one 
 of furnished apartments and offices like his own, and that 
 the "Mrs. Smith" must be simply the housekeeper of the 
 landlord, whose name appeared in the Directory, but not her 
 own. Yet he waited until evening before he ventured to 
 reconnoitre the premises; with the possession of his clue 
 came a slight cooling of his ardor and extreme caution in 
 his further proceedings. The house — a reconstructed 
 wooden building — offered no external indication of the 
 rooms she occupied in the uniformly curtained windows 
 that fronted the street. Yet he felt an odd and pleasurable 
 excitement in passing once or twice before those walls that 
 hid the goal of his quest. As yet he had not seen her, and 
 there was naturally the added zest of expectation. He no- 
 ticed that there was a new building opposite, with vacant 
 offices to let. A project suddenly occurred to him, which 
 Dy morning he had fuUy matured. He hired a front room 
 on the first floor of the new building, had it hurriedly fur- 
 nished as a private office, and on the second morning of his 
 discovery was installed behind his desk at the window com- 
 manding a full view of the opposite house. There waa 
 
THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH 295 
 
 nothing strange in the South American capitalist selecting 
 a private office in so popular a locality. 
 
 Two or three days elapsed without any result from his 
 espionage. He came to know by sight the various tenants, 
 the two Chinese servants, and the solitary Irish housemaid, 
 but as yet had no glimpse of the housekeeper. She evi- 
 dently led a secluded life among her duties; it occurred to 
 him that perhaps she went out, possibly to market, earlier 
 than he came, or later, after he had left the office. In this 
 belief he arrived one morning after an early walk in a smart 
 spring shower, the lingering straggler of the winter rains. 
 There were few people astir, yet he had been preceded for 
 two or three blocks by a tall woman whose umbrella partly 
 concealed her head and shoulders from view. He had no- 
 ticed, however, even in his abstraction, that she walked 
 well, and managed the lifting of her skirt over her trim 
 ankles and well-booted feet with some grace and cle-frerness. 
 Yet it was only on her unexpectedly turning the corner of 
 his own street that he became interested. She continued 
 on until within a few doors of his office, when she stopped 
 to give an order to a tradesman, who was just taking down 
 his shutters. He heard her voice distinctly ; in the quick 
 emotion it gave him he brushed hurriedly past her without 
 lifting his eyes. Gaining his own doorway he rushed up- 
 stairs to his office, hastily unlocked it, and ran to the win- 
 dow. The lady was already crossing the street. He saw 
 her pause before the door of the opposite house, open it 
 with a latchkey, and caught a full view of her profile in the 
 single moment that she turned to furl her umbrella and 
 enter. It was his wife's voice he had heard; it was his 
 wife's face that he had seen in profile. 
 
 Yet she was changed from the lanky young schoolgirl he 
 had wedded ten years ago, or, at least, compared to what 
 his recollection of her had been. Had he ever seen her as 
 she really was? Surely somewhere in that timid, freckled, 
 
296 THE EEINCAENATION Oir SMIl'H 
 
 half-grown bride he had known in the iirst year of theif 
 marriage the germ of this self-possessed, matured woman 
 was hidden. There was the tone ot ner voice; he had 
 never recalled it before as a lover might, yet now it touched 
 him ; her profile he certainly remembered, but not with the 
 feeling it now produced in him. Would he have ever aban- 
 doned her had she been like that? Or had he changed, 
 and was this no longer his old self ? — perhaps even a self 
 she would never recognize again ? James Smith had the 
 superstitions of a gambler, and that vague idea of fate that 
 comes to weak men; a sudden fright seized him, and he 
 half withdrew from the window lest she should observe 
 him, recognize him, and by some act precipitate that fate. 
 
 By lingering beyond the usual hour for his departure he 
 saw her again, and had even a full view of her face as she 
 crossed the street. The years had certainly improved her; 
 he wondered with a certain nervousness if she would think 
 they had done the same for him. The complacency with 
 which he had at first contemplated her probable joy at re- 
 covering him had become seriously shaken since he had 
 seen her ; a woman as well preserved and good-looking as 
 that, holding a certain responsible and, no doubt, lucrative 
 position, must have many admirers and be independent. 
 He longed to tell her now of his fortune, and yet shrank 
 from the test its exposure implied. He waited for her re- 
 turn until darkness had gathered, and then went back to his 
 lodgings a little chagrined and ill at ease. It was rather 
 late for her to be out alone. After all, what did he know 
 of her habits or associations 1 He recalled the freedom of 
 Californian life, and the old scandals relating to the lapses 
 of many women who had previously led blameless lives in 
 the Atlantic States. Clearly it behooved him to be cau- 
 tious. Yet he walked late that night before the house 
 again, eager to see if she had returned, and with whom? 
 He was restricted in his eagerness by the fear of detection^ 
 
THE EEINCARNATION OF SMITH 297 
 
 but he gathered very little knowledge of her habits; singu- 
 larly enough nobody seemed to care. A little piqued at 
 this, he began to wonder if he were not thinking too much 
 of this woman to whom he still hesitated to reveal himself. 
 Nevertheless, he found himself that night again wandering 
 around the house, and even watching with some anxiety the 
 shadow which he believed to be hers on the window-blind 
 of the room where he had by discreet inquiry located her. 
 Whether his memory was stimulated by his quest he never 
 knew, but presently he was able to recall step by step and 
 incident by incident his early courtship of her and the brief 
 days of their married life. He even remembered the day 
 she accepted him, and even dwelt upon it with a sentimen- 
 tal thrill that he probably never felt at the time, and it was 
 a distinct feature of his extraordinary state of mind and its 
 concentration upon this particular subject that he presently 
 began to look upon himself as the abandoned and deserted 
 conjugal partner, and to nurse a feeling of deep injury at 
 her hands. The fact that he was thinking of her, and she, 
 probably, contented with her lot, was undisturbed by any 
 memory of him, seemed to him a logical deduction of his 
 superior affection. 
 
 It was, therefore, quite as much in the attitude of a re- 
 proachful and avenging husband as of a merely curious one 
 that, one afternoon, seeing her issue from her house at an 
 early hour, he slipped down the stairs and began to follow 
 her at a secure distance. She turned into the principal 
 thoroughfare, and presently made one of the crowd who 
 were entering a popular place of amusement where there 
 was an afternoon performance. So complete was his selfish 
 hallucination, that he smiled bitterly at this proof of heart 
 less indifference, and even so far overcame his previous cau- 
 tion as to actually brush by her somewhat rudely as he en- 
 tered the building at the same moment. He was conscious 
 that she lifted her eyes a little impatiently to the face of 
 
298 THE EEINCAKNATION OF SMITH 
 
 the awkward stranger; he was equally, but more bitterly, 
 conscious that she had not recognized him. He dropped 
 into a seat behind her; she did not look at him again with 
 even a sense of disturbance; the momentary contact had 
 evidently left no impression upon her. She glanced cas- 
 ually at her neighbors on either side, and presently became 
 absorbed in the performance. When it was over she rose, 
 and on her way out recognized and exchanged a few words 
 with one or two acquaintances. Again he heard her fami- 
 liar voice, almost at his elbow, raised with no more con- 
 sciousness of her contiguity to him than if he were a mere 
 ghost. The thought struck him for the first time with a 
 hideous and appalling significance. What was he but a 
 ghost to her — to every one ! A man dead, buried, and for- 
 gotten! His vanity and self-complacency vanished before 
 this crushing realization of the hopelessness of his exist- 
 ence. Dazed and bewildered, he mingled blindly and blun- 
 deringly with the departing crowd, tossed here and there as 
 if he were an invisible presence, stumbling over the imped- 
 ing skirts of women with a vague apology they heeded not, 
 and which seemed in his frightened ears as hollow as a 
 voice from the grave. 
 
 When he at last reached the street he did not look back, 
 out wandered abstractedly through by-streets in the falling 
 rain, scarcely realizing where he was, until he found him- 
 self drenched through, with his closed umbrella in his trem- 
 ulous hand, standing at the half-submerged levee beside 
 the overflowed river. Here again he realized how com- 
 pletely he had been absorbed and concentrated in his search 
 for his wife during the last three weeks ; he had never been 
 on the levee since his arrival. He had taken no note of the 
 excitement of the citizens over the alarming reports of ter- 
 rible floods in the mountains, and the daily and hourly fear 
 that they experienced of disastrous inundation from the sur- 
 charged river. He had never thought of it, yet he had read 
 
THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH 299 
 
 of it, and even 'talked, and yet now for the first time in his 
 selfish, blind absorption was certain of it. He stood still for 
 some time, watching doggedly the enormous yellow stream 
 laboring with its burden and drift from many a mountain 
 town and camp, moving steadily and fatefully towards the 
 distant bay, and still more distant and inevitable ocean. 
 Eor a few moments it vaguely fascinated and diverted him ; 
 then it as vaguely lent itself to his one dominant, haunting 
 thought. Yes, it was pointing him the only way out, — the 
 path to the distant ocean and utter forgetfulness again ! 
 
 The chUl of his saturated clothing brought him to him- 
 self once more; he turned and hurried home. He went 
 tiredly to his bedroom, and while changing his garments 
 there came a knock at the door. It was the porter to saj' 
 that a lady had called, and was waiting for him in the sit- 
 ting-room. She had not given her name. 
 
 The closed door prevented the servant from seeing the 
 extraordinary effect produced by this simple announcement 
 upon the tenant. For one instant James Smith remained 
 spellbound in his chair. It was characteristic of his weak 
 nature and singular prepossession that he passed in an in- 
 stant from the extreme of doubt to the extreme of certainty 
 and conviction. It was his wife ! She had recognized him 
 in that moment of encounter at the entertainment; had 
 found his address, and had followed him here ! He dressed 
 himself with feverish haste, not, however, without a certain 
 care of his appearance and some selection of apparel, and 
 quickly forecast the forthcoming interview in his mind. 
 For the pendulum had swung back; Mr. James Smith was 
 once more the self-satisfied, self-complacent, and discreetly 
 cautious husband that he had been at the beginning of his 
 quest, perhaps with a certain sense of grievance superadded. 
 He should require the fullest explanations and guarantees 
 before committing himself, — indeed, her present call might 
 be an advance that it would be necessary for him to check. 
 
300 THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 
 
 ■s. 
 
 He even pictured her pleading at his feet; a very little 
 stronger effort of his Alnaschar imagination would have 
 made him reject her like the fatuous Persian glass peddler. 
 
 He opened the door of the sitting-room deliherately, and 
 walked in with a certain formal precision. But the figure 
 of a woman arose from the sofa, and with a slight outcry, 
 half playful, half hysterical, threw herself upon his hreast 
 with the single exclamation, "Jim ! " He started hack from 
 the douhle shock. For the woman was not his wife ! A 
 woman extravagantly dressed, still young, but bearing, even 
 through her artificially heightened color, a face worn with 
 excitement, excess, and premature age. Yet a face that as 
 he disengaged himself from her arms grew upon him with 
 a terrible recognition, a face that he had once thought 
 pretty, inexperienced, and innocent, — the face of the 
 widow of his former partner, Cutler, the woman he was to 
 have married on the day he fled. The bitter revulsion of 
 feeling and astonishment was evidently visible in his face, 
 for she, too, drew back for a moment as they separated. 
 But she had evidently been prepared, if not pathetically 
 inured to such experiences. She dropped into a chair again 
 with a dry laugh, and a hard metallic voice, as she said, — 
 
 "Well, it 's you, anyway — and you can't get out of it." 
 
 As he still stared at her, in her inconsistent finery, drag- 
 gled and wet by the storm, at her limp ribbons and osten- 
 tatious jewelry, she continued, in the same hard voice, — 
 
 "I thought I spotted you onco or twice before; but you 
 took no notice of me, and I reckoned I was mistaken. But 
 this afternoon at the Temple of Music " — 
 
 "Where? " said James Smith harshly. 
 
 " At the Temple — the San Francisco Troupe performance 
 — where you brushed by me, and I heard your voice saying, 
 ' Beg pardon ! ' I says, ' That 's Jim Farendell. ' " 
 
 " Farendell ! " burst out James Smith, half in simulated 
 astonishment, half in real alarm. 
 
THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 301 
 
 " Well ! Smith, then, if you like better, " said the woman 
 impatiently ; " though it 's about the sickest and most played- 
 out dodge of a name you could have pitched uppn. James 
 Smith, Don Diego Smith ! " she repeated, with a hysteric 
 laugh. " Why, it beats the nigger minstrels all hollow ! 
 Well, when I saw you there, I said, ' That 's Jim Farendell, 
 or his twin brother; ' I didn't say ' his ghost,' mind you; 
 for from the beginning, even before I knew it all, I never 
 took any stock in that fool yarn about your burnt bones 
 being found in your office." 
 
 " Knew all, knew what ? " demanded the man, with a 
 bravado which he nevertheless felt was hopeless. 
 
 She rose, crossed the room, and, standing before him, 
 placed one hand upon her hip as she looked at him with 
 half-pitying effrontery. 
 
 "Look here, Jim," she began slowly, "do you know 
 what you 're doing? Well, you 're making me tired! " In 
 spite of himself, a half-superstitious thrill went through him 
 as her words and attitude recalled the dead Scranton. "Do 
 you suppose that I don't know that you ran away the night 
 of the fire? Do yoii suppose that I don't know that you 
 were next to ruined that night, and that you took that 
 opportunity of skedaddling out of the country with all the 
 money you had left, and leaving folks to imagine you were 
 burnt up with the books you had falsified and the accounts 
 you had doctored! It w^s a mean thing for you to do to 
 me, Jim, for I loved you then, and would have been fool 
 enough to run off with you if you 'd told me all, and not 
 left me to find out that you had lost my money — every 
 cent Cutler had left me in the business — with the rest. " 
 
 With the fatuousness of a weak man cornered, he clung 
 to unimportant details. " But the body was believed to be 
 mine by every one," he stammered angrily. "My papers 
 and books were burnt, — there was no evidence. " 
 
 " And why was there not ? " she said witheringly, staring 
 
302 THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 
 
 doggedly in his face. "Because I stopped it! Because 
 when I knew those hones and rags shut up in that offiee 
 weren't yours, and was heginning to make a row ahout it, 
 a strange man came to me and said they were the remains 
 of a friend of his who knew your bankruptcy and had come 
 that night to warn you, — a man whom you had half ruined 
 once, a man who had probably lost his life in helping you 
 away. He said if I went on making a fuss he 'd come out 
 with the whole truth — how you were a thief and a forger, 
 and " — she stopped. 
 
 "And what else?" he asked desperately, dreading to 
 hear his wife's name next fall from her lips. 
 
 " And that — as it could he proved that his friend knew 
 your secrets," she went on in a frightened, embarrassed 
 voice, "you might be accused of making away with him." 
 
 For a moment James Smith was appalled ; he had never 
 thought of this. As in all his past villainy he was too 
 cowardly to contemplate murder, he was frightened at the 
 mere accusation of it. "But," he stammered, forgetful of 
 ail save this new terror, "he knew I wouldn't be such a 
 fool, for the man himself told me Duffy had the papers, 
 and killing him wouldn't have helped me." 
 
 Mrs. Cutler stared at him a moment searchingly, and 
 then turned wearily away. " Well, " she said, sinking into 
 her chair again, "he said if I 'd shut my mouth he 'd shut 
 his — and — I did. And this," she added, throwing her 
 hands from her lap, a gesture half of reproach and half of 
 contempt, — " this is what I get for it. " 
 
 More frightened than touched by the woman's despera- 
 tion, James Smith stammered a vague apologetic disclaimer, 
 even while he was loathing with a revulsion new to him 
 her draggled finery, her still more faded beauty, and the 
 half-distinct consciousness of guilt that linked her to him. 
 But she waved it away, a weary gesture that again re 
 mLaded him of the dead Scranton. 
 
THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH 303 
 
 "Of course I ain't what I was, but who 's to Hame for 
 it? When you left me alone without a cent, face to face 
 with a lie, I had to do something. I was n't brought up 
 to work ; I like good clothes, and you know it better than 
 anybody. I ain't one of your stage heroines that go out 
 as dependents and governesses and die of consumption, but 
 I thought," she went on with a shrill, hysterical laugh, 
 more painful than the weariness which inevitably followed 
 it, " I thought I might train myself to do it, on the stage ! 
 and I joined Barker's Company. They said I had a face 
 and figure for the stage ; that face and figure wore out be- 
 fore I had anything more to show, and I was n't big enough 
 to make better terms with the manager. They kept me 
 nearly a year doing chambermaids and fairy queens the 
 other side of the footlights, where I saw you to-day. Then 
 I kicked! I suppose I might have married some fool for 
 his money, but I was soft enough to think you might be 
 sending for me when you were safe. You seem to be 
 mighty comfortable here," she continued, with a bitter 
 glance around his handsomely furnished room, " as ' Don 
 Diego Smith.' I reckon skedaddling pays better than 
 staying behind." 
 
 " I have only been here a few weeks, " he said hurriedly. 
 "I never knew what had become of you, or that you were 
 still here " — 
 
 "Or you wouldn't have come," she interrupted, with a 
 bitter laugh. "Speak out, Jim." 
 
 "If there — is anything — I can do — for you," he 
 stammered, "I 'm sure " — 
 
 "Anything you can do ? " she repeated slowly and scorn- 
 fully. "Anything you can do wow .'^ Yes !" she screamed, 
 suddenly rising, crossing the room, and grasping his arms 
 convulsively. "Yes! Take me away from here — any- 
 where — at once! Look, Jim," she went on feverishly, 
 " let bygones be bygones — I won't peach ! I won't tell on 
 
304 THE KEINCAENATION OF SMITH 
 
 you — though I had it in my heart when you gave me the 
 go-by just now ! I '11 do anything you say — go to your 
 farthest hiding-place — work for you — only take me out 
 of this cursed place." 
 
 Her passionate pleading stung even through his selfish- 
 ness and loathing. He thought of his wife's indifference. 
 Yes, he might bo driven to this, and at least he must secure 
 the only witness against his previous misconduct. " We 
 will see," he said soothingly, gently loosening her hands. 
 " We must talk it over. " He stopped as his old suspi- 
 ciousness returned. "But you must have some friends," 
 he said searchingly, "some one who has helped you." 
 
 "None! Only one — he helped me at first," she hesi- 
 tated —" Duffy. " 
 
 " Duffy ! " said James Smith, recoiling. 
 
 "Yes, when he had to tell me all," she said in half- 
 frightened tones, " he was sorry for me. Listen, Jim ! He 
 was a square man, for all he was devoted to his partner — 
 and you can't blame him for that. I think he helped me 
 because I was alone; for nothing else, Jim. I swear it! 
 He helped me from time to time. Maybe he might have 
 wanted to marry me if he had not been waiting for another 
 woman that he loved, a married woman that had been de- 
 serted years ago by her husband, just as you might have 
 deserted me if we 'd been married that day. He helped 
 her and paid for her journey here to seek her husband, and 
 set her up in business. " 
 
 " What are you talking about — what woman ? " stam- 
 mered James Smith, with a strange presentiment creeping 
 over him. 
 
 "A Mrs. Smith. Yes," she said quickly, as he started, 
 " not a sham name like yours, but really and truly Sviith — 
 that was her husband's name! I'm not lying, Jim," 
 she went on, evidently mistaking the cause of the sudden 
 contraction of the man's face. "I didn't invent her nor 
 
THE EEINCA.ENATION OF SMITH 305 
 
 her name ; there is such a ■woman, and Duffy loves her — 
 and her only, and he never, never was anything more than 
 a, friend to me. I swear it ! " 
 
 The room seemed to swim around him. She was staring 
 at him, hut he could see in her vacant eyes that she had no 
 conception of his secret, nor knew the extent of her revela- 
 tion. Duffy had not dared to tell all! He hurst into a 
 coarse laugh. "What matters Duffy or the silly woman 
 he 'd try to steal away from other men. " 
 
 "But he didn't try to steal her, and she 's only silly be- 
 cause she wants to he true to her husband while he lives. 
 She told Duffy she 'd never marry him until she saw her 
 husband's dead face. More fool she," she added bitterly. 
 
 "Until she saw her husband's dead face," was all that 
 James Smith heard of this speech. His wife's faithfulness 
 through years of desertion, her long waiting and truthful- 
 ness, even the bitter commentary of the equally injured 
 woman before him, were to him as nothing to what that 
 single sentence conjured up. He laughed again, but this 
 time strangely and vacantly. "Enough of this Duffy and 
 his intrusion in my affairs until I 'm able to settle my 
 account with him. Come," he added brusquely, "if we 
 are going to cut out of this at once I 've got much to do. 
 Come here again to-morrow, early. This Duffy — does he 
 live here ? " 
 
 "No. In Marysville." 
 
 "Good! Come early to-morrow." 
 
 As she seemed to hesitate, he opened a drawer of his 
 table and took out a handful of gold and handed it to her. 
 She glanced at it for a moment with a strange expression, 
 put it mechanically in her pocket, and then looking up at 
 him said, with a forced laugh, " I suppose that means I am 
 to clear out 1 " 
 
 "Until to-morrow," he said shortly. 
 
 "If the Sacramento don't sweep us away before then," 
 
306 THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH 
 
 she interrupted, with a reckless laugh ; " the river s broken 
 through the levee — a clear sweep in two places. Where 
 I live the water 's up to the doorstep. They say it 's going 
 to be the biggest flood yet. You 're all right here; you 're 
 on higher ground. " 
 
 She seemed to utter these sentences abstractedly; dis- 
 connectedly, as if to gain time. He made an impatient 
 gesture. 
 
 "AU right, I'm going," she said, compressing her lips 
 slowly to keep them from trembling. " You have n't for- 
 gotten anything ? " As he turned half angrily towards her 
 she added, hurriedly and bitterly, "Anything — for to- 
 morrow 1 " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 She opened the door and passed out. He listened until 
 the trail of her wet skirt had descended the stairs, and the 
 street door had closed behind her. Then he went back to 
 his table and began collecting his papers and putting them 
 away in his trunks, which he packed feverishly, yet with 
 a set and determined face. He wrote one or two letters, 
 which he sealed and left upon his table. He then went 
 to his bedroom and deliberately shaved off his disguising 
 beard. Had he not been so preoccupied in one thought, he 
 might have been conscious of loud voices in the street and 
 a hurrying of feet on the wet sidewalk. But he was pos- 
 sessed by only one idea. He must see bis wife that even- 
 ing! How, he knew not yet, but the way would appear 
 when he had reached his office in the building opposite 
 hers. Three hours had elapsed before he had finished his 
 preparations. On going downstairs he stopped to give some 
 directions to the porter, but his room was empty ; passing 
 into the street he was surprised to find it quite deserted, 
 and the shops closed; even a drinking saloon at the corner 
 was quite empty. He turned the corner of the street, and 
 began the slight descent towards his office. To his amaze- 
 
THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 307 
 
 ment the lower end of the street, which was crossed by the 
 thoroughfare which was his destination, was blocked by a 
 crowd of people. As he hurried forward to join them he 
 suddenly saw, moving down that thoroughfare, what ap- 
 peared to his startled eyes to be the smokestacks of some 
 small, flat-bottomed steamer. He rubbed his eyes; it was 
 no illusion, for the next moment he had reached the crowd, 
 who were standing half a block away from the thoroughfare, 
 and on the edge of a lagoon of yellow water, whose main 
 current was the thoroughfare he was seeking, and between 
 whose houses submerged to their iirst stories, a steamboat 
 was really paddling. Other boats and rafts were adrift on 
 its sluggish waters, and a boatman had just landed a pas- 
 senger in the backwater of the lower half of the street on 
 which he stood with the crowd. 
 
 Possessed of his one idea, he fought his way desperately 
 to the water edge and the boat, and demanded a passage 
 to his office. The boatman hesitated, but James Smith 
 promptly offered him double the value of his craft. The 
 act was not deemed singular in that extravagant epoch, and 
 the sympathizing crowd cheered his solitary departure, as 
 he declined even the services of the boatman. The next 
 moment he was off in mid-stream of the thoroughfare, pad- 
 dling his boat with a desperate but inexperienced hand un- 
 til he reached his office, which he entered by the window. 
 The building, which was new and of brick, showed very 
 little damage from the flood, but in far different case was 
 the one opposite, on which his eyes were eagerly bent, and 
 whose cheap and insecure foundations he could see the flood 
 was already undermining. There were boats around the 
 house, and men hurriedly removing trunks and valuables, 
 but the one figure he expected to see was not there. He 
 tied his own boat to the window; there was evidently no 
 chance of an interview now, but if she were leaving there 
 would be still the chance of following her and knowing her 
 
808 THE EEINCAKNATION OF SMITH 
 
 destination. As he gazed she suddenly appeared at a win- 
 dow, and was helped hy a hoatman into a flat-hottomed 
 barge containing trunks and furniture. She was evidently 
 the last to leave. The other boats put off at once, and none 
 too soon ; for there was a warning cry, a quick swerving of 
 the barge, and the end of the dwelling slowly dropped into 
 the flood, seeming to sink on its knees like a stricken ox. 
 A great undulation of yellow water swept across the street, 
 inundating his office through the open window and half 
 swamping his boat beside it. At the same time he could 
 see that the current had changed and increased in volume 
 and velocity, and, from the cries and warning of the boat- 
 men, he knew that the river had burst its banks at its 
 upper bend. He had barely time to leap into his boat and 
 cast it off before there was a foot of water on his floor. 
 
 But the new current was carrying the boats away from 
 the higher level, which they had been eagerly seeking, and 
 towards the channel of the swollen river. The barge was 
 first to feel its influence, and was hurried towards the river 
 against the strongest efforts of its boatmen. One by one 
 the other and smaller boats contrived to get into the slack 
 water of crossing streets, and one was swamped before his 
 eyes. But James Smith kept only the barge in view. 
 His difficulty in following it was increased by his inexpe- 
 rience in managing a boat, and the quantity of drift which 
 now charged the current. Trees torn by their roots from 
 some upland bank; sheds, logs, timber, and the bloated 
 carcasses of cattle choked the stream. All the ruin worked 
 by the flood seemed to be compressed in this disastrous cur- 
 rent. Once or twice he narrowly escaped collision with a 
 heavy beam or the bed of some farmer's wagon. Once he 
 was swamped by a tree, and righted his frail boat while 
 clinging to its branches. 
 
 And then those who watched him from the barge and 
 shore said afterwards that a great apathy seemed to fall upon 
 
THE EEINCAENATION OF SMITH 309 
 
 him. He no longer attempted to guide the boat or strug- 
 gle with the drift, but sat in the stern with intent forward 
 gaze and motionless paddles. Once they strove to warn 
 him, called to him to make an effort to reach the barge, and 
 did wbat they could, in spite of their own peril, to alter 
 their course and help him. But he neither answered nor 
 heeded them. And then suddenly a great log that they 
 had just escaped seemed to rise up under the keel of his 
 boat, and it was gone. After a moment his face and head 
 appeared above the current, and so close to the stern of the 
 barge that there was a slight cry from the woman in it, but 
 the next moment, and before the boatman could reach him, 
 he was drawn under it and disappeared. They lay on their 
 oars eagerly watching, but the body of James Smith was 
 sucked under the barge, and in the mid-channel of the 
 great river was carried out towards the distant sea. 
 
 There was a strange meeting that night on the deck of a 
 relief boat, which had been sent out in search of the miss- 
 ing barge, between Mrs. Smith and a grave and anxious 
 passenger who had chartered it. When he had comforted 
 her, and pointed out, as indeed he had many times be- 
 fore, the loneliness and insecurity of her unprotected life, 
 she yielded to his arguments. But it was not until many 
 months after their marriage that she confessed to him on 
 that eventful night she thought she had seen in a moment 
 of great peril the vision of the dead face of her husband 
 uplifted to hor through the water. 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Lanty Foster was crouching on a low stool before the 
 dying kitchen fire, the better to get its fading radiance on 
 the book she was reading. Beyond, through the open win- 
 dow and door, the fire was also slowly fading from the sky 
 and the mountain ridge whence the sun had dropped half 
 an hour before. The view was uphill, and the sky-line of 
 the hill was marked by two or three gibbet-like poles from 
 which, on a now invisible line between them, depended 
 certain objects — mere black silhouettes against the sky — 
 which bore weird likeness to human figures. Absorbed as 
 she was in her book, she nevertheless occasionally cast an 
 impatient glance in that direction, as the sunlight faded 
 more quickly than her fire. For the fluttering objects were 
 the " week's wash " which had to be brought in before night 
 fell and the mountain wind arose. It was strong at that 
 altitude, and before this had ravished the clothes from the 
 line, and scattered them along the highroad leading over 
 the ridge, once even lashing the shy schoolmaster with a 
 pair of Lanty's own stockings, and blinding the parson 
 with a really tempestuous petticoat. 
 
 A whifi' of wind down the big-throated chimney stirred 
 the log embers on the hearth, and the girl jumped to her 
 feet, closing the book with an impatient snap. She knew 
 her mother's voice would follow. It was hard to leave her 
 heroine at the crucial moment of receiving an explanation 
 from a presumed faithless lover, just to climb a hill and take 
 in a lot of soulless washing, but such are the infelicities of 
 stolen romance reading. She threw the clothes-basket over 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 311 
 
 her head like a hood, the handle resting across her hosom 
 and shoulders, and with both her hands free started out of 
 the cabin. But the darkness had come up from the valley 
 in one stride after its mountain fashion, had outstripped 
 her, and she was instantly plunged in it. Still the outline 
 of the ridge above her was visible, with the white, steadfast 
 stars that were not there a moment ago, and by that sign 
 she knew she was late. She had to battle against the rush- 
 ing wind now, which sung through the inverted basket over 
 her head and held her back, but with bent shoulders she at 
 last reached the top of the ridge and the level. Yet here, 
 owing to the shifting of the lighter background above her, 
 she now found herself again encompassed with the darkness. 
 The outlines of the poles had disappeared, the white flutter- 
 ing garments were distinct apparitions waving in the wind, 
 like dancing ghosts. But there certainly was a queer mis- 
 shapen bulk moving beyond, which she did not recognize, 
 and as she at last reached one of the poles, a shock was 
 communicated to it, through the clothes-line and the bulk 
 beyond. Then she heard a voice say impatiently, — 
 
 " What in h 11 am I running into now t " 
 
 It was a man's voice, and, from its elevation, the voice 
 of a man on horseback. She answered without fear and 
 with slow deliberation, — 
 
 "Inter our clothes-line, I reckon." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the man in a half-apologetic tone. Then 
 in brisker accents, " The very thing I want ! I say, can 
 you give me a bit of it 1 The ring of my saddle girth has 
 fetched loose. I can fasten it with that." 
 
 "I reckon," replied Lanty, with the same unconcern, 
 moving nearer the bulk, which now separated into two 
 parts as the man dismounted. " How much do you want 1 " 
 
 " A foot or two will do. " 
 
 They were now in front of each other, although their 
 faces were not distinguishable to either. Lanty, who had 
 
312 LA.NTY FOSTEE'S MISTAKE 
 
 been following the lines with her hand, here came upon the 
 end knotted around the last pole. This she began to untie. 
 
 "What a place to hang clothes," he said curiously. 
 
 "Mighty dryin', though," returned Lanty laconically. 
 
 "And your house? Is it near by 1 " he continued. 
 
 " Just down the ridge — ye kin see from the edge. Got 
 a knife ? " She had untied the knot. 
 
 " No — yes — wait. " He had hesitated a moment and 
 then produced something from his breast pocket, which he 
 however kept in his hand. As he did not offer it to her 
 she simply held out a section of the rope between her hands, 
 which he divided with a single cut. She saw only that the 
 instrument was long and keen. Then she lifted the flap of 
 the saddle for him as he attempted to fasten the loose ring 
 •with the rope, but the darkness made it impossible. "With 
 an ejaculation, he fumbled in his pockets. " My last match ! " 
 he said, striking it, as he crouched over it to protect it from 
 the wind. Lanty leaned over also, with her apron raised 
 between it and the blast. The flame for an instant lit up 
 the ring, the man's dark face, mustache, and white teeth 
 set together as he tugged at the girth, and Lanty's brown, 
 velvet eyes and soft, round cheek framed in the basket. 
 Then it went out, but the ring was secured. 
 
 "Thank you," said the man, with a short laugh, "but I 
 thought you were a hump-backed witch in the dark there. " 
 
 "And I couldn't make out whether you was a cow or a 
 b'ar," returned the young ■;;irl simply. 
 
 Here, however, he quickly mounted his horse, but in the 
 action something slipped from his clothes, struck a stone, 
 and bounded away into the darkness. 
 
 "My knife," he said hurriedly. "Please hand it to me." 
 But although the girl dropped on her knees and searched 
 the ground diligently, it could not be found. The man with 
 a restrained ejaculation again dismounted, and joined in the 
 search. 
 
LANTY FOSTEE'S MISTAKE 313 
 
 "Haven't you got another match? " suggested Lanty. 
 
 "No — it was my last! " he said impatiently. 
 
 "Just you hoi' on here," she said suddenly, "and I'll 
 run down to the kitchen and fetch you a light. I won't 
 be long." 
 
 "No! no !" said the man quickly; "don't! I couldn't 
 wait. I 've been here too long now. Look here. You 
 come in daylight and find it, and — just keep it for me, 
 will you ? " He laughed. " I '11 come for it. And now, 
 if you '11 only help to set me on that road again, for it 's 
 so infernal black I can't see the mare's ears ahead of me, I 
 won't bother you any more. Thank you." 
 
 Lanty had quietly moved to his horse's head and taken 
 the bridle in her hand, and at once seemed to be lost in the 
 gloom. But in a few moments he felt the muffled thud of 
 his horse's hoof on the thick dust of the highway, and its 
 still hot, impalpable powder rising to his nostrils. 
 
 "Thank you," he said again, "I 'm all right now," and 
 in the pause that followed it seemed to Lanty that he had 
 extended a parting hand to her in the darkness. She put 
 up her own to meet it, but missed his, which had blundered 
 onto her shoulder. Before she could grasp it, she felt him 
 stooping over her, the light brush of his soft mustache on 
 her cheek, and then the starting forward of his horse. But 
 the retaliating box on the ear she had promptly aimed at 
 him spent itself in the black space which seemed suddenly 
 to have swallowed up the man, and even his light laugh. 
 
 For an instant she stood still, and then, swinging the 
 basket indignantly from her shoulder, took up her suspended 
 task. It was no light one in the increasing wind, and the 
 unfastened clothes-line had precipitated a part of its burden 
 to the ground through the loosening of the rope. But on 
 picking up the trailing garments her hand struck an unfa- 
 miliar object. The stranger's lost knife! She thrust it 
 hastily into the bottom of the basket and completed her 
 
314 LANTT FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 ■work. As she began to descend with her burden she saw 
 that the light of the kitchen fire, seen through the windows, 
 was augmented by a candle. Her mother was evidently 
 awaiting her. 
 
 "Pretty time to be fetchin' in the wash," said Mrs. Fos- 
 ter querulously. " But what can you expect when folks 
 stand gossipin' and philanderin' on the ridge instead o' 
 tendin' to their work 1 " 
 
 Now Lanty knew that she had not been " gossipin' " nor 
 "philanderin'," yet as the parting salute might have been 
 open to that imputation, and as she surmised that her mo- 
 ther might have overheard their voices, she briefly said, to 
 prevent further questioning, that she had shown a stranger 
 the road. But for her mother's unjust accusation she 
 would have been more communicative. As Mrs. Foster 
 went back grumblingly into the sitting-room Lanty resolved 
 to keep the knife at present a secret from her mother, and 
 to that purpose removed it from the basket. But in the 
 light of the candle she saw it for the first time plainly — 
 and started. 
 
 For it was really a dagger! jeweled-handled and richly 
 wrought — such as Lanty had never looked upon before. 
 The hilt was studded with gems, and the blade, which had 
 a cutting edge, was damascened in blue and gold. Her soft 
 eyes reflected the brilliant setting, her lips parted breath- 
 lessly ; then, as her mother's voice arose in the other room, 
 she thrust it back into its velvet sheath and clapped it into 
 her pocket. Its rare beauty had confirmed her resolution of 
 absolute secrecy. To have shown it now would have made 
 "no end of talk." And she was not sure but that her par- 
 ents would have demanded its custody ! And it was given 
 to he)' by him to keep. This settled the question of moral 
 ethics. She took the first opportunity to run up to her 
 bedroom and hide it under the mattress. 
 
 Yet the thought of it filled the rest of her evening. 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 315 
 
 When her household duties were done she took up her 
 novel again, partly from force of habit and partly as an at- 
 titude in which she could think of It undisturbed. For 
 what was fiction to her now ? True, it possessed a certain 
 reminiscent value. A "dagger" had appeared in several 
 romances she had devoured, but she never had a clear idea 
 of one before. "The Count sprang back, and, drawing 
 from his belt a richly jeweled dagger, hissed between his 
 teeth," or, more to the purpose: "'Take this,' said Or- 
 lando, handing her the ruby-hilted poniard which had 
 gleamed upon his thigh, ' and should the caitiff attempt 
 thy unguarded innocence ' " — 
 
 "Did ye hear what your father was sayin' ? " Lanty 
 started. It was her mother's voice in the doorway, and she 
 had been vaguely conscious of another voice pitched in the 
 same querulous key, which, indeed, was the dominant ex- 
 pression of the small ranchers of that fertile neighborhood. 
 Possibly a too complaisant and unaggressive Nature had 
 spoiled them. 
 
 " Yes ! — no ! " said Lanty abstractedly, " what did he 
 say ? " 
 
 "If you wasn't taken up with that fool book," said Mrs. 
 Foster, glancing at her daughter's slightly conscious color, 
 "ye 'd know! He allowed ye 'd better not leave yer filly 
 in the far pasture nights. That gang o' Mexican horse- 
 thieves is out again, and raided McKinnon's stock last 
 night." 
 
 This touched Lanty closely. The filly was her own 
 property, and she was breaking it for her own riding. But 
 her distrust of her parents' interference was greater than 
 any fear of horse-stealers. " She 's mighty uneasy in the 
 barn; and," she added, with a proud consciousness of that 
 beautiful yet carnal weapon upstairs, " I reckon I ken pro- 
 tect her and myself agin any Mexican horse-thieves." 
 
 "My! but we 're gettin' high and mighty," responded 
 
316 LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 Mrs. Foster, with deep irony. "Did you git all that outer 
 your fool book 1 " 
 
 "Mebbe," said Lanty curtly. 
 
 Nevertheless, her thoughts that night were not entirely 
 based on written romance. She wondered if the stranger 
 knew that she had really tried to box his ears in the dark- 
 ness, also if he had been able to see her face. His she re- 
 membered, at least the flash of his white teeth against his 
 dark face and darker mustache, which was quite as soft as 
 her own hair. But if he thought " for a minnit " that she 
 was "goin' to allow an entire stranger to kiss her — he was 
 mighty mistaken." She should let him know it "pretty 
 quick " ! She should hand him back the dagger " quite 
 careless like," and never let on that she'd thought any- 
 thing of it. Perhaps that was the reason why, before she 
 went to bed, she took a good look at it, and after taking off 
 her straight, beltless, calico gown she even tried the effect 
 of it, thrust in the stifif waistband of her petticoat, with the 
 jeweled hilt displayed, and thought it looked charming — 
 as indeed it did. And then, having said her prayers like a 
 good girl, and supplicated that she should be less " tetchy " 
 with her parents, she went to sleep and dreamed that she 
 had gone out to take in the wash again, but that the clothes 
 had all changed to the queerest lot of folks, who were all 
 fighting and struggling with each other until she, Lanty, 
 drawing her dagger, rushed up single-handed among them, 
 crying, " Disperse, ye craven curs, — disperse, I say ! " And 
 they dispersed. 
 
 Yet even Lanty was obliged to admit the next morning 
 that all this was somewhat incongruous with the baking of 
 "corn dodgers," the frying of fish, the making of beds, and 
 her other household duties, and dismissed the stranger from 
 her mind until he should " happen along. " In her freer 
 and more acceptable outdoor duties she even tolerated the 
 advances of neighboring swains who made a point of pass- 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 3l7 
 
 ing by "Foster's Ranch," and who were quite aware that 
 Atalanta Foster, alias "Lanty," was one of the prettiest 
 girls in the country. But Lanty 's toleration consisted in 
 that singular performance known to herself as " giving them 
 as good as they sent," heing a lazy traversing, qualified with 
 scorn, of all that they advanced. How long they would 
 have put up with this from a plain girl I do not know, but 
 Lanty's short upper lip seemed framed for indolent and fas- 
 cinating scorn, and her dreamy eyes usually looked beyond 
 the questioner, or blunted his bolder glances in their vel- 
 vety surfaces. The libretto of these scenes was not exhaus- 
 tive, e. g. : — 
 
 The Swain (with bold, bad gayety). "Saw that shy 
 schoolmaster hangin' round your ridge yesterday ! Orter 
 know by this time that shyness with a gal don't pay." 
 
 Lanty (decisively). "Mebbe he allows it don't get left 
 as often as impudence." 
 
 The Swain (ignoring the reply and his previous attitude 
 and becoming more direct). "I was calkilatin' to say that 
 with these yer hoss-thieves about, yer filly ain't safe in the 
 pasture. I took a turn round there two or three times last 
 evening to see if she was all right." 
 
 Lanty (with a flattering show of interest). "No! did 
 ye, now 1 I was jes't wonderin' " — 
 
 The Swain (eagerly). "I did — quite late, too! Why, 
 that 's nothin'. Miss Atalanty, to what I 'd do for you." 
 
 Lanty (musing, with far-off eyes). "Then that's why 
 she was so awful skeerd and frightened! Just jumpin' 
 outer her skin with horror. I reckoned it was a b'ar or 
 panther or a spook ! You ought to have waited till she got 
 accustomed to your looks." 
 
 i^Tevertheless, despite this elegant raillery, Lanty was 
 enough concerned in the safety of her horse to visit it the 
 next day with a view of bringing it nearer home. She had 
 just stepped into the alder fringe of a dry "run " when she 
 
318 LANTT FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 came suddenly upon the figure of a horseman in the "run," 
 who had been hidden by the alders from the plain beyond 
 and who seemed to be engaged in examining the hoof marks 
 in the dust of the old ford. Something about his figure 
 struck her recollection, and as he looked up quickly she 
 saw it was the owner of the dagger. But he appeared to 
 be lighter of hair and complexion, and was dressed differ- 
 ently, and more like a vaquero. Yet there was the same 
 flash of his teeth as he recognized her, and she knew it was 
 the same man. 
 
 Alas for her preparation ! Without the knife she could 
 not make that haughty return of it which she had contem- 
 plated. And more than that, she was conscious she was 
 blushing! Nevertheless she managed to level her pretty, 
 brown eyebrows at him, and said sharply that if he followed 
 her to her home she would return his property at once. 
 
 "But I 'm in no hurry for it," he said with a laugh, — 
 the same light laugh and pleasant voice she remembered, — 
 "and I'd rather not come to the house just now. The 
 knife is in good hands, I know, and I '11 call for it when I 
 want it ! And untU then — if it 's all the same to you — 
 keep it to yourself, — keep it dark, as dark as the night I 
 lost it!" 
 
 "I don't go about blabbing my affairs," said Lanty in- 
 dignantly, "and if it hadn't been dark that night you'd 
 have had your ears boxed — you know why ! " 
 
 The stranger laughed again, waved his hand to Lanty, 
 and galloped away. 
 
 Lanty was a little disappointed. The daylight had 
 taken away some of her illusions. He was certainly very 
 good-looking, but not quite as picturesque, mysterious, and 
 thrilling as in the dark ! And it was very queer — he cer- 
 tainly did look darker that night! Who was he? And 
 why was he lingering near her? He was different from 
 her neighbors — her admirers. He might be one of those 
 
LANTY Foster's mistake 319 
 
 locaters, from the big towns, who prospect the lands, with a 
 view of settling government warrants on them, — they were 
 always so secret until they had found what they wanted. 
 She did not dare to se ;k information of her friends, for the 
 same reason that she had concealed his existence from her 
 mother, — it would provoke awkward questions ; and it waf 
 evident that he was trusting to her secrecy, too. The 
 thought thrilled her with a new pride, and was some com- 
 pensation for the loss of her more intangible romance. It 
 would be mighty fine, when he did call openly for his beau- 
 tiful knife and declared himself, to have them all know that 
 she knew about it all along. 
 
 When she reached home, to guard against another such 
 surprise she determined to keep the weapon with her, and, 
 distrusting her pocket, confided it to the cheap little coun- 
 try-made corset which only for the last year had confined 
 her budding figure, and which now, perhaps, heaved with 
 an additional pride. She was quite abstracted during the 
 rest of the day, and paid but little attention to the gossip 
 of the farm lads, who were full of a daring raid, two nights 
 before, by the Mexican gang on the large stock farm of a 
 neighbor. The Vigilance Committee had been baffled; it 
 was even alleged that some of the smaller ranchmen and 
 herders were in league with the gang. It was also believed 
 to be a widespread conspiracy ; to have a political complex- 
 ion in its combination of an alien race with Southwestern 
 filibusters. The legal authorities had beejx reinforced by 
 special detectives from San Francisco. Lanty seldom trou- 
 bled herself with these matters; she knew the exaggeration, 
 she suspected the ignorance of her rural neighbors. She 
 roughly referred it, in her own vocabulary, to "jaw," a pe- 
 culiarly masculine quality. But later in the evening, when 
 the domestic circle in the sitting-room had been augmented 
 by a neighbor, and Lanty had taken refuge behind her 
 laovel as an excuse for silence, Zob Hopper, the enamored 
 
320 LANTY FOSTEB'S MISTAKE 
 
 swain of the previous evening, burst in with more astound- 
 ing news. A posse of the sheriff had just passed along the 
 ridge; they had "corraled" part of the gang, and rescued 
 some of the stock. The leader of the gang had escaped, 
 but his capture was inevitable, as the roads were stopped. 
 "All the same, I 'm glad to see ye took my advice. Miss 
 Atalanty, and brought in your iilly," he concluded, with 
 an insinuating glance at the young girl. 
 
 But "Miss Atalanty," curling a quarter of an inch of 
 scarlet lip above the edge of her novel, here "allowed" 
 that if his advice or the filly had to be "took," she didn't 
 know which was worse. 
 
 "I wonder ye kin talk to sech peartness, Mr. Hopper," 
 said Mrs. Eoster severely; "she ain't got eyes nor senses 
 for anythin' but that book." 
 
 "Talkin' o' what 's to be ' took,' " put in the diplomatic 
 neighbor, "you bet it ain't that Mexican leader! No, sir! 
 he 's been ' stopped ' before this — and then got clean away 
 all the same! One o' them detectives got him once and 
 disarmed him — but he managed to give them the slip, after 
 all. Why, he 's that full o' shifts and disguises thar ain't 
 no spottin' him. He walked right under the constable's 
 nose oncet, and took a drink with the sheriff that was arter 
 him — and the blamed fool never knew it. He kin change 
 even the color of his hair quick as winkin'." 
 
 " Is he a real Mexican, — a regular Greaser ? " asked the 
 paternal Foster. "Cos I never heard that they wuz 
 smart. " 
 
 "No! They say he comes o' old Spanish stock, a bad 
 egg they threw outer the nest, I reckon," put in Hopper 
 eagerly, seeing a strange animated interest dilating Lanty's 
 eyes, and hoping to share in it; "but he's reg'lar high- 
 toned, you bet ! Why, I knew a man who seed him in his 
 own camp — prinked out in a velvet jacket and silk sash, 
 with gold chains and buttons down his wide pants and a 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 321 
 
 dagger stuck in his sash, with a handle just blazin' with 
 jew'ls. Yes! Miss Atalanty, they say that one stone at 
 the top — a green stone, what they call an ' em'ral' — was 
 worth the price o' a 'Frisco house-lot. True ez you livef 
 Eh — what 's up now 1 " 
 
 Lanty's book had fallen on the floor as she was rising to 
 her feet with a white face, still more strange and distorted 
 in an affected yawn behind her little hand. "Yer makin' 
 me that sick and nervous with yer fool yarns," she said 
 hysterically, "that I 'm goin' to get a little fresh air. It 's 
 just stifling here with lies and terbacker ! " With another 
 high laugh, she brushed past him into the kitchen, opened 
 the door, and then paused, and, turning, ran rapidly up to 
 her bedroom. Here she locked herself in, tore open the 
 bosom of her dress, plucked out the dagger, threw it on the 
 bed, where the green stone gleamed for an instant in the 
 candle-light, and then dropped on her knees beside the bed 
 with her whirling head buried in her cold red hands. 
 
 It had all come to her in a flash, like a blaze of light- 
 ning, — the black, haunting figure on the ridge, the broken 
 saddle girth, the abandonment of the dagger in the exigen- 
 cies of flight and concealment; the second meeting, the 
 skulking in the dry, alder-hidden "run," the changed dress, 
 the lighter-colored hair, but always the same voice and 
 laugh, — the leader, the fugitive, the Mexican horse-thief ! 
 And she, the God-forsaken fool, the chuckle-headed nigger 
 baby, with not half the sense of her own filly or that sop- 
 headed Hopper — had never seen it ! She — she who 
 would be the laughing-stock of them all — she had thought 
 him a "locater," a "towny" from 'Frisco! And she had 
 consented to keep his knife until he would call for it, — 
 yes, call for it, with fire and flame perhaps, the trampling 
 of hoofs, pistol shots — and — yet — 
 
 Yet ! — he had trusted her. Yes ! trusted her when he 
 knew a word from her lips would have brought the whole 
 
322 LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 district down on him! when the mere exposure of that 
 dagger would have identified and damned him ! Trusted 
 her a second time, when she was within cry of her house ! 
 When he might have taken her filly without her knowing 
 it! And now she remembered vaguely that the neighbors 
 had said how strange it was that her father's stock had not 
 suffered as theirs had. He had protected them — he who 
 was now a fugitive — and their men pursuing him ! She 
 rose suddenly with a single stamp of her narrow foot, and 
 as suddenly became cool and sane. And then, quite her 
 old self again, she lazily picked up the dagger and restored 
 it to its place in her bosom. That done, with her color 
 back and her eyes a little brighter, she deliberately went 
 downstairs again, stuck her little brown head into the sit- 
 ting-room, said cheerfully, "Still yawpin', you folks," and 
 quietly passed out into the darkness. 
 
 She ran swiftly up to the ridge, impelled by the blind 
 memory of having met him there at night and the one 
 vague thought to give him warning. But it was dark and 
 empty, with no sound but the rushing wind. And then an 
 idea seized her. If he were haunting the vicinity still, he 
 might see the fluttering of the clothes upon the line and 
 believe she was there. She stooped quickly, and in the 
 merciful and exonerating darkness stripped off her only 
 white petticoat and pinned it on the line. It flapped, flut- 
 tered, and streamed in the mountain wind. She lingered 
 and listened. But there came a sound she had not counted 
 on, — the clattering hoofs of not one, but many, horses on 
 the lower road. She ran back to the house to find its in- 
 mates already hastening towards the road for news. She 
 took that chance to slip in quietly, go to her room, whose 
 window commanded a view of the ridge, and crouching low 
 behind it, she listened. She could hear the sound of voices, 
 and the dull trampling of heavy boots on the dusty path 
 towards the barnyard on the other side of the house — a 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 323 
 
 pause, and then the return of the trampling hoots, and the 
 final clattering of hoofs on the road again. Then there was 
 a tap on her door and her mother's querulous voice. 
 
 "Oh! yer there, are ye? Well — it 's the best place fer 
 a girl — with all these man's doin's goin' on! They've 
 got that Mexican horse-thief and have tied him up in your 
 filly's stall in the barn — till the 'Frisco deputy gets back 
 from rounding up the others. So ye jest stay where ye are 
 till they 've come and gone, and we 're shut o' all that cat- 
 tle. Are ye mindin' 1 " 
 
 "All right, maw; 't ain't no call o' mine, anyhow," re- 
 turned Lanty through the half-open door. 
 
 At another time her mother might have been startled at 
 her passive obedience. Still more would she have been 
 startled had she seen {ler daughter's face now, behind the 
 closed door — with her little mouth set over her clinched 
 teeth. And yet it was her own child, and Lanty was her 
 mother's real daughter; the same pioneer blood filled their 
 veins, the blood that had never nourished cravens or degen- 
 erates, but had given itself to sprinkle and fertilize desert 
 solitudes where man might follow. Small wonder, then, 
 that this frontier-born Lanty, whose first infant cry had 
 been answered by the yelp of wolf and scream of panther; 
 whose father's rifle had been leveled across her cradle to 
 cover the stealthy Indian who prowled outside — small 
 wonder that she should feel herself equal to these "man's 
 doin's," and prompt to take a part. For even in the first 
 shock of the news of the capture she recalled the fact that 
 the barn was old and rotten, that only that day the filly had 
 kicked a board loose from behind her stall, which she, Lanty, 
 had lightly returned to avoid "making a fuss." If his cap- 
 tors had not noticed it, or trusted only to their guards, she 
 might make the opening wide enough to free him! 
 
 Two hours later the guard nearest the now sleeping 
 house, a farm hand of the Fosters', saw his employer's 
 
324 LANTT FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 daughter slip out and cautiously approach him. A devoted 
 slave of Lanty's, and familiar with her impulses, he guessed 
 her curiosity, and was not averse to satisfy it and the sense 
 of his own importance. To her whispers of affected, half- 
 terrified interest, he responded in whispers that the captive 
 was really in the filly's stall, securely bound by his wrists 
 behind his back, and his feet " hobbled " to a post. That 
 Lanty could n't see him, for it was dark inside, and he was 
 sitting with his back to the wall, as he couldn't sleep com- 
 f'ble lyin' down. Lanty's eyes glowed, but her face was 
 turned aside. 
 
 "And ye ain't reckonin' his friends will come and rescue 
 him 1 " said Lanty, gazing with afi"ected f earf ulness in the 
 darkness. 
 
 "Not much! There's two other guards down in the 
 corral, and I 'd fire my gun and bring 'em up." 
 
 But Lanty was gazing open-mouthed towards the ridge. 
 "What's that wavin' on the ridge?" she said in awe- 
 stricken tones. 
 
 She was pointing to the petticoat, — a vague, distant, 
 moving object against the horizon. 
 
 "Why, that 's some o' the wash on the line, ain't it? " 
 
 " Wash — two days in the week ! " said Lanty sharply. 
 "Wot 's gone of you? " 
 
 "Thet 's so," muttered the man, "and it wa'n't there at 
 sundown, I '11 swear! P'r'aps I 'd better call the guard," 
 and he raised his rifle. 
 
 '"Don't," said Lanty, catching his arm. "Suppose it 's 
 nothin', they'll laugh at ye. Creep up softly and see; 
 ye ain't afraid, are ye? If ye are, give me yer gun, and 
 J '11 go." 
 
 This settled the question, as Lanty expected. The man 
 cocked his piece, and bending low began cautiously to 
 mount the acclivity. Lanty waited until his figure began 
 to fade, and then ran like fire to the barn. 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 325 
 
 She had arranged every detail of her p'an beforehand. 
 Crouching beside the wall of the stall she hissed through a 
 crack in thrilling whispers, " Don't move ! Don't speak for 
 your life's sake! Wait till I hand you back your knife, 
 then do the best you can." Then slipping aside the loos- 
 ened board she saw dimly the black outline of curling hair, 
 back, shoulders, and tied wrists of the captive. Drawing 
 the knife from her pocket, with two strokes of its keen cut- 
 ting edge she severed the cords, threw the knife into the 
 opening, and darted away. Yet in that moment she knew 
 that the man was instinctively turning towards her. But 
 it was one thing to free a horse-thief, and another to stop 
 and "philander" with him. 
 
 She ran halfway up the ridge, and met the farm hand 
 returning. It was only a bit of washing after all, and he 
 was glad he had n't fired his gun. On the other hand, 
 Lanty confessed she had got "so skeert" being alone, that 
 she came to seek him. She had the shivers; wasn't her 
 hand cold 1 It was, but thrilling even in its coldness to 
 the bashfully admiring man. And she was that weak and 
 dizzy, he must let her lean on his arm going down ; and 
 they must go slow. She was sure he was cold too, and if 
 he would wait at the back door she would give him a drink 
 of whiskey. Thus Lanty, with her brain afire, her eyes 
 and ears straining into the darkness, and the vague outline 
 of the barn beyond. Another moment was protracted over 
 the drink of whiskey, and then Lanty, with a faint arch- 
 ness, made him promise not to tell her mother of her esca- 
 pade, and she promised on her part not to say anything 
 about his "stalking a petticoat on the clothes-line," and 
 then shyly closed the door and regained her room. He 
 must have got away by this time, or have been discovered; 
 she believed they would not open the barn door until the 
 return of the posse. 
 
 She was right. It was near daybreak when they re- 
 
326 LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 turned, and, again crouching low beside her window, she 
 heard, with a fierce joy, the sudden outcry, the oaths, the 
 wrangling voices, the summoning of her father to the front 
 door, and then the tumultuous sweeping away again of the 
 whole posse, and a blessed silence falling over the rancho. 
 And then Lahty went quietly to bed, and slept like a three- 
 year child! 
 
 Perhaps that was the reason why she was able at break- 
 fast to listen with lazy and even rosy indifference to the 
 startling events of the night; to the sneers of the farm 
 hands at the posse who had overlooked the knife when they 
 searched their prisoner, as well as the stupidity of the corral 
 guard who had never heard him make a hole " the size of a 
 house " in the barn side ! Once she glanced demurely at 
 Silas Briggs — the farm hand — and the poor fellow felt 
 consoled in his shame at the remembrance of their confi- 
 dences. 
 
 But Lanty's tranquillity was not destined to last long. 
 There was again the irruption of exciting news from the 
 highroad; the Mexican leader had been recaptured, and 
 was now safely lodged in Brownsville jail! Those who 
 were previously loud in their praises of the successful horse- 
 thief who had baffled the vigilance of his pursuers were now 
 equally keen in their admiration of the new San Francisco 
 deputy who, in turn, had outwitted the whole gang. It 
 was he who was fertile in expedients ; he who had studied 
 the whole country, and even risked his life among the gang, 
 and he who had again closed the meshes of the net around 
 the escaped outlaw. He was already returning by way of 
 the rancho, and might stop there a moment, — so that they 
 could all see the hero. Such was the power of success on 
 the country-side ! Outwardly indifferent, inwardly bitter, 
 Lanty turned away. She should not grace his triumph, if 
 she kept in her room all day ! And when there was a clat- 
 ter of hoofs on the road again, Lanty slipped upstairs. 
 
LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE 327 
 
 But in a few moments she was summoned. Captain Lance 
 Wetherby, Assistant Chief of Police of San Francisco, 
 Deputy Sheriff and ex- United States scout, had requested 
 to see Miss Foster a few moments alone. Lanty knew what 
 it meant, — her secret had been discovered ; but she was 
 not the girl to shirk the responsibility ! She lifted her lit- 
 tle brown head proudly, and with the same resolute step 
 with which she had left the house the night before, de- 
 scended the stairs and entered the sitting-room. At first 
 she saw nothing. Then a remembered voice struck her 
 ear; she started, looked up, and gasping, fell back against 
 the door. It was the stranger who had given her the dag- 
 ger, the stranger she had met in the run ! — the horse-thief 
 himself ! No 1 no ! she saw it all now — she had cut loose 
 the wrong man ! 
 
 He looked at her with a smile of sadness — as he drew 
 from his breast-pocket that dreadful dagger, the very sight 
 of which Lanty now loathed ! " This is the second time, 
 Miss Foster," he said gently, "that I have taken this knife 
 from Murietta, the Mexican bandit: once when I disarmed 
 him three weeks ago, and he escaped, and last night, when 
 he had again escaped and I recaptured him. After I lost 
 it that night I understood from you that you had found it 
 and were keeping it for me." He paused a moment and 
 went on: "I don't ask you what happened last night. I 
 don't condemn you for it; I can believe what a girl of your 
 courage and sympathy might rightly do if her pity were ex- 
 cited ; I only ask — why did you give Mm back that knife 
 I trusted you with ? " 
 
 " Why ? Why did I ? " burst out Lanty in a daring gush 
 of truth, scorn, and temper. " Because I thought you viere 
 that horse-thief. There ! " 
 
 He drew back astonished, and then suddenly came that 
 laugh that Lanty remembered and new hailed with joy. 
 " I believe you, by Jove ! " he gasped. " That first night 
 
328 LANTT FOSTER'S MISTAKE 
 
 I wore the disguise in ■which I have tracked him and min- 
 gled with his gang. Yes ! I see it all now — and more. I 
 see that to you I owe his recapture ! " 
 
 "Tome!" echoed the bewildered girl; "how?" 
 
 " Why, instead of making for his cave he lingered here 
 in the confines of the ranch ! He thought you were in love 
 with him, because you freed him and gave him his knife, 
 and stayed to see you ! " 
 
 But Lanty had her apron to her eyes, whose first tears 
 were filling their velvet depths. And her voice was broken. 
 as she said, — 
 
 " Then he — cared — a — good deal more for me — than 
 some people ! " 
 
 But there is every reason to believe that Lanty was 
 wrong! At least later events that are part of the history 
 of Foster's Eancho and the Poster family pointed dis= 
 tinctly to the contrary. 
 
AN ALI BABA OF THE SIEEEAS 
 
 Johnny Staklbigh found himself again late for school. 
 It was always happening. It seemed to be inevitable with 
 the process of going to school at all. And it was no fault 
 "o' his." Something was always occurring, — some eccen- 
 tricity of Nature or circumstance was invariably starting up 
 in his daily path to the schoolroom. He may not have 
 been "thinkin^ of squirrels," and yet the rarest and most 
 evasive of that species were always crossing his trail; he 
 may not have been "huntin' honey," and yet a wild bees' 
 nest in the hollow of an oak absolutely obtruded itself be- 
 fore him; he wasn't "bird-catchin'," and yet there was a 
 yellow-hammer always within stone's throw. He had heard 
 how grown men hunters always saw the most wonderful 
 animals when they "hadn't got a gun with 'em," and it 
 seemed to be his lot to meet them in his restricted possibil- 
 ities on the way to school. If Nature was thus capricious 
 with his elders, why should folk think it strange if she was 
 as mischievous with a small boy ? 
 
 On this particular morning Johnny had been beguiled by 
 the unmistakable footprints — so like his own ! — of a bear's 
 cub. What chances he had of ever coming up with them, 
 or what he would have done if he had, he did not know. 
 He only knew that at the end of an hour and a half he 
 found himself two miles from the schoolhouse, and, from 
 the position of the sun, at least an hour too late for school. 
 He knew that nobody would believe him. The punish- 
 ment for complete truancy was little worse than for being 
 late. He resolved to accept it, and by way of irrevocabil 
 
330 AN All BABA OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 ity at once burnt his ships behind him — in devouring part 
 of his dinner. 
 
 Thus fortified in his outlawry, he began to look about 
 him. He was on a thickly wooded terrace with a blank 
 wall of "outcrop" on one side nearly as high as the pines 
 which pressed close against it. He had never seen it be- 
 fore ; it was two or three miles from the highroad and 
 seemed to be a virgin wilderness. But on close examina- 
 tion he could see, with the eye of a boy bred in a mining 
 district, that the wall of outcrop had not escaped the atten- 
 tion of the mining prospector. There were marks of his 
 pick in some attractive quartz seams of the wall, and farther 
 on, a more ambitious attempt, evidently by a party of 
 miners, to begin a tunnel, shown in an abandoned excava- 
 tion and the heap of debris before it. It had evidently 
 been abandoned for some time, as ferns already forced their 
 green fronds through the stones and gravel, and the yerba 
 buena vine was beginning to mat the surface of the heap. 
 But the boy's fancy was quickly taken by the traces of a 
 singular accident, and one which had perhaps arrested the 
 progress of the excavators. The roots of a large pine tree 
 growing close to the wall had been evidently loosened by 
 the excavators, and the tree had fallen, with one of its 
 largest roots still in the opening the miners had made, and 
 apparently blocking the entrance. The large tree lay, as it 
 fell — midway across another but much smaller outcrop of 
 rock which stood sharply about fifteen feet above the level 
 of the terrace — with its gaunt, dead limbs in the air at a 
 low angle. To Johnny's boyish fancy it seemed so easily 
 balanced on the rock that but for its imprisoned root it 
 would have made a capital see-saw. This he felt must be 
 looked to hereafter. But here his attention was arrested 
 by something more alarming. His quick ear, attuned like 
 an animal's to all woodland sounds, detected the crackling 
 of underwood in the distance. His equally sharp eye saw 
 
AN ALI BAB A OF THE SIERRAS 331 
 
 the figures of two men approaching. But as he recognized 
 the features of one of them he drew back with a beating 
 heart, a hushed breath, and hurriedly hid himself in the 
 shadow. For he had seen that figure once before — flying 
 before the sheriff and an armed posse — and had never for- 
 gotten it ! It was the figure of Spanish Pete, a notoriouf-' 
 desperado and sluice robber! 
 
 Finding he had been unobserved, the boy took courage, 
 and his small faculties became actively alive. The two 
 men came on together cautiously, and at a little distance 
 the second man, whom Johnny did not know, parted from 
 his companion and began to loiter up and down, looking 
 around as if acting as a sentinel for the desperado, who 
 advanced directly to the fallen tree. Suddenly the sen- 
 tinel uttered an exclamation, and Spanish Pete paused. 
 The sentinel was examining the ground near the heap of 
 debris. 
 
 " What 's up 1 " growled the desperado. 
 
 "Foot tracks! Weren't here before. And fresh ones, 
 too." 
 
 Johnny's heart sank. It was where he had just passed. 
 
 Spanish Pete hurriedly joined his companion. 
 
 "Foot tracks be ! " he said scornfully. "What fool 
 
 would be crawlin' round here barefooted? It 's a young 
 b'ar!" 
 
 Johnny knew the footprints were his own. Yet he re- 
 cognized the truth of the resemblance ; it was uncompli- 
 mentary, but he felt relieved. The desperado came for- 
 ward, and to the boy's surprise began to climb the small 
 ridge of outcrop until he reached the fallen tree. Johnny 
 saw that he was carrying a heavy stone. "What's the 
 blamed fool goin' to do?" he said to himself ; the man's 
 evident ignorance regarding footprints had lessened the 
 boy's awe of him. But the stranger's next essay took 
 Johnny's breath away. Standing on the fallen tree trunk at 
 
332 AN ALI BABA OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 its axis on the outcrop, he began to rock it gently. To John- 
 ny's surprise it began to move. The upper end descended 
 slowly, lifting the root in the excavation at the lower end, 
 and with it a mass of rock, and revealing a cavern behind 
 large enough to admit a man. Johnny gasped. The des- 
 perado coolly deposited the heavy stone on the tree beyond 
 its axis on the rock, so that it would keep the tree in posi- 
 tion, leaped from the tree to the rock, and quickly de- 
 scended, at which he was joined by the other man, who 
 was carrying two heavy chamois-leather bags. They both 
 proceeded to the opening thus miraculously disclosed, and 
 disappeared in it. 
 
 Johnny sat breathless, wondering, expectant, but not 
 daring to move. The men might come out at any moment; 
 he had seen enough to know that their enterprise as well as 
 their cave was a secret, and that the desperado would sub- 
 ject any witness to it, however innocent or unwilling, to 
 horrible penalties. The time crept slowly by, — he heard 
 every rap of a woodpecker in a distant tree; a blue jay 
 dipped and lighted on a branch within his reach, but he 
 dared not extend his hand; his legs were infested by ants; 
 he even fancied he heard the dry, hoUow rattle of a rattle- 
 snake not a yard from him. And then the entrance of the 
 cave was darkened, and the two men reappeared. Johnny 
 stared. He would have rubbed his eyes if he had dared. 
 They were not the same men ! Did the cave contain others 
 who had been all the while shut up in its dark recesses 1 
 Was there a band 1 Would they all swarm out upon him 1 
 Should he run for his life 1 
 
 But the illusion was only momentary. A longer look at 
 them convinced him that they were the same men in new 
 clothes and disguised, and as one remounted the outcrop 
 Johnny's keen eyes recognized him as Spanish Pete. He 
 merely kicked away the stone; the root again descended 
 gently over the opening, and the tree recovered its formei 
 
AN ALI BABA OF THE SIEEEAS 333 
 
 angle. The two hurried away, but Johnny noticed that 
 they were empty-handed. The bags had been left behind. 
 
 The boy waited patiently, listening with his ear to the 
 ground, like an Indian, for the last rustle of fern and 
 crackle of underbrush, and then emerged, stiff and cramped 
 from his concealment. But he no longer thought of flight; 
 curiosity and ambition burned in his small veins. He 
 quickly climbed up the outcrop, picked up the fallen stone, 
 and in spite of its weight lifted it to the prostrate tree. 
 Here he paused, and from his coign of vantage looked and 
 listened. The solitude was profound. Then mounting the 
 tree and standing over its axis he tried to rock it as the 
 others had. Alas ! Johnny's heart was stout, his courage 
 unlimited, his perception all-embracing, his ambition 
 boundless; but his actual avoirdupois was only that of a 
 boy of ten. The tree did not move. But Johnny had 
 played see-saw before, and quietly moved towards its high- 
 est part. It slowly descended under the changed centre of 
 gravity, and the root arose, disclosing the opening as be- 
 fore. Yet here the little hero paused. He waited with 
 his eyes fixed on the opening, ready to fly on the sallying 
 out of any one who had remained concealed. He then 
 placed the stone where he had stood, leaped down, and ran 
 to the opening. 
 
 The change from the dazzling sunlight to the darkness 
 confused him at'^first, and he could see nothing. On enter- 
 ing he stumbled over something which proved to be a bot- 
 tle in which a candle was fitted, and a box of matches evi' 
 dently used by the two men. Lighting the candle he coulc. 
 now discern that the cavern was only a few yards long, the 
 beginning of a tunnel which the accident to the tree had 
 stopped. In one corner lay the clothes that the men had 
 left, and which for a moment seemed all that the cavern 
 contained; but on removing them Johnny saw that they 
 were thrown over a rifle, a revolver, and the two .chamois- 
 
334 AN ALI BABA OF THE SIEKKAS 
 
 leather bags that the men had brought there. They were 
 so heavy that the boy could scarcely lift them. His face 
 flushed; his hands trembled with excitement. To a boy 
 whose truant wanderings had given him a fair knowledge 
 of mining, he knew that weight could have but one mean- 
 ing. Gold! He hurriedly untied the nearest bag. But it 
 was not the gold of the locality, of the tunnel, of the " bed 
 rock." It was "flake gold," the gold of the river. It had 
 been taken from the miners' sluices in the distant streams. 
 The bags before him were the spoils of the sluice robber, — 
 spoils that could not be sold or even shown in the district 
 without danger, spoils kept until they could be taken to 
 Marysville or Sacramento for disposal. All this might have 
 occurred to the mind of any boy of the locality who had 
 heard the common gossip of his elders, but to Johnny's 
 fancy an idea was kindled peculiarly his own. Here was a 
 cavern like that of the " Forty Thieves " in the story book, 
 and he was the " Ali Baba " who knew its secret ! He was 
 not obliged to say "Open Sesame," but he could say it if 
 he liked, if he was showing it ofif to anybody ! 
 
 Yet alas ! he also knew it was a secret he must keep to 
 himself. He had nobody to trust it to. His father was a 
 charcoal-burner of small means; a widower with two chil- 
 dren, Johnny and his elder brother Sam. The latter, a 
 flagrant incorrigible of twenty-two, with a tendency to dis- 
 sipation and low company, had lately abandoned his father's 
 roof, only to reappear at intervals of hilarious or maudlin 
 intoxication. He had always been held up to Johnny as a 
 warning, or with the gloomy prognosis that he, Johnny, was 
 already following in his tortuous footsteps. Even if he were 
 here he was not to be thought of as a confidant. Still less 
 could he trust his father, who would be sure to bungle the 
 secret with sheriffs and constables, and end by bringing 
 down the vengeance of the gang upon the family. As tor 
 himself, .he could not dispose of the gold if he were to taKe 
 
AN ALI BABA OF THE SIERRAS 335 
 
 it. The exhibition of a single flake of it to the adult pub' 
 lie would arouse suspicion, and as it was Johnny s hard fate 
 to be always doubted, he might he connected with the gang. 
 As a truant he knew he had no moral standing, but he also 
 had the superstition — quite characteristic of childhood — 
 that being in possession of a secret he was a participant in 
 its criminality — and bound, as it were, by terrible oaths ! 
 And then a new idea seized him. He carefully put back 
 everything as he had found it, extinguished the candle, left 
 the cave, remounted the tree, and closed the opening again 
 as he had seen the others do it, with the addition of mur- 
 muring "Shut Sesame" to himself, and then ran away as 
 fast as his short legs could carry him. 
 
 Well clear of the dangerous vicinity, he proceeded more 
 leisurely for about a mile, until he came to a low white- 
 washed fence, inclosing a small cultivated patch and a neat 
 farmhouse beyond. Here he paused, and, cowering behind 
 the fence, with extraordinary facial contortions produced a 
 cry not unlike the scream of a blue jay. Repeating it at 
 intervals, he was presently relieved by observing the ap- 
 proach of a nankeen sunbonnet within the inclosure above 
 the line of fence. Stopping before him, the sunbonnet re- 
 vealed a rosy little face, more than usually plump on one 
 side, and a neck enormously wrapped in a scarf. It was 
 " Meely " (Amelia) Stryker, a schoolmate, detained at 
 home by "mumps," as Johnny was ^ previously aware. For 
 with the famous indiscretion of some other great heroes, he 
 was about to intrust his secret and his destiny to one of the 
 weaker sex. And what were the minor possibilities of con- 
 tagion to this ? 
 
 "Playin' hookey ag'in ? " said the young lady, with a 
 torJial and even expansive smile, exclusively confined to 
 one side of her face. 
 
 " Um ! So 'd you be ef you 'd been whar I hev," be saiJ 
 with harrowing mystei'y. 
 
836 AN ALI BABA OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 "No ! — say! " said Meely eagerly. 
 
 At which Johnny, clutching at the top of the fence, with 
 hurried breath told his story. But not all. With the in- 
 stinct of a true artist he withheld the manner in which the 
 opening of the cave was revealed, said nothing about the 
 tree, and, I grieve to say, added the words " Open Sesame " 
 as the important factor to the operation. Neither did he 
 mention the name of Spanish Pete. For all of which he 
 was afterwards duly grateful. 
 
 " Meet me at the burnt pine down the cross-roads at four 
 o'clock," he said in conclusion, "and I '11 show ye." 
 
 " Why not now 1 " said Meely impatiently. 
 
 "Couldn't. Much as my life is worth! Must keep 
 watching out! You come at four." 
 
 And with an assuring nod he released the fence and trot- 
 ted off. He returned cautiously in the direction of the 
 cave; he was by no means sure that the robbers might not 
 return that day, and his mysterious rendezvous with Meely 
 veiled a certain prudence. And it was well ! For as he 
 stealthily crept around the face of the outcrop, hidden in 
 the ferns, he saw from the altered angle of the tree that the 
 cavern was opened. He remained motionless, with bated 
 breath. Then he heard the sound of subdued voices from 
 the cavern, and a figure emerged from the opening. Johnny 
 grasped the ferns rigidly to check the dreadful cry that rose 
 to his lips at its sight. For that figure was his own 
 brother ! 
 
 There was no mistaking that weak, wicked face, even 
 then flushed with liquor ! Johnny had seen it too often 
 thus. But never before as a thief's face! He gave a little 
 gasp, and fell back upon that strange reserve of apathy and 
 reticence in which children are apt to hide their emotions 
 from us at such a moment. He watched impassively the 
 two other men who followed his brother out to give him a 
 small bag and some instructions, and then returned within 
 
AN ALI BABA OF THE SIERRAS 337 
 
 their cave, while his brother walked quickly away. He 
 watched him disappear; he did not move, for even if he had 
 followed him he could not bear to face him in his shame. 
 And then out of his sullen despair came a boyish idea of 
 revenge. It was those two men who had made his brother 
 a thief! 
 
 He was very near the tree. He crept stealthily on his 
 hands and knees through the bracken, and as stealthily 
 climbed the wedge of outcrop, and then leaped like a wild- 
 cat on the tree. With incredible activity he lifted the bal- 
 ancing stone, and as the tree began to move, in a flash of 
 perception transferred it to the other side of its axis, and 
 felt the roots and debris, under that additional weight, de- 
 scend quickly with something like a crash over the open- 
 ing. Then he took to his heels. He ran so swiftly that 
 all unknowingly he overtook a figure, who, turning, glanced 
 at him, and then disappeared in the wood. It was his sec- 
 ond and last view of his brother, as he never saw him again ! 
 
 But now, strange to say, the crucial and most despairing 
 moment of his day's experience had come. He had to face 
 Meely Stryker under the burnt pine, and the promise he 
 could not keep, and to tell her that he had lied to her. It 
 was the only way to save his brother now ! His small wits, 
 and alas! his smaller methods, were equal to the despair- 
 ing task. As soon as he saw her waiting under the tree he 
 fell to capering and dancing with an extravagance in which 
 hysteria had no small part. "Sold! sold! sold again, and 
 got the money ! " he laughed shrilly. 
 
 The girl looked at him with astonishment, which changed 
 gradually to scorn, and then to anger. Johnny's heart 
 sank, but he redoubled his antics. 
 
 "Who 's sold? " she said disdainfully. 
 
 " You be. You swallered all that stuff about Ali Baba ! 
 You wanted to be Morgy Anna ! Ho ! ho ! And I 've made 
 you play hookey — from home ! " 
 
338 AN ALI BABA OF THE SIEEEAS 
 
 "You hateful, horrid, little liar!" 
 
 Johnny accepted his punishment meekly — in his heart 
 gratefully. "I reckoned you 'd laugh and not get mad," 
 he said suhmissively. The girl turned, with tears of rage 
 and vexation in her eyes, and walked away. Johnny fol- 
 lowed at a humble distance. Perhaps there was something 
 instinctively touching in the boy's remorse, for they made 
 it up before they reached her fence. 
 
 Nevertheless Johnny went home miserable. Luckily for 
 him, his father was absent at a Vigilance Committee called 
 to take cognizance of the late sluice robberies, and although 
 this temporarily concealed his offense of truancy, the news 
 of the vigilance meeting determined him to keep his lips 
 sealed. He lay all night wondering how long it would take 
 the robbers to dig themselves out of the cave, and whether 
 they suspected their imprisonment was the work of an en- 
 emy or only an accident. For several days he avoided the 
 locality, and even feared the vengeful appearance of Span- 
 ish Pete some night at his father's house. It was not until 
 the end of a fortnight that he had the courage to revisit the 
 spot. The tree was in its normal position, but immovable, 
 and a great quantity of fresh debris at the mouth of the 
 cave convinced him that the robbers, after escaping, had 
 abandoned it as unsafe. His brother did not return, and 
 either the activity of the Vigilance Committee or the lack 
 of a new place of rendezvous seemed to have dispersed the 
 robbers from the locality, for they were not heard of again. 
 
 The next ten years brought an improvement to Mr. Star- 
 leigh's fortunes. Johnny Starleigh, then a student at San 
 Jos4 one morning found a newspaper clipping in a letter 
 from Miss Amelia Stryker. It read as follows : " The ex- 
 cavators in the new tunnel in Heavystone Eidge lately dis- 
 covered the skeletons of two unknown men, who had evi- 
 dently been crushed and entombed some years previously by 
 the falling of a large tree over the mouth of their temporary 
 
AN ALI BABA OF THE SIERRAS 339 
 
 refuge. From some river gold found with them, they were 
 supposed to be a part of the gang of sluice robbers who in- 
 fested the locality some years ago, and were hiding horn 
 the Vigilants." 
 
 For a few days thereafter Johnny Starleigh was thouijht- 
 ful and reserved, but he did not refer to the paragraph in 
 answering the letter. He decided to keep it for later con- 
 fidences, when Miss Stryker should become Mrs. Starleigh. 
 
THE FOUE GUAEDIANS OF LAGEANGE 
 PAET I 
 
 THE TRUST 
 
 It certainly was a matter of serious import that so gravely 
 interested the four most experienced and self-contained citi- 
 zens of Lagrange. For nearlj' half an hour' they had been 
 sitting in the private room of Biker's grocery without ex- 
 changing a word. Even the silent communion of libation 
 was wanting; their liquor stood untasted before them, a 
 fact that aroused the serious concern of the barkeeper and 
 the free comment of the outside bar. " Mebbe it 's some 
 new ' skin ' game imported from 'Frisco, and they want 
 to keep their heads level, " was suggested by a cautious 
 gossiper. 
 
 The barkeeper shook his head. "Nary deck o' keerds 
 thar — onless they plays 'm under the table, and that ain't 
 their style." 
 
 " Ye didn't notice no lumps o' sugar, sorter lyin' round, 
 keerless like, before each man," insinuated another, "and 
 
 them chaps lyin' low and quiet, waitin' for some d d 
 
 fly to light and rake down the pile. I 've heerd," the 
 speaker continued cautiously, "that heaps o' good money 
 hez been lost in thet onchristian-like way." 
 
 "Yes," interpolated a third, "and trained flies, ez knew 
 jest when to light, hez been rung in on greenhorns. Thar 
 was a man down at French Camp, et they say picked up 
 about seven thousand dollars outer ther camp with an inno- 
 cent lookin' hoss fly, and et wuzent ontil one o' the boys 
 
THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 341 
 
 accidently sot his glass down on thet harmless inseck thet 
 the boys smelt a mice." 
 
 '"T ain't no game, I tell ye," reiterated the barkeeper 
 stoutly. "Thar 's suthin' more 'n flies and sugar on their 
 minds. My belief is they 're reck'nin' to revive the old 
 vigilants of '52. Thar 's a lot o' dead beats in this yer 
 camp," he continued darkly, with an aggressive recollection 
 of certain unsettled scores, " ez mebbe will find out soon 
 enough wot 's up." 
 
 Unfortunately, none of these surmises, however ingenious 
 or reasonable, were correct. The simple fact was that a 
 lately deceased miner had on his death-bed called to his side 
 the above-mentioned four citizens of Lagrange, and solemnly 
 confided to them the care of his only child in the "States," 
 with the little property he possessed in trust for her main- 
 tenance. This trust was further burdened with the fact 
 that the dying man had withheld from the child the news 
 of the death of her mother, a year previous, and it now 
 devolved upon the guardians to inform the orphan of her 
 double bereavement. This was the first meeting of the 
 guardians since they had last looked upon the face of their 
 dead comrade. Hence their grave silence and perplexity. 
 
 At last the spell was broken. One of the party, a tall, 
 thin, rickety man, who had been softly pacing the room 
 with a certain deprecatory manner and a smile of imbecile 
 acquiescence in everything and anything that shone out at 
 the slightest expression, even of vexation or anxiety on the 
 part of his companions, gradually neared the door, and laid 
 a large, bony, good-humored hand on the lock. The act 
 was instantly detected by one of the party, who coolly 
 locked the door and put the key on the table. "Ye can't 
 slip outer this, Eats," he said; "ye must sit down here 
 with the rest of us, and see what 's to be done." 
 
 Captain Eats weakly succumbed, and began to apologize, 
 "I warn't goin' back on ye, Horton," he began. "I only 
 
342 THE FOUE GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 
 
 reckoned as ye all seemed to be gitting along famous a-think- 
 ing, I 'd jest slip out and 'tend to some business, and allow 
 ye to make up yer mind without me — countin' me out, 
 and yourselves as my proxies. Far wot 's agreeable to you 
 is agreeable to me. I 'm no sharp at this game." 
 
 "You 're a guardian," responded Horton decisively. 
 
 "In course. Thet's so. But I allow it ain't no valid 
 app'intment. The very fact thet the old man app'inted 
 
 a d d fool like me shows he warn't in his right 
 
 mind." 
 
 "That's so, boys," ejaculated the eldest of the four, 
 with a sudden gleam of hopefulness. "The old man was 
 sorter flighty just afore he went off, and we can slip our 
 heads outer this lasso he flung over us bj' allowin' insanity, 
 you know." 
 
 "We can't slouch out of this kind of a trust though. 
 Colonel," said Joe Fleet, the youngest of the party, yet 
 with a leader's peremptoriness. "It ain't white to do it! " 
 
 The gleam faded from the Colonel's face. 
 
 "Thet's so, it wouldn't be the squar' thing," he said 
 dejectedly; "kick me, boys." 
 
 "Couldn't we sorter club together and app'int a kind 
 of sub-guardian to take care o' the whole thing on a high 
 salary. I '11 come down heavy," suggested Horton. 
 
 " If you could get a chap to do your f eelin' for you at 
 the same figure I don't know but it might suit," said Fleet 
 with decided sarcasm. "As for me I ain't rich enough to 
 buy up any chap's conscience." 
 
 "Ye may as well quit this foolin'," broke in the Colonel, 
 with a groan. " The game 's made, and we 're goin' to wade 
 in like men. Mebbe suthin' may turn up. Afore long 
 some one of us may get shot or buried in a tunnel, and so 
 get excused on the squar'. But just now we must wade 
 in." 
 
 " Oh, yes, ' wade in ' ! " said Horton derisively. " Do 
 
THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 34ij 
 
 you know the first thing we 've got to do? Why, write to 
 
 that gal, and tell her thet her father was a d d old liar, 
 
 and thet her mother 's been dead a year, and thet now he 's 
 
 dead too, and thet the d d old fool's property won't 
 
 bring five hundred dollars, and that we 're goin' to give her 
 five thousand dollars for charity, and adopt her, and if she 's 
 a loving sort of gal, and a high-spirited gal, she '11 like it, 
 and like us all the better. Oh, yes ! " he continued with 
 sardonic shrillness, "it 's easy enough to do that, of course. 
 Wade in ! Yes ! Wade in — drop right out o' the ford into 
 deep water over yer head the first thing. " 
 
 The men looked aghast at each other, and there was an- 
 other ominous silence. "Could n't ye let it on easy 1 " sug- 
 gested the Colonel despairingly, "sorter begin to-day with 
 the mother, and next month, when she 's feelin' better and 
 more able to bear it, kinder light gently down on her with 
 the decease of her father, and so on ontil, in the course of 
 a year or so, she '11 take the charity business quite peace- 
 ful?" 
 
 But Joe Fleet dismissed the idea fiercely. " Ef she 's 
 got any pluck she '11 take it in a lump. You go to work 
 driftin' into her feelin's like that instead of sinking your 
 shaft straight down, and you '11 hev her crazy here on your 
 hands in a week ! " 
 
 The latter idea was so awful as to compel another gloomy 
 silence for its stern contemplation. "Couldn't ye drop 
 it on her all in a lump, — money, deceased parients, et 
 cettery," suggested Captain Eats, with vague and imbecile 
 good humor, "kinder brisk and business like." 
 
 "It's a gal," said the Colonel, shaking his head, "over 
 fourteen. " 
 
 "Hold on, and give Cap'n Eats a show," interrupted 
 Fleet. "Ef there 's a man ez can do it, it 's him. Didn't 
 he edit the 'Eecord ' up at Murphy's? Wade in and give 
 us a specimen." 
 
344 THE FOUE GUARDIANS OF LAGBANGE 
 
 The suggestion met with unanimous favor. Captain 
 Rats was shamelessly pleased with this compliment to his 
 literary abilities, and at once began: '" Honored Miss, — 
 Not knowin' what a day may bring forth, we beg to inform 
 you ' — No, " reflected the Captain slowly, feeling some 
 unfavorable criticism in the air, "no, that won't do. Let 's 
 see ! Ah ! ' The death of your mother, followed by the 
 illness of your father, resulting in his decease, and the 
 entire loss ' " — 
 
 "Ain't them bricks follerin' each other rather close ? " 
 suggested the Colonel faintly. The Captain stopped, 
 rubbed his long chin thoughtfully, and looked at the others. 
 It was evident that this was the prevailing impression. 
 
 "Well, yes; I was rather thinkin' so myself," he as- 
 sented vaguely. 
 
 "And its bein' a gal, don't you want to heave in here 
 and thar a little sentiment," said Horton, "and sorter 
 touch her up gentlj' 1 They say when you make 'em cry 
 easy, they kinder like it, and get over it quicker." 
 
 "Jess so," returned Captain Eats cheerfully. "I was 
 thinkin' that very thing, only jist now I was sorter sam- 
 plin' it; showin' ye what could be done. A good way," he 
 added, now completely lost in the fascinations of condoling 
 composition, — "a very good, takin' sort of way is to tell 
 it, and yet seem not to tell it; to kinder ring in a cold 
 deck of information, and never let her see ye shuffle the 
 keerds. Suthin' like this, ye know: 'Honored Miss, — 
 Enclosed please find draft for five thousand dollars; same 
 would have been sent before but for Wells-Fargo's office 
 being closed the day of your father's funeral. The weather 
 here is fine, but we suppose is fur different with you in the 
 East, as your deceased mother often remarked to the writer. 
 Business is dull, and ores are running light, most o' the 
 claims on the North Pork sharing the fate of your late 
 father's property.' Ye see," continued Captain Eats, with 
 
THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGKANGE 343 
 
 the glow of successful authorship mantling his cheek, " that 
 kind of letter mout be -written so that by the time she got 
 through with it, it would seem as if she 'd knew it all be- 
 fore, and she couldn't get nary soul to sympathize with 
 her, and help her take on." The feeling of the majority 
 was so strongly in favor of the last composition that they 
 all turned impatiently to the only dissenter, Joe Fleet. 
 But at this moment a knock on the door checked further 
 discussion. 
 
 It was Jack Foster, expressman, — alert, vigilant, fami- 
 liar, and fateful, — holding a letter. 
 
 "For John Meritoe," said the Sierran Mercury crisply. 
 "As we don't have no office nor agent at his present address, 
 we deliver at his last residence." He tossed the letter on 
 the table, winked, and was gone. 
 
 It was for the dead man, the great first cause of their 
 perplexity. For a few moments it lay there undisturbed, 
 while the men looked at each other in silence. Then Cap- 
 tain Eats, with a decision and independence new to him, 
 took it up. "Ther's no one, boys, hez a better right to 
 it than we has, " he said. " I propose that we open it here 
 afore each other and read it." 
 
 "As to opening it, I second the motion," said Joe Fleet's 
 voice, "but we'll see who it's from before we read it," 
 added that honorable man. 
 
 The letter was opened. It was signed "Fanny Meritoe." 
 
 "The girl herself," said Fleet promptly. "Read it." 
 
 With a hesitating voice, that at last seemed to almost 
 simulate what might have been the hesitating youthful 
 accents of the writer. Captain Eats began. 
 
 How shall I describe it? It was simple, it was girlish, 
 it was affectionate, it was real. Against its candid frank- 
 ness and simplicity poor Eats's previous rhetoric assumed 
 the appearance of the most monstrous duplicity and deceit- 
 ful sophistry. It was evident that the writer had seen but 
 
346 THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 
 
 little of her real father, and that the rather commonplace, 
 homely, often somewhat despicable figure known to the 
 men who now listened to her yearnings was not the ideal 
 parent of her dreams. At last Captain Eats finished. 
 There was a slight huskiness in the Captain's voice, a slight 
 dimness in his eyesight as he ended, and a hlur upon the 
 fair page that was not there when he began. 
 
 The Colonel had dropped his head between his hands. 
 Horton had never taken his eyes from the paper. Fleet, 
 who had walked to the window and had been apparently 
 absorbed in staring at the staring sunlight without, suddenly 
 turned, advanced to the table, and held out both his hands. 
 In another moment they were locked in his companions', 
 and the four men, holding hands, closed round the table and 
 the letter that lay in its centre. 
 
 "We don't want no letter of condolence. Captain Eats," 
 said Joe Fleet sturdily, "for there ain't anythin' to condole 
 for. I don't see just how it is, or how we can fix it, but 
 I know that girl's parents ain't dead, ez long, please God, 
 as we are living ! " 
 
 The men pressed each others' hands in silence, until 
 Captain Eats, with a burst of revelation, disengaged his, 
 and suddenly brought it against his right leg with resound- 
 ing emphasis. 
 
 "That's it — and it makes the whole thing clar. We 
 don't write no letters of condolence — for why? We goes 
 straight on and writes ez if we was the old man. He 's let 
 on enough to me about hisself and his affairs to make it as 
 easy as fallin' off a log. We '11 just chip in whar he let 
 off. We '11 take his hand as it is, play out his little game, 
 win or lose ; and if four sharps like us can't make it easy for 
 that child and rake in the pot every time, we '11 leave the 
 board. Yes, gentlemen," continued Eats, taking up the 
 letter, "I'll answer this to-night myself, I, Captain Eats- 
 late Meritoe, deceased." 
 
THE rOUK GUARDIANS OF LAGKANGE 347 
 
 PAET II 
 
 HOW THE TEUST WAS FULFILLED 
 
 When the combined guardians of Lagrange first practiced 
 to deceive, they did not forecast the tangled web whose 
 pleasant intricacies and sinuosities they were presently to 
 weave. And when Captain Eats calmly announced to his 
 gentle confederates his intention of writing his first letter 
 — in loco parentis — to the orphaned girl with his left 
 hand, explaining to her the thereby changed chirography 
 through the ingenious fiction of an accident that had hap- 
 pened to his right, it was accepted with acclamation. 
 "You see," said the Captain sententiously, "every man 
 slings ink with his left hand at about the same gait. The 
 style ain't pretty nor plain, but she '11 never find out it 
 ain't the old man's." 
 
 The possibility of detection thus obviated, — and, in- 
 deed, it afterwards appeared that the simple-minded girl 
 dwelt more anxiously upon the discomforts of the accident 
 to her father than on his changed and almost illegible hand, 
 ■ — various other gentle frauds and deceits were introduced 
 in the correspondence. A certain emulation of tlie Cap- 
 tain's skill and importance as a correspondent grew up 
 among the other guardians. They began to make sugges- 
 tions of their own, until at last steamer day brought them 
 generally together, in conclave, in the back room of the 
 saloon, where the fortnightly epistle was dictated finally by 
 all. Captain Rats's pride, which at first resented this in- 
 terference, was finally placated by the compromise that the 
 composition or " wording " of the letter should be his own, 
 although the subject matter might be a various contribution. 
 
 The result of this unhallowed collaboration was a series 
 oi the most extraordinary letters ever inflicted on a single 
 
348 THE FOUR GUAEDIANS OF LAGRANGE 
 
 correspondent. It was not long before their fame reached 
 beyond the horizon of their fair recipient. " Do you know, 
 papa dear," wrote the simple girl from the seclusion of 
 Madame Brimborion's academy, "do you know, your let- 
 ters are so very, very interesting, I could not help showing 
 them to some of the girls here ! Your account [the Colo- 
 nel's] of the fight with the bear was so real that I almost 
 saw it. I laughed till I cried over the funny story of the 
 Chinaman mending your clothes [a characteristic contribu- 
 tion from Horton], but then I did cry, really, too, papa, 
 over what you [Fleet] said about your feeling that Sunday 
 you saw the sunset from the poor little forlorn cemetery on 
 the hill. Oh, papa! it was just lovely — and so sad- — 
 so very sad ! Mary Eicketts said it was just like Shake- 
 speare, and she knows, oh, so much, and is considered very, 
 very smart ! They all think I ought to be so fond of my 
 dear papa, as if I wanted anything to make me love him! 
 She, Mary, asked me if you were very old, and I said you 
 couldn't be very — are you? Then that was very good 
 about the mines that you [the Colonel] wrote. Mme. 
 Brimborion asked permission to copy that part where you 
 [the Colonel] describe the manner of reducing ores ; she said 
 it was so instructive and valuable. Dear papa, how much 
 you do know ! But I think I like you better when you 're 
 a little, just a little — sad, and say such sweet things about 
 the landscape and your longings. I 'm sure you 're a real 
 poet, papa, ain't you 1 " 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say that when this letter was 
 read Fleet coughed slightly, colored perceptibly, muttered 
 something vaguely about "really having forgotten it all," 
 but remembered only that he had dictated to Captain Eats 
 some suggestions that he " thought might please the young 
 thing," etc. ; nor that a slight feeling of jealousy crept into 
 the breasts of all but the complacent Captain. Indeed, the 
 Colonel is said to have afterward remarked aside to Horton 
 
THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 349 
 
 that he was of the opinion that Fleet's "flapdoodle" and 
 "purp stufif " wasn't exactly the thing "to ladle out" to a 
 young girl that was already "overdosed with chewing gum 
 and licorice ; " and Fleet is reported to have cautioned Cap- 
 tain Eats against the freedom of some of the Colonel's sto- 
 ries. "Ez fur as the wordin' goes," explained Captain 
 Eats, "I plays my own cards; so don't you get skeert. 
 On'y the other day, tellin' that story about the coon hunt, 
 the Kernel allowed the dogs was ' hell bent ' on gettin' the 
 coon. Lord love ye ! do ye think I set that down for that 
 little gal's eye? Not much! I jist sat down sorter keer- 
 less and quiet like, and sling her this : ' Meanwhile, the 
 noble hounds, justly emulating the feverish impatience and 
 ambitious spirit of their master! ' Lord, it 's easy enough 
 to turn the Kernel into decent English — ef you 've got the 
 saiie 1 Why, it 's jist wonderful how keerless men is in 
 their composition. Why, even you, Fleet, I hed to take 
 you down last letter. Don't ye mind ye was lettin' on 
 about Night walkin' in her scant robes on the hill ? Did 
 ye think I was goin' to hand that over to that child ? No, 
 sir. I stopped it ! How ? Why, I jest said, ' suitably 
 appareled.' That 's all. It 's easy when you know how." 
 Another unlooked-for result naturally followed the bale- 
 ful excellence of this correspondence. Miss Fanny grew 
 more and more anxious to behold again the author of her 
 being and of these extraordinary letters. One or two 
 vague hints to that effect, thrown out in her correspondence, 
 were received with alarm by her guardians, and it was 
 finally resolved that the next letter should be composed in 
 such a manner as to effectually check this wanton desire. 
 For this purpose all the guardians assembled. Consider- 
 able excitement was manifested. I grieve to record the 
 fact that much liquor was drunk, and that Captain Eats 
 was somewhat exalted and discursive. But your true gen- 
 tleman is never more fastidious and refined than in his 
 
350 THE FOUH GUAKDIANS OF LAGEANGB 
 
 cups; and the gentle Captain Eats, during the -whole letter 
 (save an occasional slip), held his rhetorical hat deferen- 
 tially in his hand. A copy of this epistle has been pre- 
 served, and runs as follows : — 
 
 My Own Daeling Child, — Your esteemed and pre- 
 cious favor came promptly to hand, and contents noted. 
 We — that is, your sainted mother and myself — are glad 
 to hear that the draft for two hundred and fifty dollars 
 came promptly to hand, and trust that the balance of one 
 hundred and fifty dollars, which you retained after paying 
 Mme. Brimborion's bill, will be sufficient for you to pur- 
 chase laces, furbelows, bonnets, shoe-ties, and hosiery suit- 
 able to the season and the fashions. We (that is, your 
 mother — who is stiU unable to write by reason of a sore 
 finger — and myself) hope you will not spare any expenses 
 to clothe yourself equal to your schoolmates. We note what 
 you say about Mary Kickett's new silt dress, that cost sev- 
 enty-five dollars. You are to see that seventy-five, and 
 go her fifty or one hundred better, drawing on us for the 
 balance, if short. Eaise the Eickett girl or bust. We 
 trust you are careful of your health, and do noi> partake 
 too frequently of confectionery, and that your "French and 
 music lessons are the same. We trust that you wrap up 
 warmly when you go out, and are careful about your flau- 
 nels in that dreadful Eastern climate, and always wear 
 your rubbers. The wheat crop this year will average nearly 
 forty bushels to the acre, or supply each inhabitant of the 
 State with forty-four barrels of flour, and still leave one 
 hundred thousand bushels for exportation. With the 
 Pacific Eailroad finished, and the effete nations of Europe 
 and Asia knocking at the Golden Gate for breadstuffs, the 
 time is not far distant when the State will be entirely self- 
 producing. We often picture you, dear child, sitting at 
 your tasks, your bright eyes occasionally dropping in reverie 
 
THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 351 
 
 as you think of your parents so far away. Do you ever 
 ■wander with us through these dim woods — God's first 
 temples — and breathe with us the infinite peace of solitude, 
 or reflect that long before we had our being or existence 
 these grand old monarchs looked down on others as they 
 do on us ? Do you ? We hope — that is, your mother and 
 myself trust you do, although we earnestly beg and implore 
 you not to dream of visiting us here. For the society is 
 quite unfitted for a person of your age and sex. Murder 
 not unfrequently stalks abroad, and sluice robbing is as 
 common as the red hand of the assassin. Scarcely a day 
 passes that we do not consign some victim to the silent 
 tomb. Consumption is epidemic, and smallpox, too, often 
 has marked the loveliest of your sex for his prey. The 
 face of beauty fades quickly through a pestilential fever now 
 quite common, and the exquisite daughter of one of the first 
 families has been taken for an Indian squaw by reason of 
 the same. Freckles are paramount. The hair withers and 
 falls out, — the teeth likewise the same. Much as we hope 
 to once more behold that darling face, we could not expose 
 you to such certain ruin. Your mother fainted on reading 
 your request to visit her. I fear, in her present state of 
 health, a visit from you would be fatal ! If you value your 
 parents' love, banish this idea from your mind. In a few 
 years, probably, we will be able to once more clasp you in 
 our arms by the Atlantic shores. 
 
 Your Affectionate Parents. 
 
 Six weeks had elapsed, and the dutiful answer to the 
 above, confidently looked for by the guardians, was due. 
 Nevertheless, as the time approached, some nervousness on 
 the part of Fleet was manifested by that gentleman's un- 
 rest, and his frequent visits to Captain Eats, to whom all 
 letters addressed to their deceased friend were delivered. 
 "Nothing from the young lady yet, I suppose?" Fleet 
 
352 THE FOUR GUABDIANS OF LAGKANGE 
 
 would say indifferently. "No," the Captain would respond 
 quietly. " I reckon it '11 take her about two weeks to get 
 over her disappointment. Then she '11 write sassy — like 
 as not — or mebhe not at all." Fleet turned pale, then 
 red, and then bit his mustache. "You don't think, Cap- 
 tain," he asked with an affected laugh, "that we were a 
 little — just a little too hard? " "Not too much for peace 
 and quietness," replied the Captain gravely. "Women 
 don't take a halfway ' no; ' they can't believe a man means 
 it," he added, "any more than they do." Nevertheless, 
 the Captain himself grew a little anxious, and having 
 to visit Sacramento, left strict orders with his comrades 
 that he was to be recalled promptly on the arrival of Miss 
 Fanny's reply. 
 
 But his visit was not interrupted, and it was nearly three 
 weeks later that he mounted the box seat of the Pioneer 
 stage coach to return to Lagrange. As he settled himself 
 beside the driver, after the interchange of a few compli- 
 mentary epithets, his eye glanced down toward the wheels, 
 and was attracted by an open letter and part of a female 
 head obtruded from the coach. The fair reader had evi- 
 dently thus sought to evade the gloom of the coach's inte- 
 rior and possibly the prying eyes of her fellow passengers, 
 while she perused it. But why did the Captain's withered 
 cheeks instantly change color, and why did he convulsively 
 clasp the railing by his side ? The letter was in his own 
 handwriting, and had been mailed to Miss Fanny nine weeks 
 before ! 
 
 It was impossible, even by the utmost craning, and at 
 the risk of his life, to see anything more than a bit of lace, 
 some artificial flowers, a front of blonde hair, and the fatal 
 letter. Yet his guilty conscience instantly recognized in 
 these scant facts the formidable presentment of the deceived 
 orphan. Had she discovered their trick, and was she now 
 on their trail, with this terrible indictment in her hand? 
 
THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 353 
 
 Or was she still in ignorance — an ignorance which a single 
 chance question and answer now might dispel, amid faint- 
 ings, shrieks, tears, and wailing ! Captain Rats grew apo- 
 plectic with bewilderment; he dared not even ask a ques- 
 tion of the driver, who was already beginning to survey him 
 with a sardonic leer, and had audibly sought information if 
 he, the Captain, called this kind of conduct proper at "his 
 time o' life." "Let the gal alone. Eats! Don't you see 
 it ain't a love letter from you she 's porin' over? " he added, 
 a statement that again covered the Captain with guilty 
 blushes. But a sudden jolt of the vehicle, a little shriek, 
 ind the fluttering of the letter to the road, jarred from the 
 reader's fingers, gave the Captain a providential opportu- 
 nity. To jump from the box to the road and seize the 
 truant epistle was the work of a moment. When he ap- 
 proached the coach to restore it to its fair owner, another 
 passenger had appropriated his own seat on the box, and 
 thus gave color and reason for his exchange to the "in- 
 side." The young lady thanked him, the coach again 
 started forward, and Captain Eats fell into the seat beside 
 her. Here was the supreme moment! With a profuse 
 apology, the Captain drew his knees together, slipped into 
 a respectfully diagonal position, so as to oppose the narrow- 
 est point of contact with her, and carefully dusted his 
 knees and her dress softly with his handkerchief. The 
 shyest nymph would scarcely have been startled, the cold- 
 est and most antiquated of duennas would not have been 
 discomposed by the submissive respect of the Captain. The 
 young lady, who evidently was neither, turned a pair of calm 
 large gray eyes on her neighbor, and sat expectant. But 
 how the Captain improved his chances I must refer the 
 reader to his own account of the interview, delivered gravely 
 the same evening to his brother guardians. 
 
 " When I saw we was in for it, boys, " he said, rubbing 
 his knees upward softly, "I kinder measured the gal afore 
 
354 THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 
 
 I commenced, to see what sort of a hand she might hold. 
 But you could n't hev told anything by her looks. And 
 short of axing her a downright saucy question, you could n't 
 get a word out of her about her own business, nor what 
 she war up to. And then — well," continued the Captain, 
 with a languid smile of conscious success, " I calkilated that 
 this was one o' them peculiar cases that wanted skill and 
 science, and I jist applied 'em, and in course I won. 
 Thet 's all. Yes," said the Captain, vith a yawn of sti- 
 fled indifference, " it 's all right now, boys. Everything 's 
 explained. " 
 
 " But how ? " queried the others eagerly. 
 
 "Well," said the Captain lazily, "I sorter slipped into 
 a gineral conversation about the opery, the fashions, and 
 po'try, and sich. Speakin' o' literatoor, I told her of a 
 yam I 'd read t' other day in a magazine, and then, kinder 
 keerless and easy, I jist up and told her the whole story 
 about her father and us and herself, giving her the name o' 
 Seraphina, calling you and Horton ' Oscar ' and ' Eoderigo, ' 
 and Pleet ' Gustavus, ' and myself ' Eodentio, ' which is 
 Latin for ' Rats.' Well, if I do say it myself, it was n't no 
 slouch of a story, fur I was kinder clipper and fresh, and 
 the other passengers was jist about as much interested as 
 she was. Then I sorter looked in her eye, you know, this 
 way," and Captain Eats here achieved a peculiar leer, "and 
 said that I allowed it was n't true, and asked her what she 
 thought about it as a story. And she said it might be true 
 and it might not, but it was quite interesting. Them 's 
 her very words, gentlemen." 
 
 " Well, go on, " said the Colonel eagerly. 
 
 "That 'sail!" 
 
 " All ! All ! " shrieked the guardians together. " Did n't 
 she say anything else 1 Did n't you " — 
 
 "Nary," said the Captain coolly. "But it 's all right, 
 boys^ You '11 see." 
 
THE FOUR GUARDIANS OF LAGRANGE 355 
 
 Horton seized Captain Eats by one shoulder, and the 
 Colonel grappled the other. For a few seconds they shook 
 him furiously. 
 
 " Where is she now, you blank, blank mule 1 Answer 
 us!" 
 
 "Why, I reckon she's over at the Union Hotel with 
 Fleet. I forgot to say that he happened accidental to be 
 there when the stage kem in. She seemed to be kinder 
 easy and nat'ral with him, and I " — 
 
 But before Captain Eats had finished his speech the two 
 men rose furiously and dashed out of the room bareheaded. 
 And even as the Captain sat there, mute and astonished, 
 yet with his usual vague smile of acquiescence lingering 
 around his mouth, Horton returned, shook his fist fiercely 
 at the Captain, seized his hat, and vanished. In another 
 moment the Colonel also reentered hastily, grasped his hat, 
 kicked Captain Eats, and dashed out again. 
 
 As the door slammed on the last of his fellow guardians, 
 Captain Eats slowly emptied his glass, thoughtfully placed 
 one knee on a chair, and rubbed it in silence. Presently 
 a more decided smile came into his eye, and crept to his 
 mouth as his lips slowly fashioned this astounding reflec- 
 tion : — 
 
 "That's so — that's it/ Fleet was allers kinder soft 
 on the gal ! Like as not — like as not — he 's up and writ 
 to her on the sly." 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 AND 
 
 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAaa 
 
 Biographical Sketch of Bret Haktb ix 
 
 Trent's Trust 1 
 
 Mr. MacGlowrie's WiDCfw 97 
 
 A Ward of Colonel Starbottle's 121 
 
 Prosper's "Old Mother" . 155 
 
 The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin 181 
 
 A Pupil of Chestnut Riiob 211 
 
 Dick Boyle's Business Card 231 
 
 Glossary of Far-Western Terms 267 
 
 An Index to Characters 275 
 
 General Index to the Prose Wbitinos 423 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 Bbet Hakte would still have been a genius and a great 
 ■writer if gold had never been discovered in California ; but 
 history records no happier union of the man and the hour 
 than his advent to the Pacific coast close upon the heels of 
 the pioneers. Some writers of fiction, those who have the 
 very highest form of creative imagination, are able from 
 their own minds to spin out the web and woof of the char- 
 acters that they describe ; and it makes little difference 
 where they live or what literary material lies about them. 
 It is true that even such writers do not construct their 
 heroes and heroines quite out of whole cloth ; they have a 
 shred or two to begin with. But their work is in the main 
 and essentially the result not of perception but of creation. 
 The proof of this creative power is that the characters por- 
 trayed by it are submitted to various exigencies and influ- 
 ences ; they grow, develop, — yes, even change, and yet 
 retain their harmony and consistency. The development of 
 character, or at least the gradual revelation of character, 
 forms the peculiar charm of the novel, as distinguished froil 
 the short story. 
 
 The ability to read human nature as Bret Harte could read 
 it is almost as rare as the higher form of creative ability. 
 How little do we know even of those whom we see everj 
 day, whom we have lived with for years! Let a man ask 
 himself what his friend, or his wife, or his son would do 
 in some supposable emergency : how they would take this 
 or that injury or affront, good or bad fortune, a great sor- 
 row or great happiness, a sudden temptation, the treachery 
 
X BIOGEAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 of a friend. Let him ask himself any such question, and 
 it is almost certain that, if he is honest with himself, he 
 will have to admit that he can only conjecture what would 
 be the result. This is not because human nature is incon- 
 sistent ; the law of character is as immutable as any other 
 law ; it is because human nature eludes us. 
 
 But it did not elude Bret Harts. One who was intimate 
 •with him in California says : " He found endless enjoyment 
 in the people whom he saw and met casually. He read 
 their characters as if they were open books." Another early 
 friend of his, Mr. Noah Brooks, in his reminiscences of Bret 
 Harte narrates the following : " In Sacramento he and I 
 met Colonel Starbottle, who had, of course, another name. 
 He wore a tall silk hat and loosely fitting clothes, and he 
 carried on his left arm by its crooked handle a stout walk- 
 ing stick. The colonel was a dignified and benignant fig- 
 ure ; in politics he was everybody's friend. A gubernato- 
 rial election was pending, and with the friends of Haight 
 he stood at the hotel bar, and as they raised their glasses 
 to their lips, he said : ' Here 's to the Coming Event ! ' 
 Nobody asked at that stage of the canvass what the coming 
 event would be, and when the good colonel stood in the 
 same place with the friends of Gorham he gave the same 
 toast, 'The Coming Event.' " 
 
 The reader will recognize the picture at once, even to the 
 manner in which the colonel carried his cane. 
 
 Bret Harte (christened Francis Brett) ^ was born in Al- 
 bany, New York, August 25, 1839, of an ancestry which, it 
 is said, combined the English, German, and Hebrew strains. 
 His father was a teacher of Greek in the Albany Female 
 College, but he died while his son was still a child, and 
 Bret Harte's only instruction was obtained in the Albany 
 
 1 Brett was the name of his father's mother. Though he dropped the 
 Francis soon after he left California, it or the more familiar Frank remained 
 bis name in household speech and on the lips of early friends. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XI 
 
 public schools, and ceased when he was thirteen or fourteen 
 years old. At the sge of eleven he wrote a poem called 
 " Autumn Musings," which was published in the New York 
 " Sunday Atlas," but the household critics treated it with that 
 frank severity which is peculiar to relatives. Their criticism 
 so distressed the youthful poet that he declared in aftei 
 years : " Sometimes I wonder that I ever wrote another 
 line of verse." 
 
 In the spring of 1856, Bret Harte sailed for California. 
 We are told that he did not leave home without the sympathy 
 of mother, relatives, and friends ; and it was a very hopeful 
 and eagerly interested lad that landed in San Francisco. 
 One of his early ventures in his new home was to start a 
 school at Sonoma. The school soon closed its doors, but 
 so long as the English tongue remains, it will survive in the 
 pages of " Cressy." In all literature there are no children 
 drawn with more sympathy, more insight, more subtlety, 
 more tenderness than those sketched by Bret Harte. He 
 apprehended both the savagery and the innocence of child- 
 hood. Every reader is the happier for having known that 
 handsome and fastidious boy Eupert Filgee, who, secure 
 in his avowed predilection for the tavern-keeper's wife, 
 rejected the advances of contemporary girls. " And don't 
 you," to Octavia Dean, ".go on breathing over my head 
 like that. If there 's anything I hate, it 's having a girl 
 breathing around me. Yes, you were ! I felt it in my 
 hair." 
 
 Mining proved no more profitable than schoolteaching, 
 and the lad became a deputy collector of taxes, and was 
 sent into the lawless mining camps, where no taxes had ever 
 been collected. But the miners yielded to the unarmed boy 
 what armed men had not been able to extort, and, to the 
 surprise of his superiors, he returned to San Francisco with 
 the taxes in his pouch. Afterward he became a messenger 
 for Wells, Fargo 8^ Company's Express, and traveled upon 
 
Xll BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 the box of a stagecoach, presumably with Tuba Bill as the 
 driver. It was a dangerous business : his predecessor had 
 been shot through the arm by a highwayman, his successor 
 was killed ; but he escaped without injury. " He bore a 
 charmed life," writes another of his early friends, Mr. C. 
 W. Stoddard. " Probably his youth was his salvation, for 
 he ran a thousand risks, yet seemed only to gain in health 
 and spirits." Later, he drifted to San Francisco, where 
 he was for a while an apothecary's assistant, — his readers 
 will at once recall the junior partner of the firm of Spar- 
 low & Kane, — but he soon left the dispensing of drugs 
 for the work of a printer, and began by setting type for 
 a newspaper ; from that, like Franklin and many another, he 
 passed into being a contributor to the newspapers, writing, 
 among other things, the " Condensed Novels," and his first 
 story, " M'liss," which was published in the " Golden Era." 
 It was at this time that he held the position of secretary in 
 the United States Mint, a sinecure, or very nearly that, such 
 as in the good old days was properly bestowed upon literary 
 men. He had become a householder before he had com- 
 pleted his twenty-third year, having been married to Miss 
 Anna Griswold at San Eafael, August 11, 1862. In 1868 
 he became the editor of the " Overland Monthly," and 
 finally he served for a brief period as Professor of Litera- 
 ture in a San Francisco college. 
 
 It will thus be perceived that Bret Harte knew by per- 
 sonal experience almost every form of life in California; 
 and it was such a life as probably the world never saw be- 
 fore, as, almost certainly, it will never see again. 
 
 When Bret Harte first became famous he was accused of 
 misrepresenting California society. A philosophic and his- 
 torical writer of great ability once spoke of the " perverse 
 romanticism " of his tales ; and since his death these accu- 
 sations, if they may be called such, have been renewed in 
 San Francisco with bitterness. It is strange that Californi- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Xlt 
 
 ans themselves should be so anxious to strip from their 
 State the distinction which Bret Harte conferred upon it, — 
 so anxious to show that its heroic age never existed, that lifr 
 in California has always been just as commonplace, resped 
 able, and uninteresting as it is anywhere else in the world 
 But be this as it may, the records, the diaries, journals, and 
 narratives written by pioneers themselves, and, most impor- 
 tant of all, the daily newspapers published in San Francisco 
 and elsewhere in the State from 1849 to 1859, fully corrobo- 
 rate Bret Harte's assertion that he described only what he 
 saw, and in almost every case, only what actually occurred. 
 The fact is that Bret Harte merely skimmed the cream from 
 the surface. The pioneers and those who followed them in 
 the early fifties were mainly young men, many of them well 
 educated, and most of them far above the average in vigor 
 and enterprise. They were such men as enlist in the first 
 years of a war ; and few wars involve more casualties than 
 fell to their lot. They were sifted again and again before 
 the survivors reached their destination. Many were killed 
 by the Apaches in the valleys of the Kio Grande and the 
 Colorado ; many died of hunger and thirst ; many had no 
 other food during the last part of their journey than the 
 putrefying bodies of the horses and oxen that had perished 
 along the way. 
 
 In the story called " Liberty Jones's Discovery," Bret 
 Harte has sketched the wan and demoralized appearance of 
 a party of emigrants who just managed to reach the pro- 
 mised land. Many were caught by storms in the late autumn, 
 and were snowed up in the mountains. In " Gabriel Con- 
 roy " are described the sufferings of such a party, a few of 
 whom were rescued in the spring ; and the horrors which 
 Bret Harte relates are only the actual facts of the case upon 
 which his account is based. Those who came by sea had to 
 face a long, wearisome voyage in lumbering craft, besides the 
 deadly Panama fever, and the possible violence of the half- 
 
XIV BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 breeds on the Isthmus, who killed fifty out of one ship's com- 
 pany. 
 
 Nor was life in California easy : the toil was severe, the 
 food often had, the exposure productive of rheumatism. Still 
 more wearing upon the nervous system were the excitements, 
 the chances and changes of a miner's life. It has been re- 
 marked of the California pioneers, as of the veterans of the 
 Civil War, that they have grown old prematurely. Few of 
 them acquired wealth. Marshall, the sawmill foreman, who 
 discovered those deposits which in five years produced gold 
 to the tune of $50,000,000, died poor. No millionaires are 
 found among the " Forty-Niners," those time-worn associates 
 who gather annually to celebrate their achievements beneath 
 the folds of the Bear Flag, — the ensign of a premature, 
 half-comic, half-heroic attempt to wrest from Spain what 
 was then an out-lying and neglected province. Pioneers do 
 not, as a rule, gather wealth ; they make it possible for the 
 shrewd men who come after them to do so. 
 
 But the California pioneers enjoyed an experience that 
 was better than wealth. They had their hour. The con- 
 ditions of society then prevailing were those which the Al- 
 mighty and the American Constitution intended should pre- 
 vail on 'this continent, but from which we are daily drifting 
 further and further. All men felt that, whether they were 
 born so or not, they had become free and equal. Social dis- 
 tinctions were rubbed out. A man was judged by his con- 
 duct ; not by his bank account, nor by the class, the family, 
 the club, or the church to which he belonged. Where all 
 are rich equality must prevail ; and how could any one be poor 
 when the simplest kind of labor was rewarded at the rate of 
 eight dollars per day ; when the average miner " cleaned up " 
 twenty or thirty dollars as the fruit of his day's work, and a 
 taking of from three hundred to five hundred dollars a week 
 for weeks together was not uncommon ? Servants received 
 about $150 a month ; and washerwomen acquired fortunes 
 
BIOGEAPHICAL SKETCH XV 
 
 and founded families. It was cheaper to send one's clothes 
 to China to be laundered, and some thrifty persons availed 
 themselves of the fact. 
 
 Everybody was young. A man of fifty with a gray beard 
 was pointed out as a curiosity. A woman created more ex- 
 citement in the streets of San Francisco than an elephant or 
 a giraffe ; and little children were followed by admiring 
 crowds eager to kiss them, to shake their hands, to hear their 
 voices, and humbly begging permission to make them pre.< 
 sents of gold nuggets and miners' curiosities. Almost every- 
 body was making money ; nobody was hampered by past 
 mistakes or misdeeds ; all records had been wiped from the 
 slate ; the future was full of possibilities ; and the dry, stim- 
 ulating climate of California added its intoxicating effect to 
 the general buoyancy of feeling. Best of all, men were 
 thrown upon their own resources ; they themselves, and not 
 a highly organized police and a brave fire department, pro- 
 tected their lives and their property. We pay more dearly 
 than we think for such conveniences. The taxes which they 
 involve are but a small part of the bill, — the training in 
 manliness and self-reliance which we lose by means of them 
 is a much more serious matter. In the mining camps of Cal- 
 ifornia, as in the mediaeval towns of England, every man 
 was his own policeman, fireman, carpenter, mason, and gen- 
 eral functionary, — nay, he was his own judge, jury, sheriff, 
 and constable. With pistol and bowie knife, he protected 
 his gold, his claim, and his honor. There is something in 
 the Anglo-Saxon nature, left to itself and freed from the re- 
 straints of a more or less effete public opinion, which causes 
 it to resent an insult with whatever weapons are sanctioned 
 by custom in the absence of law. 
 
 In the early days of California, society reverted to this 
 militant, heroic type. The reversion was inevitable under 
 the circumstances, and it was greatly assisted by the social 
 predominance of the Southern element. The class repre- 
 
XVI BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 sented and partly caricatured in Colonel Starbottle Tvas 
 numerous, and, for reasons which we have not space to re-- 
 call, was even more influential than its numbers warranted. 
 An editorial defense of dueling was published in a San 
 Francisco paper of Southern proclivities. The senior editor 
 of the "Alta California " was killed in a duel ; and at another 
 time an assistant editor of the same paper published a long 
 letter, in which, with an unconscious humor worthy of 
 Colonel Starbottle himself, he denied the charge of having 
 sought two rival editors with homicidal intent. " I had 
 simply resolved," he wrote, " to pronounce Messrs. Crane 
 and Eice poltroons and cowards, and to spit in their faces ; 
 and had they seen fit to resent it on the spot, I was pre- 
 pared for them." In those early days, when it was impos- 
 sible to turn a neighbor in distress over to the police, or to 
 a hospital, or to some society, charitable or uncharitable, or 
 to dismiss him with a soup-ticket, — in that barbarous time, 
 men were not only moie warlike, they were more generous, 
 more ready to act upon that instinctive feeling of pity which 
 is the basis of all morality. In short, the shackles of con- 
 ventionality and tradition were cast off, and the primeval 
 instincts of humanity — the instincts of pride, of pugnacity, 
 and of pity — asserted themselves. 
 
 Such was the society into which Bret Harte, at the age of 
 seventeen, " a truant schoolboy," to use his own words, was 
 plunged. Few writers have shown more well-bred reti- 
 cence about themselves, but we have seen how varied was 
 his experience, and we catch a single glimpse of him in the 
 exquisite poem, that "spray of Western pine," which he 
 laid upon the grave of Dickens : — 
 
 " Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy, — for the reader 
 Was youngest of them all, — 
 But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar 
 A silence seemed to fall ; 
 
 " The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, 
 Listened in every spray, 
 
BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH XVU 
 
 While the whole camp with ' Nell ' on English meadows 
 Wandered and lost their way." 
 
 The extent of the influence which Dickens exercised 
 upon Bret Harte has been much discussed, and the critics 
 commonly agree that this influence was wholly bad. It is 
 true that on the surface we see only the bad effects of it, — 
 certain faults of style, certain mannerisms, a certain mawk- 
 ishness of sentiment. Bret Harte had a morbid passion for 
 splitting infinitives, and he misuses a few words, such as 
 " gratuitous " and " aggravating," with malice aforethought. 
 The truth is that a spice of self-will, a modest but radical 
 Tinconventionality, were just as much parts of his character as 
 was the fastidiousness which in general controlled his style. 
 
 Occasionally, moreover, he lapses into a strange, pompous, 
 involved manner, making his heroes and heroines, in mo- 
 ments of passion or excitement, deliver themselves in a way 
 which seems ludicrously out of place, as, for example, in 
 " Susy," where Clarence says : " If I did not know you were 
 prejudiced by a foolish and indiscreet woman, I should be- 
 lieve you were trying to insult me as you have your adopted 
 mother, and would save you the pain of doing both in her 
 house by leaving it now and forever." Or, again, in "A 
 Secret of Telegraph Hill," where Herbert Bly says to the 
 gambler, whom he has surprised in his room hiding from 
 the vigilance committee : " Whoever you may be, I am 
 neither the police nor a spy. You have no right to insult 
 me by supposing that I would profit by a mistake that made 
 you my guest, and that I would refuse you the sanctuary 
 of the roof that covers your insult as well as your blunder." 
 And yet the speaker is not meant to be a prig. 
 
 So again he imitates, or at least resembles, Dickens when 
 he admires his heroes in the wrong place, representing them 
 as saying or doing something quite out of keeping with their 
 real character, and hardly to be described by any other 
 word than that of vulgar. The reader will remember that 
 
xviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 passage in "Our Mutual Friend," where Eugene Wray- 
 burn, in his interview with the schoolmaster, taking advan- 
 tage of both his natural superiority and the superiority of 
 the circumstances in which they happen to be placed, treats 
 the schoolmaster with an arrogance which Dickens evi- 
 dently feels to be the natural manner of a fine gentleman, 
 but which is really an example of that want of chivalry 
 which is the essence of an ungentlemanly character. Bret 
 Harte in several places makes Jack Hamlin act in almost 
 precisely the same manner, playing the part of a bully in 
 respect to men who were inferior to him socially, and in- 
 ferior also in that capacity to shoot quickly and accurately, 
 which made Mr. Hamlin formidable. Such, for example, 
 was Hamlin's treatment of Jenkinson, the tavern-keeper, 
 whom Don Jos6 Sepulvida described with Spanish courtesy 
 as " our good Jenkinson, our host, our father ; " or again, in 
 " Gtabriel Conroy," where Hamlin insults the porter and 
 threatens, as Bret Harte says, falling into the manner as 
 well as the spirit of Dickens at his very worst, to " forcibly 
 dislodge certain vital and necessary organs from the porter's 
 body." 
 
 On the whole, however, it seems highly probable that 
 Bret Harte derived more good than bad from his admiration 
 for Dickens. The reading of Dickens must have stimulated 
 his boyish imagination, must have quickened that sympathy 
 with the weak and suffering, with the downtrodden, with 
 the waifs and strays, with the outcasts of society, which is 
 the keynote of both writers. Bret Harte, like Dickens, 
 deals mainly with sentiment, but, uulike Dickens, he is 
 a master of satire as well. His satire is directed chiefly 
 against that peculiar form of cold and hypocritical character 
 which sometimes survives as the very dregs of Puritanism. 
 This is the type which he has portrayed with almost savage 
 intensity in the character of a woman who combines sensual- 
 ity and deceit with the most orthodox form of Protestant- 
 
BIOGEAPHICAL SKETCH XIX 
 
 ism and horse-hair sofa respectability. Occasionally Bret 
 Harte's humor takes a satirical form, as when, after de- 
 scribing how a stranger was shot and nearly killed in a 
 mining camp, he speaks of a prevailing impression in the 
 camp " that his misfortune was the result of the defective 
 moral quality of his being a stranger ; " or again in " Cressy," 
 where Mrs. McKinstry, the stern survivor of a Kentucky 
 vendetta, is said to have "looked upon her daughter's 
 studies and her husband's interest in them as a weakness 
 that might in process of time produce an infirmity of homi- 
 cidal purpose, ^nd become enervating of eye and trigger 
 finger. ' The old man's worrits hev sorter shook out a 
 little of his sand,' she explained." 
 
 In the main, however, Bret Harte was a writer of sen- 
 timent, and that is why he is so beloved. Sentiment re- 
 solves itself into humor and pathos ; and both humor and 
 pathos are said to consist in the perception of incongruities. 
 In humor, there is the perception of some incongruity 
 which excites derision and a smile ; in pathos, there is the 
 perception of some incongruity which excites pity and a 
 tear. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that in no 
 other writer in the world are humor and pathos so nearly 
 the same as they are in Bret Harte. There are sentences and 
 paragraphs in his stories and poems which might make one 
 reader laugh and another weep, or which, more likely yet, 
 would provoke a mingled smile and tear. Perhaps the 
 most consummate example of this is found in the tale, 
 " How Santa Glaus came to Simpson's Bar." 
 
 The reader will remember that Johnny, after greeting the 
 Christmas guests in his " weak, treble voice, broken by that 
 premature hoarseness which only vagabondage and the 
 habit of premature self-possession can give," and after hos- 
 pitably setting out the whiskey bottle and some crackers, 
 creeps back to bed, and is then accosted by Dick Bullen, 
 the hero of the story. 
 
XX BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 " ' Hello, Johnny ! you ain't goin' to turn in ag'in, are 
 ye ? ' said Dick. 
 
 " ' Yes, I are,' responded Johnny decidedly. 
 
 " ' Why, wot 's up, old fellow ? ' 
 
 " ' I 'm sick.' 
 
 "'How sick?' 
 
 " ' I 've got a fevier, and childblains, and roomatiz,' re- 
 turned Johnny, and vanished within. After a moment's 
 pause, he added in the dark, apparently from under the 
 bedclothes, — * And biles ! ' 
 
 " There was an embarrassing silence. The men looked 
 at each other and at the fire." 
 
 In discussing Bret Harte, it is almost impossible to sepa- 
 rate substance from style. The style is so good, so exactly 
 adapted to the ideas which he wishes to convey, that one 
 can hardly imagine it as different. Some thousands of years 
 ago, an Eastern sage remarked that he would like to write 
 a book such that everybody should conceive that he might 
 have written it himself, and yet so good that nobody else 
 could have written the like. This is the ideal which Bret 
 Harte fulfilled. Almost everything said by any one of his 
 characters is so accurate an expression of that character as 
 to seem inevitable. It is felt at once to be just what such a 
 character must have said. Given the character, the words 
 follow ; and anybody could set them down ! This is the 
 fallacy underlying that strange feeling, which every reader 
 must have experienced, of the apparent easiness of writing 
 an especially good or telling conversation or soliloquy. 
 
 In Bret Harte, at his best, the choice of words, the 
 balance of the sentences, the rhythm of the paragraphs, are 
 very nearly perfect. He had an ear for style, just as some 
 persons have an ear for music. In conciseness, in artistic 
 restraint, he is the equal of Turgenieff, of Hawthorne, of 
 Newman. All this could not have been achieved without 
 effort. Bret Harte had the conscience of an artist, if he 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XXI 
 
 had no other conscience ; his masterpieces were slowly and 
 painfully forged. " One day," wrote Mr. C. W. Stoddard, 
 who was his friend in California, " I found him pacing the 
 floor of his office in the United States Branch Mint. He 
 was knitting his brows and staring at vacancy. I wondered 
 why. He was watching and waiting for a word. ... I 
 suggested one ; it would not answer ; it must be a word of 
 two syllables, or the rhythm of the sentence would suffer. 
 Fastidious to a degree, he could not overlook a lack of finish 
 in a manuscript offered him. He had a special taste in the 
 choice of titles, and I have known him to alter the name 
 of an article two or three times, in order that the table of 
 contents might read handsomely and harmoniously." 
 
 The truth is, Bret Harte was essentially an artist, with 
 all the peculiarities, mental and moral, which are com- 
 monly associated under that name ; and this fact explains 
 some apparent anomalies in his career. Why did he leave 
 and never revisit California ? Why did he make his home 
 in England ? Bret Harte left California when the glamour 
 had departed from it, when, if not in the State generally, at 
 least in San- Francisco, where he was living, a calculating 
 commercialism had in some degree replaced the generous 
 mood of earlier days. It is well known that respectable 
 San Francisco stood aghast at "The Luck of Soaring 
 Camp," the alarm having been sounded by a feminine 
 proofreader who was shocked by what she conceived to be 
 the indecency of the tale. Not equally well known is the 
 contrasting fact, now recorded, that another young girl, an 
 assistant in the office of the " Atlantic Monthly," first 
 called Mr. Fields's attention to the story, upon its publica- 
 tion in the " Overland Monthly ; " and Mr. Fields, having 
 ' read it, wrote that letter, soliciting a contribution to the 
 " Atlantic," which, as Bret Harte himself has related, en- 
 couraged him and confounded his critics. Even the sense 
 of humor must have been weakened in a community which 
 
Xxii BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 insisted that the newspapers should skip lightly over the 
 facts of a recent and destructive earthquake, lest Eastern 
 capital should become alarmed. 
 
 Bret Harte, with his family, left California early in 1871, 
 and the incidents of the journey from San Francisco to Bos- 
 ton were chronicled by the press in what a London paper 
 called " a kind of Bret Harte circular." Those were the 
 days when men carried a newspaper clipping containing " The 
 Heathen Chinee " in their pocket-books, and lines of it were 
 on every lip. Naturally the author, like some other writers 
 of an extravagantly popular poem or story, came to hate the 
 very name of the verses. His arrival in the East was 
 eagerly looked for, and a good deal of curiosity was felt 
 regarding the personality of the suddenly famous poet and 
 story-teller. To some ingenuous observers, the quiet, well- 
 bred, and exceedingly well-dressed gentleman, with his low, 
 agreeably modulated voice and somewhat languid manner, 
 hardly agreed with the Californian of their imagination. 
 The welcome given him was hearty, and a generous recom- 
 pense awaited his literary work. He also proved an admU 
 rable lecturer, though it was an occupation for which he had 
 a great distaste ; a love of personal exhibition or publicity was 
 never one of his foibles. But though his prospects in his new 
 home were so fair, he soon became involved in pecuniary diffi- 
 culties. New York and its neighborhood, Newport or Lenox 
 or the Massachusetts coast, to one naturally inclined to easy 
 and hospitable living, proved far more expensive than San 
 Francisco. Besides, as one of his old friends has said, " Bret 
 Harte was utterly destitute of what is sometimes called 
 ' money sense.' " His embarrassments, however exaggerated 
 by common report, were grave enough to make him seriously 
 entertain the thought of a position outside literature, and in 
 1878 he accepted the somewhat incongruous post of TJ. S. 
 Consul at Crefeld, and left his native country for what was 
 destined to be a life-long absence. But slight traces of the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Xxiii 
 
 experiences of those seven eastern years can be found in his 
 writings, though we owe to them a few of what are perhaps 
 his least successful character studies. 
 
 In after years Bret Harte always keenly remembered the 
 loneliness of his brief residence in Germany. With little 
 knowledge of German or even French as spoken languages, 
 widely separated from family and friends, it is not surpris- 
 ing that he diversified his stay by visits to England, or that 
 he soon sought a change to a more congenial post. But we 
 should not care to miss such records of his life in Crefeld as 
 he has left : that delightful description of " Schlachtstadt," 
 always filled with soldiery, " who appeared to be daily taken 
 out of their boxes of ' caserne ' or depot and loosely scattered 
 all over the pretty linden-haunted German town ; soldiers 
 standing on street corners, soldiers staring woodenly into shop 
 windows, soldiers halted suddenly into stone, like lizards, 
 at the approach of offiziere, — offiziere lounging stiffly four 
 abreast, sweeping the pavement with their trailing sabres all 
 at one angle," and one and all seeming to have been wound 
 up ; or our introduction to the Consul's office, with the 
 waiting Madohen, household servants who serve as business 
 messengers ; and elsewhere the fine tribute to the excellen- 
 cies of the German handmaiden. Nor must his delicately 
 sympathetic picture of German childhood be forgotten, ad- 
 mirable in its contrast to the sketches of " the extreme self- 
 assertion and early maturity of the American children " that 
 he had chiefly drawn. With the more elaborate studies of 
 these contrasting types by this child-lover a slight sketch of 
 some English children given in an early home letter, quoted 
 by his biographer, should not be overlooked. " The eldest 
 girl is not unlike a highly educated Boston girl, and the con- 
 versation sometimes reminds me of Boston. The youngest 
 daughter, only ten years old, told her sister in reference to 
 some conversation Froude and I had, that 'sAe/eare<i' (this 
 child) ' that Mr. Bret Harte was inclined to be skeptical' 
 
XXIV BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 The boy, scarcely fourteen, acts like a boy of eight (an Amer- 
 ican boy of eight) and talks like a man of thirty as far as 
 pure English and facility of expression goes. His manners 
 are perfect, yet he is perfectly simple and boylike. The 
 culture and breeding of some English children is really 
 marvelous. But somehow — and here comes one of my 
 ' buts ' — there 's always a suggestion of some repression, 
 some discipline that I don't like." ^ Truly there spoke the 
 Californian. 
 
 During his second year at Crefeld, Bret Harte was trans, 
 ferred to Glasgow, the " St. Kentigem " of more than one 
 tale, a city not too far from London, or from the pleasant 
 country-houses of the faithful friends he was making in 
 England and Scotland. There was more than a grain of 
 truth in the jesting remark of Mr. William Black, that " Bret 
 Harte is a wandering comet. The only place he is sure 
 not to be found in is at the Glasgow Consulate." When he 
 was permanently removed therefrom in 1885, London be- 
 came his home for the remainder of his life. To return to 
 America some day was always his avowed intention, but it 
 may well be doubted if — even had his life been prolonged 
 — that intention would ever have become fact. From this 
 time on his literary labors were unremitting, though now no 
 more than at any period of his life was he a rapid writer or 
 one independent of moods. Of course he wished for suc- 
 cess as a dramatist, and it would be thought that he had 
 every essential gift therefor ; but his " Two Men of Sandy 
 Bar," written in 1876, and performed in various American 
 cities, was little better than a failure, though readers had 
 found pleasure in it and expected much from it. To be 
 sure the leading character. Colonel Starbottle, was misinter- 
 preted ; but it was the usual fault of the amateur dramatist, 
 too elaborate dialogue, which worked the harm ; and the 
 heroic condensation used seemed *" take all life from the 
 1 Pemberton's Life of Bret Harte, p. 182. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XXV 
 
 piece. Perhaps this disappointment made him too easily 
 discouraged regarding future attempts. Always an exacting 
 critic of his own work, at least one play (founded upon 
 " Thankful Blossom ") was written and destroyed. He was 
 very justly angered by the entirely unauthorized American 
 dramatizations of some of his stories. One of these, a tra- 
 vesty of his favorite " M'liss," was converted into a song and 
 dance piece, " a form of entertainment which he loathed," 
 and was performed hundreds of times. In 1896 he was 
 gladdened by the success of " Sue " (founded upon " The 
 Judgment of Bolinas Plain "), in both America and England ; 
 but in this he was aided by the collaboration and theatrical 
 jxperience of his friend Mr. Pemberton. In truth the de- 
 nand from English magazines for his stories hardly allowed 
 iiim time, painstaking writer as he was, for other work, and 
 his last years were very busy ones. Never was the Cali- 
 tornian background, never were the personalities of some of 
 his earliest and best known characters more vividly depicted 
 than in these latest stories. The welcome given to the his- 
 tory of Colonel Starbottle and his ward brought urgent re- 
 quests for yet another view of that old acquaintance, and 
 though the writer was ill and suffering, he planned a tale 
 and began to write it. " A Friend of Colonel Starbottle's " 
 was the title, and in his usual delicately graceful handwrit- 
 ing, also with the usual corrections and interlineations, he 
 wrote : — 
 
 " ' I said a friend of mine,' returned the Colonel a little 
 loftily, ' and when I used this term I did not degrade its 
 sacred and er — responsible significance with that levity 
 which I find, sir, much too frequent at the er — present 
 day.' 
 
 " The Colonel's manner was slightly exaggerated, as he 
 had detected a cavalier tone in the stranger's first acceptance 
 of the statement." ^ 
 
 1 Pemberton's Life of Bret Barte, p. 340. 
 
XXvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 This is all that was written of Bret Harte's last story. 
 His health had been failing for some time, but it was not 
 till the winter months of 1902 that serious apprehensions 
 began to be felt regarding him. He left London for the 
 Red House, Camberley, the home of devoted friends, hoping 
 to benefit by the change to the clearer skies of his much- 
 loved Surrey. There on May 5th the end came with star- 
 tling suddenness. He was buried in Primley churchyard, in 
 a countryside long dear and familiar to him. 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 
 
TRENT'S TRUST AND OTHER 
 STORIES 
 
 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 Randolph Trent stepped from the Stockton boat on the 
 San Francisco wharf, penniless, friendless, and unknown. 
 Hunger might have been added to his trials, for, having 
 paid his last coin in passage money, he had been a day and 
 a half without food. Yet he knew it only by an occasional 
 lapse into weakness as much mental as physical. Never- 
 theless, he was first on the gangplank to land, and hurried 
 feverishly ashore, in that vague desire for action and change 
 of scene common to such irritation; yet after mixing for 
 a few moments with the departing passengers, eafih selfishly 
 hurrying to some rendezvous of rest or business, he insen- 
 sibly drew apart from them, with the instinct of a vagabond 
 and outcast. Although he was conscious that he was 
 neither, but merely an unsuccessful miner suddenly reduced 
 to the point of soliciting work or alms of any kind, he took 
 advantage of the first crossing to plunge into a side street, 
 with a vague sense of hiding his shame. 
 
 A rising wind, which had rocked the boat for the last 
 few hours, had now developed into a strong sou'wester, 
 with torrents of rain which swept the roadway. His well- 
 worn working clothes, fitted to the warmer Southern mines, 
 gave him more concern from their visible, absurd contrast 
 to the climate than from any actual sense of discomfort, 
 
4 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 and his feverishness defied the chill of his soaking gar- 
 ments, as he hurriedly faced the blast through the dimly 
 lighted 3treet. At the next corner he paused; he had 
 reached another, and, from its dilapidated appearance, ap- 
 parently an older wharf than that where he had landed, 
 hut, like the first, it was still a straggling avenue leading 
 toward the higher and more animated part of the city. He 
 again mechanically — for a part of his trouble was a vague, 
 undefined purpose — turned toward it. 
 
 In his feverish exaltation his powers of perception seemed 
 to be quickened: he was vividly alive to the incongruous, 
 half-marine, half-backwoods character of the warehouses 
 and commercial buildings ; to the hull of a stranded ship 
 already built into a block of rude tenements; to the dark 
 stockaded wall of a house framed of corrugated iron, and 
 its weird contiguity to a Swiss chalet, whose galleries were 
 used only to bear the signs of the shops, and whose frame 
 had been carried across seas in sections to be set up at ran- 
 dom here. 
 
 Moving past these, as in a nightmare dream, of which 
 even the turbulency of the weather seemed to be a part, he 
 stumbled, • blinded, panting, and unexpectedly, with no 
 consciousness of his rapid pace beyond his breathlessness, 
 iipon the dazzling main thoroughfare of the city. In spite 
 of the weather, the slippery pavements were thronged by 
 hurrying crowds of well-dressed people, again all intent on 
 their own purposes, — purposes that seemed so trifling and 
 unimportant beside his own. The shops were brilliantly 
 lighted, exposing their brightest wares through plate-glass 
 windows; a jeweler's glittered with precious stones; a 
 fashionable apothecary's next to it almost outrivaled it 
 with its gorgeous globes, the gold and green precision of 
 its shelves, and the marble and silver soda fountain like a 
 Bhrine before it. All this specious show of opulence came 
 upon him with the shock of contrast, and with it a bitter 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 5 
 
 revulsion of feeling more hopeless than his feverish anx- 
 iety, — the bitterness of disappointment. 
 
 Por during his journey he had been buoyed up with the 
 prospect of finding work and sympathy in this youthful 
 city, — a prospect founded solely on his inexperienced 
 hopes. For this he had exchanged the poverty of the 
 mining district, — a poverty that had nothing ignoble about 
 it, that was a part of the economy of nature, and shared 
 with his fellow men and the birds and beasts in their rude 
 encampments. He had given up the brotherhood of the 
 miner, and that practical help and sympathy which brought 
 no degradation with it, for this rude shock of self-inter- 
 ested, self-satisfied civilization. He, who would not have 
 shrunk from asking rest, food, or a night's lodging at the 
 cabin of a brother miner or woodsman, now recoiled sud- 
 denly from these well-dressed citizens. What madness had 
 sent him here, an intruder, or, even, as it seemed to him 
 in his dripping clothes, an impostor ? And yet these were 
 the people to whom he had confidently expected to tell his 
 story, and who would cheerfully assist him with work! 
 He could almost anticipate the hard laugh or brutal hurried 
 negative in their faces. In his foolish heart he thanked 
 God he had not tried it. Then the apathetic recoil which 
 is apt to follow any keen emotion overtook him. He was 
 dazedly conscious of being rudely shoved once or twice, and 
 even heard the epithet "drunken lout " from one who had 
 run against him. 
 
 He found himself presently staring vacantly in the apothe- 
 cary's window. How long he stood there he could not 
 tell, for he was aroused only by the door opening in front 
 of him, and a young girl emerging with some purchase in 
 her hand. He could see that she was handsomely dressed 
 and quite pretty, and as she passed out she lifted to his 
 withdrawing figure a pair of calm, inquiring eyes, which, 
 however, changed to a look of half-wondering, half-amused 
 
6 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 pity as she gazed. Yet that look of pity stung his pride 
 more deeply than all. With a deliberate effort he recovered 
 his energy. No, he would not beg, he would not ask 
 assistance from these people; he would go back — any- 
 where! To the steamboat first; they might let him sleep 
 there, give him a meal, and allow him to work his passage 
 back to Stockton. He might be refused. Well, what 
 then ? Well, beyond, there was the bay ! He laughed 
 bitterly — his mind was sane enough for that — but he 
 kept on repeating it vaguely to himself, as he crossed the 
 street again, and once more made his way to the wharf. 
 
 The wind and rain had increased, but he no longer 
 heeded them in his feverish haste and his consciousness 
 that motion could alone keep away that dreadful apathy 
 which threatened to overcloud his judgment. And he 
 wished while he was able to reason logically to make up 
 his mind to end this unsupportable situation that night. 
 He was scarcely twenty, yet it seemed to him that it had 
 already been demonstrated that his life was a failure ; he 
 was an orphan, and when he left college to seek his own 
 fortune in California, he believed he had staked his all upon 
 that venture — and lost. 
 
 That bitterness which is the sudden recoil of boyish en- 
 thusiasm, and is none the less terrible for being without 
 experience to justify it, — that melancholy we are too apt 
 to look back upon with cynical jeers and laughter in mid- 
 dle age, — is more potent than we dare to think, and it was 
 in no mere pose of youthful pessimism that Randolph Trent 
 now contemplated suicide. Such scraps of philosophy as 
 his education had given him pointed to that one conclusion. 
 And it was the only refuge that pride — real or false — 
 offered him from the one supreme terror of youth — shame. 
 
 The street was deserted, and the few lights he had pre- 
 viously noted in warehouses and shops were extinguished. 
 It had grown darker with the storm; the incongruous build- 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 7 
 
 ings on either side had become misshapen shadows; the 
 long perspective of the wharf was a strange gloom from 
 which the spars of a ship stood out like the cross he re- 
 membered as a boy to have once seen in a picture of the 
 tempest-smitten Calvary. It was his only fancy connected 
 with the future — it might have been his last, for suddenly 
 one of the planks of the rotten wharf gave way beneath his 
 feet, and he felt himself violently precipitated toward the 
 gurgling and oozing tide below. He threw out his arms 
 desperately, caught at a strong girder, drew himself up with 
 the energy of desperation, and staggered to his feet again, 
 safe — and sane. For with this terrible automatic struggle 
 to avoid that death he was courting came a flash of reason. 
 If he had resolutely thrown himself from the pier head as 
 he intended, would he have undergone a hopeless revulsion 
 like this ? Was he sure that this might not be, after all, 
 the terrible penalty of self-destruction — this inevitable 
 fierce protest of mind and body when too late ? He was 
 momentarily touched with a sense of gratitude at his escape, 
 but his reason told him it was not from his accident, but 
 from his intention. 
 
 He was trying carefully to retrace his steps, but as he 
 did so he saw the figure of a man dimly lurching toward 
 him out of the darkness of the wharf and the crossed yards 
 of the ship. A gleam of hope came over him, for the emo- 
 tion of the last few minutes had rudely displaced his pride 
 and self-love. He would appeal to this stranger, whoever 
 he was ; there was more chance that in this rude locality he 
 would be a belated sailor or some humbler wayfarer, and 
 the darkness and solitude made him feel less ashamed. By 
 the last flickering street lamp he could see that he was a 
 man about his own size, with something of the rolling gait 
 of a sailor, which was increased by the weight of a travel- 
 ing portmanteau he was swinging in his hand. As he ap- 
 proached he evidently detected Randolph's waiting figure, 
 
8 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 slackened his speed slightly, and changed his portmanteau 
 from his right hand to his left as a precaution for defense. 
 
 Randolph felt the blood flush his cheek at this significant 
 proof of his disreputable appearance, hut determined to ac- 
 cost him. He scarcely recognized the sound of his own 
 voice now first breaking the silence for hours, but he made 
 his appeal. The man listened, made a slight gesture for- 
 ward with his disengaged hand, and impelled Randolph 
 slowly up to the street lamp until it shone on both their 
 faces. Randolph saw a man a few years his senior, with 
 a slightly trimmed beard on his dark, weather-beaten 
 cheeks, well-cut features, a quick, observant eye, and a 
 sailor's upward glance and bearing. The stranger saw a 
 thin, youthful, anxious, yet refined and handsome face 
 beneath straggling damp curls, and dark eyes preternaturally 
 bright with suffering. Perhaps his experienced ear, too, 
 detected some harmony with all this in Randolph's voice. 
 
 "And you want something to eat, a night's lodging, and 
 a chance of work afterward," the stranger repeated with 
 good-humored deliberation. 
 
 "Yes," said Randolph. 
 
 "You look it." 
 
 Randolph colored faintly. 
 
 " Do you ever drink ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Randolph wonderingly. 
 
 "I thought I'd ask," said the stranger, "as it might 
 play hell with you just now if you were not accustomed to 
 it. Take that. Just a swallow, you know — that 's as 
 good as a jugful.'' 
 
 He handed him a heavy flask. Randolph felt the burn- 
 ing liquor scald his throat and fire his empty stomach. The 
 stranger turned and looked down the vacant wharf to the 
 darkness from which he came. Then he turned to Ran- 
 dolph again and said abruptly, — 
 
 " Strong enough to carry this bag ? " 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 9 
 
 " Yes, " said Eandolph. The whiskey — possibly the re- 
 lief — had given him new strength. Besides, he might 
 earn his alms. 
 
 " Take it up to room 74, Niantic Hotel — top of next 
 street to this, one block that way — and wait till I come. " 
 
 " What name shall I say ? " asked Eandolph. 
 
 "Needn't say any. I ordered the room a week ago. 
 Stop; there's the key. Go in; change your togs; you'll 
 find something in that bag that '11 fit you. Wait for me. 
 Stop — no; you 'd better get some grub there first." He 
 fumbled in his pockets, but fruitlessly. "No matter. 
 You '11 find a buckskin purse, with some scads in it, in the 
 bag. So long." And before Eandolph could thank him, 
 he lurched away again into the semi-darkness of the wharf. 
 
 Overflowing with gratitude at a hospitality so like that 
 of his reckless brethren of the mines, Eandolph picked up 
 the portmanteau and started for the hotel. He walked 
 warily now, with a new interest in life, and then, sud- 
 denly thinking of his own miraculous escape, he paused, 
 wondering if he ought not to warn his benefactor of the 
 perils of the rotten wharf ; but he had already disappeared. 
 The bag was not heavy, but he found that in his exhausted 
 state this new exertion was telling, and he was glad when 
 he reached the hotel. Equally glad was he in his dripping 
 clothes to slip by the porter, and with the key in his 
 pocket ascend unnoticed to 74. 
 
 Yet had his experience been larger he might have spared 
 himself that sensitiveness. For the hotel was one of those 
 great caravansaries popular with the returning miner. It 
 received him and his gold dust in his worn-out and bedrag- 
 gled working clothes, and returned him the next day as a 
 well-dressed citizen on Montgomery Street. It was hard 
 indeed to recognize the unshaven, unwashed, and unkempt 
 "arrival" one met on the principal staircase at night in 
 the scrupulously neat stranger one sat opposite to at break- 
 
10 TRENT'S TEUST 
 
 fast the next morning. In this daily whirl of mutation all 
 identity was swamped, as Randolph learned to know. 
 
 At present, finding himself in a comfortable bedroom, 
 his first act was to change his wet clothes, which in the 
 warmer temperature and the decline of his feverishness now 
 began to chill him. He opened the portmanteau and found 
 a complete suit of clothing, evidently a foreign make, well 
 preserved, as if for "shore-going." His pride would have 
 preferred a humbler suit as lessening his obligation, but 
 there was no other. He discovered the purse, a chamois 
 leather bag such as miners and travelers carried, which con- 
 tained a dozen gold pieces and some paper notes. Taking 
 from it a single coin to defray the expenses of a meal, he 
 restrapped the bag, and leaving the key in the door lock 
 for the benefit of his returning host, made his way to the 
 dining room. 
 
 For a moment he was embarrassed when the waiter ap- 
 proached him inquisitively, but it was only to learn the 
 number of his room to " charge " the meal. He ate it 
 quickly, but not voraciously, for his appetite had not yet 
 returned, and he was eager to get back to the room and see 
 the stranger again and return to him the coin which was no 
 longer necessary. 
 
 But the stranger had not yet arrived when he reached 
 the room. Over an hour had elapsed since their strange 
 meeting. A new fear came upon him: was it possible he 
 had mistaken the hotel, and his benefactor was awaiting 
 him elsewhere, perhaps even beginning to suspect not only 
 his gratitude but his honesty ! The thought made him 
 hot again, but he was helpless. Not knowing the stranger's 
 name, he could not inquire without exposing his situation 
 to the landlord. But again, there was the key, and it was 
 scarcely possible that it fitted another 74 in another hotel. 
 He did not dare to leave the room, but sat by the window, 
 peering through the streaming panes into the storm-swept 
 
TKENT'S TRUST 11 
 
 street below. Gradually the fatigue his excitement had 
 hitherto kept away began to overcome him; his eyes once 
 or twice closed during his vigil, his head nodded against 
 the pane. He rose and walked up and down the room to 
 shake off his drowsiness. Another hour passed — nine 
 o'clock, blown in fitful, far-ofif strokes from some wind- 
 rocked steeple. Still no stranger. How inviting the bed 
 looked to his weary eyes! The man had told him he 
 wanted rest; he could lie down on the bed in his clothes 
 until he came. He would waken quickly and be ready for 
 his benefactor's directions. It was a great temptation. He 
 yielded to it. His head had scarcely sunk upon the pillow 
 before he slipped into a profound and dreamless sleep. 
 
 He awoke with a start, and for a few moments lay 
 vaguely staring at the sunbeams that stretched across his 
 bed before he could recall himself. The room was exactly 
 as before, the portmanteau strapped and pushed under the 
 table as he had left it. There came a tap at the door — 
 the chambermaid to do up the room. She had been there 
 once already, but seeing him asleep, she had forborne to 
 wake him. Apparently the spectacle of a gentleman lying 
 on the bed fully dressed, even to his boots, was not an 
 unusual one at that hotel, for she made no comment. It 
 was twelve o'clock, but she would come again later. 
 
 He was bewildered. He had slept the round of the 
 clock — that was natural after his fatigue — but where was 
 his benefactor? The lateness of the time forbade the con- 
 clusion that he had merely slept elsewhere; he would as- 
 suredly have returned by this time to claim his portman- 
 teau. The portmanteau ! He unstrapped it and examined 
 the contents again. They were undisturbed as he had left 
 them the night before. There was a further change of 
 linen, the buckskin bag, which he could see now contained 
 a couple of Bank of England notes, with some foreign gold 
 mixed with American half-eagles, and a cheap, rough 
 
12 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 memorandum book clasped witli elastic, containing a letter 
 in a boyish hand addressed "Dear Daddy" and signed 
 "Bobby," and a photograph of a boy taken by a foreign 
 photographer at Callao, as the printed back denoted, but no- 
 thing giving any clue whatever to the name of the owner. 
 
 A strange idea seized him: did the portmanteau really 
 belong to the man who had given it to him 1 Had he been 
 the innocent receiver of stolen goods from some one who 
 wished to escape detection 1 He recalled now that he had 
 heard stories of robbery of luggage by thieves — " Sydney 
 ducks" — on the deserted wharves, and remembered, too, 
 — he could not tell why the thought had escaped him be- 
 fore, — that the man had spoken with an English accent. 
 But the next moment he recalled his frank and open man- 
 ner, and his mind cleared of all unworthy suspicion. It 
 was more than likely that his benefactor had taken this 
 delicate way of making a free, permanent gift for that tem- 
 porary service. Yet he smiled faintly at the return of that 
 youthful optimism which had caused him so much suffering. 
 
 Nevertheless, something must be done: he must try to 
 find the man; still more important, he must seek work be- 
 fore this dubious loan was further encroached upon. He 
 restrapped the portmanteau and replaced it under the table, 
 locked the door, gave the key to the oifice clerk, saying 
 that any one who called upon him was to await his return, 
 and sallied forth. A fresh wind and a blue sky of scud- 
 ding clouds were all that remained of last night's storm. 
 As he made his way to the fateful wharf, still deserted 
 except by an occasional " wharf -rat, " — as the longshore 
 Vagrant or petty thief was called, — he wondered at his own 
 temerity of last night, and the trustfulness of his friend in 
 yielding up his portmanteau to a stranger in such a place. A 
 iow drinking saloon, feebly disguised as a junk shop, stood 
 at the corner, with slimy green steps leading to the water. 
 
 The wharf was slowly decaying, and here and there were 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 13 
 
 occasional gaps in the planking, as dangerous as the one 
 from which he had escaped the night hefore. He thought 
 again of the warning he might have given to the stranger; 
 hut he reflected that as a seafaring man he must have been 
 familiar with the locality where he had landed. But had 
 he landed there? To Randolph's astonishment, there was 
 no sign or trace of any late occupation of the wharf, and 
 the ship whose crossyards he had seen dimly through the 
 darkness the night hefore was no longer there. She might 
 have " warped out " in the early morning, but there was no 
 trace of her in the stream or offing beyond. A bark and 
 brig quite dismantled at an adjacent wharf seemed to accent 
 the loneliness. Beyond, the open channel between him 
 and Verba Buena Island was racing with white-maned seas 
 and sparkling in the shifting sunbeams. The scudding 
 clouds above him drove down the steel-blue sky. The 
 lateen sails of the Italian fishing boats were like shreds 
 of cloud, too, blown over the blue and distant bay. His 
 ears sang, his eyes blinked, his pulses throbbed, with the 
 untiring, fierce activity of a San Francisco day. 
 
 With something of its restlessness he hurried back to 
 the hotel. Still the stranger was not there, and no one 
 had called for him. The room had been put in order; the 
 portmanteau, that sole connecting link with his last night's 
 experience, was under the table. He drew it out again, 
 and again subjected it to a minute examination. A few 
 toilet articles, not of the best quality, which he had over- 
 looked at first, the linen, the buckskin purse, the memo- 
 randum book, and the suit of clothes he stood in, still com- 
 prised all he knew of his benefactor. He counted the 
 money in the purse ; it amounted, with the Bank of Eng- 
 land notes, to about seventy dollars, as he could roughly 
 guess. There was a scrap of paper, the torn-off margin of 
 a newspaper, lying in the purse, with an address hastily 
 scribbled in pencil. It gave, however, no name, only a 
 
14 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 number: "85 California Street." It might be a clue. He 
 put it, with the purse, carefully in his pocket, and after 
 hurriedly partaking of his forgotten breakfast, again started 
 out. 
 
 He presently found himself in the main thoroughfare of 
 last night, which he now knew to be Montgomery Street. 
 It was more thronged than then, but he failed to be im- 
 pressed, as then, with the selfish activity of the crowd. 
 Yet he was half conscious that his own brighter fortune, 
 more decent attire, and satisfied hunger had something to 
 do with this change, and he glanced hurriedly at the drug- 
 gist's broad plate-glass windows, with a faint hope that the 
 young girl whose amused pity he had awakened might be 
 there again. He found California Street quickly, and in 
 a few moments he stood before No. 85. He was a little dis- 
 turbed to find it a rather large building, and that it bore 
 the inscription "Bank." Then came the usual shock to 
 his mercurial temperament, and for the first time he began 
 to consider the absurd hopelessness of his clue. 
 
 He, however, entered desperately, and approaching the 
 window of the receiving teller, put the question he had 
 formulated in his mind : Could they give him any informa- 
 tion concerning a customer or correspondent who had just 
 arrived in San Francisco and was putting up at the Niantic 
 Hotel, room 74? He felt his face flushing, but, to his 
 astonishment, the clerk manifested no surprise. "And you 
 don't know his name? " said the clerk quietly. "Wait a 
 moment." He moved away, and Randolph saw him speak- 
 ing to one of the other clerks, who consulted a large regis- 
 ter. In a few minutes he returned. "We don't have 
 many customers," he began politely, "who leave only their 
 hotel-room addresses, " when he was interrupted by a mum- 
 bling protest from one of the other clerks. "That 's very 
 different," he replied to his fellow clerk, and then turned 
 to Randolph. "I'm afraid we cannot help you ; but I '11 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 15 
 
 make other inquiries if you '11 come back in ten minutes. " 
 Satisfied to be relieved from the present perils of his ques- 
 tioning, and doubtful of returning, Randolph turned away. 
 But as he left the building he saw a written notice on the 
 swinging door, "Wanted: a Night Porter ;" and this one 
 chance of employment determined his return. 
 
 When he again presented himself at the window the 
 clerk motioned him to step inside through a lifted rail. 
 Here he found himself confronted by the clerk and another 
 man, distinguished by a certain air of authority, a keen 
 gray eye, and singularly compressed lips set in a closely 
 clipped beard. The clerk indicated him deferentially but 
 briefly — everybody was astonishingly brief and business- 
 like there — as the president. The president absorbed and 
 possessed Randolph with eyes that never seemed to leave 
 him. Then leaning back against the counter, which he 
 lightly grasped with both hands, he said: "We 've sent to 
 the Niantic Hotel to inquire about your man. He ordered 
 his room by letter, giving no name. He arrived there on 
 time last night, slept there, and has occupied the room No. 
 74 ever since. We don't know him from Adam, but" — 
 his eyes never left Randolph's — "from the description the 
 landlord gave our clerk, you 're the man himself." 
 
 For an instant Randolph flushed crimson. The natural 
 mistake of the landlord flashed upon him, his own stupid- 
 ity in seeking this information, the suspicious predicament 
 in which he was now placed, and the necessity of telling 
 the whole truth. But the president's eye was at once a 
 threat and an invitation. He felt himself becoming sud- 
 denly cool, and, with a business brevity equal to theii 
 own, said : — 
 
 "T was looking for work last night on the wharf. He 
 employed me to carry his bag to the hotel, saying I was 
 to wait for him. I have waited since nine o'clock last 
 night in his room, and he has not come," 
 
16 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 "What are you in such a d d hurry for? He's 
 
 trusted you ; can't you trust him ? You 've got his bag? " 
 returned the president. 
 
 Randolph was silent for a moment. "I want to know 
 what to do with it," he said. 
 
 " Hang on to it. What 's in it ? " 
 
 " Some clothes and a purse containing about seventy dol- 
 lars." 
 
 " That ought to pay you for carrying it and storage after- 
 ward," said the president decisively. "What made you 
 come here ? " 
 
 "I found this address in the purse," said Eandolph, pro- 
 ducing it. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And that 's the only reason you came here, to find an 
 owner for that bag ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The president disengaged himself from the counter. 
 
 "I'm sorry to have given you so much trouble," said 
 Eandolph concludingly. "Thank you and good-morning." 
 
 " Good-morning. " 
 
 As Randolph turned away he remembered the advertise- 
 ment for the night watchman. He hesitated and turned 
 back. He was a little surprised to find that the president 
 had not gone away, but was looking after him. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but I see you want a night watch- 
 man. Could I do ? " said Randolph resolutely. 
 
 "No. You're a stranger here, and we want some one 
 who knows the city, — Dewslake, " he returned to the re- 
 ceiving teller, " who 's taken Larkin's place ? " 
 
 "No one yet," returned the teller, "but," he added par- 
 enthetically, "Judge Boompointer. you know, was speak- 
 ing to you about his son. " 
 
 "Yes, I know that." To Randolph: "Go round to mj 
 
TRENT'S TRUST IT 
 
 private room and -wait for me. I won't be as long as your 
 friend last night." Then he added to a negro porter, 
 'Show him round there." 
 
 He moved away, stopping at one or two desks to give 
 an order to the clerks, and once before the railing to speak 
 to a depositor. Eandolph followed the negro into the hall, 
 through a "board room," and into a handsomely furnished 
 office. He had not to wait long. In a few moments the 
 president appeared with an older man whose gray side 
 whiskers, cut with a certain precision, and whose black 
 and white checked neckerchief, tied in a formal bow, pro- 
 claimed the English respectability of the period. At the 
 president's dictation he took down Randolph's name, na- 
 tivity, length of residence, and occupation in California. 
 This concluded, the president, glancing at his companion, 
 said briefly, — 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "He had better come to-morrow morning at nine," was 
 the answer. 
 
 "And ask for Mr. Dingwall, the deputy manager," 
 added the president, with a gesture that was at once an 
 introduction and a dismissal to both. 
 
 Eandolph had heard before of this startling brevity of 
 San Francisco business detail, yet he lingered until the 
 door closed on Mr. Dingwall. His heart was honestly 
 full. 
 
 "You have been very kind, sir," he stammered. 
 
 "I haven't run half the risks of that chap last night," 
 said the president grimly, the least tremor of a smile on 
 his set mouth. 
 
 "If you would only let me know what I can do to thank 
 jrou," persisted Eandolph. 
 
 "Trust the man that trusts you, and hang on to your 
 trust," returned the president curtly, with a parting nod. 
 
 Elated and filled with high hopes as Eandolph was, he 
 
18 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 felt some trepidation in returning to his hotel. He had to 
 face his landlord with some explanation of the bank's in- 
 quiry. The landlord might consider him an impostor, and 
 request him to leave, or, more dreadful still, insist upon 
 keeping the bag. He thought of the parting words of the 
 president, and resolved upon "hanging on to his trust," 
 whatever happened. But he was agreeably surprised to 
 find that he was received at the office with a certain respect 
 not usually shown to the casual visitor. "Your caller 
 turned up to-day " — Eandolph started — "from the Eureka 
 Bank," continued the clerk. "Sorry we could not give 
 your name, but you know you only left a deposit in your 
 letter and sent a messenger for your key yesterday after- 
 noon. When you came you went straight to your loom. 
 Perhaps you would like to register now." Randolph no 
 longer hesitated, reflecting that he could explain it all later 
 to his unknown benefactor, and wrote his name boldly. 
 But he was still more astonished when the clerk continued: 
 " I reckon it was a case of identifying you for a draft — it 
 often happens here — and we 'd have been glad to do it 
 for you. But the bank clerk seemed satisfied with our 
 description of you — you 're easily described, you know " 
 (this in a parenthesis, complimentarily intended) — " so 
 it 's ail right. We can give you a better room lower down, 
 if you 're going to stay longer." Not knowing whether to 
 laugh or to be embarrassed at this extraordinary conclusion 
 of the blunder, Eandolph answered that he had just come 
 from the bank, adding, with a pardonable touch of youtli- 
 ful pride, that he was entering the bank's employment tlie 
 next day. 
 
 Another equally agreeable surprise met him on his arrival 
 there the next morning. Without any previous examina- 
 tion or trial he was installed at once as a corresponding 
 clerk in the place of one just promoted to a sub-agency in 
 the interior. His handwriting, his facility of composition. 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 19 
 
 had all been taken for granted, or perhaps predicated upon 
 something the president had discerned in that one quick, 
 absorbing glance. He ventured to express the thought tc 
 his neighbor. 
 
 "The boss," said that gentleman, "can size a man in 
 and out, and all through, in about the time it would take 
 you and me to tell the color of his hair. He don't make 
 mistakes, you bet ; but old Dingy — the dep — you settled 
 ■with your clothes." 
 
 "My clothes! " echoed Eandolph, with a faint flush. 
 
 "Yes, English cut — that fetched him." 
 
 And so his work began. His liberal salary, which 
 seemed to him munificent in comparison with his previoub 
 earnings in the mines, enabled him to keep the contents of 
 the buckskin purse intact, and presently to return the bor- 
 rowed suit of clothes to the portmanteau. The mysterious 
 owner should find everything as when he first placed it in 
 his hands. With the quick mobility of youth and his own 
 rather mercurial nature, he had begun to forget, or perhaps 
 to be a little ashamed of his keen emotions and sufferings 
 the night of his arrival, until that night was recalled to 
 him in a singular way. 
 
 One Sunday a vague sense of duty to his still missing 
 benefactor impelled him to spend part of his holiday upon 
 the wharves. He had rambled away among the shipping 
 at the newer pier slips, and had gazed curiously upon decks 
 where a few seamen or officers in their Sunday apparel 
 smoked, paced, or idled, trying vainly to recognize the face 
 and figure which had once briefly flashed out under the 
 flickering wharf lamp. Was the stranger a shipmaster who 
 had suddenly transferred himself to another vessel on an- 
 other voyage ? A crowd which had gathered around some 
 landing steps nearer shore presently attracted his attention. 
 He lounged toward it and looked over the shoulders of the 
 bystanders down upon the steps. A boat was lying there, 
 
20 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 which had just towed in the hody of a man found fioating 
 on the water. Its features were already swollen and defaced 
 like a hideous mask ; its hody distended heyond all propor- 
 tion, even to the bursting of its sodden clothing. A tremu- 
 lous fascination came over Randolph as he gazed. The by- 
 standers made their brief comments, a few authoritatively 
 and with the air of nautical experts. 
 
 "Been in the water about a week, I reckon." 
 
 '"Bout that time; just rucked up and floated with the 
 tide." 
 
 "Not much chance o' spottin' him by his looks, eh?" 
 
 "Nor anything else, you bet. Eeg'larly cleaned out. 
 Look at his pockets." 
 
 " Wharf -rats or shanghai men ? " 
 
 " Betwixt and between, I reckon. Man who found him 
 says he 's got an ugly cut just back of his head. Ye can't 
 see it for his floating hair." 
 
 " Wonder if he got it before or after he got in the water. " 
 
 "That 's for the coroner to say." 
 
 "Much he knows or cares," said another cynically. 
 "It '11 just be a case of ' Found drowned ' and the regular 
 twenty-five dollars to him, and five to the man who found 
 the body. That 's enough for. him to know." 
 
 Thrilled with a vague anxiety, Eandolph edged forward 
 for a nearer view of the wretched derelict still gently un- 
 dulating on the towline. The closer he looked the more 
 he was impressed by the idea of some frightful mask that 
 hid a face that refused to be recognized. But his attention 
 became fixed on a man who was giving some advice or 
 orders and examining the body scrutinizingly. Without 
 knowing why, Randolph felt a sudden aversion to him, 
 which was deepened when the man, lifting his head, met 
 Randolph's eyes with a pair of shifting yet aggressive ones. 
 He bore, nevertheless, an odd, weird likeness to the miss- 
 ing man Randolph was seeking, which strangely troubled 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 21 
 
 him. As the stranger's eyes followed him and lingered 
 with a singular curiosity on Eandolph's dress, he remem- 
 bered with a sudden alarm that he was wearing the suit of 
 the missing man. A quick impulse to conceal himself came 
 upon him, hut he as quickly conquered it, and returned 
 the man's cold stare with an anger he could not account for, 
 but which made the stranger avert his eyes. Then the 
 man got into the boat beside the boatman, and the two 
 again toM'ed away the corpse. The head rose and fell with 
 the swell, as if nodding a farewell. But it was still defi- 
 ant, under its shapeless mask, that even wore a smile, as if 
 triumphant in its hideous secret. 
 
 II 
 
 The opinion of the cynical bystander on the wharf 
 proved to be a correct one. The coroner's jury brought in 
 the usual verdict of " Found drowned, " which was followed 
 by the usual newspaper comment upon the insecurity of 
 the wharves and the inadequate protection of the police. 
 
 Randolph Trent read it with conflicting emotions. The 
 possibility he had conceived of the corpse being that of his 
 benefactor was dismissed when he had seen its face, al- 
 though he was sometimes tortured with doubt, and a wonder 
 if he might not have learned more by attending the in- 
 quest. And there was still the suggestion that the myste- 
 rious disappearance might have been accomplished by vio- 
 lence like this. He was satisiied that if he had attempted 
 publicly to identify the corpse as his missing friend he 
 would have laid himself open to suspicion with a story he 
 could hardly corroborate. 
 
 He had once thought of confiding his doubts to Mr. 
 Eevelstoke, the bank president, but he had a dread of that 
 gentleman's curt conclusions and remembered his injunction 
 to "hang on to his trust." Since his installation, Mr. 
 Eevelstoke had merely acknowledged his presence by a 
 
22 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 good-humored nod now and then, although Randolph had 
 an instinctive feeling that he was perfectly informed as to 
 his progress. It was wiser for Randolph to confine him- 
 self strictly to his duty and keep his own counsel. 
 
 Yet he was young, and it was not strange that in his 
 idle moments his thoughts sometimes reverted to the 
 pretty girl he had seen on the night of his arrival, nor that 
 ho should wish to parade his better fortune before hei 
 curious eyes. Neither was it strange that in this city, 
 whose day-long sunshine brought every one into the public 
 streets, he should presently have that opportunity. It 
 chanced that one afternoon, being in the residential quarter, 
 he noticed a well-dressed young girl walking before him in 
 company with a delicate looking boy of seven or eight 
 years. Something in the carriage of her graceful figure, 
 something in a certain consciousness and ostentation of co- 
 quetry toward her youthful escort, attracted his attention. 
 Yet it struck him that she was neither related to the child 
 nor accustomed to children's ways, and that she somewhat, 
 unduly emphasized this to the passers-by, particularly those 
 of his own sex, who seemed to be greatly attracted by her 
 evident beauty. Presently she ascended the steps of a 
 handsome dwelling, evidently their home, and as she 
 turned he saw her face. It* was the girl he remembered. 
 As her eye caught his, he blushed with the consciousness 
 of their former meeting; yet, in the very embarrassment 
 of the moment, he lifted his hat in recognition. But the 
 salutation was met only by a cold, critical stare. Ran- 
 dolph bit his lip and passed on. His reason told him she 
 was right, his instinct told him she was unfair; the con- 
 tradiction fascinated him. 
 
 Yet he was destined to see her again. A month later, 
 while seated at his desk, which overlooked the teller's 
 counter, he was startled to see her enter the bank and 
 approach the counter. She was already withdrawing a 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 23 
 
 glove from hej little hand, ready to affix her signature to 
 the receipted form to be proffered by the teller. As she 
 received the gold in exchange, he could see, by the in- 
 creased politeness of that official, his evident desire to pro- 
 long the transaction, and the sidelong glances of his fellow 
 clerks, that she was apparently no stranger but a recognized 
 object of admiration. Although her face was slightly 
 flushed at the moment, Randolph observed that she wore 
 a certain proud reserve, which he half hoped was intended 
 as a check to these attentions. Her eyes were fixed upon 
 the counter, and this gave him a brief opportunity to study 
 her delicate beauty. For in a few moments she was gone ; 
 whether she had in her turn observed him he could not 
 say. Presently he rose and sauntered, with what he be- 
 lieved was a careless air, toward the paying teller's counter 
 and the receipt, which, being the last, was plainly exposed 
 on the file of that day's "taking." He was startled by a 
 titter of laughter from the clerks and by the teller ironi- 
 cally lifting the file and placing it before him. 
 
 "That 's her name, soiiny, but I did n't think that you 'd 
 tumble to it quite as quick as the others. Every new man 
 manages to saunter round here to get a sight of that re- 
 ceipt, and I 've seen hoary old depositors outside edge 
 around inside, pretendin' they wanted to see the dep, jest 
 to feast their eyes on that girl's name. Take a good look 
 at it and paste a copy in your hat, for that 's all you '11 
 know of her, you bet. Perhaps you think she 's put her 
 address aild her ' at home ' days on the receipt. Look 
 hard and maybe you '11 see 'em." 
 
 The instinct of youthful retaliation to say he knew her 
 address already stirred Eandolph, but he shut his lips in 
 time, and moved away. His desk neighbor informed him 
 that the young lady came there once a month and drew a 
 hundred dollars from some deposit to her credit, but that 
 was all they knew. Her name was Caroline Avondale, 
 
24 TRENT'S TEUST 
 
 yet there was no one of that name in the San Francisco 
 Directory. 
 
 But Eandolph's romantic curiosity would not allow the 
 incident to rest there. A favorable impression he had pro- 
 duced on Mr. Dingwall enabled him to learn more, and 
 precipitated what seemed to him a singular discovery. 
 "You will find," said the deputy manager, "the statement 
 of the first deposit to Miss Avondale's credit in letters in 
 your own department. The account was opened two years 
 ago through a South American banker. But I am afraid it 
 will not satisfy your curiosity." Nevertheless, Randolph 
 remained after office hours and spent some time in examin- 
 ing the correspondence of two years ago. He was rewarded 
 at last by a banker's letter from Callao advising the remit- 
 tance of one thousand dollars to the credit of Miss Avon- 
 dale of San Francisco. The letter was written in Spanish, 
 of which Randolph had a fair knowledge, but it was made 
 plainer by a space having been left in the formal letter for 
 the English name, which was written in another hand, to- 
 gether with a copy of Miss Avondale's signature for iden- 
 tification — the usual proceeding in those early days, when 
 personal identification was difiicult to travelers, emigrants, 
 and visitors in a land of strangers. 
 
 But here he was struck by a singular resemblance which 
 he at first put down to mere coincidence of names. The 
 child's photograph which he had found in the portmanteau 
 was taken at Callao. That was a mere coincidence, but it 
 suggested to his mind a more singular one — thafthe hand- 
 writing of the address was, in some odd fashion, familiar 
 to him. That night when he went home he opened the 
 portmanteau and took from the purse the scrap of paper 
 with the written address of the bank, and on comparing it 
 with the banker's letter the next day be was startled to 
 find that the handwriting of the bank's address and that 
 in which the girl's name was introduced in the banker's 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 25 
 
 letter were apparently the same. The letters in the words 
 " Caroline " and " California " appeared as if formed by the 
 same hand. How this might have struck a chirographical 
 expert he did not know. He could not consult the paying 
 teller, who was supposed to be familiar with signatures, 
 without exposing his secret and himself to ridicule. And, 
 after all, what did it prove ? Nothing. Even if this girl 
 were cognizant of the man who supplied her address to the 
 Callao banker two years ago, and he was really the missing 
 owner of the portmanteau, would she know where he was 
 now? It might make an opening for conversation if he 
 ever met her familiarly, but nothing more. Yet I am 
 afraid another idea occasionally took possession of Kan- 
 dolph's romantic fancy. It was pleasant to think that the 
 patron of his own fortunes might be in some mysterious 
 way the custodian of hers. The money was placed to her 
 credit — a liberal sum for a girl so young. The large 
 house in which she lived was sufficient to prove to t" op- 
 timistic Randolph that this income was something personal 
 and distinct from her family. That his unknown bene- 
 factor was in the habit of mysteriously rewarding deserving 
 merit after the fashion of a marine fairy godmother, I fear 
 did not strike him as being ridiculous. 
 
 But an unfortunate query in that direction, addressed to 
 a cynical fellow clerk, who had the exhaustive experience 
 with the immature mustaches of twenty-three, elicited a 
 reply which shocked him. To his indignant protest the 
 young man continued : — 
 
 "Look here; a girl like that who draws money regularly 
 from some man who does n't show up by name, who comes 
 for it herself, and hasn't any address, and calls herself 
 ' Avondale ' — only an innocent from Dutch Hat, like you, 
 would swallow." 
 
 "Impossible," said Randolph indignantly. "Anybody 
 could see she 's a lady by her dress and bearing." 
 
26 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 "Dress and bearing!" echoed the clerk, with the deri- 
 sion of blase youth. " If that 's your test, you ought to 
 see Florry ." 
 
 But here one may safely leave the young gentleman as 
 abruptly as Randolph did. Yet a drop of this corrosivi 
 criticism irritated his sensitiveness, and it was not until he 
 recalled his last meeting with her and her innocent escort 
 that he was himself again. Fortunately, he did not relate 
 it to the critic, who would in all probability have added a 
 precocious motherhood to the young lady's possible qualities. 
 
 He could now only look forward to her reappearance at 
 the bank, and here he was destined to a more serious dis- 
 appointment. For when she made her customary appear- 
 ance at the counter, he noticed a certain businesslike grav- 
 ity in the paying teller's reception of her, and that he was 
 consulting a small register before him instead of handing 
 her the usual receipt form. "Perhaps you are unaware, 
 Miss^vondale, that your account is overdrawn," Randolph 
 distinctly heard him say, although in a politely lowered 
 voice. 
 
 The young girl stopped in taking off her glove ; her deli- 
 cate face expressed her wonder, and paled slightly; she cast 
 a quick and apparently involuntary glance in the direction 
 of Randolph, but said quietly, — 
 
 "I don't think I understand." 
 
 " I thought you did not — ladies so seldom do, " contin- 
 ued the paying teller suavely. "But there are no funds 
 to your credit. Has not your banker or correspondent 
 advised you ? " 
 
 The girl evidently did not comprehend. "I have nc 
 correspondent or banker," she said. "I mean — I have 
 heard nothing." 
 
 " The original credit was opened from Callao, " continued 
 the official, "but since then it has been added to by drafts 
 from Melbourne. There may be one nearly due now." 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 27 
 
 The young girl seemed scarcely to comprehend, yet her 
 face remained pale and thoughtful. It was not until the 
 paying teller resumed with suggestive politeness that she 
 roused herself: "If you would like to see the president, 
 he might ohlige you until you hear from your friends. Of 
 course, my duty is simply to " — 
 
 "I don't think I require you to exceed it," returned the 
 young girl quietly, "or that I wish to see the president." 
 Her delicate little face was quite set with resolution and a 
 mature dignity, albeit it was still pale, as she drew away 
 from the counter. 
 
 "If you would leave your address," continued the offi- 
 cial with persistent politeness, "we could advise you of 
 any later deposit to your credit." 
 
 "It is hardly necessary," returned the young lady. "I 
 should learn it myself, and call again. Thank you. Good- 
 morning." And settling her veil over her face, she quietly 
 passed out. 
 
 The pain and indignation with which Randolph over- 
 heard this colloquy he could with the greatest difficulty 
 conceal. For one wild moment he had thought of calling 
 her back while he made a personal appeal to Revelstoke; 
 but the conviction borne in upon him by her resolute bear- 
 ing that she would refuse it, and he would only lay himself 
 open to another rebuff, held him to his seat. Yet he could 
 not entirely repress his youthful indignation. 
 
 "Where I come from," he said in an audible voice to his 
 neighbor, " a young lady like that would have been spared 
 this public disappointment. A dozen men would have 
 made up that sum and let her go without knowing any- 
 thing about her account being overdrawn." And he really 
 believed it. 
 
 "Nice, comf'able way of doing banking business in 
 Dutcli Flat," returned the cynic. "And I suppose you 'd 
 have kept it up every month 1 Eather a tall price to pay 
 
28 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 for looking at a pretty girl once a month! But I suppose 
 they 're scarcer up there than here. All the same, it ain't 
 too late now. Start up your subscription right here, soimy, 
 and we '11 all ante up." 
 
 But Eandolph, who seldom followed his heroics to their 
 ultimate prosaic conclusions, regretted he had spoken, al- 
 though still imconvinced. Happily for his temper, he die' 
 not hear the comment of the two tellers. 
 
 "Won't see her again, old boy," said one. 
 
 "I reckon not," returned the other, "now that she s 
 been chucked by her fancy man — imtil she gets another. 
 But cheer up; a girl like that won't want friends long." 
 
 It is not probable that either of these young gentlemen 
 believed what they said, or would have been personally 
 disrespectful or uncivil to any woman; they were fairly 
 decent young fellows, but the rigors of business demanded 
 this appearance of worldly wisdom between themselves. 
 Meantime, for a week after, Eandolph indulged in wild 
 fancies of taking his benefactor's capital of seventy dollars, 
 adding thirty to it from his own hard-earned savings, buy- 
 ing a draft with it from the bank for one hundred dollars, 
 and in some mysterious way getting it to Miss Avondaie as 
 the delayed remittance. 
 
 The brief wet winter was nearly spent; the long dry 
 season was due, although there was still the rare beauty of 
 cloud scenery in the steel-blue sky, and the sudden return 
 of quick but transient showers. It was on a Sunday of 
 weather like this that the nature-loving Eandolph extended 
 his usual holiday excursion as far as Contra Costa by the 
 steamer after his dutiful round of the wharves and ship- 
 ping. It was with a gayety born equally of his youth and 
 the weather that he overcame his constitutional shyness, 
 and not only mingled without restraint among the pleasure- 
 seekers that thronged the crowded boat, but, in the con- 
 sciousness of his good looks and a new suit of clothes, even 
 
Trent's trust 29' 
 
 penetrated into the aristocratic seclusion of the "ladies' 
 cabin " — sacred to the fair sex and their attendant swains 
 or chaperones. 
 
 But he found every seat occupied, and was turning away, 
 when he suddenly recognized Miss Avondale sitting beside 
 her little escort. She appeared, however, in a somewhat 
 constrained attitude, sustaining with one hand the boy, 
 who had clambered on the seat. He was looking out of 
 the cabin window, which she was also trying to do, with 
 greater difficulty on account of her position. He could see 
 her profile presented with such marked persistency that he 
 was satisfied she had seen him and was avoiding him. He 
 turned and left the cabin. 
 
 Yet, once on the deck again, he repented his haste. 
 Perhaps she had not actually recognized him; perhaps she 
 wished to avoid him only because she was in plainer clothes 
 — a circumstance that, with his knowledge of her changed 
 fortunes, struck him to the heart. It seemed to him that 
 even as a humble employee of the bank he was in some 
 way responsible for it, and wondered if she associated him 
 with her humiliation. He longed to speak with her and 
 assure her of his sympathy, and yet he was equally conscious 
 that she would reject it. 
 
 When the boat reached the Alameda wharf she slipped 
 away with the other passengers. He wandered about the 
 hotel garden and the main street in the hope of meeting 
 her again, although he was instinctively conscious that she 
 would not follow the lines of the usual Sunday sight-seers, 
 but had her own destination. He penetrated the depths 
 of the Alameda, and lost himself among its low, trailing 
 oaks, to no purpose. The hope of the morning had died 
 within him ; the fire of adventure was quenched, and when 
 the clouds gathered with a rising wind he felt that t^ ^ 
 promise of that day was gone. He turned to go back to 
 the ferry, but on consulting his watch he found that he 
 
so TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 had already lost so much time in his devious wanderings 
 that he must run to catch the last boat. The few drops 
 that spattered through the trees presently increased to a 
 shower; he put up his umbrella without lessening his 
 speed, and finally dashed into the main street as the last 
 bell was ringing. But at the same moment a slight, grace- 
 ful figure slipped out of the woods just ahead of him, with 
 no other protection from the pelting storm than a handker- 
 chief tied over her hat, and ran as swiftly toward the 
 wharf. It needed only one glance for Randolph to recog- 
 nize Miss Avondale. The moment had come, the opportu- 
 nity was here, and the next instant he was panting at her 
 side, with the umbrella over her head. 
 
 The girl lifted her head quickly, gave a swift look of 
 recognition, a brief smile of gratitude, and continued her 
 pace. She had not taken his arm, but had grasped the 
 handle of the umbrella, which linked them together. Not 
 a word was spoken. Two people cannot be conversational 
 or sentimental flying at the top of their speed beneath a 
 single umbrella, with a crowd of impatient passengers 
 watching and waiting for them. And I grieve to say that, 
 being a happy American crowd, there was some irreverent 
 humor. "Go it, sis! He 's gainin' on you! " "Keep it 
 up!" "Steady, sonny! Don't prance!" "No fancy 
 licks ! You were nearly over the traces that time ! " 
 "Keep up to the pole!" (i. e. the umbrella). "Don't 
 crowd her off the track! Just swing on together; you'll 
 do it." 
 
 Eandolph had glanced quickly at his companion. She 
 was laughing, yet looking at him shyly as if wondering 
 how he was taking it. The paddle wheels were beginning 
 to revolve. Another rush, and they were on board as the 
 plank was drawn in. 
 
 But they were only on the edge of a packed and seething 
 crowd. Eandolph managed, however, to force a way for 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 31 
 
 her to an angle of the paddle box, where they were compar- 
 atively alone although still exposed to the rain. She re- 
 cognized their enforced companionship by dropping her 
 grasp of the umbrella, which she had hitherto been holding 
 over him with a singular kind of mature superiority very 
 like — as Randolph felt — ''her manner to the boy. 
 
 " You have left your little friend 1 " he said, grasping at 
 the idea for a conversational opening. 
 
 "My little cousin? Yes," she said. "I left him with 
 friends. I could not bear to make him run any risk in 
 this weather. But," she hesitated half apologetically, half 
 mischievously, "perhaps I hurried you." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Eandolph quickly. "This is the last 
 boat, and I must be at the bank to-morrow morning at 
 nine." 
 
 "And I must be at the shop at eight," she said. She 
 did not speak bitterly or pointedly, nor yet v^ith the entire 
 familiarity of custom. He noticed that her dress was in- 
 deed plainer, and yet she seemed quite concerned over the 
 water-soaked state of that cheap thin silk pelerine and 
 merino skirt. A big lump was in his throat. 
 
 "Do you know," he said desperately, yet trying to 
 laugh, "that this is not the first time you have seen me 
 dripping ? " 
 
 "Yes," she returned, looking at him interestedly; "it 
 was outside of the druggist's in Montgomery Street, about 
 four months ago. You were wetter then even than you 
 are now." 
 
 "I was hungry, friendless, and penniless. Miss Avon- 
 dale." He had spoken thus abruptly in the faint hope 
 that the revelation might equalize their present condition; 
 but somehow his confession, now that it was uttered, 
 seemed exceedingly weak and impotent. Then he blun- 
 dered in a different direction. " Your eyes were the only 
 kind ones I had seen since I landed." He flushed a little, 
 
32 TKENT'S TRUST 
 
 feeling himself on insecure ground, and ended desperately: 
 "Why, when I left you, I thought of committing suicide." 
 
 " Oh, dear, not so had as that, I hope ! " she said quickly, 
 smiling kindly, yet with a certain air of mature toleration, 
 as if she were addressing her little cousin. "You only 
 fancied it. And it isn't very tomplimentary to my eyes 
 if their kindness drove you to such horrid thoughts. And 
 then what happened ? " she pursued smilingly. 
 
 "I had a joh to carry a man's bag, and it got me a 
 night's lodging and a meal," said Eandolph, almost 
 brusquely, feeling the utter collapse of his story. 
 
 " And then ? " she said encouragingly. 
 
 "I got a situation at the bank." 
 
 "Wten?" 
 
 "The next day," faltered Randolph, expecting to hear 
 her laugh. But Miss Avondale heaved the faintest sigh. 
 
 "You are very lucky," she said. 
 
 "Not so very," returned Randolph quickly, "for the 
 next time you saw me you cut me dead." 
 
 "I believe I did," she said smilingly. 
 
 " Would you mind telling me why ? " 
 
 "Are you sure you won't be angry? " 
 
 "I may be pained," said Eandolph prudently. 
 
 "I apologize for that beforehand. Well, that first night 
 I saw a young man looking very anxious, very uncomfort- 
 able, and very weak. The second time — and not very 
 long after — I saw him well dressed, lounging like any 
 other young man on a Sunday afternoon, and I believed 
 that he took the liberty of bowing to me then because I 
 had once looked at him under a misapprehension." 
 
 "Ob, Miss Avondale!" 
 
 "Then I took a more charitable view, and came to the 
 conclusion that the first night he had been drinking. But," 
 she added, with a faint smile at Randolph's lugubrious face, 
 "I apologize. And you have had your revenge; for if 2 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 33 
 
 cut you on account of j'our smart clothes, yon have tried 
 to do me a kindness on account of my plain ones." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Avondale," burst out Randolph, "if you only 
 knew how sorry and indignant I was at the bank — when 
 — you know — the other day" — he stammered. "I 
 wanted to go with you to Mr. Revelstoke, you know, who 
 had been so generous to me, and I know he would have 
 been proud to befriend you until you heard from your 
 friends. " 
 
 "And I am very glad you did nothing so foolish," said 
 the young lady seriously, " or " — with a smile — "I should 
 have been still more aggravating to you when we met. 
 The bank was quite right. Nor have I any pathetic story 
 like jrours. Some years ago my little half-cousin whom 
 you saw lost his mother and was pui in my charge by his 
 father, with a certain sum to my credit, to be expended for 
 myself and the child. I lived with an uncle, with whom, 
 for some family reasons, the child's father wns not on good 
 terms, and this money and the charge of the child were 
 therefore intrusted entirely to me; perhaps, also, because 
 Bobby and I were fond of each other and I was a friend 
 of his mother. The father was a shipmaster, always away 
 on long voyages, and has been home but once in the three 
 years I have had charge of his son. I have not heard from 
 him since. He is a good-hearted man, but of a restless, 
 roving disposition, with no domestic tastes. Why he 
 should suddenly cease to provide for my little cousin — if 
 he has done so — or if his omission means only some tem- 
 porary disaster to himself or his fortunes, I do not know. 
 My anxiety was more for the poor boy's sake than for my- 
 self, for as long as I live I can provide for him." She said 
 this without the least display of emotion, and with the 
 same mature air of also repressing any emotion on the part 
 of Randolph. But for her size and girlish figure, but for 
 the dripping tangles of her hair and her soft eyes, he would 
 
34 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 have Relieved he was talking to a haid, middle-aged 
 matron. 
 
 "Then you — he — has no friends here!" asked Ean- 
 dolph. 
 
 "No. We are all from Callao, where Bohby was born. 
 My uncle was a merchant there, who came here lately to 
 establish an agency. We lived with him in Sutter Street 
 — where you remember I was so hateful to you, " she in- 
 terpolated, with a mischievous smile — " until his enter- 
 prise failed and he was obliged to return; but I stayed 
 here with Bobby, that he might be educated in his father's 
 own tongue. It was unfortunate, perhaps," she said, with 
 a little knitting of her pretty brows, " that the remittances 
 ceased and uncle left about the same time; but, like you, 
 I was lucky, and I managed to get a place in the Empo- 
 rium. " 
 
 " The Emporium ! " repeated Eandolph in surprise. It 
 was a popular "magasin of fashion" in Montgomery 
 Street. To connect this refined girl with its garish display 
 and vulgar attendants seemed impossible. 
 
 "The Emporium," reiterated Miss Avondale simply. 
 " You see, we used to dress a good deal in Callao and had 
 the Paris fashions, and that experience was of great service 
 to me. I am now at the head of what they call the ' man- 
 tle department, ' if you please, and am looked up to as an 
 authority." She made him a mischievous bow, which had 
 the eifect of causing a trickle from the umbrella to fall 
 across his budding mustache, and another down her own 
 straight little nose — a diversion that made them laugh to- 
 gether, although Randolph secretly felt that the young 
 girl's quiet heroism was making his own trials appear ridic- 
 ulous. But her allusion to Callao and the boy's name had 
 again excited his fancy and revived his romantic dream of 
 their common benefactor. As soon as they could get a 
 more perfect shelter and furl the umbrella, he plunged into 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 35 
 
 the full story of the mysterious portmanteau and its missing 
 owner, with the strange discovery that he had made of the 
 similarity of the two handwritings. The young lady lis- 
 tened intently, eagerly, checking herself with what might 
 have heen a half smile at his enthusiasm. 
 
 "I remember the banker's letter, certainly," she said, 
 "and Captain Dornton — that was the name of Bobby's 
 father — asked me to sign my name in the body of it where 
 he had also written it with my address. But the likeness 
 of the handwriting to your slip of paper may be only a 
 fancied one. Have you shown it to any one," she said 
 quickly — "I mean, " she corrected herself as quickly, " any 
 one who is an expert 1 " 
 
 " Not the two together, " said Eandolph, explaining how 
 he had shown the paper to Mr. Eevelstoke. 
 
 But Miss Avondale had recovered herself, and laughed. 
 " That that bit of paper should have been the means of getting 
 you a situation seems to me the more wonderful occurrence. 
 Of course it is quite a coincidence that there should be a 
 child's photograph and a letter signed ' Bobby ' in the port- 
 manteau. But " — she stopped suddenly and fixed her 
 dark eyes on his — "you have seen Bobby. Surely you 
 can say if it was his likeness ? " 
 
 Eandolph was embarrassed. The fact was he had always 
 been so absorbed in her that he had hardly glanced at the 
 child. He ventured to say this, and added a little awk- 
 wardly, and coloring, that he had seen Bobby only twice. 
 
 "And you stUl have this remarkable photograph and 
 letter ? " she said, perhaps a little too carelessly. 
 
 " Yes. Would you like to see them ? " 
 
 "Very much," she returned quickly ; and then added, 
 with a laugh, "you are making me quite curious." 
 
 "If you would allow me to see you home," said Ean- 
 dolph, "we have to pass the street where my room is, 
 and," he added timidly, "I could show them to you." 
 
36 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 "Certainly," she replied, with suhlime unconsciousness 
 of the cause of his hesitation ; " that will be very nice. " 
 
 Eandolph was happy, albeit he could not help thinking 
 that she was treating him like the absent Bobby. 
 
 ■'It's only on Commercial Street, just above Montgom- 
 ery, " he went on. " We go straight up from the wharf " — 
 he stopped short here, for the bulk of a bystander, a 
 roughly clad miner, was pressing him so closely that he 
 was obliged to resist indignantly — partly from discomfort, 
 and partly from a sense that the man was overhearing him. 
 The stranger muttered a kind of apology, and moved 
 away. 
 
 " He seems to be perpetually in your way, " said Miss 
 Avondale, smiling. "He was right behind you, and you 
 nearly trod on his toes, when you bolted out of the cabin 
 this morning." 
 
 " Ah, then you did see me ! " said Randolph, forgetting 
 all else in his delight at the admission. 
 
 But Miss Avondale was not disconcerted. " Thanks to 
 your collision, I saw you both." 
 
 It was still raining when they disembarked at the wharf, 
 a little behind the other passengers, who had crowded on 
 the bow of the steamboat. It was only a block or two 
 beyond the place where Eandolph had landed that eventful 
 night. He had to pass it now; but with Miss Avondale 
 clinging to his arm, with what different feelings! The 
 rain still fell, the day was fading, but he walked in an 
 enchanted dream, of which the prosaic umbrella was the 
 mystic tent and magic pavilion. He must needs even stop 
 at the corner of the wharf, and show her the exact spot 
 where his unknown benefactor appeared. 
 
 "Coming out of the shadow like that man there," she 
 added brightly, pointing to a figure just emerging from the 
 obscurity of an overhanging warehouse. " Why, it 's your 
 friend the miner ! " 
 
TEEN']:*'S TEUST 37 
 
 Eandolph looked. It was indeed the same man, who 
 had probably reached the wharf by a cross street. 
 
 " Let us go on, do ! " said Miss Avondale, suddenly 
 tightening her hold of ^Randolph's arm in some instinctive 
 feminine alarm. "I don't like this place." 
 
 But Eandolph, with the young girl's arm clinging to 
 his, felt supremely daring. Indeed, I fear he was some- 
 what disappointed when the stranger peacefully turned into 
 the junk shop at the corner and left them to pursue their 
 way. 
 
 They at last stopped before some business offices on a 
 central thoroughfare, where Eandolph had a room on the 
 third story. When they had climbed the flight of stairs 
 he unlocked a door and disclosed a good-sized apartment 
 which had been intended for an office, but which was now 
 neatly furnished a:s a study and bedroom. Miss Avondale 
 smiled at the singular combination. 
 
 "I should fancy," she said, "you would never feel as 
 if you had quite left the bank behind you." Yet, with 
 her air of protection and mature experience, she at once 
 began to move one or two articles of furniture into a more 
 tasteful position, 'vyhile Eandolph, nevertheless a little 
 embarrassed at his audacity in asking this goddess into 
 his humble abode, hurriedly unlocked a closet, brought 
 out the portmanteau, and handed her the letter and photo- 
 
 Woman-like, Miss Avondale looked at the picture first. 
 If she experienced any surprise, she repressed it. "It is 
 like Bobby," she said meditatively, "but he was stouter 
 then; and he's changed sadly since he has been in this 
 climate. I don't wonder you did n't recognize him. His 
 father may have had it taken some day when they were 
 alone together. I did n't know of it, though I know the 
 photographer." She then looked at the letter, knit her 
 pretty brows, and with an abstracted air sat down on the 
 
38 TRENT'S TKTTST 
 
 edge of Randolph's bed, crossed her little feet, and looked 
 puzzled. But he was unable to detect the least emotion. 
 
 "You see," she said, "the handwriting of most children 
 who are learning to write is very much alike, for this is the 
 stage of development when they ' print. ' And their com- 
 position is the same : they talk only of things that interest 
 all children — pets, toys, and their games. This is only 
 any child's letter to any father. I couldn't really say it 
 was Bobby's. As to the photograph, they have an odd 
 way in South America of selling photographs of anybody, 
 principally of pretty women, by the packet, to any one 
 who wants them. So that it does not follow that the 
 owner of this photograph had any personal interest in it. 
 Now, as to your mysterious patron himself, can you de- 
 scribe him ? " She looked at Kandolph with a certain 
 feline intensity. 
 
 He became embarrassed. "You know I only saw him 
 once, under a street lamp " — he began. 
 
 "And I have only seen Captain Dornton — if it were he 
 — twice in three years, " she said. " But go on. " 
 
 Again Randolph was unpleasantly impressed with her 
 cold, dryly practical manner. He had never seen his bene- 
 factor but once, but he could not speak of him in that way. 
 
 " I think, " he went on hesitatingly, " that he had dark, 
 pleasant eyes, a thick beard, and the look of a sailor." 
 
 " And there were no other papers in the portmanteau ? " 
 she said, with the same intense look. 
 
 "None." 
 
 "These are mere coincidences," said Miss Avondale, af- 
 ter a pause, "and, after all, they are not as strange as the 
 alternative. For we would have to believe that Captain 
 .Dornton arrived here — where he knew his son and I were 
 living — without a word of warning, came ashore for the 
 purpose of going to a hotel and the bank also, and then 
 unaccountably changed his mind and disappeared." 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 39 
 
 The thought of the rotten wharf, his own escape, and 
 the dead body were all in Kandolph's mind; but his rea- 
 soning was already staggered by the girl's conclusions, and 
 he felt that it might only pain, without convincing her. 
 And was he convinced himself? She smiled at his blank 
 face and rose. "Thank you all the same. And now I 
 must go." 
 
 Randolph rose also. "Would you like to take the pho- 
 tograph and letter to show your cousin 1 " 
 
 "Yes. But I should not place much reliance on his 
 memory." Nevertheless, she took up the photograph and 
 letter, and Randolph, putting the portmanteau back in the 
 closet, locked it, and stood ready to accompany her. 
 
 On their way to her house they talked of other things. 
 Randolph learned something of her life in Callao : that she 
 was an orphan like himself, and had been brought from 
 the Eastern States when a child to live with a rich uncle 
 in Callao who was childless; that her aunt had died and 
 her uncle had married again; that the second wife had 
 been at variance with his family, and that it was conse- 
 quently some relief to Miss Avondale to be independent as 
 the guardian of Bobby, whose mother was a sister of the 
 first wife; that her uncle had objected as strongly as a 
 brother-in-law could to his wife's sister's marriage with 
 Captain Dornton on account of his roving life and unsettled 
 habits, and that consequently there would be little sympa- 
 thy for her or for Bobby in his mysterious disappearance. 
 The wind blew and the rain fell upon these confidences, 
 yet Randolph, walking again under that umbrella of feli- 
 city, parted with her at her own doorstep all too soon, 
 although consoled with the permission to come and see her 
 when the child returned. 
 
 He went back to his room a very hopeful, foolish, but 
 nappy youth. As he entered he seemed to feel the charm 
 of her presence again in the humble apartment she had 
 
40 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 sanctified. The furniture she had moved with her own 
 little hands, the bed on which she had sat for a half mo- 
 ment, was glorified to his youthful fancy. And even that 
 magic portmanteau which had brought him all this happi- 
 ness, that, too, — but he gave a sudden start. The closet 
 door, which he had shut as he went out, was unlocked and 
 open, the portmanteau — his " trust " — gone ! 
 
 m 
 
 Randolph Trent's consternation at the loss of the port- 
 manteau was partly superstitious. Por, although it was easy 
 to make up the small sum taken, and the papers were safe 
 in Miss Avondale's possession, yet this displacement of the 
 only link between him and his missing benefactor, and the 
 mystery of its disappearance, raised all his old doubts and 
 suspicions. A vague uneasiness, a still more vague sense 
 of some remissness on his own part, possessed him. 
 
 That the portmanteau was taken from his room during 
 his absence with Miss Avondale that afternoon was evi- 
 dent. The door had been opened by a skeleton key, and 
 as the building was deserted on Sunday, there had been no 
 chance of interference with the thief. If mere booty had 
 been his object, the purse would have satisfied him with- 
 out his burdening himself with a portmanteau which might 
 be identified. Nothing else in the room had been dis- 
 turbed. The thief must have had some cognizance of its 
 location, and have kept some espionage over Randolph's 
 movements — a circumstance which added to the mystery 
 and his disquiet. He placed a description of his loss with 
 the police authorities, but their only idea of recovering it 
 was by leaving that description with pawnbrokers and sec- 
 ond-hand dealers, a proceeding that Randolph instinctively 
 felt was in vain. 
 
 A singular but instinctive reluctance to inform Miss 
 Avondale of his loss kept him from calling upon her for 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 41 
 
 the first few days. When he did, she seemed concerned 
 at the news, although far from participating in his super- 
 stition or his suspicions. 
 
 " You still have the letter and photograph — whatever 
 they may be worth — for identification," she said dryly, 
 "although Bobby cannot remember about the letter. He 
 thinks he went once with his father to a photographer and 
 had a picture taken, but he cannot remember seeing it af- 
 terward." She was holding them in her hand, and Ean- 
 dolph almost mechanically took them from her and put 
 them in his pocket. He would not, perhaps, have noticed 
 his own brusqueness had she not looked a little surprised, 
 and, he thought, annoyed. "Are you quite sure you won't 
 lose them 1 " she said gently. " Perhaps I had better keep 
 them for you." 
 
 "I shall seal them up and put them in the bank safe," 
 he said quickly. He could not tell whether his sudden 
 resolution was an instinct or the obstinacy that often comes 
 to an awkward man. "But," he added, coloring, "I shall 
 always regret the loss of the portmanteau, for it was the 
 means of bringing us together." 
 
 "I thought it was the umbrella," said Miss Avondale 
 dryly. 
 
 She had once before halted him on the perilous edge of 
 sentiment by a similar cynicism, but this time it cut him 
 deeply. For he could not be blind to the fact that she 
 treated him like a mere boy, and in dispelling the illusions 
 of his instincts and beliefs seemed as if intent upon dispel- 
 ling his illusions of her ; and in her half-smiling abstraction 
 he read only the well-bred toleration of one who is begin- 
 ning to be bored. He made his excuses early and went 
 home. Nevertheless, although regretting he had not left 
 her the letter and photograph, he deposited them in the 
 bank safe the next day, and tried to feel that he had via- 
 dioated his character for grown-up wisdom. 
 
42 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 Then, in his conflicting emotions, he punished himself, 
 after the fashion of youth, by avoiding the beloved one's 
 presence for several days. He did this in the belief that 
 it would enable him to make up his mind whether to re- 
 veal his real feelings to her, and perhaps there was the 
 more alluring hope that his absence might provoke some 
 manifestations of sentiment on her part. But she made no 
 sign. And then came a reaction in his feelings, with a 
 heightened sense of loyalty to his benefactor. For, freed 
 of any illusion or youthful fancy now, a purely unselfish 
 gratitude to the unknown man filled his heart. In the 
 lapse of his sentiment he clung the more closely to this one 
 honest romance of his life. 
 
 One afternoon, at the close of business, he was a little 
 astonished to receive a message from Mr. Dingwall, the 
 deputy manager, that he wished to see him in his private 
 office. He was still more astonished when Mr. Dingwall, 
 after offering him a chair, stood up with his hands under 
 his coat tails before the fireplace, and, with a hesitancy half 
 reserved, half courteous, but wholly English, said, — 
 
 "I — er — would be glad, Mr. Trent, if you would — 
 er — give me the pleasure of your company at dinner lo- 
 morrow. " 
 
 Randolph, still amazed, stammered his acceptance. 
 
 '"There will be — er — a young lady in whom you were 
 — er — interested some time ago. Er — Miss Avondale. " 
 
 Randolph, feeling he was coloring, and uncertain whether 
 he should speak of having met her since, contented himself 
 with expressing his delight. 
 
 "In fact," continued Mr. Dingwall, clearing his throat 
 as if he were also clearing his conscience of a tremendous 
 secret, "she — er — mentioned your name. There is Sir 
 William Dornton coming also. Sir William has recently 
 succeeded his elder brother, who — er — it seems, was the 
 gentleman you were inquiring about when you first came 
 
tbent's trust 43 
 
 here, and who, it is now ascertained, was drowned in the 
 bay a few months ago. In fact — er — it is probable that 
 you were the last one who saw him alive. I thought I 
 would tell you," continued Mr. Dingwall, settling his chin 
 more comfortably in his checked cravat, "in case Sir Wil- 
 liam should speak of him to you." 
 
 Eandolph was staggered. The abrupt revelation of his 
 benefactor's name and fate, casually coupled with an invi- 
 tation to dinner, shocked and confounded him. Perhaps 
 Mr. Dingwall noticed it and misunderstood the cause, for 
 he added in parenthetical explanation: "Yes, the man 
 whose portmanteau you took charge of is dead; but you 
 did your duty, Mr. Trent, in the matter, although the re- 
 covery of the portmanteau was unessential to the case." 
 
 "Dead," repeated Eandolph, scarcely heeding him. 
 " But is it true t Are they sure 1 " 
 
 Mr. Dingwall elevated his eyebrows. "The large pro- 
 perty at stake of course rendered the most satisfactory 
 proofs of it necessary. His father had died only a month 
 previous, and of course they were seeking the presumptive 
 heir, the so-called ' Captain John Dornton ' — your man — 
 when they made the discovery of his death." 
 
 Eandolph thought of the strange body at the wharf, of 
 the coroner's vague verdict, and was unconvinced. "But," 
 he said impulsively, "there was a child." He checked 
 himself as he remembered this was one of Miss Avondale's 
 confidences to him. 
 
 "Ah — Miss Avondale has spoken of a child?" said 
 Mr. Dingwall dryly. 
 
 "I saw her with one which she said was Captain Dorn- 
 ton's, which had been left in her care after the death of 
 his wife," said Eandolph in hurried explanation. 
 
 "John Dornton had no wife," said Mr. Dingwall se- 
 verely. "The boy is a natural son. Captain John lived 
 ;wild, rough, and — er — an eccentric life." 
 
44 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 " I thought — I understood from Miss Avondale that he 
 was married," stammered the young man. 
 
 "In your rather slight acquaintance with that young 
 lady I should imagine she would have had some delicacy 
 in telling you otherwise," returned Mr. Dingwall primly. 
 
 Randolph felt the truth of this, and was momentarily 
 emharrassed. Yet he lingered. 
 
 " Has Miss Avondale known of this discovery long J " 
 he asked. 
 
 "About two weeks, I should say," returned Mr. Ding- 
 wall. " She was of some service to Sir William in getting 
 up certain proofs he required." 
 
 It was three weeks since she had seen Randolph, yet it 
 would have been easy for her to communicate the news to 
 him. In these three weeks his romance of their common 
 interest in his benefactor — even his own dream of ever 
 seeing him again — had been utterly dispelled. 
 
 It was in no social humor that he reached Dingwall's 
 house the next evening. Yet he knew the difficulty of 
 taking an aggressive attitude toward his previous idol or 
 of inviting a full explanation from her then. 
 
 The guests, with the exception of himself and Miss 
 Avondale, were all English. She, self-possessed and charm- 
 ing in evening dress, nodded to him with her usual mature 
 patronage, but did not evince the least desire to seek him 
 for any confidential aside. He noticed the undoubted re- 
 semblance of Sir William Dornton to his missing benefactor, 
 and yet it produced a singular repulsion in him, rather than 
 any sympathetic predilection. At table he found that Miss 
 Avondale was separated from him, being seated beside the 
 distinguished guest, while he was placed next to the young 
 lady he had taken down — a Miss Eversleigh, the cousin of 
 Sir William. She was tall, and Randolph's first impres- 
 sion of her was that she was stiff and constrained — an im- 
 pression he quickly corrected at the sound of her voice, her 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 45 
 
 frank ingenuousness, and her unmistakable youth. In the 
 habit of being crushed by Miss Avondale's unrelenting su- 
 periority, he found himself apparently growing up beside 
 this tall English girl, who had the naivete of a child. After 
 a few commonplaces she suddenly turned her gray eyes on 
 his, and said, — 
 
 "Didn't you like Jack? I hope you did. Oh, say you 
 did — do!" 
 
 " You mean Captain John Dornton 1 " said Randolph, a 
 little confused. 
 
 " Yes, of course ; his brother " — glancing toward Sir 
 William. " We always called him Jack, though I was ever 
 so little when he went away. No one thought of calling 
 him anything else but Jack. Say you liked him ! " 
 
 " I certainly did, " returned Randolph impulsively. Then 
 checking himself, he added, " I only saw hira once, but I 
 liked his face and manner — and — he was very kind to me." 
 
 "Of course he was," said the young girl quickly. "That 
 was only like him, and yet " — lowering her voice slightly 
 — " would you believe that they all say he was wild and 
 wicked and dissipated ? And why ? Fancy ! Just be- 
 cause he did n't care to stay at home and shoot and hunt 
 and race and make debts, as heirs usually do. No, he 
 wanted to see the world and do something for himself. 
 Why, when he was quite young, he could manage a boat 
 like any sailor. Dornton Hall, their place, is on the coast, 
 you know, and they say that, just for adventure's sake, 
 after he went away, he shipped as first mate somewhere over 
 here on the Pacific, and made two or three voyages. You 
 know — don't you? — and how every one was shocked at 
 such conduct in the heir." 
 
 Her face was so girlishly animated, with such sparkle of 
 eye and responsive color, that he could hardly reconcile it 
 with her first restraint or with his accepted traditions of her 
 unemotional race, or, indeed, with her relationship to the 
 
46 TRENT'S TEUST 
 
 principal guest. His latent feeling of gratitude to the dead 
 man warmed under the young girl's voice. 
 
 "It 'a so dreadful to think of him as drowned, you know, 
 though even that they put against him," she went on hur- 
 riedly, "for they say he was probably drowned in some 
 drunken fit — fell through the wharf or something shocking 
 and awful — worse than suicide. But " — she turned her 
 frank young eyes upon him again — " you saw him on the 
 wharf that night, and you could tell how he looked." 
 
 "He was as sober as I was," returned Randolph indig- 
 nantly, as he recalled the incident of the flask and the dead 
 man's caution. From recalling it to repeating it followed 
 naturally, and he presently related the whole story of his 
 meeting with Captain Dornton to the brightly interested 
 eyes beside him. When he had finished, she leaned to- 
 ward him in girlish confidence, and said : — 
 
 "Yes; but even that they tell to show how intoxicated 
 he must have been to have given up his portmanteau to an 
 utter stranger like you." She stopped, colored, and yet, 
 reflecting his own half smile, she added: "You know what 
 I mean. For they all agree how nice it was of you not to 
 take any advantage of his condition, and Dingwall said your 
 honesty and faithfulness struck Eevelstoke so much that he 
 made a place for you at the bank. Now I think," she 
 continued, with delightful naivete, "it was a proof of poor 
 Jack's being perfectly sober, that he knew whom he was 
 trusting, and saw just what you were, at once. There! 
 But I suppose you must not talk to me any longer, but 
 must make yourself agreeable to some one else. But it 
 was very nice of you to tell me all this. I wish you knew 
 my guardian. You 'd like him. Do you ever go to Eng- 
 land 1 Do come and see us. " 
 
 These confidences had not been observed by the others, 
 and Miss Avondale appeared to confine her attentions to 
 Sir William, who seemed to be equally absorbed, except 
 
Trent's trust 47 
 
 that once he lifted his eyes toward Eandolph, as if in 
 answer to some remark from her. It struck Eandolph that 
 he was the subject of their conversation, and this did not 
 tend to allay the irritation of a mind already wounded by 
 the contrast of her lack of sympathy for the dead man who 
 had befriended and trusted her to the simple faith of the 
 girl beside him, who was still loyal to a mere childish 
 recollection. 
 
 After the ladies had rustled away, Sir William moved 
 his seat beside Eandolph. His manner seemed to combine 
 Mr. Dingwall's restraint with a certain assumption of the 
 man of the world, more notable for its frankness than its 
 tactfulness. 
 
 " Sad business this of my brother's, eh, " he said, light- 
 ing a cigar; "any way you take it, eh? You saw him last, 
 eh ] " The interrogating word, however, seemed to be 
 only an exclamation of habit, for he seldom waited for an 
 answer. 
 
 "I really don't know," said Eandolph, "as I saw him 
 only once, and he left me on the wharf. I know no more 
 where he went to then than where he came from before. 
 Of course you must know all the rest, and how he came to 
 be drowned." 
 
 "Yes; it really did not matter much. The whole ques- 
 tion was identification and proof of death, you know. 
 Beastly job, eh 1 " 
 
 "Was that his body you were helping to get ashore at 
 the wharf one Sunday ? " asked Eandolph bluntly, now 
 fully recognizing the likeness that had puzzled him in Sir 
 William. "I didn't see any resemblance." 
 
 "Precious few would. I didn't — though it's true I 
 had n't seen him for eight years. Poor old chap been 
 knocked about so he hadn't a feature left, eh? But his 
 shipmate knew him, and there were his traps on the ship." 
 
 Then, for the first time, Eandolph heard the grim and 
 
48 teent's trust 
 
 sordid details of John Dornton's mysterious disappearance. 
 He had arrived the morning before that eventful day on an 
 Australian bark as the principal passenger. The vessel it- 
 self had an evil repute, and was believed to have slipped 
 from the hands of the police at Melbourne. John Dornton 
 had evidently amassed a considerable fortune in Australia, 
 although an examination of his papers and effects showed it 
 to be in drafts and letters of credit and shares, and that 
 he had no ready money — a fact borne out by the testi- 
 mony of his shipmates. The night he arrived was spent 
 in an orgy on board ship, which he did not leave until the 
 early evening of the next day, although, after his erratic 
 fashion, he had ordered a room at a hotel. That evening 
 he took ashore a portmanteau, evidently intending to pass 
 the night at his hotel. He was never seen again, although 
 some of the sailors declared that they had seen him on the 
 wharf without the portmanteau, and they had drunk to- 
 gether at a low grog shop on the street corner. He had ev- 
 idently fallen through some hole in the wharf. As he was 
 seen only with the sailors, who also knew he had no ready 
 money on his person, there was no suspicion of foul play. 
 
 "For all that, don't you know," continued Sir William, 
 with a forced laugh, which struck Randolph as not only 
 discordant, but as having an insolent signiiicance, "it might 
 have been a deuced bad business for you, eh ? Last man 
 who was with him, eh 1 In possession of his portmanteau, 
 eh 1 Wearing his clothes, eh ? Awfully clever of you to 
 go straight to the bank with it. 'Pon my word, my legal 
 man wanted to pounce down on you as ' accessory ' until I 
 and Dingwall called him off. But it 's all right now." 
 
 Randolph's antagonism to the man increased. "The 
 investigation seems to have been peculiar," he said dryly, 
 "for, if I remember rightly, at the coroner's inquest on 
 the body I saw you with, the verdict returned was of the 
 death of an unknown man." 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 49 
 
 "Yes; we had n't clear proof of identity then," he re- 
 turned coolly, " but we had a reexamination of the body 
 before witnesses afterward, and a verdict according to the 
 facts. That was kept out of the papers in deference to the 
 feelings of the family and friends. I fancy you would n't 
 have liked to be cross-examined before a stupid jury about 
 what you were doing with Jack's portmanteau, even if we 
 were satisfied with it." 
 
 "I should have been glad to testify to the kindness of 
 your brother, at any risk," returned Randolph stoutly. 
 "You have heard that the portmanteau was stolen from 
 me, but the amount of money it contained has been placed 
 in Mr. Dingwall's hands for disposal." 
 
 " Its contents were known, and all that 's been settled, " 
 returned Sir William, rising. "But," he continued, with 
 his forced laugh, which to Randolph's fancy masked a cer- 
 tain threatening significance, " I say, it would have been 
 a beastly business, don't you know, if you had been called 
 upon to produce it again — ha, ha ! — eh ? " 
 
 Returning to the dining room, Randolph found Miss 
 Avondale alone on a corner of the sofa. She swept her 
 skirts aside as he approached, as an invitation for him to sit 
 beside her. Still sore from his experience, he accepted 
 only in the hope that she was about to confide to him her 
 opinion of this strange story But, to his chagrin, she 
 looked at him over her fan with a mischievous tolerance. 
 "You seemed more interested in the cousin than the bro- 
 ther of your patron." 
 
 Once Randolph might have been flattered at this. But 
 her speech seemed to him only an echo of the general 
 heartlessness. " I found Miss Eversleigh very sympathetic 
 over the fate of the unfortunate man, whom nobody else 
 here seems to care for," said Randolph coldly. 
 
 "Yes," returned Miss Avondale composedly; "I believe 
 she was a great friend of Captain Dornton when she was 
 
50 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 quite a child, and I don't think she can expect much from 
 Sir William, who is very different from his brother. In 
 fact, she was one of the relatives who came over here in 
 quest of the captain, when it was believed he was living 
 and the heir. He was quite a patron of hers." 
 
 "But was he not also one of yoars!" said Eandolph 
 bluntly. 
 
 "I think I told you I was the friend of the boy and of 
 poor Paquita, the boy's mother," said Miss Avondale qui- 
 etly. "I never saw Captain Dornton but twice." 
 
 Eandolph noticed that she had not said "wife," although 
 in her previous confidences she had so described the mo- 
 ther. But, as Dingwall had said, why should she have 
 exposed the boy's illegitimacy to a comparative stranger; 
 and if she herself had been deceived about it, why should he 
 expect her to tell him ? And yet — he was not satisfied. 
 
 He was startled by a little laugh. "Well, I declare, 
 you look as if you resented the fact that your benefactor had 
 turned out to be a baronet — just as in some novel — and 
 that you have rendered a service to the English aristocracy. 
 If you are thinking of poor Bobby," she continued, with- 
 out the slightest show of self-consciousness, " Sir William 
 will provide for him, and thinks of taking him to England 
 -to restore his health. Now " — with her smiling, tolerant 
 superiority — " you must go and talk to Miss Eversleigh. 
 I see her looking this way, and I don't think she half likes 
 me as it is." 
 
 Eandolph, who, however, also saw that Sir William was 
 lounging toward them, here rose formally, as if permitting 
 the latter to take the vacated seat. This partly imposed on 
 him the necessity of seeking Miss Eversleigh, who, having 
 withdrawn to the other end of the room, was turning over 
 the leaves of an album. As Eandolph joined her, she 
 said, without looking up, "Is Miss Avondale a friend of 
 yours ? " 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 51 
 
 The question was so pertinent to his reflections at the mo- 
 ment that he answered impulsively, "I really don't know." 
 
 "Yes, that's the answer, I think, most of her acquaint- 
 ances would give, if they were asked the same question 
 and replied honestly," said the young girl, as if musing. 
 
 "Even Sir William?" suggested Randolph, half smil- 
 ing, yet wondering at her unlooked-for serious shrewdness 
 as he glanced toward the sofa. 
 
 "Yes; but he wouldn't care. You see, there would be 
 a pair of them." She stopped with a slight blush, as if 
 she had gone too far, but corrected herself in her former 
 youthful frankness: "You don't mind my saying what I 
 did of her? You 're not such a particular friend? " 
 
 "We both owe a debt of gratitude to your cousin Jack," 
 said Randolph, in some embarrassment. 
 
 "Yes, hui you feel it and she doesn't. So that doesn't 
 make you friends." 
 
 "But she has taken good care of Captain Dornton's 
 child," suggested Randolph loyally. 
 
 He stopped, however, feeling that he was on dangerous 
 ground. But Miss Eversleigh put her own construction 
 on his reticence, and said, — 
 
 "I don't think she cares for it much — or for any chil- 
 dren. " 
 
 Randolph remembered his own impression the only time 
 he had ever seen her with the child, and was struck with 
 the young girl's instinct again coinciding with his own. 
 But, possibly because he knew he could never again feel 
 toward Miss Avondale as he had, he was the more anxious 
 to be just, and he was about to utter a protest against this 
 general assumption, when the voice of Sir William broke 
 in upon them. He was taking his leave — and the oppor- 
 tunity of accompanying Miss Avondale to her lodgings on 
 the way to his hotel. He lingered a moment over his 
 handshaking with Randolph. 
 
62 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 "Awfully glad to have met you, and I fancy you're 
 awfully glad to get rid of what they call your ' trust. ' 
 Must have given you a heastly lot of bother, eh — might ■ 
 have given you more ? " 
 
 He nodded familiarly to Miss Eversleigh, and turned 
 away with Miss Avondale, who waved her usual smiling 
 patronage to Randolph, even including his companion in 
 that half-amused, half-superior salutation. Perhaps it was 
 this that put a sudden hauteur into the young girl's expres- 
 sion as she stared at Miss Avondale' s departing figure. 
 
 "If you ever come to England, Mr. Trent," she said, 
 with a pretty dignity in her youthful face, "I hope you 
 will find some people not quite so rude as my cousin 
 and " — 
 
 "Miss Avondale, you would say," returned Eandolph 
 quietly. "As to her, I am quite accustomed to her ma- 
 ture! superiority, which, I am afraid, is the effect of my 
 own youth and inexperience; and I believe that, in course 
 of time, your cousin's brusqueness might be as easily un- 
 derstood by me. I dare say," he added, with a laugh, 
 "that I must seem to them a very romantic visionary with 
 my ' trust, ' and the foolish importance 1 have put upon a 
 "ery trivial occurrence." 
 
 "J don't think so," said the girl quickly, "and I con- 
 sider Bill very rude, and," she added, with a return of her 
 boyish frankness, "I shall tell him so. As for Miss Avon- 
 dale, she 's at least thirty, I understand; perhaps she can't 
 help showing it in that way, too." 
 
 But here Eandolph, to evade further personal allusions, 
 continued laughingly: "And as I've lost my 'trust,' I 
 haven't even that to show in defense. Indeed, when you 
 all are gone I shall have nothing to remind me of my kind 
 benefactor. It will seem like a dream," 
 
 Miss Eversleigh was silent for a moment, and then 
 glanced quickly around her. The rest of the company 
 
tkent's trust 53 
 
 were their elders, and, engaged in conversation at the other 
 end of the apartment, had evidently left the young people 
 to themselves. 
 
 "Wait a moment," she said, with a youthful air of mys- 
 tery and earnestness. Kandolph saw that she had slipped 
 an Indian bracelet, profusely hung with small trinkets, 
 from her arm to her wrist, and was evidently selecting one. 
 It proved to be a child's tiny ring with a small pearl set- 
 ting. "This was given to me by Cousin Jack," said Miss 
 Eversleigh in a low voice, "when I was a child, at some 
 frolic or festival, and I have kept it ever since. I brought 
 it with me when we came here as a kind of memento to 
 show him. You know that is impossible now. You say 
 you have nothing of his to keep. Will you accept this? 
 I know he would be glad to know you had it. You could 
 wear it on your watch chain. Don't say no, but take it." 
 
 Protesting, yet filled with a strange joy and pride, Ean- 
 dolph took it from the young girl's hand. The little color 
 which had deepened on her cheek cleared away as he 
 thanked her gratefully, and with a quiet dignity she arose 
 and moved toward the others. Randolph did not linger 
 long after this, and presently took his leave of his host and 
 hostess. 
 
 It seemed to him that he walked home that night in the 
 whirling clouds of his dispelled dream. The airy structure 
 he had built up for the last three months had collapsed, 
 The enchanted canopy under which he had stood with 
 Miss Avondale was folded forever. The romance he had 
 evolved from his strange fortune had come to an end, not 
 prosaically, as such romances are apt to do, but with a dra- 
 matic termination which, however, was equally fatal to his 
 hopes. At any other time he might have projected the 
 wildest hopes from the fancy that he and Miss Avondale 
 were orphaned of a common benefactor; but it was plain 
 that her interests were apart from his. And there was an. 
 
64 teent's trust 
 
 indefinable something he did not understand, and did not 
 ■want to understand, in the story she had told him. How 
 much of it she had withheld, not so much from delicacy or 
 contempt for his understanding as a desire to mislead him, 
 he did not know. His faith in her had gone with his 
 romance. It was not strange that the young English girl's 
 unsophisticated frankness and simple confidences lingered 
 longest in his memory, and that when, a few days later, 
 Mr. Dingwall informed him that Miss Avondale had sailed 
 for England with the Dornton family, he was more con- 
 scious of a loss in the stranger girl's departure. 
 
 " I suppose Miss Avondale takes charge of — of the boy, 
 sir ? " he said quietly. 
 
 Mr. Dingwall gave him a quick glance. " Possibly. Sir 
 William has behaved with great — er — consideration, " he 
 replied briefly. 
 
 rv 
 
 Randolph's nature was too hopeful and recuperative to 
 allow bim to linger idly in the past. He threw himself 
 into his work at the bank with his old earnestness and a 
 certain simple conscientiousness which, while it often pro- 
 voked the raillery of his fellow clerks, did not escape the 
 eyes of his employers. He was advanced step by step, and 
 by the end of the year was put in charge of the correspond- 
 ence with banks and agencies. He had saved some money, 
 and had made one or two profitable investments. He was 
 enabled to take better apartments in the same building he 
 had occupied. He had few of the temptations of youth. 
 His fear of poverty and his natural taste kept him from the 
 speculative and material excesses of the period. A dis- 
 trust of his romantic weakness kept him from society and 
 meaner entanglements which might have beset his good 
 looks and good nature. He worked in his rooms at night 
 and forbore his old evening rambles. 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 55 
 
 As the year wore on to the anniversary of his arrival, 
 he thought much of the dead man who had inspired his 
 fortunes, and with it a sense of his old doubts and suspi- 
 cions revived. His reason had obliged him to accept the 
 loss of the fateful portmanteau as an ordinary theft; his 
 instinct remained unconvinced. There was no superstition 
 connected with his loss. His own prosperity had not been 
 impaired by it. On the contrary, he reflected bitterly that 
 the dead man had apparently died only to benefit others. 
 At such times he recalled, with a pleasure that he knew 
 might become perilous, the tall English girl who had de- 
 fended Dornton's memory and echoed his own sympathy. 
 But that was all over now. 
 
 One stormy night, not unlike that eventful one of his 
 past experience, Randolph sought his rooms in the teeth 
 of a southwest gale. As he buffeted his way along the 
 rain-washed pavement of Montgomery Street, it was not 
 strange that his thoughts reverted to that night and the 
 memory of his dead protector. But reaching his apartment, 
 he sternly banished them with the vanished romance they 
 revived, and lighting his lamp, laid out his papers in the 
 prospect of an evening of uninterrupted work. He was 
 surprised, however, after a little interval, by the sound of 
 uncertain and shuffling steps on the half-lighted passage 
 outside, the noise of some heavy article set down on the 
 floor, and then a tentative knock at his door. A little 
 impatiently he called, "Come in." 
 
 The door opened slowly, and out of the half obscurity of 
 the passage a thickset figure lurched toward him into the 
 full light of the room. Randolph half rose, and then sank 
 back into his chair, awed, spellbound, and motionless. He 
 saw the figure standing plainly before him; he saw dis- 
 tinctly the familiar furniture of his room, the storm-twin- 
 kling lights in the windows opposite, the flash of passing 
 carriage lamps in the street below. But the figure before 
 
56 tkent's trust 
 
 him was none other than the dead man of whom he had 
 just been thinking. 
 
 The figure looked at him intently, and then burst into 
 a fit of unmistakable laughter. It was neither loud nor 
 unpleasant, and yet it provoked a disagreeable recollection. 
 Nevertheless, it dissipated Randolph's superstitious tremor, 
 for he had never before heard of a ghost who laughed heart- 
 
 "You don't remember me," said the man. "Belay 
 there, and I'll freshen your memory." He stepped back 
 to the door, opened it, put his arm out into the hall, and 
 brought in a portmanteau, closed the door, and appeared 
 before Eandolph again with the portmanteau in his hand. 
 It was the one that had been stolen. " There ! " he said. 
 
 "Captain Dornton," murmured Randolph. 
 
 The man laughed again and flung down the portmanteau. 
 "You've got my name pat enough, lad, I see; but I reck- 
 oned you 'd have spotted we without that portmanteau." 
 
 "I see you 've got it back," stammered Randolph in his 
 embarrassment. " It was — stolen from me. " 
 
 Captain Dornton laughed again, dropped into a chair, 
 rubbed his hands on his knees, and turned his face toward 
 Randolph. "Yes; I stole it — or had it stolen — the 
 same thing, for I 'm responsible." 
 
 "But I would have given it up to you at once," said 
 Randolph reproachfully, clinging to the only idea he could 
 understand in his utter bewilderment. " I have religiously 
 and faithfully kept it for you, with all its contents, ever 
 since — you disappeared. " 
 
 "I know it, lad," said Captain Dornton, rising, and ex- 
 tending a brown, weather-beaten hand which closed heartily 
 on the young man's; "no need to say that. And you've 
 kept it even better than you know. Look here ! " 
 
 He lifted the portmanteau to his lap and disclosed he- 
 hind the usual small pouch or pocket ii; the lid a slit in 
 
TRENT'S TKUST 5T 
 
 the lining. "Between the lining and the outer leather," 
 he went on grimly, "I had two or three hank notes that 
 came to ahout a thousand dollars, and some papers, lad, 
 that, reckoning by and large, might he worth to me a mil- 
 lion. When I got that portmanteau back they were all 
 there, gummed in, just as I had left them. I did n't show 
 up and come for them myself, for I was lying low at the 
 time, and — no offense, lad — I didn't know how you 
 stood with a party who was no particular friend of mine. 
 An old shipmate whom I set to watch that party quite ac- 
 cidentally run across your bows in the ferry boat, and heard 
 enough to make him follow in your wake here, where he 
 got the portmanteau. It's all right," he said, with a 
 laugh, waving aside with his brown hand Randolph's pro- 
 testing gesture. "The old bag 's only got back to its right- 
 ful owner. It mayn't have been got in shipshape 'Frisco 
 style, but when a man's life is at stake, at least, when it 's 
 a question of his being considered dead or alive, he 's got to 
 take things as he finds 'em, and /found 'em d bad." 
 
 In a flash of recollection Eandolph remembered the ob- 
 truding miner on the ferry boat, the same figure on the 
 wharf corner, and the advantage taken of his absence with 
 Miss Avondale. And Miss Avondale was the " party " 
 this man's shipmate was watching! He felt his face crim- 
 soning, yet he dared not question him further, nor yet de- 
 fend her. Captain Dornton noticed it, and with a friendly 
 tact, which Eandolph had not expected of him, rising 
 again, laid his hand gently on the young man's shoulder. 
 
 "Look here, lad," he said, with his pleasant smile; 
 "don't you worry your head about the ways or doings of 
 the Dornton family, or any of their friends. They 're a 
 queer lot — including your humble servant. You 've done 
 the square thing accordin' to your lights. You 've ridden 
 straight from start to finish, with no jockeying, and I 
 shan't forget it. There are only two men who have n't 
 
58 TKENT'S TRUST 
 
 failed me when I trusted them. One was you when I gave 
 you my portmanteau ; the other was Jack Eedhill when he 
 stole it from you." 
 
 He dropped back in his chair again, and laughed silently. 
 
 "Then you did not fall overboard as they supposed," 
 stammered Randolph at last. 
 
 "Not much! But the next thing to it. It wasn't the 
 water that I took in that knocked me out, my lad, but 
 something stronger. I was shanghaied." 
 
 "Shanghaied?" repeated Randolph vacantly. 
 
 "Yes, shanghaied! Hocused! Drugged at that gin- 
 mill on the wharf by a lot of crimps, who, mistaking me 
 for a better man, shoved me, blind drunk and helpless, 
 down the steps into a boat, and out to a short-handed brig 
 in the stream. When I came to I was outside the Heads, 
 pointed for Guayaquil. When they found they 'd cap- 
 tured, not a poor Jack, but a man who 'd trod a quarter- 
 deck, who knew, and was known at every port on the trad- 
 ing line, and who could make it hot for them, they were 
 glad to compromise and set me ashore at Acapulco, and six 
 weeks later I landed in 'Frisco." 
 
 " Safe and sound, thank Heaven ! " said Randolph joy- 
 ously. 
 
 "Not exactly, lad," said Captain Dornton grimly, "but 
 dead and sat upon by the coroner, and my body comfortably 
 boxed up and on its way to England." 
 
 " But that was nine months ago. What have you been 
 doing since 1 Why did n't you declare yourself then ! " 
 said Randolph impatiently, a little irritated by the man's 
 extreme indifference. He really talked like an amused 
 spectator of his own misfortunes. 
 
 " Steady, lad. I know what you 're going to say. I 
 know all that happened. But the first thing I found when 
 I got back was that the shanghai business had saved my 
 life; that but for that I would have really been occupying 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 59 
 
 that box on its way to England, instead of the poor deyil 
 who was taken for me." 
 
 A cold tremor passed over Randolph. Captain Dornton, 
 however, was tolerantly smiling. 
 
 "I don't understand," said Randolph breathlessly. 
 
 Captain Dornton rose and, walking to the door, looked 
 jut into the passage ; then he shut the door carefully and 
 returned, glancing about the room and at the storm-washed 
 windows. "I thought I heard some one outside. I 'm 
 lying low just now, and only go out at night, for I don't 
 want this thing blown before I 'm ready. Got anything 
 to drink here ? " 
 
 Randolph replied by taking a decanter of whiskey and 
 glasses from a cupboard. The captain filled his glass, and 
 continued with the same gentle but exasperating noncha- 
 lance, " Mind my smoking ? " 
 
 "Not at all," said Randolph, pushing a cigar toward 
 him. But the captain put it aside, drew from his pocket a 
 short black clay pipe, stuffed it with black "Cavendish plug," 
 which he had first chipped off in the palm of his hand with 
 a large clasp knife, lighted it, and took a few meditative 
 whiffs. Then, glancing at Randolph's papers, he said, " I 'm 
 not keeping you from your work, lad 1 " and receiving a 
 reply in the negative, puffed at his pipe and once more set- 
 tled himself comfortably in his chair, with his dark, 
 bearded profile toward Randolph. 
 
 "You were saying just now you didn't understand," he 
 went on slowly, without looking up; "so you must take 
 your own bearings from what I 'm telling you. When I 
 met you that night I had just arrived from Melbourne. I 
 had been lucky in some trading speculations I had out there, 
 and I had some bills with me, but no money except what 
 I had tucked in the skin of that portmanteau and a few 
 papers connected with my family at home. When a man 
 lives the roving kind of life I have, he learns to keep all 
 
60 TRENT'S TBUST 
 
 that he cares for under his own hat, and isn't apt to hlab 
 to friends. But it got out in some way on the voyage that 
 I had money, and as there was a mixed lot of ' Sydney 
 ducks ' and ' ticket of leave men ' on board, it seems they 
 hatched a nice little plot to waylay me on the wharf on 
 landing, rob me, and drop me into deep water. To make 
 it seem less suspicious, they associated themselves with a 
 lot of crimps who were on the lookout for our sailors, who 
 were going ashore that night too. I 'd my suspicions that 
 a couple of those men might be waiting for me at the end 
 of the wharf. I left the ship just a minute or two before 
 the sailors did. Then I met you. That meeting, my lad, 
 was my first step toward salvation. For the two men let 
 you pass with my portmanteau, which they didn't recog- 
 nize, as I knew they would me, and supposed you were a 
 stranger, and lay low, waiting for me. I, who went into 
 the gin-mill with the other sailors, was foolish enough to 
 drink, and was drugged and crimped as they were. I 
 had n't thought of that. A poor devil of a ticket of leave 
 man, about my size, was knocked down for me, and," he 
 added, suppressing a laugh, "will be buried, deeply la- 
 mented, in the chancel of Dornton Church. While the row 
 was going on, the skipper, fearing to lose other men, 
 warped out into the stream, and so knew nothing of what 
 happened to me. When they found what they thought 
 was my body, he was willing to identify it in the hope that 
 the crime might be charged to the crimps, and so did the 
 other sailor witnesses. But my brother Bill, who had just 
 arrived here from Callao, where he had been hunting for 
 me, hushed it up to prevent a scandal. All the same. Bill 
 might have known the body was n't mine, even though he 
 hadn't seen me for years." 
 
 " But it was frightfully disfigured, so that even /, who 
 saw you only once, could not have sworn it was not you," 
 said Randolph quickly. 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 61 
 
 "Humph ! " said Captain Dornton musingly. " Bill may 
 
 tave acted on the square — though he was in a d d 
 
 hurry. " 
 
 "But," said Eandolph eagerly, "you will put an end to 
 all this now. You will assert yourself. You have wit- 
 nesses to prove your identity." 
 
 "Steady, lad," said the captain, waving his pipe gently. 
 "Of course I have. But" — he stopped, laid down his 
 pipe, and put his hands doggedly in his pockets — " is it 
 worth it ? " Seeing the look of amazement in Randolph's 
 face, he laughed his low laugh, and settled himself back in 
 his chair again. "No," he said quietly, "if it wasn't for 
 my son, and what's due him as my heir, I suppose — I 
 reckon I 'd just chuck the whole d d thing." 
 
 "What!" said Randolph. "Give up the property, the 
 title, the family honor, the wrong done to your reputation, 
 the punishment " — He hesitated, fearing he had gone 
 too far. 
 
 Captain Dornton withdrew his pipe from his mouth with 
 a gesture of caution, and holding it up, said : " Steady, lad. 
 We '11 come to that by and by. As to the property and 
 title, I cut and run from them ten years ago. To me they 
 meant only the old thing — the life of a country gentle- 
 man, the hunting, the shooting, the whole beastly business 
 that the land, over there, hangs like a millstone round 
 your neck. They meant all this to me, who loved adven- 
 ture and the sea from my cradle. I cut the property, for 
 I hated it, and I hate it still. If I went back I should 
 hear the sea calling me day and night ; I should feel the 
 breath of the southwest trades in every wind that blew over 
 that tight little island yonder; I should be always scenting 
 the old trail, lad, the trail that leads straight out of the Gate 
 to swoop down to the South Seas. Do you think a man 
 who has felt his ship's bows heave and plunge under him in 
 the long Pacific swell — just ahead of him a reef breaking 
 
62 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 white into the lagoon, and heyond a fence of feathery palms 
 — cares to follow hounds over gray hedges under a gray 
 November sky 1 And the society ? A man who s got a 
 speaking acquaintance in every port from Acapulco to Mel- 
 bourne, who knows every den and every longshoreman in it 
 from a South American tienda to a Samoan beach-comber's 
 hut, — what does he want with society ? " He paused as 
 Randolph's eyes were fixed wonderingly on the first sign 
 of emotion on his weather-beaten face, which seemed for a 
 moment to glow with the strength and freshness of the sea, 
 and then said, with a laugh: "You stare, lad. Well, for 
 all the Dorntons are rather proud of their family, like as 
 not there was some beastly old Danish pirate among them 
 long ago, and I've got a taste of his blood in me. But 
 I 'm not quite as bad as that yet. " 
 
 He laughed, and carelessly went on: "As to the family 
 honor, I don't see that it will be helped by my ripping up 
 the whole thing and perhaps showing that Bill was a little 
 too previous in identifying me. As to my reputation, that 
 was gone after I left home, and if I hadn't been the legal 
 heir they would n't have bothered their heads about me. 
 My father had given me up long ago, and there is n't a man, 
 woman, or child that wouldn't now welcome Bill in my 
 place. •" 
 
 "There is one who wouldn't," said Randolph impul- 
 sively. 
 
 " You mean Caroline Avondale ? " said Captain Dornton 
 dryly. 
 
 Randolph colored. "No; I mean Miss Eversleigh, who 
 was with your brother." 
 
 Captain Dornton reflected. " To be sure ! Sibyl Ever- 
 sleigh! I haven't seen her since she was so high. I used 
 to call her my little sweetheart. So Sybby remembered 
 Cousin Jack and came to find him ? But when did you 
 meet her ? " he asked suddenly, as if this was the only detail 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 63 
 
 of the past -which had escaped him, fixing his frank eyes 
 upon Randolph. 
 
 The young man recounted at some length the dinner 
 party at Dingwall's, his conversation with Miss Eversleigh, 
 and his interview with Sir William, but spoke little of Miss 
 Avondale. To his surprise, the captain listened smilingly, 
 and only said: "That was like Billy to take a rise out of 
 you by pretending you were suspected. That 's his way — 
 a little rough when you don't know him and he 's got a lit- 
 tle grog amidships. All the same, I 'd have given some- 
 thing to have heard him ' running ' you, when all the while 
 you had the biggest bulge on him, only neither of you knew 
 it." He laughed again, until Randolph, amazed at his lev- 
 ity and indifference, lost his patience. 
 
 "Do you know," he said bluntly, "that they don't be- 
 lieve you were legally married ? " 
 
 But Captain Dornton only continued to laugh, iintil, see- 
 ing his companion's horrified face, he became demure. "I 
 suppose Bill did n't, for Bill had sense enough to know that 
 otherwise he would have to take a back seat to Bobby." 
 
 " But did Miss Avondale know you were legally married, 
 and that your son was the heir ? " asked Eandolph bluntly. 
 
 "She had no reason to suspect otherwise, although we 
 were married secretly. She was an old friend of my wife, 
 not particularly of mine." 
 
 Eandolph sat back amazed and horrified. Those were 
 her own words. Or was this man deceiving him as the 
 others had ? 
 
 But the captain, eying him curiously, but still amusedly, 
 added: "I even thought of bringing her as one of my wit- 
 nesses, until " — 
 
 "Until what? " asked Eandolph quickly, as he saw the 
 captain had hesitated. 
 
 "Until I found she wasn't to be trusted; until I found 
 she was too thick with Bill," said the captain bluntly. 
 
64 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 "And now she 's gone to England with him and the boy, 
 I suppose she '11 make him come to terms." 
 
 "Come to terms? " echoed Randolph. "I don't under- 
 stand." Yet he had an instinctive fear that he did. 
 
 " Well, " said the captain slowly, " suppose she might pre- 
 fer the chance of being the wife of a grown-up baronet to 
 being the governess of one who was only a minor ! She 's 
 a cute girl," he added dryly. 
 
 "But," said Randolph indignantly, "you have other wit- 
 nesses, I hope. " 
 
 "Of course I have. I've got the Spanish records now 
 from the Callao priest, and they 're put in a safe place 
 should anything happen to me — if anything could happen 
 to a dead man ! " he added grimly. " These proofs were 
 all I was waiting for before I made up my mind whether 
 I should blow the whole thing, or let it slide." 
 
 Randolph looked again with amazement at this strange 
 man who seemed so indifferent to the claims of wealth, po- 
 sition, and even to revenge. It seemed inconceivable, and 
 yet he could not help being impressed with his perfect sin- 
 cerity. He was relieved, however, when Captain Dornton 
 rose with apparent reluctance and put away his pipe. 
 
 "Now look here, my lad, I 'm right glad to have over- 
 hauled you again, whatever happened or is going to happen, 
 and there 's my hand upon it! Now, to come to business. 
 I 'm going over to England on this job, and I want you to 
 come and help me." 
 
 Randolph's heart leaped. The appeal revived all his old 
 boyish enthusiasm, with his secret loyalty to the man be- 
 fore him. But he suddenly remembered his past illusions, 
 and for an instant he hesitated. 
 
 " But the bank, " he stammered, scarce knowing what to 
 say. 
 
 The captain smiled. "I will pay you better than the 
 bank ; and at the end of four months, in whatever way this 
 
tkent's trust 65 
 
 job turns out, if you still wish to return here, I will see 
 that you are secured from any loss. Perhaps you may be 
 able to get a leave of absence. But your real object must 
 be kept a secret from every one. Not a word of my exist- 
 ence or my purpose must be blown before I am ready. You 
 and Jack Kedhill are all that know it now." 
 
 " But you have a lawyer ? " said the surprised Eandolph. 
 
 "Not yet. I 'm my own lawyer in this matter until I 
 get fairly under way. I 've studied the law enough to know 
 that as soon as I prove that I 'm alive the case must go on 
 on account of my heir, whether / choose to cry quits or not. 
 And it 's just that that holds my hand." 
 
 Eandolph stared at the extraordinary man before him. 
 For a moment, as the strange story of his miraculous escape 
 and his still more wonderful indifference to it all recurred 
 to his mind, he felt a doubt of the narrator's truthfulness 
 or his sanity. But another glance at the sailor's frank eyes 
 dispelled that momentary suspicion. He held out his hand 
 as frankly, and grasping Captain Dornton's, said, "I wiU 
 go." 
 
 Randolph's request for a four months' leave of absence 
 was granted with little objection and no curiosity. He had 
 acquired the confidence of his employers, and beyond Mr. 
 Eevelstoke's curt surprise that a young fellow on the road 
 to fortune should sacrifice so much time to irrelevant travel, 
 and the remark, "But you know your own business best," 
 there was no comment. It struck the young man, however, 
 that Mr. Dirigwall's slight coolness on receiving the news 
 might be attributed to a suspicion that he was following 
 Miss Avondale, whom he had fancied Dingwall disliked, and 
 he quickly made certain inquiries in regard to Miss Ever- 
 sleigh and the possibility of his meeting her. As, without 
 intending it, and to his own surprise, he achieved a blush in 
 
66 TRENT'S TKUST 
 
 SO doing, which Dingwall noted, he received a gracious re» 
 ply, and the suggestion that it was " quite proper " for him, 
 on arriving, to send the young lady his card. 
 
 Captain Dornton, under the alias of "Captain Johns," 
 was ready to catch the next steamer to the Isthmus, and in 
 two days they sailed. The voyage was uneventful, and if 
 Randolph had expected any enthusiasm on the part of the 
 captain in the mission on which he was now fairly launched, 
 he would have heen disappointed. Although his frankness 
 was unchanged, he volunteered no confidences. It was evi 
 dent he was fully acquainted with the legal strength of his 
 claim, yet he, as evidently, deferred making any plan of re- 
 dress until he reached England. Of Miss Eversleigh he was 
 more communicative. " You would have liked her hetter, 
 my lad, if you hadn't heen bewitched by the Avondale 
 woman, for she is the whitest of the Dorntons." In vain 
 Randolph protested truthfully, yet with an even more con- 
 vincing color, that it had made no difference, and he had 
 liked her. The captain laughed. " Ay, lad ! But she *s 
 a poor orphan, with scarcely a hundred pounds a year, who 
 lives with her guardian, an old clergyman. And yet, " he 
 added grimly, "there are only three lives between her and 
 the property — mine, Bobby's, and Bill's — unless he 
 should marry and have an heir."' 
 
 " The more reason why you should assert yourself and do 
 what you can for her now," said Randolph eagerly. 
 
 "Ay," returned the captain, with his usual laugh, " when 
 she was a child I used to call her my little sweetheart, and 
 gave her a ring, and I reckon I promised to marry her, too, 
 when she grew up." 
 
 The truthful Randolph would have told him of Miss 
 Eversleigh' s gift, but unfortunately he felt himself again 
 blushing, and fearful lest the captain would misconstrue his 
 confusion, he said nothing. 
 
 Except on this occasion, the captain talked with Randolph 
 
TKENT'S TRUST 67 
 
 chiefly of his later past, — of voyages he had made, of places 
 they were passing, and ports they visited. He spent much 
 of the time with the officers, and even the crew, over whom 
 he seemed to exercise a singular power, and with whom he 
 exhibited an odd freemasonry. To Eandolph's eyes he ap- 
 peared to grow in strength and stature in the salt breath of 
 the sea, and although he was uniformly kind, even affection- 
 ate, to him, he was brusque to the other passengers, and at 
 times even with his friends the sailors. Eandolph sometimes 
 wondered how he would treat a crew of his own. He found 
 some answer to that question in the captain's manner to 
 Jack EedhUl, the abstractor of the portmanteau, and his old 
 shipmate, who was accompanying the captain in some de- 
 pendent capacity, but who received his master's confidences 
 and orders with respectful devotion. 
 
 It was a cold, foggy morning, nearly two months later, 
 that they landed at Plymouth. The English coast had been 
 a vague blank all night, only pierced, long hours apart, by 
 dim star-points or weird yellow beacon flashes against the 
 horizon. And this vagueness and unreality increased on 
 landing, until it seemed to Randolph that they had slipped 
 into a land of dreams. The illusion was kept up as they 
 walked in the weird shadows through half-lit streets into a 
 murky railway station throbbing with steam and sudden an- 
 gry flashes in the darkness, and then drew away into what 
 ought to have been the open country, but was only gray 
 plains of mist against a lost horizon. Sometimes even the 
 vague outlook was obliterated by passing trains coming from 
 nowhere and slipping into nothingness. As they crept along 
 with the day, without, however, any lightening of the opaque 
 vault overhead to mark its meridian, there came at times a 
 thinning of the gray wall on either side of the track, show- 
 ing the vague bulk of a distant hill, the battlemented sky 
 line of an old-time hall, or the spires of a cathedral, but al- 
 ways melting back into the mist again as in a dream. Then 
 
68 TRENT'S TKUST 
 
 vague stretches of gloom again, foggy stations obscured Ijy 
 nebulous light and blurred and moving figures, and the black 
 relief of a tunnel. Only once the captain, catching sight 
 of Kandolph's awed face under the lamp of the smoking 
 carriage, gave way to his long, low laugh. "Jolly place, 
 England — so very ' Merrie. ' " And then they came to a 
 comparatively lighter, broader, and more brilliantly sig- 
 naled tunnel filled with people, and as they remained in it, 
 Randolph was told it was London. With the sensation of 
 being only half awake, he was guided and put into a cab 
 by his companion, and seemed to be completely roused only 
 at the hotel. 
 
 It had been arranged that Randolph should first go down 
 to Chillingworth rectory and call on Miss Eversleigh, and, 
 without disclosing his secret, gather the latest news from 
 Dornton Hall, only a few miles from Chillingworth. For 
 this purpose he had telegraphed to her that evening, and 
 had received a cordial response. The next morning he arose 
 early, and, in spite of the gloom, in the glow of his youth- 
 ful optimism entered the bedroom of the sleeping Captain 
 Dornton, and shook him by the shoulder in lieu of the ac- 
 colade, saying : " Rise, Sir John Dornton ! " 
 
 The captain, a light sleeper, awoke quickly. "Thank 
 you, my lad, all the same, though I don't know that I 'm 
 quite ready yet to tumble up to that kind of piping. 
 There 's a rotten old saying in the family that only once in 
 a hundred years the eldest son succeeds. That 's why Bill 
 was so cocksure, I reckon. Well 1 " 
 
 "In an hour I 'm ofif to Chillingworth to begin the cam- 
 paign," said Randolph cheerily. 
 
 "Luck to you, my boy, whatever happens. Clap a stop- 
 per on your jaws, though, now and then. I 'm glad you 
 like Sybby, but I don't want you to like her so much as to 
 forget yourself and give me away." 
 
teent's trust 69 
 
 Half an hour out of London the fog grew thinner, break- 
 ing into lace-like shreds in the woods as the train sped by, 
 or expanding into lustrous tenuity above him. Although 
 the trees were leafless, there was some recompense in the 
 glimpses their bare boughs afforded of clustering chimneys 
 and gables nestling in ivy. An infinite repose had been laid 
 upon the landscape with the withdrawal of the fog, as of a 
 veil lifted from the face of a sleeper. All his boyish dreams 
 of the mother country came back to him in the books he had 
 read, and re-peopled the vast silence. Even the rotting 
 leaves that lay thick in the crypt-like woods seemed to him 
 the dead laurels of its past heroes and sages. Quaint old- 
 time villages, thatched roofs, the ever-recurring square tow- 
 ers of church or hall, the trim, ordered parks, tiny streams 
 crossed by heavy stone bridges much too large for them — 
 all these were only pages of those books whose leaves he 
 seemed to be turning over. Two hours of this fancy, and 
 then the train stopped at a station within a mile or two of 
 a bleak headland, a beacon, and the gray wash of a pewter- 
 colored sea, where a hilly village street climbed to a Norman 
 church tower and the ivied gables of a rectory. 
 
 Miss Eversleigh, dignifiedly tall, but youthfully frank, 
 as he remembered her, was waiting to drive him in a pony 
 trap to the rectory. A little pink, with suppressed con- 
 sciousness and the responsibilities of presenting a stranger 
 guest to her guardian, she seemed to Eandolph more charm- 
 ing than ever. 
 
 But her first word of news shocked and held him breath- 
 less. Bobby, the little orphan, a frail exotic, had suc- 
 cumbed to the Northern winter. A cold caught in New 
 York had developed into pneumonia, and he died on the 
 passage. Miss Avondale, although she had received marked 
 attention from Sir William, returned to America in the 
 «ame ship. 
 
 "I really don't think she was quite as devoted to the 
 
70 teent's tkust 
 
 poor child as all that, you know, " she continued with inno- 
 cent frankness, " and Cousin Bill was certainly most kind to 
 them both, yet there really seemed to be some coolness be- 
 tween them after the child's death. But," she added sud- 
 denly, for the first time observing her companion's evident 
 distress, and coloring in confusion, "I beg your, pardon — 
 I 've been horribly rude and heartless. I dare say the poor 
 boy was very dear to you, and of course Miss Avondale was 
 your friend. Please forgive me ! " 
 
 Randolph, intent only on that catastrophe which seemed 
 to wreck all Captain Dornton's hopes and blunt his only 
 purpose for declaring himself, hurriedly reassured her, ,yet 
 was not sorry his agitation had been misunderstood. And 
 what was to be done 1 There was no train back to London 
 for four hours. He dare not telegraph, and if he did, could 
 he trust to his strange patron's wise conduct under the first 
 shock of this news to his present vacillating purpose 1 He 
 could only wait. 
 
 Luckily for his ungallant abstraction, they were speedily 
 at the rectory, where a warm welcome from Mr. Brunton, 
 Sibyl's guardian, and his family forced him to recover him- 
 self, and showed him that the story of his devotion to Johii 
 Dornton had suffered nothing from Miss Eversleigh's recital. 
 Distraught and anxious as he was, he could not resist the 
 young girl's offer after luncheon to show him the church 
 with the vault of the Dorntons and the tablet erected to 
 John Dornton, and, later, the Hall, only two miles distant. 
 But here Eandolph hesitated. 
 
 "I would rather not call on Sir William to-day," he 
 said. 
 
 "You need not. He is over at the horse show at Fern 
 Dyke, and won't be back till late. And if he has been for- 
 gathering with his boon companions he won't be very plea 
 sant company. " 
 
 " Sibyl ! " said the rector in good-humored protest. 
 
tkent's trust 71 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Trent has had a little of Cousin Bill's convivial 
 manners before now," said the young girl vivaciously, "and 
 isn't shocked. But we can see the Hall from the park on 
 our way to the station." 
 
 Even in his anxious preoccupation he could see that the 
 church itself was a quaint and wonderful preservation of the 
 past. For four centuries it had been sacred to the tombs of 
 the Dorntons and their effigies in brass and marble, yet, as 
 Randolph glanced at the stately sarcophagus of the unknown 
 ticket of leave man, its complacent absurdity, combined 
 with his nervousness, made him almost hysterical. Yet 
 again, it seemed to him that something of the mystery and 
 inviolability of the past now invested that degraded dust, 
 and it would be an equal impiety to disturb it. Miss Ever- 
 sleigh, again believing his agitation caused by the memory 
 of his old patron, tactfully hurried him away. Yet it was 
 a more bitter thought, I fear, that not only were his lips . 
 sealed to his charming companion on the subject in which 
 they could sympathize, but his anxiety prevented !him from 
 availing himself of that interview to exchange the lighter 
 confidences he had eagerly looked forward to. It seemed 
 cruel that he was debarred this chance of knitting their 
 friendship closer by another of those accidents that had 
 brought them together. And he was aware that his gloomy 
 abstraction was noticed by her. At first she drew herself 
 up in a certain proud reserve, and then, perhaps, his own 
 nervousness infecting her in turn, he was at last terrified to 
 observe that, as she stood before the tomb, her clear gray 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Oh, please don't do that — there, Miss Eversleigh," he 
 burst out impulsively. 
 
 " I was thinking of Cousin Jack, " she said, a little star- 
 tled at his abruptness. " Sometimes it seems so strange that 
 he is dead — I scarcely can believe it. " 
 
 "I meant," sfammered Eandolph, "that he is much hap- 
 
72 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 pier — you know " — he grew almost hysterical again as he 
 thought of the captain lying cheerfully in his bed at the 
 hotel — " much happier than you or I, " he added bitterly ; 
 " that is — I mean, it grieves me so to see you grieve, you 
 know. " 
 
 Miss Eversleigh did not know, but there was enough sin- 
 cerity and real feeling in the young fellow's voice and eyes 
 to make her color slightly and hurry him away to a locality 
 less fraught with emotions. In a few moments they en- 
 tered the park, and the old Hall rose before them. It was 
 a great Tudor house of mullioned windows, traceries, and 
 battlements ; of stately towers, moss-grown balustrades, and 
 statues darkening with the fog that was already hiding the 
 angles and wings of its huge bulk. A peacock spread its 
 ostentatious tail on the broad stone steps before the portal; 
 a flight of rooks from the leafless elms rose above its stacked 
 and twisted chimneys. After all, how little had this stately 
 incarnation of the vested rights and sacred tenures of the 
 past in common with the laughing rover he had left in Lon- 
 don that morning! And thinking of the destinies that the 
 captain held so lightly in his hand, and perhaps not a little 
 of the absurdity of his own position to the confiding young 
 girl beside him, for a moment he half hated him. 
 
 The fog deepened as they reached the station, and, as it 
 seemed to Randolph, made their parting still more vague 
 and indefinite, and it was with difiiculty that he could re- 
 spond to the young girl's frank hope that he would soon 
 return to them. Yet he half resolved that he would no' 
 until he could tell her all. 
 
 Nevertheless, as the train crept more and more slowlj 
 with halting signals, toward London, he buoyed himself up 
 with the hope that Captain Dornton would still try conclu- 
 sions for his patrimony, or at least come to some compromise 
 by which he might be restored to his rank and name. But 
 upon these hopes the vision of that great ho%ise settled firmly 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 73 
 
 pon its lands, held there in perpetuity hy the dead and 
 retched-out hands of those that lay heneath its soil, always 
 Dtruded itself. Then the fog deepened, and the crawling 
 ain came to a dead stop at the next station. The whole 
 ae was blocked. Four precious hours were hopelessly 
 
 St. 
 
 Yet despite his impatience, he reentered London with the 
 me dazed semi-consciousness of feeling as on the night he 
 id first arrived. There seemed to have been no interim; 
 ^s visit to the rectory and Hall, and even his fateful news, 
 ere only a dream. He drove through the same shadow to 
 le hotel, was received by the same halo-encircled lights 
 lat had never been put out. After glancing through the 
 ills and reading room he hurriedly made his way to his 
 rapanion's room. The captain was not there. He quickly 
 mmoned the waiter. The gentleman? Yes; Captain 
 ornton had left with his servant, Eedhill, a few hours 
 ter Mr. Trent went away. He had left no message. 
 
 Again condemned to wait in inactivity, Randolph tried to 
 sist a certain uneasiness that was creeping over him, by 
 tributing the captain's absence to some unexpected legal 
 nsultation or the gathering of evidence, his prolonged de- 
 tition being due to the same fog that had delayed his own 
 lin. But he was somewhat surprised to find that the cap- 
 in had ordered his luggage into the porter's care in the 
 .11 below before leaving, and that nothing remained in his 
 om but a few toilet articles and the fateful portmanteau, 
 le hours passed slowly. Owing to that perpetual twilight 
 which he had passed the day, there seemed no perceptible 
 ght of time, and at eleven o'clock, the captain not arriv- 
 g, he determined to wait in the latter's room so as to be 
 re not to miss him. Twelve o'clock boomed from an ad- 
 vent invisible steeple, but still he came not. Overcome 
 
 the fatigue and excitement of the day, Randolph con- 
 ided to lie down in his clothes on the captain's bed, not 
 
74 TRENT'S TETJST 
 
 ■without a supeistitious and uncomfortable recollection of 
 that night, about a year before, when he had awaited him 
 vainly at the San Francisco hotel. Even the fateful port- 
 manteau was there to assist his gloomy fancy. Neverthe- 
 less, with the boom of one o'clock in his drowsy ears as his 
 last coherent recollection, he sank into a dreamless sleep. 
 
 He was awakened by a tapping at his door, and jumped 
 up to realize by his watch and the still burning gaslight that 
 it was nine o'clock. But the intruder was only a waiter 
 with a letter which he had brought to Randolph's room in 
 obedience to the instructions the latter had given overnight. 
 Not doubting it was from the captain, although the hand- 
 writing of the address was unfamiliar, he eagerly broke the 
 seal. But he was surprised to read as follows : — 
 
 Dear Mr. Trent, — We had such sad news from the 
 Hall after you left. Sir William was seized with a kind of 
 fit. It appears that he had just returned from the horse 
 show, and had given his mare to the groom while he walked 
 to the garden entrance. The groom saw him turn at the 
 yew hedge, and was driving to the stables when he heard 
 a queer kind of cry, and turning back to the garden front, 
 found poor Sir William lying on the ground in convulsions. 
 The doctor was sent for, and Mr. Brunton and I went over 
 to the Hall. The doctor thinks it was something like a 
 stroke, but he is not certain, and Sir William is quite delir- 
 ious, and does n't recognize anybody. I gathered from the 
 groom that he had been drinking heavily. Perhaps it was 
 well that you did not see him, but I thought you ought to 
 know what had happened in case you came down again. 
 It 's all very dreadful, and I wonder if that is why I was so 
 nervous all the afternoon. It may have been a kind of pre- 
 sentiment. Don't you think so? 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 Sibyl Eveesleigh. 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 75 
 
 I am afraid Randolph thought more of the simple-minded 
 girl who, in the midst of her excitement, turned to him half 
 unconsciously, than he did of Sir William. Had it not been 
 for the necessity of seeing the captain, he would probably 
 have taken the next train to the rectory. Perhaps he might 
 later. He thought little of Sir William's illness, and was 
 inclined to accept the young girl's naive suggestion of its 
 cause. He read and reread the letter, staring at the large, 
 grave, childlike handwriting — so like herself — and obey- 
 ing a sudden impulse, raised the signature, as gravely as if 
 it had been her hand, to his lips. 
 
 Still the day advanced and the captain came not. Ran- 
 dolph found the inactivity insupportable. He knew not 
 where to seek him ; he had no more clue to his resorts or his 
 friends — if, indeed, he had any in London — than he had 
 after their memorable first meeting in San Francisco. He 
 might, indeed, be the dupe of an impostor, who, at the 
 eleventh hour, had turned craven and fled. He might be, 
 in the captain's indifference, a mere instrument set aside at 
 his pleasure. Yet he could take advantage of Miss Ever- 
 sleigh's letter and seek her, and confess everything, and ask 
 her advice. It was a great and at the moment it seemed 
 to him an overwhelming temptation. But only for the 
 moment. He had given his word to the captain — more, 
 he had given his yonthtni. faith. And, to his credit, he 
 never swerved again. It seemed to him, too, in his youth- 
 ful superstition, as he looked at the abandoned portmanteau, 
 that he had again to take up his burden — his "trust." 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock when the spell was broken. A 
 large packet, bearing the printed address of a London and 
 American bank, was brought to him by a special messenger ; 
 but the written direction was in the captain's hand. Ran- 
 dolph tore it open. It contained one or two inclosures, 
 which he hastily put aside for the letter, two pages of fools- 
 cap, which he read breathlessly : — 
 
76 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 Dear Trent, — Don't worry your head if I have slipped 
 my cable without telling you. I 'm all right, only I got the 
 news you are bringing me, just after you left, by Jack 
 Redhill, whom I had sent to Dornton Hall to see how the 
 land lay the night before. It was not that 1 didn't trust 
 you, but he had ways of getting news that you would n't 
 stoop to. You can guess, from what I have told you already, 
 that, now Bobby is gone, there 's nothing to keep me here, 
 and I 'm following my own idea of letting the whole blasted 
 thing slide. I only worked this racket for the sake of him. 
 I 'm sorry for him, but I suppose the poor little beggar 
 couldn't stand these sunless, God-forsaken longitudes any 
 more than I could. Besides that, as I did n't want to trust 
 any lawyer with my secret, I myself had hunted up some 
 books on the matter, and found that, by the law of entail, 
 I 'd have to rip up the whole blessed thing, and Bill would 
 have had to pay back every blessed cent of what rents he 
 had collected since he took hold — not to me, but the estate 
 — with interest, and that no arrangement J could make with 
 Mm, would be legal on account of the boy. At least, that 's 
 the way the thing seemed to pan out to me. So that when 
 I heard of Bobby's death I was glad to jump the rest, and 
 that 's what I made up my mind to do. 
 
 But, like a blasted lubber, now that I could do it and 
 cut right away, I must needs think that I 'd like first to see 
 Bill on the sly, without letting on to any one else, and tell 
 him what I was going to do. I 'd no fear that he 'd object, 
 or that he 'd hesitate a minute to fall in with my plan of 
 dropping my name and my game, and giving him full swing, 
 while I stood out to sea and the South Pacific, and dropped 
 out of his mess for the rest of my life. Perhaps I wanted 
 to set his mind at rest, if he 'd ever had any doubts ; perhaps 
 
 I wanted to have a little fun out of him for his d d pre- 
 
 viousness; perhaps, lad, I had a hankering to see the old 
 place for the last time. At any rate, I allowed to go to 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 77 
 
 Dornton Hall. I timed myself to get there about the hour 
 you left, to keep out of sight until I knew he was returning 
 from the horse show, and to waylay him alone and have our 
 little talk without witnesses. I dare n't go to the Hall, for 
 some of the old servants might recognize me. 
 
 I went down there with Jack Eedhill, and we separated 
 at the station. I hung around in the fog. I even saw you 
 pass with Sibyl in the dogcart, but you didn't see me. I 
 knew the place, and just where to hide where I could have 
 the chance of seeing him alone. But it was a beastly job 
 
 waiting there. I felt like a d d thief instead of a man 
 
 who was simply visiting his own. Yet, you may n't believe 
 me, lad, but I hated the place and all it meant more than 
 ever. Then, by and by, I heard him coming. I had 
 arranged it all with myself to get into the yew hedge, and 
 step out as he came to the garden entrance, and as soon as 
 he recognized me to get him round the terrace into the sum- 
 mer house, where we could speak without danger. 
 
 I heard the groom drive away to the stable with the cart, 
 and, sure enough, in a minute he came lurching along toward 
 the garden door. He was mighty unsteady on his pins, and 
 I reckon he was more than half full, which was a bad look- 
 out for our confab. But I calculated that the sight of me, 
 
 when I slipped out, would sober him. And, by , it did ! 
 
 For his eyes bulged out of his head and got fixed there; his 
 jaw dropped; he tried to strike at me with a hunting crop 
 he was carrying, and then he uttered an ungodly yell you 
 might have heard . the station, and dropped down in his 
 tracks. I had just time to slip back into the hedge again 
 before the groom came driving back, and then all hands were 
 piped, and they took him into the house. 
 
 And of course the game was up, and I lost my only 
 chance. I was thankful enough to get clean away without 
 discovering myself, and I have to trust now to the fact of 
 Bill' s being drunk, and thinking it was my ghost that ho 
 
78 TRENT'S TEUST 
 
 saw, in a touch of the jimjams ! And I 'm not sorry to 
 have given him that start, for there was that in his eye, and 
 that in the stroke he made, my lad, that showed a guilty 
 conscience I had n't reckoned on. And it cured me of my 
 wish to set his mind at ease. He 's welcome to all the 
 rest. 
 
 And that 's why I 'm going away — never to return. I 'm 
 sorry I couldn't take you with me, hut it 's better that I 
 should n't see you again, and that you did n't even know 
 where I was gone. When you get this I shall be on blue 
 water and heading for the sunshine. You '11 find two letters 
 inclosed. One you need not open unless you hear that my 
 secret was blown, and you are ever called upon to explain 
 your relations with me. The other is my thanks, my lad, 
 in a letter of credit on the bank, for the way you have kept 
 your trust, and I believe will continue to keep it, to 
 
 John Doknton. 
 
 P. S. I hope you dropped a tear over my swell tomb 
 at Dornton Church. All the same, I don't begrudge it to 
 the poor devil who lost his life instead of me. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 As Randolph read, he seemed to hear the captain's voice 
 throughout the letter, and even his low, characteristic laugh 
 in the postscript. Then he suddenly remembered the lug- 
 gage which the porter had said the captain had ordered to 
 be taken below ; but on asking that functionary he was told 
 a conveyance for the Victoria Docks had called with an or- 
 der, and taken it away at daybreak. It was evident that 
 the captain had intended the letter should be his only fare- 
 well. Depressed and a little hurt at his patron's abruptness, 
 Randolph returned to his room. Opening the letter of 
 credit, he found it was for a thousand pounds — a munifi- 
 cent beneficence, as it seemed to Randolph, for his dubious 
 services, and a proof of his patron's frequent declarations 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 79 
 
 that he had money enough without touching the Dornton 
 estates. 
 
 For a long time he sat -with these sole evidences of the 
 reality of his experience in his hands, a prey to a thousand 
 surmises and conflicting thoughts. Was he the self-deceived 
 disciple of a visionary, a generous, unselfish, but weak man, 
 ■whose eccentricity passed even the bounds of reason 1 Who 
 would believe the captain's story or the captain's motives? 
 Who comprehend his strange quest and its stranger and 
 almost ridiculous termination ? Even if the seal of secrecy 
 were removed in after years, what had he, Randolph, to 
 show in corroboration of his patron's claim? 
 
 Then it occurred to him that there was no reason why he 
 should not go down to the rectory and see Miss Eversleigh 
 again under pretense of inquiring after the luckless baronet, 
 whose title and fortune had, nevertheless, been so strangely 
 preserved. He began at once his preparations for the jour- 
 ney, and was nearly ready when a servant entered with a 
 telegram. Randolph's heart leaped. The captain had sent 
 him news — perhaps had changed his mind ! He tore off 
 the yellow cover, and read, — 
 
 Sir William died at twelve o'clock without recovering 
 consciousness. S. Eveksleigh. 
 
 VI 
 
 For a moment Randolph gazed at the dispatch with a 
 half-hysterical laugh, and then became as suddenly sane and 
 cool. One thought alone was uppermost in his mind: th"? 
 captain could not have heard this news yet, and if he was 
 still within reach, or accessible by any means whatever, how- 
 ever determined his purpose, he must know it at once. The 
 only clue to his whereabouts was the Victoria Docks. But 
 that was something. In another moment Randolph was in 
 the lower hall, had learned the quickest way of reaching the 
 docks, and plunged into the street. 
 
80 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 The fog here swooped down, and to the emharrassment of 
 his mind was added the ohscurity of light and distance, 
 which halted him after a few hurried steps, in utter per- 
 plexity. Indistinct figures were here and there approaching 
 him out of nothingness and melting away again into the 
 greenish gray chaos. He was in a husy thoroughfare; he 
 could hear the slow trample of hoofs, the dull crawling of 
 vehicles, and the warning outcries of a traffic he could not 
 see. Trusting rather to his own speed than that of a halt- 
 ing conveyance, he blundered on until he reached the rail- 
 way station. A short but exasperating journey of impulses 
 and hesitations, of detonating signals and warning whistles, 
 and he at last stood on the docks, beyond him a vague bulk 
 or two, and a soft, opaque flowing wall — the river ! 
 
 But one steamer had left that day — the Dom Pedro, for 
 the River Plate — two hours before, but until the fog thick- 
 ened, a quarter of an hour ago, she could be seen, so his in- 
 formant said, still lying, with steam up, in jnidstream. Yes. 
 it was still possible to board her. But even as the boatman 
 spoke, and was leading the way toward the landing steps, 
 the fog suddenly lightened ; a soft salt breath stole in from 
 the distant sea, and a veil seemed to be lifted from the face 
 of the gray waters. The outlines of the two shores came 
 back; the spars of nearer vessels showed distinctly, but the 
 space where the huge hulk had rested was empty and void. 
 There was a trail of something darker and more opaque than 
 fog itself lying near the surface of the water, but the Dom 
 Pedro was a mere speck in the broadening distance. 
 
 A bright sun and a keen easterly wind were revealing the 
 curling ridges of the sea beyond the headland when Ran- 
 dolph again passed the gates of Dornton Hall on his way to 
 the rectory. Now, for the first time, he was able to see 
 clearly the outlines of that spot which had seemed to him 
 only a misty dream, and even in his preoccupation he was 
 
TRENT'S TKTJST 81 
 
 struck by its grave beauty. The leafless limes and elms in 
 the park grouped themselves as part of the picturesque de- 
 tails of the Hall they encompassed, and the evergreen slope 
 of firs and larches rose as a background to the gray battle- 
 ments, covered with dark green ivy, whose rich shadows 
 were brought out by the unwonted sunshine. With a half- 
 repugnant curiosity he had tried to identify the garden en- 
 trance and the fateful yew hedge the captain had spoken of 
 as he passed. But as quickly he fell back upon the resolu- 
 tion he had taken in coming there — to dissociate his secret, 
 his experience, and his responsibility to his patron from his 
 relations to Sibyl Eversleigh; to enjoy her companionship 
 without an obtruding thought of the strange circumstances 
 that had brought them together at first, or the stranger for- 
 tune that had later renewed their acquaintance. He had 
 resolved to think of her as if she had merely passed into his 
 life in the casual ways of society, with only her personal 
 charms to set her apart from others. Why should his ex- 
 clusive possession of a secret — which, even if confided to 
 her, would only give her needless and hopeless anxiety — 
 debar them from an exchange of those other confidences of 
 yoiith and sympathy ? Why could he not love her and yet 
 withhold from her the knowledge of her cousin's existence? 
 So he had determined to make the most of his opportunity 
 during his brief holiday ; to avail himself of her na'ive invi- 
 tation, and even of what he dared sometimes to think was 
 her predilection for his companionship. And if, before he 
 left, he had acquired a right to look forward to a time when 
 her future and his should be one — but here his glowing 
 fancy was abruptly checked by his arrival at the rectory 
 door. 
 
 Mr. Brunton received him cordially, yet with a slight 
 business preoccupation and a certain air of importance that 
 struck him as peculiar. Sibyl, he informed him, was en- 
 gaged at that moment with some friends who had come over 
 
82 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 from the Hall. Mr. Trent would understand that there was 
 a great deal for her to do — in her present position. Won- 
 dering -why she should be selected to do it instead of older 
 and more experienced persons, Randolph, however, con- 
 tented himself with inquiries regarding the details of Sir 
 William's seizure and death. He learned, as he expected, 
 that nothing whatever was known of the captain's visit, 
 nor was there the least suspicion that the baronet's attack 
 was the result of any predisposing emotion. Indeed, it 
 seemed more possible that his medical attendants, knowing 
 something of his late excesses and their effect upon his con- 
 stitution, preferred, for the sake of avoiding scandal, to 
 attribute the attack to long-standing organic disease. 
 
 Randolph, who had already determined, as a forlorn hope, 
 to write- a cautious letter to the captain (informing him 
 briefly of the news without betraying his secret, and directed 
 to the care of the consignees of the Dom Pedro in Brazil, 
 by the next post), was glad to be able to add this medical 
 opinion to relieve his patron's mind of any fear of having 
 hastened his brother's death by his innocent appearance 
 But here the entrance of Sibyl Eversleigh with her friends 
 drove all else from his mind. 
 
 She looked so tall and graceful in her black dress, which 
 set off her dazzling skin, and, with her youthful gravity, 
 gave to her figure the charming maturity of a young widow, 
 that he was for a moment awed and embarrassed. But he 
 experienced a relief when she came eagerly toward him in 
 all her old girlish frankness, and with even something of 
 yearning expectation in her gray eyes. 
 
 "It was so good of you to come," she said. "I thought 
 you would imagine how I was feeling " — She stopped, as 
 if she were conscious, as Randolph was, of a certain chill of 
 unresponsiveness in the company, and said in an undertone, 
 " Wait until we are alone. " Then, turning with a slight 
 color and a pretty dignity toward her friends, she contin- 
 
TRENT'S TKUST 83 
 
 ued: "Lady Ashbrook, this is Mr. Trent, an old friend of 
 both my cousins when they were in America. " 
 
 In spite of the gracious response of the ladies, Randolph 
 was aware of their critical scrutiny of both himself and Miss 
 Eversleigh, of the exchange of significant glances, and a 
 certain stiffness in her guardian's manner. It was quite 
 enough to afifect Randolph's sensitiveness and bring out his 
 own reserve. 
 
 Fancying, however, that his reticence disturbed Miss 
 Eversleigh, he forced himself to converse with Lady Ash- 
 brook — avoiding many of her pointed queries as to himself, 
 his acquaintance with Sibyl, and the length of time he ex- 
 pected to stay in England — and even accompanied her to 
 her carriage. And here he was rewarded by Sibyl running 
 out with a crape veil twisted round her throat and head, 
 and the usual femininely forgotten final message to her vis- 
 itor. As the carriage drove away, she turned to Randolph, 
 and said quickly, — 
 
 "Let us go in by way of the garden." 
 
 It was a slight detour, but it gave them a few moments 
 alqne. 
 
 "It was so awful and sudden," she said, looking gravely 
 at Randolph, " and to think that only an hour before I had 
 been saying unkind things of him! Of course," she added 
 naively, "they were true, and the groom admitted to me 
 that the mare was overdriven and Sir William could hardly 
 stand. And only to think of it! he never recovered com- 
 plete consciousness, but muttered incoherently all the time. 
 I was with him to the last, and he never said a word I could 
 understand — only once. " 
 
 " What did he say 1 " asked Randolph uneasily. 
 
 "I don't like to say — it was too dreadful! " 
 
 Randolph did not press her. Yet, after a pause, she said 
 in a low voice, with a naivete impossible to describe, "It 
 was, ' Jack, damn you ! ' " 
 
84 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 He did not dare to look at her, even with this grim 
 mingling of farce and tragedy which seemed to invest every 
 scene of that sordid drama. Miss Eversleigh continued 
 gravely: "The groom's name was Robert, but Jack might 
 have been the name of one of his boon companions." 
 
 Convinced that she suspected nothing, yet in the hope of 
 changing the subject, Kandolph said quietly : " I thought 
 your guardian perhaps a little less frank and communicative 
 to-day. " 
 
 "Yes," said the young girl suddenly, with a certain im- 
 patience, and yet in half apology to her companion, "of 
 course. He — they — all and everybody — are much more 
 concerned and anxious about my new position than I am. 
 It 's perfectly dreadful — this thinking of it all the time, 
 arranging everything, criticising everything in reference to 
 it, and the poor man who is the cause of it all not yet at 
 rest in his grave ! The whole thing is inhuman and un- 
 christian ! " 
 
 "I don't understand," stammered Randolph vaguely. 
 " What is your new position ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 The girl looked up in his face with surprise. "Why, 
 did n't you know ? I'm the next of kin — I 'm the heiress 
 — and will succeed to the property in six months, when I 
 am of age. " 
 
 In a flash of recollection Randolph suddenly recalled the 
 captain's words, "There are only three lives between her 
 and the property." Their meaning had barely touched his 
 comprehension before. She was the heiress. Yes, save for 
 the captain! 
 
 She saw the change, the wonder, even the dismay, in his 
 face, and her own brightened frankly. " It "s so good to 
 find one who never thought of it, who had n't it before him 
 as the chief end for which I was born ! Yes, I was the 
 next of kin after dear Jack died and Bill succeeded, but 
 there was every chance that he would marry and have an 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 85 
 
 heir. And yet the moment he was taken ill that idea was 
 uppermost in my guardian's mind, good man as he is, and 
 even forced upon me. If this — this property had come 
 from poor Cousin Jack, whom I loved, there would have 
 heen something dear in it as a memorj' or a gift, but from 
 him, whom I could n't bear — I know it 's wicked to talk 
 that way, but it 's simply dreadful! " 
 
 "And yet," said Randolph, with a sudden seriousness he 
 (iould not control, " I honestly believe that Captain Dornton 
 would be perfectly happy — yes, rejoiced ! — if he knew the 
 property had come to you." 
 
 There was such an air of conviction, and, it seemed to 
 the simple girl, even of spiritual insight, in his manner that 
 her clear, handsome eyes rested wonderingly on his. 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " she said thoughtfully. " And 
 yet he knows that I am like him. Yes," she continued, 
 answering Randolph's look of surprise, "I am just like him 
 in that. / loathe and despise the life that this thing would 
 condemn me to; / hate all that it means, and all that it 
 binds me to, as he used to ; and if I could, I would cut and 
 run from it as he did." 
 
 She spoke with a determined earnestness and warmth, so 
 unlike her usual grave naivete that he was astonished. There 
 was a flush on her cheek and a frank fire in her eye that re- 
 minded him strangely of the captain; and yet she had em- 
 phasized her words with a little stamp of her narrow foot 
 and a gesture of her hand that was so untrained and girlish 
 that he smiled, and said, with perhaps the least touch of 
 bitterness in his tone, "But you will get over that when 
 you come into the property." 
 
 "I suppose I shall," she returned, with an odd lapse to 
 her former gravity and submissiveness. "That's what 
 they all tell me." 
 
 "You will be independent and your own mistress," he 
 added. 
 
86 teent's trust 
 
 "Independent," she repeated impatiently, "-with Dorn- 
 ton Hall and twenty thousand a year ! Independent, with 
 every duty marked out for me! Independent, with every 
 one to criticise my smallest actions — every one who would 
 never have given a thought to the orphan who was con- 
 tented and made her own friends on a hundred a year ! Of 
 course you, who are a stranger, don't understand; yet I 
 thought that you" — she hesitated, — "would have thought 
 differently. " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Why, with your helief that one should make one's own 
 fortune," she said. 
 
 " That would do for a man, and in that I respected Cap- 
 tain Dornton's convictions, as you told them to me. But 
 for a girl, how could she he independent, except with 
 money 1 " 
 
 She shook her head as if unconvinced, but did not reply. 
 They were nearing the garden porch, when she looked up, 
 and said: "And as you 're a man, you will be making your 
 way in the world. Mr. Dingwall said you would." 
 
 There was something so childishly trustful and confident 
 in her assurance that he smiled. " Mr. Dingwall is too san- 
 guine, but it gives me hope to hear i/ou say so." 
 
 She colored slightly, and said gravely : " We must go in 
 now." Yet she lingered for a moment before the door. 
 For a long time afterward he had a very vivid recollection 
 of her charming face, in its childlike gravity and its quaint 
 frame of black crape, standing out against the sunset-warmed 
 wall of the rectory. "Promise me you will not mind what 
 these people say or do," she said suddenly. 
 
 "I promise," he returned, with a smile, "to mind only 
 what you say or do." 
 
 " But T might not be always quite right, you know, " she 
 said naively. 
 
 "I'll risk that." 
 
TRENT'S TBUST 87 
 
 "Then, when we go in now, don't talk much to me, hut 
 make yourself agreeable to all the others, and then go 
 straight home to the inn, and don't come here until after 
 the funeral." 
 
 The faintest evasive glint of mischievousness in her with- 
 drawn eyes at this moment mitigated the austerity of her 
 command as they both passed in. 
 
 Eandolph had intended not to return to London until 
 after the funeral, two days later, and spent the interesting 
 day at the neighboring town, whence he dispatched his ex- 
 ploring and perhaps hopeless letter to the captain. The 
 funeral was a large and imposing one, and impressed Ean- 
 dolph for the first time with the local importance and solid 
 standing of the Dorntons. All the magnates and old county 
 families were represented. The inn yard and the streets of 
 the little village were filled with their quaint liveries, crested 
 paneled carriages, and silver-cipher caparisoned horses, with 
 a sprinkling of fashion from London. He could not close 
 his ears to the gossip of the villagers regarding the sudden- 
 ness of the late baronet's death, the extinction of the title, 
 the accession of the orphaned girl to the property, and even, 
 to his greater exasperation, speculations upon her future and 
 probable marriage. "Some o' they gay chaps from Lunnon 
 will be lordin' it over the Hall afore long," was the com- 
 ment of the hostler. 
 
 It was with some little bitterness that Eandolph took his 
 seat in the crowded church. But this feeling, and even his 
 attempts to discover Miss Eversleigh's face in the stately 
 family pew fenced off from the chancel, presently passed 
 away. And then his mind began to be filled with strange 
 and weird fancies. What grim and ghostly revelations 
 might pass between this dead scion of the Dorntons lying on 
 the trestles before them and the obscure, nameless ticket of 
 leave man awaiting his entrance in the vault below 1 The 
 incongruity of this thought, with the smug complacency of 
 
88 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 the -worldly minded congregation sitting around him, and the 
 probable smiling carelessness of the reckless rover — the 
 cause of all — even now idly pacing the deck on the distant 
 sea, touched him with horror. And when added to this 
 was the consciousness that Sibyl Eversleigh was forced to 
 become an innocent actor in this hideous comedy, it seemed 
 as much as he could bear. Again he questioned himself. 
 Was he right to withhold his secret from her ? In vain he 
 tried to satisfy his conscience that she was happier in her 
 ignorance. The resolve he had made to keep his relations 
 with her apart from his secret, he knew now, was impos- 
 sible. But one thing was left to him. Until he could 
 disclose his whole story — until his lips were unsealed by 
 Captain Dornton — he must never see her again. And the 
 grim sanctity of the edifice seemed to make that resolution 
 a vow. 
 
 He did not dare to raise his eyes again toward her pew, 
 lest a sight of her sweet, grave face might shake his resolu- 
 tion, and he slipped away first among the departing congre- 
 gation. He sent her a brief note from the inn saying that 
 he was recalled to London by an earlier train, and that he 
 would be obliged to return to California at once, but hoping 
 that if he could be of any further assistance to her she 
 would write to him to the care of the bank. It was a formal 
 letter, and yet he had never written otherwise than formally 
 to her. That night he reached London. On the following 
 night he sailed from Liverpool for America. 
 
 Six months had passed. It was difficult, at first, for 
 Randolph to pick up his old life again; but his habitual 
 earnestness and singleness of purpose stood him in good 
 Ltead, and a vague rumor that he had made some powerful 
 friends abroad, with the nearer fact that he had a letter of 
 credit for a thousand pounds, did not lessen his reputation. 
 He was reinstalled and advanced at the bank. Mr. Ding- 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 89 
 
 wall was exceptionally gracious, and minute in his inquiries 
 regarding Miss Eversleigh's succession to the Dornton pro- 
 perty, with an occasional shrewdness of eye in his interroga- 
 tions which recalled to Randolph the questioning of Miss 
 Eversleigh's friends, and which he responded to as cau- 
 tiously. For the young fellow remained faithful to his vow 
 even in thinking of her, and seemed to he absorhed entirely 
 in his business. Yet there was a vague ambition of purpose 
 in this absorption that would probably have startled the more 
 conservative Englishman had he known it. 
 
 He had not heard from Miss Eversleigh since he left, nor 
 had he received any response from the captain. Indeed, he 
 had indulged in little hopes of either. But he kept stolidly 
 at work, perhaps with a larger trust than he knew. And 
 then, one day, he received a letter addressed in a handwrit- 
 ing that made his heart leap, though he had seen it but once, 
 when it conveyed the news of Sir William Dornton's sudden 
 illness. It was from Miss Eversleigh, but the postmark 
 was Callao ! He tore open the envelope, and for the next 
 few moments forgot everything — his business devotion, his 
 lofty purpose, even his solemn vow. 
 
 It read as follows : — 
 
 Deab Mk. Trent, — I should not be writing to you 
 now if I did not believe that I now understand why you 
 left us so abruptly on the day of the funeral, and why you 
 were at times so strange. You might have been a little less 
 hard and cold even if you knew all that you did know. But 
 I must write now, for I shall be in San Francisco a few days 
 after this reaches you, and I 7nust see you and have your 
 help, for I can have no other, as you know. You are won- 
 dering what this means, and why I am here. I know all 
 and everything. I know he is alive and never was dead. 
 I know I have no right to what I have, and never had, and 
 I have come here to seek him and make him take it back. 
 
90 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 I could do no other. I could not live and do anything hut 
 that, and you might have known it. But I have not found 
 him here as I hoped I should, though perhaps it was a fool- 
 ish hope of mine, and I am coming to you to help me seek 
 him, for he must be found. You know I want to keep his 
 and your secret, and therefore the only one I can turn to 
 for assistance and counsel is you. 
 
 You are wondering how I know what I do. Two months 
 ago / got a letter from him — the strangest, quaintest, and 
 yet the kindest letter — exactly like himself and the way 
 he used to talk ! He had just heard of his brother's death, 
 and congratulated me on coming into the property, and said 
 he was now perfectly happy, and should keep dead, and 
 never, never come to life again; that he never thought 
 things would turn out as splendidly as they had — for Sir 
 William might have had an heir — and that now he should 
 really die happy. He said something about everything 
 being legally right, and that I could do what I liked with 
 the property. As if that would satisfy me ! Yet it was all 
 so sweet and kind, and so like dear old Jack, that I cried 
 all night. And then I resolved to come here, where his 
 letter was dated from. Luckily I was of age now, and could 
 do as I liked, and I said I wanted to travel in South Amer- 
 ica and California; and I suppose they didn't think it very 
 strange that I should use my liberty in that way. Some 
 said it was quite like a Dornton ! I knew something of Cal- 
 lao from your friend Miss Avondale, and could talk about 
 it, which impressed them. So I started off with only a 
 maid — my old nurse. I was a little frightened at first, 
 when I came to think what I was doing, but everybody was 
 very kind, and I really feel quite independent now. So, 
 you see, a girl may be independent, after all ! Of course I 
 shall see Mr. Dingwall in San Francisco, but he need not 
 know anything more than that I am traveling for pleasure. 
 And I may go to the Sandwich Islands or Sydney, if I think 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 91 
 
 he is there. Of course I have had to use some money — 
 some of his rents — but it shall be paid back. I will teU 
 you everything about my plans when I see you. 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 Sibyl Eveesleigh. 
 P. S. Why did you let me cry over that man's tomb in 
 tho church? 
 
 Eandolph looked again at the date, and then hurriedly 
 consulted the shipping list. She was due in ten days. Yet, 
 delighted as he was with that prospect, and touched as ha 
 had been with her courage and naive determination, after 
 his first joy he laid the letter down with a sigh. For what- 
 ever was his ultimate ambition, he was still a mere salaried 
 clerk; whatever was her self-sacrificing purpose, she was 
 still the rich heiress. The seal of secrecy had been broken, 
 yet the situation remained unchanged ; their association must 
 still be dominated by it. And he shrank from the thought 
 of making her girlish appeal to him for help an opportunity 
 for revealing his real feelings. 
 
 This instinct was strengthened by the somewhat formal 
 manner in which Mr. Dingwall announced her approaching 
 visit. " Miss Eversleigh will stay with Mrs. Dingwall while 
 she is here, on account of her — er — position, and the fact 
 that she is without a chaperon. Mrs. Dingwall will, of 
 course, be glad to receive any friends Miss Eversleigh would 
 like to see." 
 
 Randolph frankly returned that Miss Eversleigh had writ- 
 ten to him, and that he would be glad to present himself, 
 Nothing more was said, but as the days passed he could not 
 help noticing that, in proportion as Mr. Dingwall's manner 
 became more stiif and ceremonious, Mr. Revelstoke's usually 
 crisp, good-humored suggestions grew more deliberate, and 
 Eandolph found himself once or twice the subject of the 
 president's penetrating but smiling scrutiny. And the day 
 
92 teent's teust 
 
 before Miss Eversleigh's arrival his natural excitement was 
 a little heightened by a summons to Mr. Bevelstoke's pri- 
 vate office. 
 
 As he entered, the president laid aside his pen and closed 
 the door. 
 
 " I have never made it my business, Trent, " he said, with 
 good-humored brusqueness, "to interfere in my employees' 
 private affairs, unless they affect their relations to the bank, 
 and I have n't had the least occasion to do so with you. 
 Neither has Mr. Dingwall, although it is on his behalf that 
 I am now speaking." As Kandolph listened with a con- 
 tracted brow, he went on with a grim smile : " But he is an 
 Englishman, you know, and has certain ideas of the impor- 
 tance of ' position, ' particularly among his own people. 
 He wishes me, therefore, to warn you of what he calls the 
 ' disparity ' of your position and that of a young English 
 lady — Miss Eversleigh — with whom you have some ac- 
 quaintance, and in whom," he added with a stiU grimmer 
 satisfaction, "he fears you are too deeply interested." 
 
 Randolph blazed. "If Mr. Dingwall had asked me, 
 sir," he said hotly, "I would have told him that I have 
 never yet had to be reminded that Miss Eversleigh is a rich 
 heiress and I only a poor clerk, but as to his using her name 
 in such a connection, or dictating to me the manner of " — 
 
 "Hold hard," said Eevelstoke, lifting his hand deprecat- 
 ingly, yet with his unchanged smile. " I don't agree with 
 Mr. Dingwall, and I have every reason to know the value 
 of your services, yet I admit something is due to his preju- 
 dices. And in this matter, Trent, the Bank of Eureka, 
 while I am its president, does n't take a back seat. 1 have 
 concluded to make you manager of the branch bank at 
 Marysville, an independent position with its salary and com- 
 missions. And if that doesn't suit Dingwall, why," he 
 added, rising from his desk with a short laugh, " he has a 
 bigger idea of the value of property than the bank has." 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 93 
 
 "One moment, sir, I implore you," burst out Eandolph 
 breathlessly. "If your kind offer is based upon the mis- 
 taken belief that I have the least claim upon Miss Ever- 
 sleigh's consideration more than that of simple friendship — 
 if anybody has dared to give you the idea that I have as- 
 pired by word or deed to more, or that the young lady has 
 ever countenanced or even suspected such aspirations, it is 
 utterly false, and grateful as I am for your kindness, I 
 could not accept it." 
 
 "Look here, Trent," returned Eevelstoke curtly, yet lay- 
 ing his hand on the young man's shoulder not unkindly. 
 "All that is your private affair, which, as I told you, I 
 don't interfere with. The other is a quer.tion between Mr. 
 Dingwall and myself of your comparative value. It won't 
 hurt you with anybody to know how high we 've assessed it. 
 Don't spoil a good thing! " 
 
 Grateful even in his uncertainty, Eandolph could only 
 thank him and withdraw. Yet this fateful forcing of his 
 hand in a delicate question gave him a new courage. It was 
 with a certain confidence now in his capacity as her friend 
 and qualified to advise her that he called at Mr. Dingwall's 
 the evening she arrived. It struck him that in the Ding- 
 walls' reception of him there was mingled with their formal- 
 ity a certain respect. 
 
 Thanks to this, perhaps, he found her alone. She seemed 
 to him more beautiful than his recollection had painted her, 
 in the development that maturity, freedom from restraint, 
 and time had given her. For a moment his new, fresh 
 courage was staggered. But she had retained her youthful 
 simplicity, and came toward him with the same naive and 
 innocent yearning in her clear eyes that he remembered at 
 their last meeting. Their first words were, naturally, of 
 their great secret, and Eandolph told her the whole story of 
 his unexpected and startling meeting with the captain, and 
 the captain's strange narrative, of his undertaking the jour- 
 
94 TRENT'S TRUST 
 
 ney with him to recover his claim, eBtablish his identity, 
 and, as Randolph had hoped, restore to her that member of 
 the family whom she had most cared for. He recounted 
 the captain's hesitation on arriving; his own journey to the 
 rectory ; the news she had given him ; the reason of his sin- 
 gular behavior ; his return to London ; and the second dis- 
 appearance of the captain. He read to her the letter he had 
 received from him, and told her of his hopeless chase to the 
 docks only to find him gone. She listened to him breath- 
 lessly, with varying color, with an occasional outburst of 
 pity, or a strange shining of the eyes, that sometimes be- 
 came clouded and misty, and at the conclusion with a calm 
 and grave paleness. 
 
 "But," she said, "you should have told me alL" 
 
 "It was not my secret," he pleaded. 
 
 "You should have trusted me." 
 
 "But the captain had trusted me." 
 
 She looked at him with grave wonder, and then said 
 ■with her old directness: "But if I had been told such a 
 secret affecting you, I should have told you. " She stopped 
 suddenly, seeing his eyes fixed on her, and dropped her own 
 lids with a slight color. "I mean," she said hesitatingly, 
 " of course you have acted nobly, generously, kindly, wisely 
 — but I hate secrets! Oh, why cannot one be always 
 frank?" 
 
 A wild idea seized Eandolph. " But I have another se- 
 cret — you have not guessed — and I have not dared to tell 
 you. Do you wish me to be frank now 1 " 
 
 " Why not ? " she said simply, but she did not look up. 
 
 Then he told her ! But, strangest of all, in spite of his 
 fears and convictions, it flowed easily and naturally as a part 
 of his other secret, with an eloquence he had not dreamed 
 of before. But when he told her of his late position and 
 his prospects, she raised her eyes to his for the first time. 
 
TRENT'S TRUST 95 
 
 yet without withdrawing her hand from his, and said re- 
 proachfully, — 
 
 " Yet but for that you would never have told me. " 
 
 " How could I ? " he returned eagerly. " For but for that 
 how could I help you to carry out your trust 1 How could 
 I devote myself to your plans, and enable you to carry them 
 out without touching a dollar of that inheritance which you 
 believe to be wrongfully yours ? " 
 
 Then, with his old boyish enthusiasm, he sketched a 
 glowing picture of their future : how they would keep the 
 Dornton property intact until the captain was found and 
 communicated with ; and how they would cautiously collect 
 all the information accessible to find him until such time as 
 Randolph's fortunes would enable them both to go on a 
 voyage of discovery after him. And in the midst of this 
 prophetic forecast, which brought them so closely together 
 that she was enabled to examine his watch chain, she 
 said, — 
 
 "I see you have kept Cousin Jack's ring. Did he ever 
 see it ? " 
 
 " He told me he had given it to you as his little sweet- 
 heart, and that he " — 
 
 There was a singular pause here. 
 
 " He never did that — at least, not in that way ! " said 
 Sybil Eversleigh. 
 
 And, strangely enough, the optimistic Eandolph's pro- 
 phecies came true. He was married a month later to Sibyl 
 Eversleigh, Mr. Dingwall giving away the bride. He and 
 his wife were able to keep their trust in regard to the pro- 
 perty, for, without investing a dollar of it in the bank, the 
 mere reputation of his wife's wealth brought him a flood of 
 other investors and a confidence which at once secured his 
 success. In two years he was able to take his wife on a six 
 
96 TEENT'S TRUST 
 
 months' holiday to Europe via Australia, hut of the details 
 of that holiday no one knew. It is, however, on record 
 that ten or twelve years ago Dornton Hall, which had been 
 leased or unoccupied for a long time, was refitted for the 
 heiress, her husband, and their children during a brief occu- 
 pancy, and that in that period extensive repairs were made 
 ■^jO the interior of the old Norman church, and much atten- 
 tion given to the redecoration and restoration of its ancient 
 tombs. 
 
MR. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW 
 
MR. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW 
 
 Vebt little was known of her late husband, yet that lit- 
 tle was of a sufficiently awe-inspiring character to satisfy the 
 curiosity of Laurel Spring. A man of unswerving animosity 
 and candid belligerency, untempered by any human weak- 
 ness, he had been actively engaged as survivor in two or 
 three blood feuds in Kentucky, and some desultory dueling, 
 only to succumb, through the irony of fate, to an attack of 
 fever and ague in San Francisco. Gifted with a fine sense 
 of humor, he is said, in his last moments, to have called the 
 simple-minded clergyman to his bedside to assist him in put- 
 ting on his boots. The kindly divine, although pointing 
 out to him that he was too weak to rise, much less walk, 
 could not resist the request of a dying man. When it was 
 fulfilled, Mr. MacGlowrie crawled back into bed with the 
 remark that his race had always "died with their boots on," 
 and so passed smilingly and tranquilly away. 
 
 It is probable that this story was invented to soften the 
 ignominy of MacGlowrie 's peaceful end. The widow her- 
 self was also reported to be endowed with relations of 
 equally homicidal eccentricities. Her two brothers, Stephen 
 and Hector Boompointer, had Western reputations that 
 were quite as lurid and remote. Her own experiences of a 
 frontier life had been rude and startling, and her scalp ■ — a 
 singularly beautiful one of blond hair — had been in peril 
 from Indians on several occasions. A pair of scissors, with 
 which she had once pinned the intruding hand of a ma- 
 rauder to her cabin doorpost, was to be seen in her sitting 
 room at Laurel Spring. A fair-faced woman with eyes the 
 color of pale sherry, a complexion sallowed by innutritious 
 
100 MB. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 
 
 food, slight and tall figure, she gave little suggestion of this 
 Amazonian feat. But that it exercised a wholesome re- 
 straint over the many who would like to have induced her 
 to reenter the married state, there is little reason to douht. 
 Laurel Spring was a peaceful agricultural settlement. Few 
 of its citizens dared to aspire to the dangerous eminence of 
 succeeding the defunct MacGlowrie; few could hope that 
 the sister of living Boompointers would accept an obvious 
 mesalliance with them. However sincere their afi'ection, 
 life was stUl sweet to the rude inhabitants of Laurel Spring, 
 and the preservation of the usual quantity of limbs necessary 
 to them ia their avocations. With their devotion thus 
 chastened by caution, it would seem as if the charming mis- 
 tress of Laurel Spring House was secure from disturbing 
 attentions. 
 
 It was a pleasant summer afternoon, and the sun was be- 
 ginning to strike under the laurels around the hotel into the 
 little office where the widow sat with the housekeeper — a 
 stout spinster of a coarser Western type. Mrs.> MacGlowrie 
 was looking wearily over some accounts on the desk before 
 her, and absently putting back some tumbled sheaves from 
 the stack of her heavy hair. For the widow had a certain 
 indolent Southern negligence, which in a less pretty woman 
 would have been untidiness, and a characteristic hook and 
 eyeless freedom of attire which on less graceful limbs would 
 have been slovenly. One sleeve cuff was unbuttoned, but 
 it showed the blue veins of her delicate wrist; the neck of 
 her dress had lost a hook, but the glimpse of a bit of edg- 
 ing round the white throat made amends. Of all which, 
 however, it should be said that the widow, in her limp 
 abstraction, was really unconscious. 
 
 " I reckon we kin put the new preacher in Kernel Star- 
 bottle's room," said Miss Morviu, the housekeeper. "The 
 kernel 's going to-night." 
 
 "Oh," said the widow in a tone of relief, but whether at 
 
MR. MACGLOWKIE'S WIDOW lOi 
 
 the early departure of the gallant colonel or at the success- 
 ful solution of the problem of lodging the preacher, Miss 
 Morvin could not determine. But she went on tenta- 
 tively : — 
 
 " The kernel was talkin' in the bar room, and kind o' 
 wonderin' why you had n't got married agin. Said you 'd 
 make a stir in Sacramento — but you was jest berried here." 
 
 "I suppose he 's heard of my husband 1 " said the widow 
 indifferently. 
 
 "Yes — but he said he could n't ^Zace yoz«," returned 
 Miss Morvin. 
 
 The widow looked up. "Couldn't place me.'"' she re- 
 peated. 
 
 "Yes — hadn't heard o' MacGlowrie's wife and disre- 
 membered your brothers." 
 
 "The colonel doesn't know everybody, even if he is a 
 fighting man," said Mrs. MacGlowrie with languid scorn. 
 
 "That 's just what Dick Blair said," returned Miss Mor- 
 vin. "And though he's only a doctor, he jest stuck up 
 agin' the kernel, and told that story about your jabbin' that 
 man with your scissors — beautiful; and how you once 
 fought off a bear with a red-hot iron, so that you 'd have 
 admired to hear him. He 's awfully gone on you ! " 
 
 The widow took that opportunity to button her cuff. 
 
 "And how long does the preacher calculate to stay!" 
 she added, returning to business details. 
 
 "Only a day. They'll have his house fixed up and 
 ready for him to-morrow. They 're spendin' a heap o' 
 money on it. He ought to be the pow'ful preacher they 
 say he is — to be worth it. " 
 
 But hei-e Mrs. MacGlowrie's interest in the conversation 
 ceased, and it dropped. 
 
 In her anxiety to further the suit of Dick Blair, Miss 
 Morvin had scarcely reported the colonel with fairness. 
 
 That gentleman, leaning against the bar in the hotel sa- 
 
102 MR. MACGLOWKIE's WIDOW 
 
 loon with a cocktail in his hand, had expatiated with his 
 usual gallantry upon Mrs. MacGlowrie's charms, and on his 
 own " personal " responsibility had expressed the opinion 
 that they were thrown away on Laurel Spring. That — 
 blank it all — she reminded him of the blankest beautiful 
 woman he had seen even in Washington — old Major Bev- 
 eridge's daughter from Kentucky. Were they sure she 
 was n't from Kentucky ? Was n't her name Beveridge — 
 and not Boompointer? Becoming more reminiscent over 
 his second drink, the colonel could vaguely recall only one 
 Boompointer — a blank skulking hound, sir — a mean white 
 shyster — but, of course, he couldn't have been of the same 
 breed as such a blank fine woman as the widow ! It was 
 here that Dick Blair interrupted with a heightened color 
 and a glowing eulogy of the widow's relations and herself, 
 which, however, only increased the chivalry of the colonel 
 — who would be the last man, sir, to detract from — or 
 suifer any detraction of — a lady's reputation. It was need- 
 less to say that all this was intensely diverting to the by- 
 standers, and proportionally discomposing to Blair, who 
 already experienced some slight jealousy of the colonel as 
 a man whose fighting reputation might possibly attract the 
 affections of the widow of the belligerent MacGlowrie. He 
 had cursed his folly and relapsed into gloomy silence until 
 the colonel left. 
 
 For Dick Blair loved the widow with the unselfishness 
 of a generous nature and a first passion. He had admired 
 her from the first day his lot was cast in Laurel Spring, 
 where coming from a rude frontier practice he had succeeded 
 the district doctor in a more peaceful and domestic minis- 
 tration. A skillful and gentle surgeon rather than a general 
 household practitioner, he was at first coldly welcomed by 
 the gloomy dyspeptics and ague-haunted settlers from ripa- 
 rian lowlands. The few bucolic idlers who had relieved the 
 monotony of their lives by the stimulus of patent medicine 
 
MR. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW 103 
 
 and the exaltation of stomach bitters, also looked askance 
 at him. A common-sense way of dealing with their ail- 
 ments did not naturally commend itself to the shopkeepers 
 who vended these nostrums, and he was made to feel the 
 opposition of trade. But he was gentle to women and chil- 
 dren and animals, and, oddly enough, it was to this latter 
 dilection that he owed the widow's interest in him — an 
 interest that eventually made him popular elsewhere. 
 
 The widow had a pet dog — a beautiful spaniel, who, 
 nowever, had assimilated her graceful languor to his own 
 native love of ease to such an extent that he failed in a 
 short leap between a balcony and a window, and fell to the 
 ground with a fractured thigh. The dog was supposed to 
 be crippled for life — even if that life were worth preserv- 
 ing — when Dr. Blair came to the rescue, set the frac- 
 tured limb, put it in splints and plaster after an ingenious 
 design of his own, visited him daily, and eventually restored 
 him to his mistress's lap sound in wind and limb. How 
 far this daily ministration and the necessary exchange of 
 sympathy between the widow and himself heightened his 
 zeal was not known. There were those who believed that 
 the whole thing was an unmanly trick to get the better of 
 his rivals in the widow's good graces; there were others 
 who averred that his treatment of a brute beast like a human 
 being was sinful and unchristian. "He could n't have done 
 more for a regularly baptized child," said the postmistress. 
 "And what mo' would a regularly baptized child have 
 wanted 1 " returned Mrs. MacGlowrie, with the drawling 
 Southern intonation she fell back upon when most con- 
 temptuous. 
 
 But Dr. Blair's increasing practice and the widow's pre- 
 occupation presently ended their brief intimacy. It was 
 well known that she encouraged no suitors at the hotel, and 
 his shyness and sensitiveness shrank from ostentatious ad- 
 vances. There seemed to be no chance of her becoming, 
 
104 ME. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 
 
 herself, his patient; her sane mind, indolent nerves, and 
 calm circulation kept her from feminine " vapors " of femi- 
 nine excesses. She retained the teeth and digestion of a 
 child in her thirty odd years, and abused neither. Eiding 
 and the cultivation of her little garden gave her sufficient 
 exercise. And yet the unexpected occurred ! The day af- 
 ter Starbottle left. Dr. Blair was summoned hastily to the 
 hotel. Mrs. MacGlowrie had been found lying senseless in 
 a dead faint in the passage outside the dining room. In his 
 hurried flight thither with the messenger he could learn 
 only that she had seemed to be in her usual health that 
 morning, and that no one could assign any cause for her 
 fainting. 
 
 He could find out little more when he arrived and exam- 
 ined her as she lay pale and unconscious on the sofa of her 
 sitting room. It had not been thought necessary to loosen 
 her already loose dress, and indeed he could find no organit 
 disttirbance. The case was one of sudden nervous shock — 
 but this, with his knowledge of her indolent temperament, 
 seemed almost absurd. They could tell him nothing but 
 that she was evidently on the point of entering the dining 
 room when she fell unconscious. Had she been frightened 
 by anything? A snake or a rat? Miss Morvin was indig- 
 nant! The widow of MacGlowrie — the repeller of griz- 
 zlies — ^frightened at "sich "! Had she been upset by any 
 previous excitement, passion, or the receipt of bad news ? 
 No! — she "wasn't that kind," as the doctor knew. And 
 even as they were speaking he felt the widow's healthy life 
 returning to the pulse he was holding, and giving a faint 
 tinge to her lips. Her blue-veined eyelids quivered slightly 
 and then opened with languid wonder on the doctor and her 
 surroundings. Suddenly a quick, startled look contracted 
 the yellow brown pupils of her eyes, she lifted herself to a 
 sitting posture with a hurried glance around the room and 
 at the door beyond. Catching the quick, observant eyes 
 
ME. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW 106 
 
 cf Dr. Blair, she collected herself with an effort, which Dr. 
 Blair felt in her pulse, and drew away her wrist. 
 
 "What is it? What happened? " she said weakly. 
 
 "You had a slight attack of faintness," said the doctor 
 cheerily, "and they called me in as I was passing, hut 
 you 're all right now, " 
 
 "How pow'ful foolish," she said, with returning color, 
 hut her eyes still glancing at the door, " slumping off like 
 a green gyrl at nothin'." 
 
 " Perhaps you were startled 1 " said the doctor. 
 
 Mrs. MacGlowrie glanced up quickly and looked away. 
 "No! — Let me see! I was just passing through the hall, 
 going into the dining room, when — everything seemed to 
 waltz round me — and I was off! Where did they find 
 me ! " she said, turning to Miss Morvin. 
 
 "I picked you up just outside the door," replied the 
 housekeeper. 
 
 " Then they did not see me ? " said Mrs. MacGlowrie. 
 
 " Who 's they ? " responded the housekeeper with more 
 directness than grammatical accuracy. 
 
 "The people in the dining room. I was just opening 
 the door — and I felt this coming on — and — I reckon I 
 had just sense enough to shut the door again hefore I went 
 off." 
 
 "Then that accounts for what Jim Slocum said," uttered 
 Miss Morvin triumphantly. "He was in the dining room 
 talkin' with the new preacher, when he allowed he heard 
 the door open and shut behind him. Then he heard a kind 
 of slump outside and opened the door again just to find you 
 lyin' there, and to rush off and get me. And that 's why 
 he was so mad at the preacher ! — for he says he just skur- 
 ried away without offerin' to help. He allows the preacher 
 may be a pow'ful exhorter — but he ain't worth much at 
 ' works. ' " 
 
 " Some men can't bear to be around when a woman 's up 
 
106 MK. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 
 
 to that sort of fooliskness," said the widow, with a faint 
 attempt at a smile, but a return of her paleness. 
 
 "Hadn't you better lie down again?" said the doctor 
 solicitously. 
 
 "I 'm all right now," returned Mrs. MacGlowrie, strug- 
 gling to her feet; "Morvin will look after me till the shaki» 
 ness goes. But it was mighty touching and neighborly to 
 come in. Doctor, " she continued, succeeding at last in bring- 
 ing up a faint but adorable smile, which stirred Blair's 
 pulses. "If I were my own dog — you couldn't have 
 treated me better ! " 
 
 With no further excuse for staying longer, Blair was 
 obliged to depart — yet reluctantly, both as lover and physi- 
 cian. He was by no means satisfied with her condition. 
 He called to inquire the next day — but she was engaged 
 and sent word to say she was "better." 
 
 In the excitement attending the advent of the new 
 preacher the slight illness of the charming widow was for- 
 gotten. He had taken the settlement by storm. His first 
 sermon at Laurel Spring exceeded even the extravagant re- 
 putation that had preceded him. Known as the " Inspired 
 Cowboy," a common unlettered frontiersman, he was said to 
 have developed wonderful powers of exhortatory eloquence 
 among the Indians, and scarcely less savage border commu- 
 nities where he had lived, half outcast, half missionary. 
 He had just come up from the Southern agricultural dis- 
 tricts, where he had been, despite his rude antecedents, sin- 
 gularly effective with women and young people. The moody 
 dyspeptics and lazy rustics of Laurel Spring were stirred as 
 with a new patent medicine. Dr. Blair went to the first 
 "revival " meeting. Without undervaluing the man's influ- 
 ence, he was instinctively repelled by his appearance and 
 methods. The young physician's trained powers of obser- 
 vation not only saw an overwrought emotionalism in the 
 speaker's eloquence, but detected the ring of insincerity in 
 
ME. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW 107 
 
 his more lucid speech and acts. Nevertheless, the hysteria 
 of the preacher was communicated to the congregation, who 
 wept and shouted with him. Tired and discontented house- 
 wives found their vague sorrows and vaguer longings were 
 only the result of their " unregenerate " state ; the lazy 
 country youths felt that the frustration of their small ambi- 
 tions lay in their not being " convicted of sin. " The mourn- 
 ers' bench was crowded with wildly emulating sinners. Dr. 
 Blair turned away with mingled feelings of amusement and 
 contempt. At the door Jim Slocum tapped him on the 
 shoulder: "Fetches the wimmin folk every time, don't he, 
 Doctor ? " said Jim. 
 
 "So it seems," said Blair dryly. 
 
 "You're one o' them scientific fellers that look inter 
 things — what do you allow it is ? " 
 
 The young doctor restrained the crushing answer that 
 rose to his lips. He had learned caution in that neighbor- 
 hood. "I couldn't say," he said indifferently. 
 
 "'Tain't no religion," said Slocum emphatically; "it's 
 jest pure fas'nation. Did ye look at his eye 1 It 's like 
 a rattlesnake's, and them wimmin are like birds. They 're 
 frightened of him — but they hev to do jest what he ' wills ' 
 *em. That 's how he skeert the widder the other day." 
 
 The doctor was alert and on fire at once. " Scared the 
 ■widow 1 " he repeated indignantly. 
 
 " Yes. You know how she swooned away. Well, sir, 
 me and that preacher. Brown, was the only one in that 
 dinin' room at the time. The widder opened the door be- 
 hind me and sorter peeked in, and that thar preacher give 
 a start and looked up; and then, that sort of queer light 
 come in his eyes, and she shut the door, and kinder fluttered 
 and flopped down in the passage outside, like a bird ! And 
 he crawled away like a snake, and never said a word ! My 
 belief is that either he hadn't time to turn on the hull in- 
 fluence, or else she, bein' smart, got the door shut betwixfc 
 
108 MK macglowrie's widow 
 
 her and it in time ! Otherwise, sure as you 're horn, she 'd 
 hev been floppin' and crawlin' and sobhin' arter him — jist 
 like them critters we 've left." 
 
 " Better not let the brethren hear you talk like that, or 
 they '11 lynch you," said the doctor, with a laugh. "Mrs. 
 MacGlowrie simply had an attack of faintness from some 
 overexertion, that 's all." 
 
 Nevertheless, he was uneasy as he walked away. Mrs. 
 MacGlowrie had evidently received a shock which was still 
 unexplained, and, in spite of Slocum's exaggerated fancy, 
 there might be some foundation in his story. He did not 
 share the man's superstition, although he was not a skeptic 
 regarding magnetism. Yet even then, the widow's action 
 was one of repulsion, and as long as she was strong enough 
 not to come to these meetings, she was not in danger. A 
 day or two later, as he was passing the garden of the hotel 
 on horseback, he saw her lithe, graceful, languid figure 
 bending over one of her favorite flower beds. The high 
 fence partially concealed him from view, and she evidently 
 believed herself alone. Perhaps that was why she suddenly 
 raised herself from her task, put back her straying hair with 
 a weary, abstracted look, remained for a moment quite still 
 staring at the vacant sky, and then, with a little catching of 
 her breath, resumed her occupation in a dull, mechanical 
 way. In that brief glimpse of her charming face, Blair was 
 shocked at the change; she was pale, the corners of her 
 pretty mouth were drawn, there were deeper shades in the 
 orbits of her eyes, and in spite of her broad garden hat with 
 its blue ribbon, her light flowered frock and frilled apron, 
 she looked as he fancied she might have looked in the first 
 crushing grief of her widowhood. Yet he would have passed 
 on, respecting her privacy of sorrow, had not her little span- 
 iel detected him with her keener senses. And Flufi'y being 
 truthful — as dogs are — and recognizing a dear friend in 
 the intruder, barked joyously. 
 
MR. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 109 
 
 The widow looked up, her eyes met Blair's, and she red- 
 dened. But he was too acute a lover to misinterpret what 
 he knew, alas ! was only confusion at her abstraction being 
 discovered. Nevertheless, there was something else in her 
 brown eyes he had never seen before. A momentary light- 
 ing up of relief — of even hopefulness — in his presence. 
 It was enough for Blair; he shook off his old shyness like 
 the dust of his ride, and galloped around to the front 
 door. 
 
 But she met him in the hall with only her usual languid 
 good humor. Nevertheless, Blair was not abashed. 
 
 "I can't put you in splints and plaster like Fluffy, Mrs. 
 MacGlowrie," he said, "but I can forbid you to go into the 
 garden unless you 're looking better. It 's a positive reflec- 
 tion on my professional skill, and Laurel Spring will be 
 shocked, and hold me responsible." 
 
 Mrs. MacGlowrie had recovered enough of her old spirit 
 to reply that she thought Laurel Spring could be in better 
 business than looking at her over her garden fence. 
 
 " But your dog, who knows you 're not well, and does n't 
 think me quite a fool, had the good sense to call me. You 
 heard him." 
 
 But the widow protested that she was as strong as a horse, 
 and that Eluffy was like all puppies, conceited to the last 
 degree. 
 
 "Well," said Blair cheerfully, "suppose I admit you are 
 all right, physically, you '11 confess you have some trouble 
 on your mind, won't you? If I can't make you show me 
 your tongue, you '11 let me hear you use it to tell me what 
 worries you. If," he added more earnestly, "you won't 
 confide in your physician — you will perhaps — to — to — 
 a — friend. " 
 
 But Mrs. MacGlowrie, evading his earnest eyes as well 
 as his appeal, was wondering what good it would do either 
 a doctor, or — a — a — she herself seemed to hesitate ovet 
 
110 ME. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 
 
 the word — "a friend, to hear the worriments of a silly, 
 nervous old thing — who had only stuck a little too closely 
 to her business." 
 
 "You are neither nervous nor old, Mrs. MacGlowrie," 
 said the doctor promptly, " though I begin to think you have 
 been too closely confined here. You want more diversion, 
 or — excitement. You might even go to hear this preacher " 
 . — he stopped, for the. word had slipped from his mouth 
 unawares. 
 
 But a swift look of scorn swept her pale face. "And 
 you 'd like me to follow those skinny old frumps' and leggy, 
 limp chits, that slobber and cry over that man ! " she said 
 contemptuously. " No ! I reckon I only want a change — ■ 
 and I '11 go away, or get out of this for a while." 
 
 The poor doctor had not thought of this possible alterna- 
 tive. His heart sank, but he was brave. "Yes, perhaps 
 you are right, " he said sadly, " though it would be a dread- 
 ful loss — to Laurel Spring — to us all — if you went." 
 
 " Do I look so very bad, doctor ? " she said, with a half- 
 mischievous, half-pathetic smile. 
 
 The doctor thought her upturned face very adorable, but 
 restrained his feelings heroically, and contented himself with 
 replying to the pathetic half of her smile. " You look as if 
 you had been suffering, " he said gravely, " and I never saw 
 you look so before. You seem as if you had experienced 
 some great shock. Do you know," he went on, in a lower 
 tone and with a half-embarrassed smile, " that when I saw 
 you just now in the garden, you looked as I imagined you 
 might have looked in the first days of your widowhood — 
 when your husband's death was fresh in your heart." 
 
 A strange expression crossed her face. Her eyelids 
 dropped instantly, and with both hands she caught up her 
 frilled apron as if to meet them and covered her face. A 
 little shudder seemed to pass over her shoulders, and then 
 a cry that ended in an uncontrollable and half-hysterical 
 
MR. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 111 
 
 laugh followed from the depths of that apron, until shak- 
 ing her sides, and with her head still enveloped in its cover- 
 ing, she fairly ran into the inner room and closed the door 
 behind her. 
 
 Amazed, shocked, and at first indignant. Dr. Blair re- 
 mained fixed to the spot. Then his indignation gave way 
 to a burning mortification as he recalled his speech. He 
 had made a frightful faux pas ! He had been fool enough 
 to try to recall the most sacred memories of that dead 
 husband he was trying to succeed — and her quick wo- 
 man's wit had detected his ridiculous stupidity. Her laugh 
 was hysterical — but that was only natural in her mixed 
 emotions. He mounted his horse in confusion and rode 
 away. 
 
 For a few days he avoided the house. But when he next 
 saw her she had a charming smile of greeting and an air of 
 entire obliviousness of his past blunder. She said she was 
 better. She had taken his advice and was giving herself 
 some relaxation from business. She had been riding again 
 
 — oh, so far ! Alone ? — of course ; she was always alone 
 
 — else what would Laurel Spring say ? 
 
 "True," said Blair smilingly; "besides, I forgot that you 
 are quite able to take care of yourself in an emergency. 
 And yet," he added, admiringly looking at her lithe figure 
 and indolent grace, "do you know I never can associate you 
 with the dreadful scenes they say you have gone through." 
 
 "Then please don't!" she said quickly; "really, I'd 
 rather you would n't. I 'm sick and tired of hearing of 
 it ! " She was half laughing and yet half in earnest, with 
 a slight color on her cheek. 
 
 Blair was a little embarrassed. "Of course, I don't mean 
 your heroism — like that story of the intruder and the scis- 
 sors," he stammered. 
 
 "Oh, that's the worst of all! It's too foolish — it's 
 sickening !" she went on almost angrily. "I don't know 
 
112 ME. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW 
 
 ■who started that stuff. " She paused, and then added shyly, 
 "I really am an awful coward and horrihly nervous — as 
 you know." 
 
 He would have comhated this — hut she looked really 
 disturbed, and he had no desire to commit another impru- 
 dence. And he thought, too, that he again had seen in her 
 eyes the same hopeful, wistful light he had once seen he- 
 fore, and was happy. 
 
 This led him, I fear, to indulge in wilder dreams. His 
 practice, although increasing, barely supported him, and the 
 widow was rich. Her business had been profitable, and she 
 had repaid the advances made her when she first took the 
 hotel. But this disparity in their fortunes which had 
 frightened him before now had no fears for him. He felt 
 that if he succeeded in winning her afi'ections she could af- 
 ford to wait for him, despite other suitors, until his talents 
 had won an equal position. His rivals had always felt as 
 secure in his poverty as they had in his peaceful profession. 
 How could a poor, simple doctor aspire to the hand of the 
 rich widow of the redoubtable MacGlowrie 1 
 
 It was late one afternoon, and the low sun was beginning 
 to strike athwart the stark columns and down the long aisles 
 of the redwoods on the High Ridge. The doctor, returning 
 from a patient at the loggers' camp in its depths, had just 
 sighted the smaller groves of Laurel Springs, two miles 
 away. He was riding fast, with his thoughts filled with 
 the widow, when he heard a joyous bark in the underbrush, 
 and Fluify came bounding towards him. Blair dismounted 
 to caress him, as was his wont, and then, wisely conceiving 
 that his mistress was not far away, sauntered forward ex- 
 ploringly, leading his horse, the dog bounding before him 
 and barking, as if bent upon both leading and announcing 
 him. But the latter he effected first, for as Blair turned 
 from the trail into the deeper woods, he saw the figures of 
 a man and woman walking together suddenly separate at the 
 
ME. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW 113 
 
 dog's warning. The woman was Mrs. MacGlowrie — the 
 man was the revival preacher ! 
 
 Amazed, mystified, and indignant, Blair nevertheless 
 obeyed his first instinct, which was that of a gentleman. 
 He turned leisurely aside as if not recognizing them, led his 
 horse a few paces further, mounted him, and galloped away 
 without turning his head. But his heart was filled with 
 bitterness and disgust. This woman — who but a few 
 days before had voluntarily declared her scorn and contempt 
 for that man and his admirers — had just been giving him 
 a clandestine meeting like one of the most infatuated of his 
 devotees! The story of the widow's fainting, the coarse 
 surmises and comments of Slocum, came back to him with 
 overwhelming significance. But even then his reason for- 
 bade him to believe that she had fallen under the preacher's 
 influence — she, with her sane mind and indolent tempera- 
 ment. Yet, whatever her excuse or purpose was, she had 
 deceived him wantonly and cruelly ! His abrupt avoidance 
 of her had prevented him from knowing if she, on her part, 
 had recognized him as he rode away. If she had, she would 
 understand why he had avoided her, and any explanation 
 must come from her. 
 
 Then followed a few days of uncertainty, when his 
 thoughts again reverted to the preacher with returning jeal- 
 ousy. Was she, after all, like other women, and had het 
 gratuitous outburst of scorn of their infatuation been 
 prompted by unsuccessful rivalry ? He was too proud to 
 question Slocum again or breathe a word of his fears. Yet 
 he was not strong enough to keep from again seeking the 
 High Eidge, to discover any repetition of that rendezvous. 
 But he saw her neither there, nor elsewhere, during his 
 daily rounds. And one night his feverish anxiety getting 
 the better of him, he entered the great " Gospel Tent " of 
 the revival preacher. 
 
 It chanced to be an extraordinary meeting, and the usual 
 
114 ME. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 
 
 enthusiastic audience was reinforced by some sight-seers from 
 the neighboring county town — the district judge and offi- 
 cials from the court in session, among them Colonel Star- 
 bottle. The impassioned revivalist — his eyes ablaze with 
 fever, his lank hair wet with perspiration, hanging beside 
 his heavy but weak jaws — was concluding a fervent exhor- 
 tation to his auditors to confess their sins, " accept convic- 
 tion, " and regenerate then and there, without delay. They 
 must put off "the old Adam," and put on the flesh of 
 righteousness at once! They were to let no false shame or 
 worldly pride keep them from avowing their guilty past be- 
 fore their brethren. Sobs and groans followed the preacher's 
 appeals ; his own agitation and convulsive efforts seemed to 
 spread in surging waves through the congregation, until a 
 dozen men and women arose, staggering like drunkards 
 blindly, or led or dragged forward by sobbing sympathizers 
 towards the mourners' bench. And prominent among them, 
 but stepping jauntily and airily forward, was the redoubt- 
 able and worldly Colonel Starbottle ! 
 
 At this proof of the orator's power the crowd shouted — 
 but stopped suddenly, as the colonel halted before the 
 preacher, and ascended the rostrum beside him. Then tak- 
 ing a slight pose with his gold-headed cane in one hand and 
 the other thrust in the breast of his buttoned coat, he said 
 in his blandest, forensic voice : — 
 
 " If I mistake not, sir, you are advising these ladies and 
 gentlemen to a free and public confession of their sins and 
 a — er — denunciation of their past life — previous to their 
 conversion. If I am mistaken I — er — ask your pardon, 
 and theirs — and — er — hold myself responsible — er — 
 personally responsible ! " 
 
 The preacher glanced uneasily at the colonel, but replied, 
 still in the hysterical intonation of his exordium : — 
 
 " Yes ! a complete searching of hearts — a casting out of 
 the seven Devils of Pride, Vain Glory " — 
 
ME. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 115 
 
 "Thank you — that is sufficient," said the colonel 
 blandly. "But might I — er — be permitted to suggest 
 that you — er — er — set them the example ! The state- 
 ment of the circumstances attending your own past life and 
 conversion would be singularly interesting and exemplary.'' 
 
 The preacher turned suddenly and glanced at the colonel 
 with furious eyes set in an ashy face. 
 
 "If this is the flouting and jeering of the Ungodly and 
 Dissolute," he screamed, "woe to you! I say — woe to 
 you ! What have such as you to do with my previous state 
 of unregeneracy 1 " 
 
 "Nothing," said the colonel blandly, "unless that state 
 were also the State of Arkansas ! Then, sir, as a former 
 member of the Arkansas Bar — I might be able to assist 
 your memory — and — er — even corroborate your confes- 
 sion." 
 
 But here the enthusiastic adherents of the preacher, 
 vaguely conscious of some danger to their idol, gathered 
 threateningly round the platform from which he had 
 promptly leaped into their midst, leaving the colonel alone, 
 to face the sea of angry upturned faces. But that gallant 
 warrior never altered his characteristic pose. Behind him 
 loomed the reputation of the dozen duels he had fought, the 
 gold-headed stick on which he leaned was believed to con- 
 tain eighteen inches of shining steel — and the people of 
 Laurel Spring had discretion. 
 
 He smiled suavely, stepped jauntily down, and made his 
 way to the entrance without molestation. 
 
 But here he was met by Blair and Slocum, and a dozen 
 eager questions : — 
 
 " What was it ? " " What had he done ? " " Who was 
 he?" 
 
 "A blank shyster, who had swindled the widows and 
 orphans in Arkansas and escaped from jail." 
 
 "And his name isn't Brown] " 
 
116 MR. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 
 
 "No," said the colonel ciirtly. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "That is a matter which concerns only myself and him, 
 sir, " said the colonel loftily ; " but for which I am — er — 
 personally responsible. " 
 
 A wild idea took possession of Blair. 
 
 " And you say he was a noted desperado ? " he said with 
 nervous hesitation. 
 
 The colonel glared. 
 
 " Desperado, sir ! Never ! Blank it all ! — a mean, psalm- 
 ainging, crawling, sneak thief ! " 
 
 And Blair felt relieved without knowing exactly why. 
 
 The next day it was known that the preacher, Gabriel 
 Brown, had left Laurel Spring on an urgent " Gospel Call " 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Colonel Starbottle returned that night with his friends to 
 the county town. Strange to say, a majority of the audience 
 had not grasped the full significance of the colonel's un- 
 seemly interruption, and those who had, as partisans, kept it 
 quiet. Blair, tortured by doubt, had a new delicacy added 
 to his hesitation, which left him helpless until the widow 
 should take the initiative in explanation. 
 
 A sudden summons from his patient at the loggers' 
 camp the next day brought him again to the fateful red- 
 woods. But he was vexed and mystified to find, on arriv- 
 ing at the camp, that he had been made the victim of some 
 stupid blunder, and that no message had been sent from 
 there. He was returning abstractedly through the woods 
 when he was amazed at seeing at a little distance before 
 him the flutter of Mrs. MacGlowrie's well-known dark green 
 riding habit and the figure of the lady herself. Her dog 
 was not with her, neither was the revival preacher — or 
 he might have thought the whole vision a trick of his mem- 
 ory. But she slackened her pace, and he was obliged to 
 rein up abreast of her in some confusion. 
 
MR. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 117 
 
 "I hope I won't shook you again by riding alone through 
 the woods with a man, " she said with a light laugh. 
 
 Nevertheless, she was quite pale as he answered, some- 
 what coldly, that he had no right to be shocked at anything 
 she might choose to do. 
 
 " But you were shocked, for you rode away the last time 
 without speaking, " she said; "and yet" — she looked up 
 suddenly into his eyes with a smileless face — " that man 
 you saw me with once had a better right to ride alone with 
 me than any other man. He was " — 
 
 " Your lover ? " said Blair with brutal brevity. 
 
 " My husband ! " returned Mrs. MacGlowrie slowly. 
 
 "Then you are not a widow," gasped Blair. 
 
 "No. I am only a divorced woman. That is why I have 
 had to live a lie here. That man — that hypocrite — whose 
 secret was only half exposed the other night, was my hus- 
 band — divorced from me by the law, when, an escaped 
 convict, he fled with another woman from the State three 
 years ago." Her face flushed and whitened again; she put 
 up her hand blindly to her straying hair, and for an instant 
 seemed to sway in the saddle. 
 
 But Blair as quickly leaped from his horse, and was be- 
 side her. "Let me help you down," he said quickly, "and 
 rest yourself until you are better." Before she could reply, 
 he lifted her tenderly to the ground and placed her on a 
 mossy stump a little distance from the trail. Her color and 
 a faint smile returned to her troubled face. 
 
 " Had we not better go on ? " she said, looking around. 
 " I never went so far as to sit down in the woods with him 
 that day." 
 
 "Forgive me," he said pleadingly, "but, of course, I 
 knew nothing. I disliked the man from instinct — I 
 thought he had some power over you." 
 
 "He has none — except the secret that would also have 
 exposed himself." 
 
118 ME. MACGLOWEIE'S WIDOW 
 
 "But others knew it. Colonel Starbottle must have 
 known his name ? And yet " — as he remembered he stam- 
 mered — "he refused to tel' me." 
 
 "Yes, but not because he knew he was my husband, but 
 because he knew he bore the same name. He thinks, as 
 every one does, that my husband died in San Francisco. 
 The man who died there was my husband's cousin — a des- 
 perate man and a noted duelist." 
 
 " And you assumed to be his widow ? " said the astounded 
 Blair. 
 
 "Yes, but don't blame me too much," she said patheti- 
 cally. "It was a wild, a silly deceit, but 'it was partly 
 forced upon me. Por when I first arrived across the plains, 
 at the frontier, I was still bearing my husband's name, and 
 although I was alone and helpless, I found myself strangely 
 welcomed and respected by those rude frontiersmen. It was 
 not long before I saw it was because I was presumed to be 
 the widow of Allen MacGlowrie — who had just died in 
 San Prancisco. I let them think so, for I knew — what 
 they did not — that Allen's wife had separated from him 
 and married again, and that my taking his name could do 
 no harm. I accepted their kindness ; they gave me my first 
 start in business, which brought me here. It was not much 
 of a deceit," she continued, with a slight tremble of her 
 pretty lip, "to prefer to pass as the widow of a dead des- 
 perado than to be known as the divorced wife of a living 
 convict. It has hurt no one, and it has saved me just now." 
 
 "You were right! No one could blame you," said Blair 
 eagerly, seizing her hand. 
 
 But she disengaged it gently, and went on : — 
 
 " And now you wonder why I gave him a meeting here ? " 
 
 " I wonder at nothing but your courage and patience in 
 all this suffering!" said Blair fervently; "and at your for- 
 giving me for so cruelly misunderstanding you." 
 
 " But you must learn all. When I first saw MacGlowrie 
 
ME. MACGLOWKIE'S WIDOW 119 
 
 Tinder his assumed name, I fainted, for I was terrified and 
 believed he knew I was here and had come to expose me 
 even at his own risk. That was why I hesitated between 
 going away or openly defying him. But it appears he was 
 more frightened than I at finding me here — he had sup- 
 posed I had changed my name after the divorce, and that 
 Mrs. MacGlowrie, Laurel Spring, was his cousin's widow. 
 When he found out who I was he was eager to see me and 
 agree upon a mutual silence while he was here. He thought 
 only of himself," she added scornfully, "and Colonel Star- 
 bottle's recognition of him that night as the convicted swin- 
 dler was enough to put him to flight. " 
 
 "And the colonel never suspected that you were his 
 wife ? " said Blair. 
 
 "Never! He supposed from the name that he was some 
 relation of my husband, and that was why he refused to tell 
 it — for my sake. Ihe colonel is an old fogy — and pom- 
 pous — but a gentleman — as good as they make them ! " 
 
 A slightly jealous uneasiness and a greater sense of shame 
 came over Blair. 
 
 " I seem to have been the only one who suspected and 
 did not aid you," he said sadly, "and yet God knows" — 
 
 The widow had put up her slim hand in half-smiling, 
 half-pathetic interruption. 
 
 " Wait ! I have not told you everything. When I took 
 over the responsibility of being Allen MacGlowrie's widow, 
 I had to take over her relations and her history as I gath- 
 ered it from the frontiersmen. / never frightened any 
 grizzly — / never jabbed anybody with the scissors ; it was 
 she who did it. /never was among the Injins — /never 
 had any fighting relations; my paw was a plain farmer. I 
 was only a peaceful Blue Grass girl — there ! I never 
 thought there was any harm in it; it seemed to keep the 
 men off, and leave me free — until I knew you! And you 
 know I didn't want you to believe it — don't you! " 
 
120 MB. macgloweie's widow 
 
 She hid her flushed face and dimples in her handkerchief. 
 
 " But did you never think there might be another way to 
 keep the men off, and sink the name of MacGlowrie for- 
 ever 1 " said Blair in a lower voice. 
 
 "I think we must be going back now," said the widow 
 timidly, withdrawing her hand, which Blair had again mys- 
 teriously got possession of in her confusion. 
 
 "But wait just a few minutes longer to keen me com- 
 pany," said Blair pleadingly. "I came here to see a pa- 
 tient, and as there must have been some mistake in the 
 message — I must try to discover it. " 
 
 " Oh ! Is that all 1 " said the widow quickly. " Why ? " 
 — she flushed again and laughed faintly — " Well ! I am 
 that patient! I wanted to see you alone to explain every- 
 thing, and I could think of no other way. I 'm afraid I 've 
 got into the habit of thinking nothing of being somebody 
 else. " 
 
 "I wish you would let me select who you should be," 
 said the doctor boldly. 
 
 "We really must go back — to the horses," said the 
 widow. 
 
 "Agreed — if we will ride home together." 
 
 They did. And before the year was over, although they 
 both remained, the name of MacGlowrie had passed out of 
 Laurel Spring. 
 
k WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 
 
A WAED OP COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 
 
 " The kernel seems a little off color to-day, " said the bar- 
 keeper as he replaced the whiskey decanter, and gazed re- 
 flectively after the departing figure of Colonel Starbottle. 
 
 "I did n't notice anything," said a bystander; "he passed 
 the time o' day civil enough to me." 
 
 "Oh, he 's alius polite enough to strangers and wimmin 
 folk even when he is that way ; it 's only his old chums, or 
 them ez like to be thought so, that he 's peppery with. 
 "Why, ez to that, after he 'd had that quo '11 with his old 
 partner, Judge Pratt, in one o' them spells, I saw him the 
 next minit go half a block out of his way to direct an entire 
 stranger; and ez for wimmin! — well, I reckon if he 'd just 
 got a bead drawn on a man, and a woman spoke to him, 
 he 'd drop his battery and take off his hat to her. No — 
 ye can't judge by that! " 
 
 And perhaps in his larger experience the barkeeper was 
 right. He might have added, too, that the colonel, in his 
 general outward bearing and jauntiness, gave no indication 
 of his internal irritation. Yet he was undoubtedly in one 
 of his "spells," suffering from a moody cynicism which made 
 him as susceptible of affront as he was dangerous in resent- 
 ment. 
 
 Luckily, on this particular morning he reached his oifice 
 and entered his private room without any serious rencontre. 
 Here he opened his desk, and arranging his papers, he at 
 once set to work with grim persistency. He had not been 
 occupied for many minutes before the door opened to Mr. 
 Pyecrof t — one of a firm of attorneys who undertook the 
 colonel's office work. 
 
124 A WAHD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 
 
 "I see you are early to work, Colonel," said Mr. ?ye- 
 croft cheerfully. 
 
 "You see, sir," said the colonel, correcting him with a 
 slow deliberation that boded no good — "you see a Southern 
 gentleman — blank it ! — who has stood at the head of his 
 profession for thirty-five years, obliged to work like a blank 
 nigger, sir, in the dirty squabbles of psalm-singing Yankee 
 traders, instead of — er — attending to the affairs of — er 
 — legislation ! " 
 
 " But you manage to get pretty good fees out of it — eh. 
 Colonel ? " continued Pyecroft, with a laugh. 
 
 " Fees, sir ! Filthy shekels ! and barely enough to satisfy 
 a debt of honor with one hand, and wipe out a tavern score 
 for the entertainment of — er — a few lady friends with the 
 other!" 
 
 This allusion to his losses at poker, as well as an oyster 
 supper given to the two principal actresses of the "North 
 Star Troupe," then performing in the town, convinced Mr. 
 Pyecroft that the colonel was in one of his "moods," and 
 he changed the subject. 
 
 " That reminds me of a little joke that happened in Sac- 
 ramento last week. You remember Dick Stannard, who 
 died a year ago — one of your friends ? " 
 
 " I have yet to learn, " interrupted the colonel, with the 
 same deadly deliberation, "what right he — or anybody — 
 had to intimate that he held such a relationship with me. 
 Am I to understand, sir, that he — er — publicly boasted 
 of it?" 
 
 " Don't know ! " resumed Py«crof t hastily ; " but it don't 
 matter, for if he was n't a friend it only makes the jor.o 
 bigger. Well, his widow did n't survive him long, but died 
 in the States t' other day, leavin' the property in Sacra- 
 mento — worth about three thousand dollars — to her little 
 girl, who is at school at Santa Clara. The question of guard- 
 ianship came up, and it appears that the widow — who only 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 125-. 
 
 knew you through her husband — had, some time before 
 her death, mentioned your name in that connection ! He ! 
 he!" 
 
 " What ! " said Colonel Starbottle, starting up. 
 
 " Hold on ! " said Pyecrof t hilariously. " That is n't all ! 
 Neither the executors nor the probate judge knew you from 
 Adam, and the Sacramento bar, scenting a good joke, lay 
 low and said nothing. Then the old fool judge said that 
 ' as you appeared to be a lawyer, a man of mature years, 
 and a friend of the family, you were an eminently fit per- 
 son, and ought to be communicated with ' — you know his 
 hifalutin' style. Nobody says anything. So that the next 
 thing you '11 know you '11 get a letter from that executor 
 asking you to look after that kid. Ha ! ha ! The boys said 
 they could fancy they saw you trotting around with a ten 
 year old girl holding on to your hand, and the Senorita Do- 
 lores or Miss Bellamont looking on ! Or your being called 
 away from a poker deal some night by the infant, singing, 
 ' Gardy, dear gardy, come home with me now, the clock in 
 the steeple strikes one ! ' And think of that old fool judge 
 not knowing you ! Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 A study of Colonel Starbottle's face during this speech 
 would have puzzled a better physiognomist than Mr. Pye- 
 croft. His first look of astonishment gave way to an em- 
 purpled confusion, from which a single short Silenus-like 
 chuckle escaped, but this quickly changed again into a dull 
 coppery indignation, and, as Pyecroft's laugh continued, 
 faded out into a sallow rigidity in which his murky eyes 
 alone seemed to keep what was left of his previous high 
 color. But what was more singular, in spite of his enforced 
 calm, something of his habitual old-fashioned loftiness and 
 oratorical exaltation appeared to be returning to him as h' 
 placed his hand on his inflated breast and faced Pyecroft. 
 
 " The ignorance of the executor of Mrs. Stannard and th; 
 — er — probate judge," he began slowly, "may be pardon- 
 
126 A WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 
 
 able, Mr. Pyecroft, since his Honor would imply that, al- 
 though unknown to him personally, I am at least amicus 
 curice in this question of — er — guardianship. But I am 
 grieved — indeed I may say shocked — Mr. Pyecroft, that 
 the — er — last sacred trust of a dying widow — perhaps the 
 holiest trust that can he conceived by man — the care and 
 welfare of her helpless orphaned girl — should be made the 
 subject of mirth, sir, by yourself and the members of the 
 Sacramento bar ! I shall not allude, sir, to my own feelings 
 in regard to Dick Stannard, one of my most cherished 
 friends," continued the colonel, in a voice charged with 
 emotion, "but I can conceive of no nobler trust laid upon 
 the altar of friendship than the care and guidance of his or- 
 phaned girl ! And if, as you tell me, the utterly inadequate 
 sum of three thousand dollars is all that is left for her main- 
 tenance through life, the selection of a guardian sufficiently 
 devoted to the family to be willing to augment that pittance 
 out of his own means from time to time would seem cc be 
 most important." 
 
 Before the astounded Pyecroft could recover hlnself. 
 Colonel Starbottle leaned back in his chair, half closing his 
 eyes, and abandoned himself, quite after his old manner, to 
 one of his dreamy reminiscences. 
 
 " Poor Dick Stannard ! I have a vivid recollection, sir, 
 of driving out with him on the Shell Road at JTew Orleans 
 in '54, and of his saying, ' Star ' — the only man, sir, who 
 ever abbreviated my name — ' Star, if anything happens to 
 me or her, look after our child ! ' It was during that very 
 drive, sir, that, through his incautious neglect to fortify 
 himself against the swampy malaria by a glass of straight 
 Bourbon with a pinch of bark in it, he caught that fever 
 which undermined his constitution. Thank you, Mr. Pye- 
 croft, for — er — recalling the circumstance. I shall," con- 
 tinued the colonel, suddenly abandoning reminiscence, sit- 
 ting up, and arranging his papers, " look forward with great 
 interest to — er — letter from the executor," 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 127 
 
 The next day it was universally understood that Colonel 
 Starbottle had been appointed guardian of Pansy Stannard 
 by the probate judge of Sacramento. 
 
 There are of record two distinct accounts of Colonel Star- 
 bottle's first meeting with his ward after his appointment as 
 her guardian. One, given by himself, varying slightly at 
 times, but always bearing unvarying compliment to the 
 grace, beauty, and singular accomplishments of this appar- 
 ently gifted child, was nevertheless characterized more by 
 vague, dreamy reminiscences of the departed parents than 
 by any personal experience of the daughter. 
 
 "I found the young lady, sir," he remarked to Mr. Pye- 
 croft, " recalling my cherished friend Stannard in — er — 
 form and features, and — although — er — • personally unac- 
 quainted with her deceased mother — who belonged, sir, to 
 one of the first families of Virginia — I am told that she 
 is — er — remarkably like her. Miss Stannard is at present 
 a pupil in one of the best educational establishments in 
 Santa Clara, where she is receiving tuition in — er — the 
 English classics, foreign belles lettres, embroidery, the harp, 
 and — er — the use of the — er — globes, and — er — black- 
 board — under the most fastidious care, and my own per- 
 sonal supervision. The principal of the school. Miss Eu- 
 doxia Tish — associated with — er — er — Miss Prinkwell 
 — is — er — remarkably gifted woman ; and as I was pre- 
 sent at one of the school exercises, I had the opportunity of 
 testifying to her excellence in — er — short address I made 
 to the young ladies." From such glittering but unsatisfy- 
 ing generalities as these I prefer to turn to the real inter- 
 view, gathered from contemporary witnesses. 
 
 It was the usual cloudless, dazzling, Californian summer 
 day, tempered with the asperity of the northwest trades, that 
 Miss Tish, looking through her window towards the rose- 
 embowered gateway of the seminary, saw an extraordinary 
 
128 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 
 
 figure advancing up the avenue. It was that of a man slightly 
 past middle age, yet erect and jaunty, whose costume re- 
 called the early water-color portraits of her own youthful 
 days. His tightly buttoned blue frock coat with gilt buttons 
 was opened far enough across the chest to allow the expand- 
 ing of a frilled shirt, black stock, and nankeen waistcoat, 
 and his immaculate white trousers were smartly strapped 
 over his smart varnished boots. A white bell-crowned hat, 
 carried in his hand to permit the wiping of his forehead with 
 a silk handkerchief, and a gold-headed walking stick hooked 
 over his arm, completed this singular equipment. He was 
 followed, a few paces in the rear, by a negro carrying an 
 enormous bouquet, and a number of small boxes and parcels 
 tied up with ribbons. As the figure paused before the door. 
 Miss Tish gasped, and cast a quick restraining glance around 
 the classroom. But it was too late; a dozen pairs of blue, 
 black, round, inquiring, or mischievous eyes were already 
 dancing and gloating over the bizarre stranger through the 
 window. 
 
 " A cirkiss — or nigger minstrels — sure as you 're born ! " 
 said Mary Frost, aged nine, in a fierce whisper. 
 
 "No! — a agent from 'The Emporium,' with samples," 
 returned Miss Briggs, aged fourteen. 
 
 "Young ladies, attend to your studies," said Miss Tish, 
 as the servant brought in a card. Miss Tish glanced at it 
 with some nervousness, and read to herself, " Colonel Cul- 
 peper Starbottle," engraved in script, and below it in pen- 
 cil, "To see Miss Pansy Stannard, under favor of Miss 
 Tish." Rising with some perturbation. Miss Tish hurriedly 
 intrusted the class to an assistant, and descended to the re- 
 ception room. She had never seen Pansy's guardian before 
 (the executor had brought the child) ; and this extraordinary 
 creature, whose visit she could not deny, might be ruinous 
 to school discipline. It was therefore with an extra degree 
 of frigidity of demeanor that she threw open the door of the 
 
A WARD Ot COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 129 
 
 reception room, and entered majestically. But to her utter 
 astonishment, the colonel met her with a bow so stately, so 
 ceremonious, and so commanding that she stopped, disarmed 
 and speechless. 
 
 "I need not ask if I am addressing Miss Tish," said the 
 colonel loftily, " for without having the pleasure of — er — 
 previous acquaintance, I can at once recognize the — er — 
 Lady Superior and — er — chatelaine of this — er — estab- 
 lishment." Miss Tish here gave way to a slight cough and 
 an embarrassed curtsy, as the colonel, with a wave of his 
 white hand towards the burden carried by his follower, re- 
 sumed more lightly : " T have brought — er — few trifles and 
 gewgaws for my ward — subject, of course, to your rules and 
 discretion. They include some — er — dainties, free from 
 any deleterious substance, as I am informed — a sash — a 
 ribbon or two for the hair, gloves, mittens, and a nosegay 
 — from which, I trust, it will be her pleasure, as it is my 
 own, to invite you to cull such blossoms as may suit your 
 taste. Boy, you may set them down and retire ! " 
 
 "At the present moment," stammered Miss Tish, "Miss 
 Stannard is engaged on her lessons. But " — She stopped 
 again, hopelessly. 
 
 " I see, " said the colonel, with an air of playful, poetical 
 reminiscence — " her lessons ! Certainly ! 
 
 'We will — er — go to our places, 
 With smiles on our faces, 
 And say all our lessons distinctly and slow.' 
 
 Certainly ! Not for worlds would I interrupt them ; until 
 they are done, we will — er — walk through the classrooms 
 and inspect " — 
 
 "No! no!" interrupted the horrified ' principal, with a 
 dreadful presentiment of the appalling effect of the colonel's 
 entry upon the class. " No ! — that is — I mean — our rules 
 exclude — except on days of public examination " — 
 
 "Say no more, my dear madam," said the colonel politely. 
 
130 A WARD OF COLONEL STAKBOTTLE'S 
 
 " Until she is free I will stroll outside, through — er — the 
 groves of the Academus " — 
 
 But Miss Tish, equally alarmed at the diversion this 
 would create at the classroom windows, recalled herself with 
 an effort. " Please wait here a moment, " she said hurriedly ; 
 " I will bring her down ; " and before the colonel could 
 politely open the door for her, she had fled. 
 
 Happily unconscious of the sensation he had caused. Colo- 
 nel Starbottle seated himself on the sofa, his white hands 
 resting easily on the gold-headed cane. Once or twice the 
 door behind him opened and closed quietly, scarcely disturb- 
 ing him ; or again opened more ostentatiously to the words, 
 "Oh, excuse, please," and the brief glimpse of a flaxen 
 braid, or a black curly head — to all of which the colonel 
 nodded politely — even rising later to the apparition of a 
 taller, demure young lady — and her more affected " Really, 
 I beg your pardon ! " The only result of this evident curi- 
 osity was slightly to change the colonel's attitude, so as to 
 enable him to put his other hand in his breast in his favor- 
 ite pose. But presently he was conscious of a more active 
 movement in the hall, of the sounds of scuffling, of a high 
 youthful voice saying " I won't " and " I shan't ! " of the door 
 opening to a momentary apparition of Miss Tish dragging a 
 small hand and half of a small black-ribboned arm into the 
 room, and her rapid disappearance again, apparently pulled 
 back by the little hand and arm; of another and longer 
 pause, of a whispered conference outside, and then the reap- 
 pearance of Miss Tish majestically, reinforced and supported 
 by the grim presence of her partner. Miss Prinkwell. 
 
 " This — er — unexpected visit, " began Miss Tish — " not 
 previously arranged by letter " — 
 
 "Which is an invariable rule of our establishment," sup- 
 plemented Miss Prinkwell — 
 
 "And the fact that you are personally unknown to us," 
 continued Miss Tish — 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 131 
 
 "An ignorance shared by the child, who exhibits a dis- 
 taste for an interview," interpolated Miss Prinkwell, in a 
 kind of antiphonal response — 
 
 "For which we have had no time to prepare her," con- 
 tinued Miss Tish — 
 
 "Compels us most reluctantly " — But here she stopped 
 short. Colonel Starbottle, who had risen with a deep bow 
 at their entrance and remained standing, here walked quietly 
 towards them. His usually high color had faded except 
 from his eyes, but his exalted manner was still more pro- 
 nounced, with a dreadful deliberation superadded. 
 
 " I believe — er — I had — the honah — to send up my 
 kyard!" (In his supreme moments the colonel's Southern 
 accent was always in evidence.) "I may — er — be misr 
 taken — but — er — that is my impression. " The colonel 
 paused, and placed his right hand statuesquely on his heart. 
 
 The two women trembled — Miss Tish fancied the very 
 shirt frill of the colonel was majestically erecting itself — as 
 they stammered in one voice, — 
 
 "Ye-e-es!" 
 
 " That kyard contained my full name — with a request 
 to see my ward — Miss Stannard, " continued the colonel 
 slowly. " I believe that is the fact. " 
 
 " Certainly ! certainly ! " gasped the women feebly. 
 
 " Then may I — er — point out to you that I am — er — 
 waiting ? " 
 
 Although nothing could exceed the laborious simplicity 
 and husky sweetness of the colonel's utterance, it appeared 
 to demoralize utterly his two hearers — Miss Prinkivell 
 seemed to fade into the pattern of the wall paper. Miss Tish 
 to droop submissively forward like a pink wax candle in the 
 rays of the burning sun. 
 
 " We will bring her instantly. A thousand pardons, sir,." 
 they uttered in the same breath, backing towards the door. 
 
 But here the unexpected intervened. Unnoticed by the 
 
132 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 
 
 three during the colloquy, a little figure in a black dress had 
 peeped through the door, and then glided into the room. It 
 was a girl of about ten, who, in all candor, could scarcely 
 be called pretty, although the awkward change of adoles- 
 cence had not destroyed the delicate proportions of her hands 
 and feet nor the beauty of her brown eyes. These were, 
 just then, round and wondering, and fixed alternately on 
 the colonel and the two women. But like many other round 
 and wondering eyes, they had taken in the full meaning of 
 the situation, with a quickness the adult mind is not apt to 
 give them credit for. They saw the complete and utter 
 subjugation of the two supreme autocrats of the school, and, 
 I grieve to say, they were filled with a secret and " fearful 
 joy." But the casual spectator saw none of this; the round 
 and wondering eyes, still rimmed with recent and recalci- 
 trant tears, only looked big and innocently shining. 
 
 The relief of the two women was sudden and unaffected. 
 
 "Oh, here you are, dearest, at last!" said Miss Tish 
 eagerly. "This is your guardian. Colonel Starbottle. Come 
 to him, dear ! " 
 
 She took the hand of the child, who hung back with an 
 odd mingling of shamefacedness and resentment of the inter- 
 ference, when the voice of Colonel Starbottle, in the same 
 deadly calm deliberation, said, — 
 
 "I — er — will speak with her — alone. " 
 
 The round eyes again saw the complete collapse of au- 
 thority, as the two women shrank back from the voice, and 
 said hurriedly, — 
 
 " Certainly, Colonel Starbottle ; perhaps it would be bet- 
 ter," and ingloriously quitted the room. 
 
 But the colonel's triumph left him helpless. He was 
 alone with a simple child, an unprecedented, unheard-of 
 situation, which left him embarrassed and — speechless. 
 Even his vanity was conscious that his oratorical periods, 
 his methods, his very attitude, were powerless here. The 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 133 
 
 perspiration stood out on his forehead; he looked at her 
 vaguely, and essayed a feeble smile. The child saw his em- 
 barrassment, even as she had seen and understood his tri- 
 umph, and the small woman within her exulted. She put 
 her little hands on her waist, and with the fingers turned 
 downwards and outwards pressed them down her hips to her 
 bended knees until they had forced her skirts into an egre- 
 gious fullness before and behind, as if she were making a 
 curtsy, and then jumped up and laughed. 
 
 "You did it! Hooray!" 
 
 " Did what ? " said the colonel, pleased yet mystified. 
 
 "Frightened 'em! — the two old cats! Frightened 'em 
 outen their slippers ! Oh, jiminy! Never, never, never 
 before was they so skeert ! Never since school kept did they 
 have to crawl like that ! They was skeert enough first when 
 you come, but just now ! — Lordy ! They was n't a-goin' 
 to let you see me — but they had to! had to ! had to ! " 
 and she emphasized each repetition with a skip. 
 
 "I believe — er," said the colonel blandly, "that I — 
 er — intimated with some firmness " — 
 
 " That 's it — just it ! " interrupted the child delightedly. 
 "You — you — overdid 'em!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Overdid 'em! Don't you know? They 're always so 
 high and mighty! Kinder ' Don't tech me. My mother 's 
 an angel; my father's a king' — all that sort of thing. 
 They did this " — she drew herself up in a presumable imi- 
 tation of the two women's majestic entrance — "and then," 
 she continued, " you — you jest did this " — here she lifted 
 her chin, and puffing out her small chest, strode towards tho 
 colonel in evident simulation of his grandest manner. 
 
 A short, deep chuckle escaped him — although the next 
 moment his face became serious again. But Pansy in the 
 mean time had taken possession of his coat sleeve and was 
 rubbing her cheek against it like a young colt. At which 
 
134 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 
 
 the colonel succumbed feebly and sat down on the sofa, the 
 child standing beside him, leaning over and transferring her 
 little hands to the lapels of his frock coat, which she essayed 
 to button over his chest as she looked into his murky eyes. 
 "The other girls said," she began, tugging at the button, 
 " that you was a ' cirkiss ' " — another tug — '"a nigger 
 minstrel ' " — and a third tug — " ' a agent with samples ' 
 
 — but that showed all they knew ! " 
 
 " Ah, " said the colonel with exaggerated blandness, " and 
 
 — er — what did you — er — say ? " 
 
 The child smiled. " I said you was a Stuffed Donkey — 
 but that was before I knew you. I was a little skeert too; 
 but now " — she succeeded in buttoning the coat and mak- 
 ing the colonel quite apoplectic, — "now I ain't frightened 
 one bit — no, not one tiny bit ! But, " she added, after a 
 pause, unbuttoning the coat again and smoothing down the 
 lapels between her fingers, "you 're to keep on frightening 
 the old cats — mind ! Never mind about the girls. I '11 
 tell them." 
 
 The colonel would have given worlds to be able to strug- 
 gle up into an upright position with suitable oral expression. 
 Not that his vanity was at all wounded by these irrespon- 
 sible epithets, which only excited an amused wonder, but 
 he was conscious of an embarrassed pleasure in the child's 
 caressing familiarity, and her perfect trustfulness in liini 
 touched his extravagant chivalry. He ought to protect her, 
 and yet correct her. In the consciousness of these duties 
 he laid his white hand upon her head. Alas ! she lifted her 
 arm and instantly transferred his hand and part of his arm 
 around her neck and shoulders, and comfortably snuggled 
 against him. The colonel gasped. Nevertheless, something 
 must be said, and he began, albeit somewhat crippled in 
 delivery : — 
 
 " The — er — use of elegant and precise language by — 
 or — young ladies cannot be too sedulously cultivated " — ■ 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 135 
 
 But here the child laughed, and snuggling still closer, gur- 
 gled: "That's right! Give it to her when she comes 
 down ! That 's the style ! " and the colonel stopped, dis- 
 comfited. Nevertheless, there was a certain wholesome glow 
 in the contact of this nestling little figure. 
 
 Presently he resumed tentatively: "I have — er — 
 brought you a few dainties. " 
 
 "Yes," said Pansy, "I see; but they 're from the wrong 
 <hop, you dear old silly ! They 're from Tomkins's, and we 
 girls just abominate his things. You oughter have gone to 
 Emmons's. Never mind. I '11 show you when we go out. 
 We 're going out, are n't we ? " she said suddenly, lifting 
 her head anxiously. " You know it 's allowed, and it 's 
 rights ' to parents and guardians ' ! " 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," said the colonel. He knew he 
 would feel a little less constrained in the open air. 
 
 "Then we '11 go now," said Pansy, jumping up. "I '11 
 jnst run upstairs and put on my things. I '11 say it 's ' or- 
 ders ' from you. And I'll wear my new frock — it's 
 longer." (The colonel was slightly relieved at this; it had 
 seemed to him, as a guardian, that there was perhaps an ab- 
 normal display of Pansy's black stockings.) "You wait; 
 I won't be long." 
 
 She darted to the door, but reaching it, suddenly stopped, 
 returned to the sofa, where the colonel still sat, imprinted 
 a swift kiss on his mottled cheek, and fled, leaving him in- 
 vested with a mingled flavor of freshly ironed muslin, win- 
 tergreen lozenges, and recent bread and butter. He sat still 
 for some time, staring out of the window. It was very 
 quiet in the room ; a bumblebee blundered from the jasmine 
 outside into the open window, and snored loudly at the 
 j,anes. But the colonel heeded it not, and remained ab- 
 stracted and silent until the door opened to Miss Tish and 
 Pansy — in her best frock and sash, at which the colonel 
 started and became erect again and courtly. 
 
136 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 
 
 " I am about to take my ward out, " he said deliberately, 
 " to — er — taste the air in the Alameda, and — er — view 
 the shops. We may — er — also — indulge in — er — slight 
 suitable refreshment; — er — seed cake — or — bread and 
 butter — and — a dish of tea." 
 
 Miss Tish, now thoroughly subdued, was delighted to 
 grant Miss Stannard the half holiday permitted on such oc- 
 casions. She begged the colonel to suit his own pleasure, 
 and intrusted " the dear child " to her guardian " with the 
 greatest confidence." 
 
 The colonel made a low bow, and Pansy, demurely slip- 
 ping her hand into his, passed with him into the hall ; there 
 was a slight rustle of vanishing skirts, and Pansy pressed 
 his hand significantly. When they were well outside, she 
 said, in a lower voice : — 
 
 "Don't look up until we 're under the gymnasium win- 
 dows." The colonel, mystified but obedient, strutted on. 
 " Now ! " said Pansy. He looked up, beheld the windows 
 aglow with bright young faces, and bewildering with many 
 handkerchiefs and clapping hands, stopped, and then taking 
 off his hat, acknowledged the salute with a sweeping bow. 
 Pansy was delighted. "I knew they 'd be there; I 'd al- 
 ready fixed 'em. They 're just dyin' to know you." 
 
 The colonel felt a certain glow of pleasure. "I — er — 
 had already intimated a — er — willingness to — er — in- 
 spect the classes ; but — I — er — understood that the 
 rules " — 
 
 "They 're sick old rules," interrupted the child. "Tish 
 and Prinkwell are the rules ! You say just right out that 
 you will ! Just overdo her ! " 
 
 The colonel had a vague sense that he ought to correc 
 both the spirit and language of this insurrectionary speech, 
 but Pansy pulled him along, and then swept him quite away 
 with a torrent of prattle of the school, of her friends, of the 
 teachers, of her life and its infinitely small miseries and 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 137 
 
 pleasures. Pansy was voluble; never before had the colo- 
 nel found himself relegated to the place of a passive listener. 
 Nevertheless, he liked it, and as they passed on, under the 
 shade of the Alameda, with Pansy alternately swinging from 
 his hand and skipping beside him, there was a vague smile 
 of satisfaction on his face. Passers-by turned to look after 
 the strangely assorted pair, or smiled, accepting them, as the 
 colonel fancied, as father and daughter. An odd feeling, 
 half of pain and half of pleasure, gripped at the heart of the 
 empty and childless man. 
 
 And now, as they approached the more crowded thor- 
 oughfares, the instinct of chivalrous protection was keen in 
 his breast. He piloted her skillfully ; he jauntily suited his 
 own to her skipping step ; he lifted her with scrupulous po- 
 liteness over obstacles; strutting beside her on crowded 
 pavements, he made way for her with his swinging stick. 
 All the while, too, he had taken note of the easy carriage of 
 her head and shoulders, and most of all of her small, slim 
 feet and hands, that, to his fastidious taste, betokened her 
 race. " Ged, sir, " he muttered to himself, " she ' s ' Blue 
 Grass ' stock, all through." To admiration succeeded pride, 
 with a slight touch of ownership. When they went into a 
 shop, which, thanks to the ingenuous Pansy, they did pretty 
 often, he would introduce her with a wave of the hand and 
 the remark, "J am — er — seeking nothing to-day, but if 
 you will kindly — er — serve my ward — Miss Stannard ! " 
 Later, when they went into the confectioner's for refresh- 
 ment, and Pansy frankly declared for " ice cream and cream 
 cakes," instead of the "dish of tea and bread and butter" 
 he had ordered in pursuance of his promise, he heroically 
 took it himself — to satisfy his honor. Indeed, I know of 
 no more sublime figure than Colonel Starbottle — rising su- 
 perior to a long-withstood craving for a " cocktail, " morbidly 
 conscious also of the ridiculousness of his appearance to any 
 of his old associates who might see him — drinking luke- 
 
138 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTILE'S 
 
 ■warm tea and pecking feebly at his bread and butter at a 
 small table, beside his little tyrant. 
 
 And this domination of the helpless continued on their 
 way home. Although Miss Pansy no longer talked of her- 
 self, she was equally voluble in inquiry as to the colonel's 
 habits, ways of life, friends and acquaintances, happily re- 
 stricting her interrogations, in regard to those of her own 
 eex, to "any little girls that he knew." Saved by this ex- 
 onerating adjective, the colonel saw here a chance to indulge 
 his postponed monitorial duty, as well as his vivid imagina- 
 tion. He accordingly drew elaborate pictures of impossible 
 children he had known — creatures precise in language and 
 dress, abstinent of play and confectionery, devoted to les- 
 sons and duties, and otherwise, in Pansy's own. words, 
 " loathsome to the last degree ! " As " daughters of oldest 
 and most cherished friends," they might perhaps have ex- 
 cited Pansy's childish jealousy but for the singular fact 
 that they had all long ago been rewarded by marriage with 
 senators, judges, and generals — also associates of the colo- 
 nel. This remoteness of presence somewhat marred their 
 effect as an example, and the colonel was mortified, though 
 not entirely displeased, to observe that their surprising vir- 
 tues did not destroy Pansy's voracity for sweets, the reck- 
 lessness of her skipping, nor the freedom of her language. 
 The colonel was remorseful — but happy. 
 
 When they reached the seminary again. Pansy retired 
 with her various purchases, but reappeared after an interval 
 with Miss Tish. 
 
 "I remember," hesitated that lady, trembling under the 
 fascination of the colonel's profound bow, "that you were 
 anxious to look over the school, and although it was not 
 possible then, I shall be glad to show you now through one 
 of the classrooms." 
 
 The colonel, glancing at Pansy, was momentarily shocked 
 by a distortion of one side of her face, which seemed, how- 
 
A WARD OF COLONEI, STAEBOTTLE'S 139 
 
 ever, to end in a wink of her innocent brown eyes, but re- 
 covering himself, gallantly expressed his gratitude. The 
 next moment he was ascending the stairs, side by side with 
 Miss Tish, and had a distinct impression that he had been 
 pinched in the calf by Pansy, who was following close be- 
 hind. 
 
 It was recess, but the large classroom was quite filled 
 with pupils, many of them older and prettier girls, inveigled 
 there, as it afterwards appeared, by Pansy, in some preco- 
 cious presentiment of her guardian's taste. The colonel's 
 apologetic yet gallant bow on entering, and his erect, old- 
 fashioned elegance, instantly took their delighted attention. 
 Indeed, all would have gone well had not Miss Prinkwell, 
 with the view of impressing the colonel as well as her pu- 
 pils, majestically introduced him as "a distinguished jurist 
 deeply interested in the cause of education, as well as guard- 
 ian of their fellow pupil." That opportunity was not 
 thrown away on Colonel Starbottle. 
 
 Stepping up to the desk of the astounded principal, he 
 laid the points of his fingers delicately upon it, and, with a 
 preparatory inclination of his head towards her, placed his 
 other hand in his breast, and with an invocatory glance at 
 the ceiling, began.' 
 
 It was the colonel's habit at such moments to state at 
 first, with great care and precision, the things that he 
 "would not say," that he "need not say," and apparently 
 that it was absolutely unnecessary even to allude to. It 
 was therefore not strange that the colonel informed them 
 that he need not say that he counted his present privilege 
 among the highest that had been granted him ; for besides 
 the privilege of beholding the galaxy of youthful talent and 
 excellence before him, besides the privilege of being sur- 
 rounded by a garland of the blossoms of the school in all their 
 freshness and beauty, it was well understood that he had the 
 greater privilege of — er — standing in loco parentis to one 
 
140 
 
 of these blossoms. It was not for him to allude to the high 
 trust imposed upon him by — er — deceased and cherished 
 friend, and daughter of one of the first families of Virginia, 
 by the side of one who must feel that she was the recipient 
 of trusts equally supreme (here the colonel paused, and 
 statuesquely regarded the alarmed Miss Prinkwell as if he 
 were in doubt of it), but he would say that it should be his 
 devoted mission to champion the rights of the orphaned and 
 innocent whenever and wherever the occasion arose, against 
 all odds, and even in the face of misguided authority. 
 (Having left the impression that Miss Prinkwell contem- 
 plated an invasion of those rights, the colonel became more 
 lenient and genial.) He fully recognized her high and no- 
 ble office; he saw in her the worthy successor of those two 
 famous instructresses of Athens — those Greek ladies — er 
 
 — whose names had escaped his memory, but which — er 
 
 — no doubt Miss Prinkwell would be glad to recall to her 
 pupils, with some account of their lives. (Miss Prinkwell 
 colored ; she had never heard of them before, and even the 
 delight of the class in the colonel's triumph was a little 
 dampened by this prospect of hearing more about them.) 
 But the colonel was only too content with seeing before him 
 these bright and beautiful faces, destined, as he firmly be- 
 lieved, in after years to lend their charm and effulgence to 
 the highest places as the happy helpmeets of the greatest in 
 the land. He was — er — leaving a — er — slight testimo- 
 nial of his regard in the form of some — er — innocent re- 
 freshments in the hands of his ward, who would — er — act 
 as — er — his proxy in their distribution ; and the colonel 
 sat down to the flutter of handkerchiefs, an applause only 
 half restrained, and the utter demoralization of Miss Prink- 
 well. 
 
 But the time of his departure had come by this time, and 
 he was too experienced a public man to risk the possibility 
 of an anticlimax by protracting his leave-taking- And in 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 141 
 
 an ominous shining of Pansy's big eyes as the time ap- 
 proached he felt an embarrassment as perplexing as the odd 
 presentiment of loneliness that was creeping over him. But 
 with an elaborate caution as to the dangers of self-indul- 
 gence, and the private bestowal of a large gold piece slipped 
 into her hand, a promise to come again soon, and an exac- 
 tion that she would write to him often, the colonel received 
 in return a wet kiss, a great deal of wet cheek pressed 
 against his own, and a momentary tender clinging, like that 
 which attends the pulling up of some small flower, as he 
 passed out into the porch. In the hall, on the landing above 
 him, there was a close packing of brief skirts against the 
 railing, and a voice, apparently proceeding from a pair of 
 very small mottled legs protruding through the balusters, 
 said distinctly, "Free cheers for Ternel Tarbottle!" And 
 to this benediction the colonel, hat in hand, passed out of 
 this Eden into the world again. 
 
 The colonel's next visit to the seminary did not produce 
 the same sensation as the first, although it was accompanied 
 with equal disturbance to the fair principals. Had he been , 
 a less conceited man he might have noticed that their antag- 
 onism, although held in restraint by their wholesome fear 
 of him, was in danger of becoming more a conviction than 
 a mere suspicion. He was made aware of it through Pansy's 
 resentment towards them, and her revelation of a certain 
 inquisition that she had been subjected to in regard to his 
 occupation, habits, and acquaintances. Naturally of these 
 things Pansy knew very little, but this had not prevented 
 her from saying a great deal. There had been enough in 
 her questioners' manner to make her suspect that her guard- 
 ian was being attacked, and to his defense she brought the 
 mendacity and imagination of a clever child. What she had 
 really said did not transpire except through her own com- 
 ments to the colonel: "And of course you 've killed people 
 
142 
 
 — for you 're a kernel, you know! " (Here the colonel ad- 
 mitted, as a point of fact, that he had served in the Mexican 
 ■war.) "And you kin preach, for they heard you do it 
 when you was here hefore," she added confidently; "and of 
 course you own niggers — for there 's ' Jim. ' " (The colo- 
 nel here attempted to explain that Jim, being in a free State, 
 was now a free man, but Pansy swept away such fine dis- 
 tinctions.) "And you 're rich, you know, for you gave me 
 that ten-dollar gold piece all for myself. So I jest gave 'em 
 as good as they sent — the old spies and curiosity shops ! " 
 
 The colonel, more pleased at Pansy's devotion than con- 
 cerned over the incident itself, accepted this interpretation 
 of his character as a munificent, militant priest with a smil- 
 ing protest. But a later incident caused him to remember 
 it more seriously. 
 
 They had taken their usual stroll through the Alameda, 
 and had made the round of the shops, where the colonel had 
 exhibited his usual liberality of purchase and his exalted 
 parental protection, and so had passed on to their usual re~ 
 freshment at the confectioner's, the usual ices and cakes for 
 Pansy, but this time — a concession also to the tyrant Pansy 
 
 — a glass of lemon soda and a biscuit for the colonel. He 
 was coughing over his unaccustomed beverage, and Pansy, 
 her equanimity and volubility restored by sweets, was chir- 
 ruping at his side ; the large saloon was filling up with cus- 
 tomers — mainly ladies and children, embarrassing to him 
 as the only man present, when suddenly Pansy's attention 
 was diverted by another arrival. It was a good-looking 
 young woman, overdressed, striking, and self-conscious, 
 who, with an air of one who was in the habit of challenging 
 attention, affectedly seated herself with a male companion 
 at an empty table, and began to pull off an overtight glove. 
 
 " My ! " said Pansy in admiring wonder, " ain't she fine ? " 
 
 Colonel Starbottle looked up abstractedly, but at the first 
 
 glance his face flushed redly, deepened to a purple, and then 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAKBOTTLE'S 143 
 
 became gray and stern. He had recognized in the garish 
 fair one Miss Flora Montague, the " Western Star of Terp- 
 sichore and Song, " with whom he had supped a few days 
 before at Sacramento. The lady was "on tour" with her 
 " Combination Troupe. " 
 
 The colonel leaned over and fixed his murky eyes on 
 Pansy. "The room is filling up; the place is stifling; I 
 must — er — request you to — er — hurry. " 
 
 There was a change in the colonel's manner, which the 
 quick-witted child heeded. But she had not associated it 
 with the entrance of the strangers, and as she obediently 
 gulped down her ice, she went on innocently, — 
 
 "That fine lady 's smilin' and lookin' over here. Seems 
 to know you; so does the man with her." 
 
 "I — er — must request you," said the colonel, with 
 husky precision, " not to look that way, but finish your — 
 er — repast. " 
 
 His tone was so decided that the child's lips pouted, but 
 before she could speak a shadow leaned over their table. It 
 was the companion of the "fine lady." 
 
 "Don't seem to see us. Colonel," he said with coarse fa- 
 miliarity, laying his hand on the colonel's shoulder. 
 "Florry wants to know what 's up." 
 
 The colonel rose at the touch. "Tell her, sir," he said 
 huskily, but with slow deliberation, " that 7 ' am up ' and 
 leaving this place with my ward. Miss Stannard. Good- 
 morning." He lifted Pansy with infinite courtesy from her 
 chair, took her hand, strolled to the counter, threw down a 
 gold piece, and passing the table of the astonished fair one 
 with an inflated breast, swept with Pansy out of the shop. 
 In the street he paused, bidding the child go on ; and then, 
 finding he was not followed by the woman's escort, rejoined 
 his little companion. 
 
 For a few moments they walked silently side by side. 
 Then Pansy's curiosity, getting the better of her pout, de- 
 
144 A WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 
 
 manded information. She had applied a child's swift logic 
 to the scene. The colonel was angry, and had punished 
 the woman for something. She drew closer to his side, and 
 looking up with her hig eyes, said confidentially, — 
 
 " What had she been a-doing ? " 
 
 The colonel was amazed, embarrassed, and speechless. 
 He was totally unprepared for the question, and as unable 
 to answer it. His abrupt departure from the shop had been 
 to evade the very truth now demanded of him. Only a su- 
 preme effort of mendacity was left him. He wiped his brow 
 with his handkerchief, coughed, and began deliberately : — 
 
 " The — er — lady in question is in the habit of using a 
 scent called — er — patchouli, a — er — perfume exceed- 
 ingly distressing to me. I detected it instantly on her en- 
 trance. I wished to avoid it — without further contact. It 
 is — er — singular but accepted fact that some people are — 
 er — peculiarly affected by odors. I had — er — old cher- 
 ished friend who always — er — fainted at the odor of jas- 
 mine ; and I was intimately acquainted with General Blud- 
 yer, who — er — dropped like a shot on the presentation of 
 a simple violet. The — er — habit of using such perfumes 
 excessively in public, " continued the colonel, looking down 
 upon the innocent Pansy, and speaking in tones of deadly 
 deliberation, " cannot be too greatly condemned, as well as 
 the habit of — er — frequenting places of public resort in 
 extravagant costumes, with — er — individuals who — er — 
 intrude upon domestic privacy. I trust you will eschew 
 such perfumes, places, costumes, and — er — companions 
 forever and — on all occasions ! " The colonel had raised 
 his voice to his forensic emphasis, and Pansy, somewhat 
 alarmed, assented. Whether she entirely accepted the colo- 
 nel's explanation was another matter. 
 
 The incident, although not again alluded to, seemed to 
 shadow the rest of their brief afternoon holiday, and the 
 colonel's manner was unmistakably graver. But it seemed 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 146 
 
 to the child more affectionate and thoughtful. He had pre- 
 viously at parting submitted to be kissed by Pansy with 
 stately tolerance and an immediate resumption of his loftiest 
 manner. On this present leave-taking he laid his straight 
 closely shaven lips on the crown of her dark head, and as 
 her small arms clipped his neck, drew her closely to his side. 
 The child uttered a slight cry ; the colonel hurriedly put his 
 hand to his breast. Her round cheek had come in contact 
 with his derringer — a small weapon of beauty and precision 
 — which invariably nestled also at his side, in his waistcoat 
 pocket. The child laughed; so did the colonel, but his 
 cheek flushed mightily. 
 
 It was four months later, and a turbulent night. The 
 early rains, driven by a strong southwester against the up- 
 per windows of the Magnolia Eestaurant, sometimes blurred 
 the radiance of the bright lights within, and the roar of the 
 encompassing pines at times drowned the sounds of song and 
 laughter that rose from a private supper room. Even the 
 clattering arrival and departure of the Sacramento stage 
 coach, which disturbed the depths below, did not affect 
 these upper revelers. For Colonel Starbottle, Jack Ham- 
 lin, Judge Beeswinger, and Jo Wynyard, assisted by Mes- 
 dames Montague, Montmorency, Bellefield, and "Tinky" 
 Clifford, of the "Western Star Combination Troupe," then 
 performing "on tour," were holding "high jinks" in the 
 Bupper room. The colonel had been of late moody, irri- 
 table, and easily upset. In the words of a friend and ad- 
 mirer, "he was kam only at twelve paces." 
 
 In a lull in the general tumult a Chinese waiter was seen 
 at the door vainly endeavoring to attract the attention of the 
 colonel by signs and interjections. Mr. Hamlin's quick eye 
 first caught sight of the intruder. "Come in, Confucius," 
 said Jack pleasantly ; "you 're a trifle late for a regular turn, 
 but any little thing in the way of knife swallowing " — 
 
146 A WARD OF COLONEL .STARBOTTLE'S 
 
 "Lill missee to see connle! Waitee waitee, bottom side 
 housee," interrupted the Chinaman, dividing his speech be- 
 tween Jack and the colonel. 
 
 " What ! Another lady ? This is no place for me ! " said 
 Jack, rising with finely simulated decorum. 
 
 "Ask her up," chirped "Tinky" Clifford. 
 
 But at this moment the door opened against the China- 
 man, and a small figure in a cloak and hat, dripping with 
 raindrops, glided swiftly in. After a moment's half-fright- 
 ened, half-admiring glance at the party, she darted forward 
 with a little cry and threw her wet arms round the colonel. 
 The rest of the company, arrested in their festivity, gasped 
 ■with vague and smiling wonder; the colonel became purple 
 and gasped. But only for a moment. The next instant he 
 was on his legs, holding the chUd with one hand, while 
 with the other he described a stately sweep of the table. 
 
 "My ward — Miss Pansy Stannard," he said with husky 
 brevity. But drawing the child aside, he whispered quickly, 
 " What haib happened ? Why are you here 1 " 
 
 But Pansy, child-like, already diverted by the lights, the 
 table piled with delicacies, the gayly dressed women, and 
 the air of festivity, answered half abstractedly, and as much, 
 perhaps, to the curious eyes about her as to the colonel's 
 voice, — 
 
 " I runned away ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered the colonel, aghast. 
 
 But Pansy, responding again to the company rather than 
 her guardian's counsel, and as if appealing to them, went 
 on half poutingly: "Yes! I runned away because they 
 teased me ! Because they did n't like you and said horrid 
 things. Because they told awful, dreadful lies! Because 
 they said I wasn't no orphan! — that my name wasn't 
 Stannard, and that you 'd made it all up. Because they 
 said I was a liar — and you was my father ! " 
 
 A sudden outbreak of laughter here shook the room, and 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 147 
 
 even drowned the storm outside ; again and again it rose, as 
 the colonel staggered gaspingly to his feet. "For an instant 
 it seemed as if his struggles to restrain himself would end 
 in an apoplectic fit. Perhaps it was for this reason that 
 Jack Hamlin checked his own light laugh and became alert 
 and grave. Yet the next moment Colonel Starbottle went 
 as suddenly dead white, as leaning over the table he said 
 huskily, but deliberately, "I must request the ladies pre- 
 sent to withdraw." 
 
 "Don't mind us, Colonel," said Judge Beeswinger, "it 's 
 all in the family here, you know! And — now I look at 
 the girl — hang it all ! she does favor you, old man. Ha ! 
 ha!" 
 
 "And as for the ladies," said Wynyard with a weak, 
 vinous laugh, "unless any of 'em is inclined to take the 
 matter as personal — eh ? " 
 
 " Stop ! " roared the colonel. 
 
 There was no mistaking his voice nor his intent now. 
 The two men, insulted and instantly sobered, were silent. 
 Mr. Hamlin rose, playfully but determinedly tapped his 
 fair companions on the shoulders, saying, "Run away and 
 play, girls," actually bundled them, giggling and protesting, 
 from the room, closed the door, and stood with his back 
 against it. Then it was seen that the colonel, still very 
 white, was holding the child by the hand, as she shrank 
 back wonderingly and a little frightened against him. 
 
 "I thank you, Mr. Hamlin," said the colonel in a lower 
 voice — yet with a slight touch of his habitual stateliness in 
 it, "for being here to bear witness, in the presence of this 
 child, to my unqualified statement that a more foul, vile, 
 and iniquitous falsehood never was uttered than that which 
 has been poured into her innocent ears ! " He paused, 
 walked to the door, still holding her hand, and, as Mr. Ham- 
 lin stepped aside, opened it, told her to await him in the 
 public parlor, closed the door again, and once more faced 
 
148 
 
 the two men. "And," he continued more deliberately, 
 " for the infamous jests that you, Judge Beeswinger, and 
 you, Mr. Wynyard, have dared to pass in her presence and 
 mine, I shall expect from each of you the fullest satisfac- 
 tion — personal satisfaction. My seconds will wait on you 
 in the morning." 
 
 The two men stood up sobered — yet belligerent. 
 
 "As you like, sir," said Beeswinger, flashing. 
 
 "The sooner the better for me," added Wynyard curtly. 
 
 They passed the unruffled Jack Hamlin with a smile and 
 a vaguely significant air, as if calling him as a witness to 
 the colonel's madness, and strode out of the room. 
 
 As the door closed behind them, Mr. Hamlin lightly 
 settled his white waistcoat, and, with his hands on his hips, 
 lounged towards the colonel. "And then? " he said qui- 
 etly. 
 
 "Eh?" said the colonel. 
 
 " After you 've shot one or both of these men, or one of 
 'em has knocked you out, what 's to become of that child 1 " 
 
 "If — I am — er — spared, sir," said the colonel huskily, 
 "I shall continue to defend her — against calumny and 
 sneers " — 
 
 " In this style, eh 1 After her life has been made a hell 
 by her association with a man of your reputation, you pro- 
 pose to whitewash it by a quarrel with a couple of drunken 
 scallawags like Beeswinger and Wynyard, in the presence 
 
 of three painted trollops and a d d scamp like myself! 
 
 Do you suppose this won't be blown all over California be- 
 fore she can be sent back to school 1 Do you suppose those 
 cackling hussies in the next room won't give the whole 
 story away to the next man who stands treat ? " (A fine 
 contempt for the sex in general was one of Mr. Hamlin's 
 most subtle attractions for them.) 
 
 "Nevertheless, sir," stammered the colonel, "the prompt 
 punishment of the man who has dared " — 
 
A WARD Of COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 149 
 
 "Punishment!" interrupted Hamlin, "who 's to punish 
 the man who has dared most ? The one man who is respon- 
 sible for the whole thing? Who 's to punish you ? " 
 
 " Mr. Hamlin — sir ! " gasped the colonel, falling back, 
 as his hand involuntarily rose to the level of his waistcoat 
 pocket and his derringer. 
 
 But Mr. Hamlin only put down the wine glass he had 
 lifted from the table and was delicately twirling between 
 his fingers, and looked fixedly at the colonel. 
 
 "Look here," he said slowly. "When the boys said that 
 you accepted the guardianship of that child not on account 
 of Dick Stannard, but only as a bluff against the joke 
 they 'd set up at you, I didn't believe them! When these 
 men and women to-night tumbled to that story of the child 
 being yours, I didn't believe that! When it was said by 
 others that you were serious about making her your ward, 
 and giving her your property, because you doted on her like 
 a father, I didn't believe that." 
 
 " And — why not that ? " said the colonel quickly, yet 
 with an odd tremor in his voice. 
 
 "Because," said Hamlin, becoming suddenly as grave as 
 the colonel, "I could not believe that any one who cared a 
 picayune for the child could undertake a trust that might 
 bring her into contact with a life and company as rotten as 
 ours. I could not believe that even the most God-forsaken, 
 conceited fool would, for the sake of a little sentimental 
 parade and splurge among people outside his regular walk, 
 al)ow the prospects of that child to be blasted. I couldn't 
 believe it, even if he thought he was acting like a father. 
 I didn't believe it — but I'm beginning to believe it 
 now ! " 
 
 There was little to choose between the attitudes and ex- 
 pressions of the two set stern faces now regarding each 
 other, silently, a foot apart. But the colonel was the first 
 to speak : — 
 
150 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 
 
 "Mr. Hamlin — sir! You said a moment ago that 2 
 was — er — ahem — responsible for this evening's afiair — 
 but you expressed, a doubt as to who could — er — punish 
 me for it. I accept the responsibility you have indicated, 
 sir, and offer you that chance. But as this matter between 
 us must have precedence over — my engagements with that 
 canaille, I shall expect you with your seconds at sunrise on 
 Burnt Eidge. Good-evening, sir." 
 
 With head erect the colonel left the room. Mr. Ham- 
 lin slightly shrugged his shoulders, turned to the door of 
 the room whither he had just banished the ladies, and in 
 a few minutes his voice was heard melodiously among the 
 gayest. 
 
 For all that he managed to get them away early. When 
 he had bundled them into a large carryall, and watched 
 them drive away through the storm, he returned for a min- 
 ute to the waiting room for his overcoat. He was surprised 
 to hear the sound of the child's voice in the supper room, 
 and the door being ajar, he could see quite distinctly that 
 she was seated at the table, with a plate full of sweets be- 
 fore her, while Colonel Starbottle, with his back to the 
 door, was sitting opposite to her, his shoulders slightly 
 bowed as he eagerly watched her. It seemed to Mr. Ham- 
 lin that it was the close of an emotional interview, for 
 Pansy's voice was broken, partly by sobs, and partly, I 
 grieve to say, by the hurried swallowing of the delicacies 
 before her. Yet, above the beating of the storm outside, 
 he could hear her saying, — 
 
 " Yes ! I promise to be good — (sob) — and to go with 
 Mrs. Pyecroft — (sob) — and to try — to like another guard- 
 ian — (sob) — and not to cry any more — (sob) — and — 
 oh, please, don't you do it either ! " 
 
 But here Mr. Hamlin slipped out of the room and out of 
 thu house, with a rather grave face. An hour later, when 
 thti colonel drove up to the Pyecrofts' door with Pansy, he 
 
A WARD OF COLONEL STAKBOTTLE'S 151 
 
 found that Mr, Pyecroft was slightly embarrassed, and a 
 figure, ■which, in the darkness, seemed to resemble Mr. 
 Hamlin's, had just emerged from the door as he entered. 
 
 Yet the sun was not up on Burnt Eidge earlier than Mr. 
 Hamlin. The storm of the night before had blown itself 
 out; a few shreds of mist hung in the valleys from the 
 Eidge, that lay above coldly reddening. Then a breeze 
 swept over it, and out of the dissipating mist fringe Mr. 
 Hamlin saw two black figures, closely buttoned up like him- 
 self, emerge, which he recognized as Beeswinger and Wyn- 
 yard, followed by their seconds. But the colonel came not. 
 Hamlin joined the others in an animated confidential con- 
 versation, attended by a watchful outlook for the missing 
 adversary. Five, ten minutes elapsed, and yet the usually 
 prompt colonel was not there. Mr. Hamlin looked grave; 
 Wynyard and Beeswinger exchanged interrogatory glances. 
 Then a buggy was seen driving furiously up the grade, and 
 from it leaped Colonel Starbottle, accompanied by Dick 
 MacKinstry, his second, carrying his pistol case. And then 
 — strangely enough for men who were waiting the coming 
 of an antagonist who was a dead shot — they drew a breath 
 of relief ! 
 
 MacKinstry slightly preceded his principal, and the oth- 
 ers could see that Starbottle, though erect, was walking 
 slowly. They were surprised also to observe that he was 
 haggard and hollow eyed, and seemed, in the few hours that 
 had elapsed since they last saw him, to have aged ten years. 
 MacKinstry, a tall Kentuckian, saluted, and was the first 
 one to speak. 
 
 "Colonel Starbottle," he said formally, "desires to ex- 
 press his regrets at this delay, which was unavoidable, as 
 he was obliged to attend his ward, who- was leaving by the 
 down coach for Sacramento with Mrs. Pyecroft, this morn- 
 ing." Hamlin, Wynyard, and Beeswinger exchanged 
 glances. "Colonel Starbottle," continued MacKinstry, 
 
152 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 
 
 turning to his principal, " desires to say a word to Mr. 
 Hamlin." 
 
 As Mr. Hamlin -would have advanced from the group, 
 Colonel Starbottle lifted his hand deprecatingly. "What 
 I have to say must be said before these gentlemen," he be-^ 
 gan slowly. " Mr. Hamlin — sir ! when I solicited the 
 honor of this meeting I was under a grievous misapprehen- 
 sion of the intent and purpose of your comments on my 
 action last evening. I think," he added, slightly inflating 
 his buttoned-up figure, "that the reputation I have always 
 borne in — er — meetings of this kind will prevent any — 
 er — misunderstanding of my present action — which is to 
 — er — ask permission to withdraw my challenge — and to 
 humbly beg your pardon." 
 
 The astonishment produced by this unexpected apology, 
 and Mr. Hamlin's prompt grasp of the colonel's hand, had 
 scarcely passed before the colonel drew himself up again, 
 and turning to his second said, "And now I am at the ser- 
 vice of Judge Beeswinger and Mr. Wynyard — whichever 
 may elect to honor me first." 
 
 But the two men thus addressed looked for a moment 
 strangely foolish and embarrassed. Yet the awkwardness 
 was at last broken by Judge Beeswinger frankly advancing 
 towards the colonel with an outstretched hand. " We came 
 here only to apologize. Colonel Starbottle. Without pos- 
 sessing your reputation and experience in these matters, we 
 still think we can claim, as you have, an equal exemption 
 from any misunderstanding when we say that we deeply 
 regret our foolish and discourteous conduct last even- 
 ing." 
 
 A quick flush mounted to the colonel's haggard cheek as 
 he drew back with a suspicious glance at Hamlin. 
 
 " Mr. Hamlin ! — gentlemen ! — if this is — er — ! " 
 
 But before he could finish his sentence Hamlin had 
 
A WAED OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S 153 
 
 clapped his hand on the colonel's shoulder. " You '11 take 
 my word, colonel, that these gentlemen honestly intended 
 to apologize, and came here for that purpose ; — and — so 
 did I — only you anticipated me ! " 
 
 In the laughter that followed Mr. Hamlin's frankness 
 the colonel's features relaxed grimly, and he shook the 
 hands of his late possible antagonists. 
 
 "And now," said Mr. Hamlin gayly, "you '11 all adjourn 
 to breakfast with me — and try to make up for the supper 
 we left unfinished last night." 
 
 It was the only allusion to that interruption and its con- 
 sequences, for during the breakfast the colonel said nothing 
 in regard to his ward, and the other guests were discreetly 
 reticent. But Mr. Hamlin was not satisfied. He managed 
 to get the colonel's servant, Jim, aside, and extracted from 
 the negro that Colonel Starbottle had taken the child that 
 night to Pyecroft's; that he had had, a long interview with 
 Pyecroft; had written letters and "walked de flo' " all 
 night ; that he (Jim) was glad the child was gone ! 
 
 " Why 1 " asked Hamlin, with affected carelessness. 
 
 "She was just makin' de kernel like any o' de low-down 
 No'th'n folks — keerful, and stingy, and mighty 'fraid o' 
 de opinions o' de biggety people. And fo' what? Jess to 
 strut round wid dat child like he was her 'spectable go to 
 meeting fader ! " 
 
 " And was the child sorry to leave him ? " asked Ham- 
 lin. 
 
 " WuU — no, sah. De mighty euros thing, Marse Jack, 
 about the gals — big and little — is day just tise de kernel ! 
 — dat 's all! Dey just use de ole man like a pole to bring 
 down deir persimmons — see ? " 
 
 But Mr. Hamlin did not smile. 
 
 Later it was known that Colonel Starbottle had resigned 
 his guardianship with the consent of the court. Whether 
 
154 A WARD OF COLONEL STAEBOTTLE'S 
 
 he ever again saw his late ward was not known, nor if he 
 remained loyal to his memories of her. 
 
 Readers of these chronicles may, however, remember that 
 years after, when the colonel married the widow of a certain 
 Mr. Tretherick, both in his courtship and his short married 
 life he was singularly indifferent to the childish graces of 
 Carrie Tretherick, her beloved little daughter, and that his 
 obtuseness in that respect provoked the widow's ire. 
 
PROSPER'S "OLD MOTHER" 
 
PROSPEE'S "OLD MOTHEE" 
 
 "It 's all very well," said Joe Wynbrook, "for us to be 
 sittin' here, slingin' lies easy and comfortable, with the wind 
 whistlin' in the pines outside, and the rain just liftin' the 
 ditches to fill our sluice boxes with gold ez we 're smokin' 
 and waitin', but I tell you what, boys — it ain't home! 
 No, sir, it ain't home ! " 
 
 The speaker paused, glanced around the bright, comfort- 
 able barroom, the shining array of glasses beyon^, and the 
 circle of complacent faces fronting the stove, on which his 
 own boots were cheerfully steaming, lifted a glass of whis- 
 key from the floor under his chair, and in spite of his de- 
 precating remark, took a long draught of the spirits with 
 every symptom of satisfaction. 
 
 "If ye mean," returned Cyrus Brewster, "that it ain't 
 the old farmhouse of our boyhood, 'way back in the woods, 
 I'll agree with you; but ye '11 just remember that there 
 wasn't any gold placers lying round on the medder on that 
 farm. Not much ! Ef thar had been, we would n't have 
 left it." 
 
 "I don't mean that," said Joe Wynbrook, settling him- 
 self comfortably back in his chair ; " it 's the family hearth 
 I 'm talkin' of. The soothin' influence, ye know — the 
 tidiness of the women folks." 
 
 "Ez to the soothin' influence," remarked the barkeeper, 
 leaning his elbows meditatively on his counter, ' afore I 
 struck these diggin's I had a grocery and bar, 'way back in 
 Mizzoori, where there was five old-fashioned farms jined. 
 Blame my skin ef the men folks were n't a darned sight 
 oftener over in my grocery, sittin' on barrils and histin' in 
 
158 prospee's old mothee 
 
 their reg'lar corn-juice, than ever any of you be here^ 
 ■with all these modem improvements." 
 
 "Ye don't catch on, any of you," returned Wynbrook 
 impatiently. "Ef it was a mere matter o' buildin' houses 
 and becomin' family men, I reckon that this yer camp is 
 about prosperous enough to do it, and able to get gals 
 enough to marry us, but that would be only borryin' trouble 
 and lettin' loose a lot of jabberin' women to gossip agin' 
 each other and spile all our friendships. No, gentlemen ! 
 What we want here — each of us — is a good old mother ! 
 Nothin' new-fangled or fancy, but the reg'lar old-fashioned 
 mother we was used to when we was boys ! " 
 
 The speaker struck a well-worn chord — rather the worse 
 for wear, tind one that had jangled falsely ere now, but 
 which still produced its effect. The men were silent. Thus 
 encouraged, Wynbrook proceeded : — 
 
 "Think o' comin' home from the gulch a night like this 
 and findin' yer old mother a-waitin' ye! No fumblin' 
 around for the matches ye 'd left in the gulch; no high old 
 oussin' because the wood was wet or you forgot to bring it 
 in ; no bustlin' around for your dry things and findin' you 
 forgot to dry 'em that mornin' — but everything waitin' for 
 ye and ready. And then, mebbe, she brings ye in some 
 doughnuts she's just cooked for ye — cooked ez only she 
 kin cook 'em! Take Prossy Riggs — alongside of me here 
 — for instance! He 's made the biggest strike yet, and is 
 puttin' up a high-toned house on the hill. Well ! he 'I 
 hev it finished off and furnished slap-up style, you bet\ 
 with a Chinese cook, and a Biddy, and a Mexican vaquero 
 to look after his horse — but he won't have no mother to 
 housekeep ! That is, " he corrected himself perfunctorily, 
 turning to his companion, "you've never spoke o' your 
 mother, so I reckon you 're about fixed up like us." 
 
 The young man thus addressed flushed slightly, and then 
 nodded his head with a sheepish smile. He had, however, 
 
peosper's old mother 159 
 
 listened to the conversation with an interest almost child- 
 ish, and a reverent admiration of his comrades — qualities 
 which, combined with an intellect not particularly brilliant, 
 made him alternately the butt and the favorite of the camp. 
 Indeed, he was supposed to possess that proportion of stu- 
 pidity and inexperience which, in mining superstition, gives 
 "luck" to its possessor. And this had been singularly 
 proven in the fact that he had made the biggest " strike " 
 of the season. 
 
 Joe Wynbrook's sentimentalism, albeit only argumenta- 
 tive and half serious, had unwittingly touched a chord of 
 "Prossy's" simple history, and the flush which had risen 
 to his cheek was not entirely bashfulness. The home and 
 relationship of which they spoke so glibly, lie had never 
 known ; he was a foundling ! As he lay awake that night 
 he remembered the charitable institution which had pro- 
 tected his infancy, the master to whom he had later been 
 apprenticed; that was all he knew of his childhood. In 
 his simple way he had been greatly impressed by the strange 
 value placed by his companions upon the family influence, 
 and he had received their extravagance with perfect credu- 
 lity. In his absolute ignorance and his lack of humor he 
 had detected no false quality in their sentiment. And a 
 vague sense of his responsibility, as one who had been the 
 luckiest, and who was building the first "house" in the 
 camp, troubled him. He lay staringly wide awake, hearing 
 the mountain wind, and feeling warm puffs of it on his face 
 through the crevices of the log cabin, as he thought of the 
 new house on the hill that was to be lathed and plastered 
 and clapboarded, and yet void and vacant of that myste- 
 rious "mother"! And then, out of the solitude and dark- 
 ness, a tremendous idea struck him that made him sit up in 
 his bunk ! 
 
 A day or two later " Prossy " Eiggs stood on a sand- 
 blown, wind-swept suburb of San Francisco, before a large 
 
160 peospee's old mothee 
 
 building whose forbidding exterior proclaimed that it was 
 an institution of formal charity. It was, in fact, a refuge 
 for the various waifs and strays of ill-advised or hopeless 
 immigration. As Prosper paused before the door, certain 
 old recollections of a similar refuge were creeping over him, 
 and, oddly enough, he felt as embarrassed as if he had been 
 seeking relief for himself. The perspiration stood out on 
 his forehead as he entered the room of the manager. 
 
 It chanced, however, that this official, besides being a 
 man of shrewd experience of human weakness, was also 
 kindly hearted, and having, after his first official scrutiny 
 of his visitor and his resplendent watch chain, assured him- 
 self that he was not seeking personal relief, courteously 
 assisted him in his stammering request. 
 
 " If I understand you, you want some one to act as your 
 housekeeper 1 " 
 
 "That's it! Somebody to kinder look arter things — 
 and me — ginrally, " returned Prosper, greatly relieved. 
 
 " Of what age 1 " continued the manager, with a cautious 
 glance at the robust youth and good-looking, simple face of 
 Prosper. 
 
 "I ain't nowise partickler — ez long ez she's old — ye 
 know. Ye follow me? Old — ez ef — betwixt you an' 
 me, she might be my own mother." 
 
 The manager smiled inwardly. A certain degree of dis- 
 cretion was noticeable in this rustic youth ! " You are quite 
 right," he answered gravely, "as yours is a mining camp 
 where there are no other women. Still, you don't want 
 any one too old or decrepit. There is an elderly maiden 
 lady " — But a change was transparently visible on Pros- 
 per's simple face, and the manager paused. 
 
 "She oughter be kinder married, you know — ter be like 
 a mother," stammered Prosper. 
 
 "Oh, ay. I see," returned the manager, again illumi- 
 nated by Prosper's unexpected wisdom. 
 
prosper's old mother 161 
 
 He mused for a moment. " There is, " he began tenta- 
 tively, " a lady in reduced circumstances — not an inmate 
 of this house, but who has received some relief from us. 
 She was the wife of a whaling captain who died some years 
 ago, and broke up her home. She was not brought up to 
 work, and this, with her delicate health, has prevented her 
 from seeking active employment. As you don't seem to re- 
 quire that of her, but rather want an overseer, and as your 
 purpose, I gather, is somewhat philanthropical, you might 
 induce her to accept a ' home ' with you. Having seen bet 
 ter days, she is rather particular," he added, with a shrewd 
 smile. 
 
 Simple Prosper's face was radiant. " She '11 have a 
 Chinaman and a Biddy to help her," he said quickly. Then 
 recollecting the tastes of his comrades, he added, half apolo- 
 getically, half cautiously, "Ef she could, now and then, 
 throw herself into a lemming pie or a pot of doughnuts, jest 
 in a motherly kind o' way, it would please the boys." 
 
 "Perhaps you can arrange that, too," returned the man- 
 ager, "but I shall have to broach the whole subject to her, 
 and you had better call again to-morrow, when I will give 
 you her answer." 
 
 "Ye kin say," said Prosper, lightly fingering his massive 
 gold chain and somewhat vaguely recalling the language of 
 advertisement, " that she kin have the comforts of a home 
 and no questions asked, and fifty dollars a month." 
 
 Rejoiced at the easy progress of his plan, and half in- 
 clined to believe himself a miracle of cautious diplomacy. 
 Prosper, two days later, accompanied the manager to the 
 cottage on Telegraph Hill where the relict of the late Cap- 
 tain Pottinger lamented the loss of her spouse, in full view 
 of the sea he had so often tempted. On their way thither 
 the manager imparted to Prosper how, according to hearsay, 
 that lamented seaman had carried into the domestic circle 
 those severe habits of discipline which had earned for him 
 
162 
 
 the prefix of " Bully " and " Belaying-pin " Pottinger dur- 
 ing his strenuous life. " They say that though she is very 
 quiet and resigned, she once or twice stood up to the cap- 
 tain ; hut that 's not a had quality to have, in a rough com- 
 munity, as I presume yours is, and would insure her re- 
 spect. " 
 
 Ushered at last into a small tank-like sitting room, whose 
 chief decorations consisted of large abelone shells, dried 
 marine algse, coral, and a swordfish's broken weapon, Pros- 
 per's disturbed fancy discovered the widow, sitting, ap- 
 parently, as if among her husband's remains at the bottom 
 of the sea. She had a dejected yet somewhat ruddy face; 
 her hair was streaked with white, but primly disposed over 
 her ears like lappets, and her garb was cleanly but sombre. 
 There was no doubt but that she was a lugubrious figure, 
 even to Prosper's optimistic and inexperienced mind. He 
 could not imagine her as beaming on his hearth! It was 
 with some alarm that, after the introduction had been com- 
 pleted, he beheld the manager take his leave. As the door 
 closed, the bashful Prosper felt the murky eyes of the widow 
 fixed upon him. A gentle cough, accompanied with the 
 resigned laying of a black mittened hand upon her chest, 
 suggested a genteel prelude to conversation, with possible 
 pulmonary complications. 
 
 "I am induced to accept your proposal temporarily," she 
 said, in a voice of querulous precision, " on account of press- 
 ing pecuniary circumstances which would not have happened 
 had my claim against the shipowners for my dear husband's 
 loss been properly raised. I hope you fully understand that 
 I am unfitted both by ill health and early education from 
 doing any menial or manual work in your household. I 
 shall simply oversee and direct. I shall expect that the 
 stipend you offer shall be paid monthly in advance. And 
 as my medical man prescribes a certain amount of stimula- 
 tion for my system, I shall expect to be furnished with such 
 
peospke's old mothee 163 
 
 viands — or even " — she coughed slightly — " such bever- 
 ages as may be necessary. I am far from strong — yet my 
 wants are few." 
 
 "Ez far ez I am ketchin' on and followin' ye, ma'am," 
 returned Prosper timidly, "ye '11 hev everything ye want 
 
 — jest like it was yer own home. In fact," he went on, 
 suddenly growing desperate as the difficulties of adjusting 
 this unexpectedly fastidious and superior woman to his plan 
 seemed to increase, "ye '11 jest consider me ez yer " — But 
 here her murky eyes were fixed on his and he faltered. Yet 
 he had gone too far to retreat. "Ye see," he stammered, 
 with a hysterical grimness that was intended to be playful 
 
 — "ye see, this is jest a little secret betwixt and between 
 you and me; there '11 be only you and me in the house, and 
 it would kinder seem to the boys more homelike — ef — ef 
 
 — you and me had — you bein' a widder, you know — a 
 kind of — of" — here his smile became ghastly — "close 
 relationship. " 
 
 The widow of Captain Pottinger here sat up so suddenly 
 that she seemed to slip through her sombre and precise en- 
 wrappings with an exposure of the real Mrs. Pottinger that 
 was almost improper. Her high color deepened; the pupils 
 of her black eyes contracted in the light the innocent Pros- 
 per had poured into them. Leaning forward, with her fin- 
 gers clasped on her bosom, she said: "Did you tell this to 
 the manager ? " 
 
 "Of course not," said Prosper; "ye see, it's only a 
 matter 'twixt you and me." 
 
 Mrs. Pottinger looked at Prosper, drew a deep breath, 
 and then gazed at the ahelone shells for moral support. 
 A smile, half querulous, half superior, crossed her face as 
 she said : " This is very abrupt and unusual. There is, of 
 course, a disparity in our ages ! You have never seen me 
 before — at least to my knowledge — although you may 
 have heard of me. The Spraggs of Marblehead are well 
 
164 prospek's old mother 
 
 known — perhaps Tietter than the Pottingers. And yet, 
 Mr. Griggs" — 
 
 "Riggs," suggested Prosper hurriedly. 
 
 " Eiggs. Excuse me ! I was thinking of young Lieu- 
 tenant Griggs of the Navy, whom I knew in the days now 
 past. Mr. Riggs, I should say. Then you want me to " — 
 
 "To be my old mother, ma'am," said Prosper trem- 
 blingly. "That is, to pretend and look ez ef you was! 
 You see, I have n't any, but I thought it would be nice for 
 the boys, and make it more like home in my new house, ef 
 I allowed that my old mother would be comin' to live with 
 me. They don't know I never had a mother to speak of. 
 They 'U never find it out ! Say ye will, Mrs. Pottinger ! 
 Do!" 
 
 And here the unexpected occurred. Against aU conven- 
 tional rules and all accepted traditions of fiction, I am 
 obliged to state that Mrs. Pottinger did Tiot rise up and 
 order the trembling Prosper to leave the house ! She only 
 gripped the arm of her chair a little tighter, leaned forward, 
 and disdaining her usual precision and refinement of speech, 
 said quietly: "It 's a bargain. If that's what you're 
 wanting, my son, you can count upon me as becoming your 
 old mother, Cecilia Jane Pottinger Eiggs, every time ! " 
 
 A few days later the sentimentalist Joe Wynbrook walked 
 into the Wild Cat saloon, where his comrades were drink- 
 ing, and laid a letter down on the bar with every expression 
 of astonishment and disgust. "Look," he said, "if that 
 don't beat all! Ye wouldn't believe it, but here 's Prossy 
 Eiggs writin' that he came across his mother — his mother, 
 gentlemen — in 'Frisco; she hevin', unbeknownst to him, 
 joined a party visiting the coast! And what does this 
 blamed fool do? Why, he 's goin' to bring her — that old 
 woman — here/ Here — gentlemen — to take charge of 
 that new house — and spoil our fun. And the God-for- 
 saken idiot thinks that we '11 like it! " 
 
PEOSPEE'S OLD MOTHEE 165 
 
 It was one of those rare mornings in the rainy season 
 when there was a suspicion of spring in the air, and after 
 a night of rainfall the sun hroke through fieecy clouds with 
 little islets of blue sky — when Prosper Eiggs and his mo- 
 ther drove into Wild Cat camp. An expression of cheer- 
 fulness was on the faces of his old comrades. For it had 
 been recognized that, after all, "Prossy " had a perfect right 
 to bring his old mother there — his well-known youth and 
 inexperience preventing this baleful performance from being 
 established as a precedent. For these reasons hats were 
 cheerfully doffed, and some jackets put on, as the buggy 
 swept up the hill to the pretty new cottage, with its green 
 blinds and white veranda, on the crest. 
 
 Yet I am afraid that Prosper was not perfectly happy, 
 even in the triumphant consummation of his plans. Mrs. 
 Pottinger's sudden and business-like acquiescence in it, and 
 her singular lapse from her genteel precision, were gratify- 
 ing but startling to his ingenuousness. And although from 
 the moment she accepted the situation she was fertile in 
 resources and full of precaution against any possibility of 
 detection, he saw, with some uneasiness, that its control had 
 passed out of his hands. 
 
 "You say your comrades know nothing of your family 
 history?" she had said to him on the journey thither. 
 " What are you going to tell them ? " 
 
 "Nothin', 'cept your bein' my old mother," said Pros- 
 per hopelessly. 
 
 "That 's not enough, my son." (Another embarrassment 
 to Prosper was her easy grasp of the maternal epithets.) 
 "Now listen! You were born just six months after your 
 father, Captain Eiggs (formerly Pottinger) sailed on his 
 first voyage. You remember very little of him, of course, 
 as he was away so much." 
 
 "Hadn't I better know suthin about his looks? "said 
 Prosper submissively. 
 
166 prosper's old mother 
 
 "A tall dark man, that 's enough," responded Mrs. Pot- 
 tinger sharply. 
 
 "Hadn't he better favor me?" said Prosper, with his 
 small cunning recognizing the fact that he himself was a 
 decided blond. 
 
 "Ain't at all necessary," said the widow firmly. " Yoa 
 were always wild and ungovernable," she continued, " and 
 ran away from school to join some Western emigration. 
 That accounts for the difference of our styles." 
 
 "But," continued Prosper, "I oughter remember suthin 
 about our old times — runnin' arrants for you, and bringin' 
 in the wood o' frosty mornin's, and you givin' me hot 
 doughnuts," suggested Prosper dubiously. 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Pottinger promptly, 
 " We lived in the city, with plenty of servants. Just re- 
 member. Prosper dear, your mother wasn't that low-down 
 country style." 
 
 Glad to be relieved from further invention, Prosper was, 
 nevertheless, somewhat concerned at this shattering of the 
 ideal mother in the very camp that had sung her praises. 
 But he could only trust to her recognizing the situation 
 with her usual sagacity, of which he stood in respectful awe. 
 
 Joe Wynbrook and Cyrus Brewster had, as older mem- 
 bers of the camp, purposely lingered near the new house to 
 offer any assistance to "Prossy and his mother," and had 
 received a brief and passing introduction to the latter. So 
 deep and unexpected was the impression she made upon 
 them that these two oracles of the camp retired down the 
 hill in awkward silence for some time, neither daring to risk 
 his reputation by comment or oversurprise. 
 
 But when they approached the curious crowd below await- 
 ing them, Cyrus Brewster ventured to say, " Struck me ez 
 ef that old gal was rather high-toned for Prossy's mother." 
 
 Joe Wynbrook instantly seized the fatal admission to 
 show the advantage of superior insight : — 
 
PEOSPER'S OLD MOTHEK 167 
 
 " Struck you ! Why, it was no more than 1 expected all 
 along ! What did we know of Prossy ? Nothin' ! What 
 did he ever tell us ? Nothin' ! And why ? 'Cos it was 
 his secret. Lord ! a blind mule could see that. All this 
 foolishness and simplicity o' his come o' his bein' cuddled 
 and pampered as a baby. Then, like ez not, he was either 
 kidnapped or led away by some feller — and nearly broke 
 his mother's heart. I '11 bet my bottom dollar he has been 
 advertised for afore this — only we did n't see the paper. 
 Like as not they had agents out seekin' him, and he jest 
 ran into their hands in 'Frisco! I had a kind o' presenti- 
 ment o' this when he left, though I never let on anything." 
 
 "I reckon, too, that she 's kinder afraid he '11 bolt agin. 
 Did ye notice how she kept watchin' him all the time, and 
 how she did the bossin' o' everything? And there's one 
 thing sure! He 's changed — yes! He don't look as keer- 
 less and free and foolish ez he uster." 
 
 Here there was an unmistakable chorus of assent from 
 the crowd that had joined them. Every one — even those 
 who had not been introduced to the mother — had noticed 
 his strange restraint and reticence. In the impulsive logic 
 of the camp, conduct such as this, in the face of that supe- 
 rior woman — his mother — could only imply that her pre- 
 sence was distasteful to him; that he was either ashamed of 
 their noticing his inferiority to her, or ashamed of them, ! 
 Wild and hasty as was their deduction, it was, nevertheless, 
 voiced by Joe Wynbrook in a tone of impartial and even 
 reluctant conviction, "Well, gentlemen, some of ye may 
 remember that when I heard that Prossy was bringin' his 
 mother here I kicked — kicked because it only stood to 
 reason that, being Ms mother, she 'd be that foolish she 'd 
 upset the camp. There was n't room enough for two such 
 chuckle-heads — and one of 'em being a woman, she could 
 n't be shut up or sat upon ez we did to him. But now, 
 gentlemen, ez we see she ain't that kind, but high-toned 
 
168 peosper's old motheb 
 
 and level-headed, and that she 's got the grip on Prossy — 
 whether he likes it or not — we ain't goin' to let him go 
 back on her ! No, sir ! we ain't goin' to let him break her 
 heart the second time ! He may think we ain't good enough 
 for her, but ez long ez she 's civil to us, we '11 stand by 
 her." 
 
 In this conscientious way were the shackles of that unhal- 
 lowed relationship slowly riveted on the unfortunate Prossy. 
 In his intercourse with his comrades during the next two or 
 three days their attitude was shown in frequent and osten- 
 tatious praise of his mother, and suggestive advice, such as : 
 " I would n't stop at the saloon, Prossy ; your old mother 
 is wantin' ye ; " or, " Chuck that 'ere tarpolin over your 
 shoulders, Pross, and don't take your wet duds into the 
 house that yer old mother 's bin makin' tidy." Oddly 
 enough, much of this advice was quite sincere, and repre- 
 sented — for at least twenty minutes — the honest senti- 
 ments of the speaker. Prosper was touched at what seemed 
 a revival of the sentiment under which he had acted, forgot 
 his uneasiness, and became quite himself again — a fact also 
 noticed by his critics. " Ye 've only to keep him up to his 
 work and he '11 be the widder's joy agin," said Cyrus Brew- 
 ster. Certainly he was so far encouraged that he had a long 
 conversation with Mrs. Pottinger that night, with the result 
 that the next morning Joe Wynbrook, Cyrus Brewster, 
 Hank Mann, and Kentucky Ike were invited to spend the 
 evening at the new house. As the men, clean shirted and 
 decently jacketed, filed into the neat sitting room with its 
 bright carpet, its cheerful fire, its side table with a snowy 
 cloth on which shining tea and coffee pots were standing, 
 their hearts thrilled with satisfaction. In a large stufi'ed 
 rocking chair, Prossy's old mother, wrapped up in a shawl 
 and some mysterious ill health which seemed to forbid any 
 exertion, received them with genteel languor and an ex- 
 tended black mitten. 
 
peosper's old mother 169 
 
 "I cannot," said Mrs. Pottinger, with sad pensiveness, 
 " offer you the hospitality of my own home, gentlemen — 
 you remember, Prosper, dear, the large salon and our staff 
 of servants at Lexington Avenue ! — but since my son has 
 persuaded me to take charge of his humble cot, I hope you 
 will make all allowances for its deficiencies — even, " she 
 added, casting a look of mild reproach on the astonished 
 Prosper — "even if he cannot." 
 
 "I 'm sure he oughter to be thankful to ye, ma'am," said 
 Joe Wynbrook quickly, "for makin' a break to come here 
 to live, jest ez we're thankful — speakin' for the rest of 
 this camp — for yer lightin' us up ez you're doin' ! I 
 reckon I'm speakin' for the crowd," he added, looking 
 round him. 
 
 Murmurs of "That 's so " and "You bet " passed through, 
 the company, and one or two cast a half-indignant glance 
 at Prosper. 
 
 "It 's only natural," continued Mrs. Pottinger resignedly, 
 " that having lived so long alone, my dear Prosper may at 
 first be a little impatient of his old mother's control, and 
 perhaps regret his invitation." 
 
 "Oh no, ma'am," said the embarrassed Prosper. 
 
 But here the mercurial Wynbrook interposed on behalf 
 of amity and the camp's esprit de corps. "Why, Lord! 
 ma'am, he 's jest bin longin' for ye! Times and times agin 
 he 's talked about ye; say in' how ef he could only get ye 
 out of yer Fifth Avenue saloon to share his humble lot with 
 him here, he 'd die happy ! You 've heard him talk, Brew- 
 ster?" 
 
 "Frequent," replied the accommodating Brewster, 
 
 "Part of the simple refreshment I have to offer you," 
 continued Mrs. Pottinger, ignoring further comment, "is a 
 viand the exact quality of which I am not familiar with, but 
 which my son informs me is a great favorite with you. It 
 has been prepared by Li Sing, under my direction. Pros- 
 
170 PROSPER'S OLD MOTHER 
 
 per, dear, see that the — er — doughnuts — are brought la 
 with the coffee." 
 
 Satisfaction beamed on the faces of the company, with 
 perhaps the sole exception of Prosper. As a dish contain- 
 ing a number of brown glistening spheres of baked dough 
 was brought in, the men's eyes shone in sympathetic appre- 
 ciation. Yet that epicurean light was for a moment dulled 
 as each man grasped a sphere, and then sat motionless with 
 it in his hand, as if it was a ball and they were waiting the 
 signal for playing. 
 
 "I am told," said Mrs. Pottinger, with a glance of Chris- 
 tian tolerance at Prosper, " that lightness is considered de- 
 sirable by some — perhaps you gentlemen may find them 
 heavy. " 
 
 " Thar is two kinds, " said the diplomatic Joe cheerfully, 
 as he began to nibble his, sideways, like a squirrel, " light 
 and heavy; some likes 'em one way, and some another." 
 
 They were hard and heavy, but the men, assisted by the 
 steaming cofifee, finished them with heroic politeness. 
 "And now, gentlemen," said Mrs. Pottinger, leaning back 
 in her chair and calmly surveying the party, " you have my 
 permission to light your pipes while you partake of some 
 whiskey and water." 
 
 The guests looked up — gratified but astonished. " Are 
 ye sure, ma'am, you don't mind it ? " said Joe politely. 
 
 "Not at all," responded Mrs. Pottinger briefly. "In 
 fact, as my physician advises the inhalation of tobacco smoke 
 for my asthmatic difficulties, I will join you." After a 
 moment's fumbling in a beaded bag that hung from her 
 waist, she produced a small Mack clay pipe, filled it from 
 the same receptacle, and lit it. 
 
 A thrill of surprise went round the company, and it was 
 noticed that Prosper seemed equally confounded. Never- 
 theless, this awkwardness was quickly overcome by the 
 privilege and example given them, and with a glass of whis- 
 
PROSPER'S OLD MOTHER 171 
 
 key and water before them, the men were speedily at their 
 ease. Nor did Mrs. Pottinger disdain to mingle in their 
 desultory talk. Sitting there with her black pipe in her 
 mouth, but still precise and superior, she told a thrilling 
 ■whaling adventure of Prosper's father (drawn evidently from 
 the experience of the lamented Pottinger), which not only 
 deeply interested her hearers, but momentarily exalted 
 Prosper in their minds as the son of that hero. " Now you 
 speak o' that, ma'am," said the ingenuous Wynbrook, 
 "there 's a good deal o' Prossy in that yarn o' his father's; 
 same kind o' keerless grit! You remember, boys, that day 
 the dam broke and he stood thar, the water up to his neck, 
 heavin' logs in the break till he stopped it." Briefly, the 
 evening, in spite of its initial culinary failure and its sur- 
 prises, was a decided social success, and even the bewildered 
 and doubting Prosper went to bed relieved. It was fol- 
 lowed by many and more informal gatherings at the house, 
 and Mrs. Pottinger so far unbent — if that term could be 
 used of one who never altered her primness of manner — 
 as to join in a game of poker — and even permitted herself 
 to win. 
 
 But by the end of six weeks another change in their feel- 
 ings towards Prosper seemed to creep insidiously over the 
 camp. He had been received into his former fellowship, 
 and even the presence of his mother had become familiar, 
 but he began to be an object of secret commiseration. They 
 still frequented the house, but among themselves afterwards 
 they talked in whispers. There was no doubt to them that 
 Prosper's old mother drank not only what her son had 
 provided, but what she surreptitiously obtained from the 
 saloon. There was the testimony of the barkeeper, himself 
 concerned equally with the camp in the integrity of the 
 Eiggs household. And there was an even darker suspicion. 
 But this must be given in Joe Wynbrook 's own words: — • 
 
 "I did n't mind the old woman winnin' and winnin' reg'- 
 
172 peosper's old mother 
 
 lar — for poker 's an unsartin game ; — it ain't the money 
 that we 're losin' — for it's all in the camp. But when 
 she 's developing a habit o' holdin' four aces when some- 
 body else hez two, who don't like to let on because it 's 
 Prosper's old mother — it 's gettin' rough! And dangerous 
 too, gentlemen, if there happened to be an outsider in, or 
 one of the boys should kick. Why, I saw Bilson grind his 
 teeth — he holdin' a sequence flush — ace high — when the 
 dear old critter laid down her reg'lar four aces and raked 
 in the pile. We had to nearly kick his legs off under the 
 table afore he'd understand — not havin' an old mother 
 himself." 
 
 " Some un will hev to tackle her without Prossy knowin' 
 it. For it would jest break his heart, arter all he 's gone 
 through to get her here ! " said Brewster significantly. 
 
 " Onless he did know it and it was that what made him 
 so sorrowful when they first came. B'gosh! I never 
 thought o' that," said Wynbrook, with one of his charac- 
 teristic sudden illuminations. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, whether he did or not," said the bar- 
 Keeper stoutly, "he must never know that we know it. 
 No, not if the old gal cleans out my bar and takes the last 
 scad in the camp." 
 
 And to this noble sentiment they responded as one man. 
 
 How far they would have been able to carry out that 
 heroic resolve was never known, for an event occurred 
 whicli eclipsed its importance. One morning at breakfast 
 Mrs. Pottinger fixed a clouded eye upon Prosper. 
 
 "Prosper," she said, with fell deliberation, "you ought 
 to know you have a sister." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," returned Prosper, with that meekness 
 with which he usually received these family disclosures. 
 
 "A sister," continued the lady, " whom you have n't seen 
 since you were a child; a sister who for family reasons 
 has been living with other relatives; a girl of nineteen." 
 
pkosper's old mother 173 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Prosper humbly. "But ef you 
 ■wouldn't mind writin' all that down on a bit o' paper — ye 
 know my short memory ! — I would get it by heart to-day 
 in the gulch. I 'd have it all pat enough by night, ef," he 
 added, with a short sigh, "ye was kalkilatin' to make any 
 illusions to it when the boys are here." 
 
 "Your sister Augusta," continued Mrs. Pottinger, calmly 
 ignoring these details, " will be here to-morrow to make me 
 a visit." 
 
 But here the worm Prosper not only turned, but stood 
 up, nearly upsetting the table. "It can't be did, ma'am! 
 it Tnust n't be did ! " he said wildly. "It 's enough for me 
 to have played this camp with you — but now to run in " — 
 
 "Can't be did!" repeated Mrs. Pottinger, rising in her 
 turn and fixing upon the unfortunate Prosper a pair of 
 murky piratical eyes that had once quelled the sea-roving 
 Pottinger. "Do you, my adopted son, dare to tell me that 
 I can't have my own flesh and blood beneath my roof? " 
 
 " Yes ! I 'd rather tell the whole story — I'd rather tell 
 the boys I fooled them — than go on again ! " burst out the 
 excited Prosper. 
 
 But Mrs. Pottinger only set her lips implacably together. 
 "Very well, tell them then," she said rigidly; "tell them 
 how you lured me from my humble dependence in San 
 Francisco with the prospect of a home with you; tell them 
 how you compelled me to deceive their trusting hearts with 
 your wicked falsehoods ; tell them how you — a foundling 
 — borrowed me for your mother, my poor dead husband for 
 your father, and made me invent falsehood upon falsehood 
 to tell them while you sat still and listened ! " 
 
 Prosper gasped. 
 
 "Tell them," she went on deliberately, "that when I 
 wanted to bring my helpless child to her only home — then, 
 only then — you determined to break your word to me, 
 either because you meanly begrudged her that share of yous. 
 
174 PKOSPER'S OLD MOTHER 
 
 house, or to keep your misdeeds from her knowledge ! Tell 
 them that, Prossy, dear, and see what they '11 say ! " 
 
 Prosper sank back in his chair aghast. In his sudden 
 instinct of revolt he had forgotten the camp ! He knew, 
 alas, too well what they would say ! He knew that, added 
 to their indignation at having been duped, their chivalry 
 and absurd sentiment would rise in arms against the aban- 
 donment of two helpless women! 
 
 "P'r'aps ye 're right, ma'am," he stammered. "I was 
 only thinkin'," he added feebly, "how she 'A. take it." 
 
 "She '11 take it as I wish her to take it," said Mrs. Pot- 
 tinger firmly. 
 
 "Supposin', ez the camp don't know her, and I ain't bin 
 talkin' o' havin' any sister, you ran her in here as my 
 cousin ? See ? You bein' her aunt ? " 
 
 Mrs. Pottinger regarded him with compressed lips for 
 some time. Then she said, slowly and half meditatively: 
 " Yes, it might be done ! She will probably be willing to 
 sacrifice her nearer relationship to save herself from passing 
 as your sister. It would be less galling to her pride, and 
 she would n't have to treat you so familiarly." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Prosper, too relieved to notice the 
 uncomplimentary nature of the suggestion. "And ye see 
 I could call her ' Miss Pottinger, ' which would come easier 
 to me." 
 
 In its high resolve to bear with the weaknesses of Pros- 
 per' s mother, the camp received the news of the advent of 
 Prosper's cousin solely with reference to its possible efi'ect 
 upon the aunt's habits, and very little other curiosity. 
 Prosper's own reticence, they felt, was probably due to the 
 tender age at which he had separated from his relations. 
 But when it was known that Prosper's mother had driven 
 to the house with a very pretty girl of eighteen, there was 
 a flutter of excitement in that impressionable community. 
 Prosper, with his usual shyness, had evaded an early meet- 
 
pkospee's old motheb 175 
 
 ing with her, and was even loitering irresolutely on his way 
 home from work, when, as he approached the house, to his 
 discomfiture the door suddenly opened, the young lady ap- 
 peared and advanced directly towards him. 
 
 She was slim, graceful, and prettily dressed, and at any 
 other moment Prosper might have heen impressed by her 
 good looks. But her brows were knit, her dark eyes — in 
 which there was an unmistakable reminiscence of Mrs. Pot- 
 tinger — were glittering, and although she was apparently 
 anticipating their meeting, it was evidently with no cousinly 
 interest. When within a few feet of him she stopped. 
 Prosper with a feeble smile offered his hand. She sprang 
 back. 
 
 "Don't touch me! Don't come a step nearer or I'll 
 scream ! " 
 
 Prosper, stiU with smiling inanity, stammered that he 
 was only "goin' to shake hands," and moved sideways 
 towards the house. 
 
 " Stop ! " she said, wif;h a stamp of her slim foot. " Stay 
 where you are ! We must have our talk out here. I 'm 
 not going to waste words with you in there, before Aer." 
 
 Prosper stopped. 
 
 " What did you do this for ? " she said angrily. " How 
 dared you ? How could you ? Are you a man, or the fool 
 she takes you for ? " 
 
 " Wot did I do wot for ? " said Prosper sullenly. 
 
 " This ! Making my mother pretend you were her son ! 
 Bringing her here among these men to live a lie ! " 
 
 "She was willin'," said Prosper gloomily. "I told hei 
 what she had to do, and she seemed to like it." 
 
 "But couldn't you see she was old and weak, and was 
 n't responsible for her actions ? Or were you only thinking 
 of yourself 1 " 
 
 This last taunt stung him. He looked up. He was not 
 facing a helpless, dependent old woman as he had been the 
 
176 peospee's old mother 
 
 day before, but a handsome, clever girl, in every way his 
 superior — and in the right! In his vague sense of honor 
 it seemed more creditable for him to fight it out with her. 
 He burst out : " I never thought of myself ! I never had 
 an old mother ; I never knew what it was to want one — 
 but the men did ! And as I could n't get one for them, I 
 got one for myself — to share and share alike — I thought 
 they 'd be happier ef there was one in the camp! " 
 
 There was the unmistakable accent of truth in his voice. 
 There came a faint twitching of the young girl's lips and 
 the dawning of a smile. But it only acted as a goad to the 
 unfortunate Prosper. "Ye kin laugh, Miss Pottinger, but 
 it's God's truth! But one thing I did n't do. No! When 
 your mother wanted to bring you in here as my sister, I 
 kicked! I did! And you kin thank me, for all your 
 laughin', that you 're standing in this camp in your own 
 name — and ain't nothin' but my cousin." 
 
 "I suppose you thought your precious friends didn't 
 want a sister too 1 " said the girl ironically. 
 
 "It don't make no matter wot they want now," he said 
 gloomily. "For," he added, with sudden desperation, 
 "it 's come to an end! Yes! You and your mother will 
 stay here a spell so that the boys don't suspicion nothin' 
 of either of ye. Then I '11 give it out that you 're takin' 
 your aunt away on a visit. Then I '11 make over to her a 
 thousand dollars for all the trouble I 've given her, and 
 you '11 take her away. I 've bin a fool. Miss Pottinger, 
 mebbe I am one now, but what I 'm doin' is on the square, 
 and it 's got to be done! " 
 
 He looked so simple and so good — so like an honest 
 schoolboy confessing a fault and abiding by his punishment, 
 for all his six feet of altitude and silky mustache — that 
 Miss Pottinger lowered her eyes. But she recovered her- 
 self and said sharply : — 
 
 " It 's all very well to talk of her going away ! But she 
 
peosper's old mother 177 
 
 won't. You have made her like you — yes ! like you bet- 
 ter than me — than any of us! She says you 're the only 
 one who ever treated her like a mother — as a mother should 
 be treated. She says she never knew what peace and com- 
 fort were until she came to you. There! Don't stare like 
 that! Don't you understand? Don't you see? Must I 
 tell you again that she is strange — that — that she was 
 always queer and strange — and queerer on account of her 
 unfortunate habits — surely you knew them, Mr. Riggs I 
 She quarreled with us all. I went to live with my aunt, 
 and she took herself off to San Francisco with a silly claim 
 against my father's shipowners. Heaven only knows how 
 she managed to live there ; but she always impressed people 
 with her manners, and some one always helped her! At 
 last I begged my aunt to let me seek her, and I tracked her 
 here. There! If you 've confessed everything to me, you 
 have made me confess everything to you, and about my own 
 mother, too ! Now, what is to be done ? " 
 
 " Whatever is agreeable to you is the same to me, Miss 
 Pottinger," he said formally. 
 
 "But you mustn't call me 'Miss Pottinger' so loud. 
 Somebody might hear you," she returned mischievously. 
 
 "All right — ' cousin,' then," he said, with a prodigious 
 blush. "Supposin' we go in." 
 
 In spite of the camp's curiosity, for the next few days 
 they delicately withheld their usual evening visits to 
 Prossy's mother. "They '11 be wantin' to talk o' old times, 
 and we don't wanter be too previous," suggested Wynbrook. 
 But their verdict, when they at last met the new cousin, 
 was unanimous, and their praises extravagant. To their 
 inexperienced eyes she seemed to possess all her aunt's gen- 
 tility and precision of language, with a vivacity and play- 
 fulness all her own. In a few days the whole camp was in 
 love with her. Yet she dispensed her favors with such 
 tactful impartiality and with such innocent enjoyment — ■ 
 
178 PEOSPEE'S OLD MOTHER 
 
 free from any suspicion of coquetry — that there were no 
 heartburnings, and the unlucky man who nourished a fan- 
 cied slight would have been laughed at by his fellows. Shf 
 had a town-bred girl's curiosity and interest in camp life, 
 which she declared was like a "perpetual picnic," and her 
 slim, graceful figure halting beside a ditch where the men 
 were working seemed to them as grateful as the new spring 
 sunshine. The whole camp became tidier ; a coat was con- 
 sidered de riffueur at "Flossy' a mother" evenings; there 
 was less horseplay in the trails, and less shouting. "It's 
 all very well to talk about ' old mothers, ' " said the cynical 
 barkeeper, " but that gal, single handed, has done more in 
 a week to make the camp decent than old Ma'am Biggs has 
 in a month o' Sundays." 
 
 Since Prosper' s brief conversation with Miss Pottinger 
 before the house, the question " What is to be done ? " had 
 singularly lapsed, nor had it been referred to again by 
 either. The young lady had apparently thrown herself into 
 the diversions of the camp with the thoughtless gayety of 
 a brief holiday maker, and it was not for him to remind her 
 
 — even had he wished to — that her important question 
 had never been answered. He had enjoyed her happiness 
 with the relief of a secret shared by her. Three weeks had 
 passed; the last of the winter's rains had gone. Spring 
 was stirring in underbrush and wildwood, in the pulse of 
 the waters, in the sap of the great pines, in the uplifting of 
 flowers. Small wonder if Prosper's boyish heart had stirred 
 a little too. 
 
 In fact, he had been possessed by another luminous idea 
 
 — a wild idea that to him seemed almost as absurd as the 
 one which had brought him all this trouble. It had come 
 to him like that one — out of a starlit night — and he had 
 risen one morning with a feverish intent to put it into 
 action ! It brought him later to take an unprecedented walk 
 alone with Miss Pottinger, to linger under green leaves in 
 
PKOSPER'S OLD MOTHER 179 
 
 unfrequented woods, and at last seemed about to desert 
 him as he stood in a little hollow with her hand in his— ' 
 their only listener an inquisitive squirrel. Yet this wa 
 all the disappointed animal heard him stammer, — 
 
 "So you see, dear, it would then be no lie — for — don't 
 you see? — she 'd be really my mother as well as yours." 
 
 The marriage of Prosper Eiggs and Miss Pottinger was 
 quietly celebrated at Sacramento, but Prossy 's " old mother " 
 did not return with the happy pair. 
 
 Of Mrs. Pottinger' s later career some idea may be gath- 
 ered from a letter which Prosper received a year after his 
 marriage. " Circumstances, " wrote Mrs. Pottinger, "which 
 had induced me to accept the offer of a widower to take care 
 of his motherless household, have since developed into a 
 more enduring matrimonial position, so that I can always 
 offer my dear Prosper a home with his mother, should he 
 choose to visit this locality, and a second father in Hiram 
 W. Watergates, Esq., her husband." 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 The habitually quiet, ascetic face of Seth Eivers was 
 somewhat disturbed and his brows were knitted as he 
 climbed the long ascent of Windy Hill to its summit and 
 his own rancho. Perhaps it was the eifect of the character- 
 istic wind, which that afternoon seemed to assault him from 
 all points at once and did not cease its battery even at his 
 front door, but hustled him into the passage, blew him into 
 the sitting room, and then celebrated its own exit from the 
 long, rambling house by the banging of doors throughout 
 the halls and the slamming of windows in the remote dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Mrs. Eivers looked up from her work at this abrupt on- 
 set of her husband, but without changing her own expres- 
 sion of slightly fatigued self-righteousness. Accustomed to 
 these elemental eruptions, she laid her hands from force of 
 habit upon the lifting tablecloth, and then rose submissively 
 to brusli together the scattered embers and ashes from the 
 large hearthstone, as she had often done before. 
 
 "You 're in early, Seth," she said. 
 
 " Yes. I stopped at the Cross Roads Post OflBce. Lucky 
 I did, or you 'd hev had kempany on your hands afore you 
 knowed it — this very night ! I found this letter from Dr. 
 Duchesne," and he produced a letter from his pocket. 
 
 Mrs. Rivers looked up with an expression of worldly in- 
 terest. Dr. Duchesne had brought her two children into 
 the world with some difficulty, and had skillfully attended 
 her through a long illness consequent upon the inefficient 
 maternity of soulful but fragile American women of her 
 type. The doctor had more than a mere local reputation as 
 
184 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 a surgeon, and Mrs. Kivers looked up to him as her sole con- 
 necting link witli a world of thought beyond Windy Hill. 
 
 "He's comin' up yer to-night, bringin' a friend of his 
 — a patient that he wants us to board and keep for three 
 weeks until he 's well agin," continued Mr. Rivers. "Ye 
 know how the doctor used to rave about the pure air on our 
 hill." 
 
 Mrs. Rivers shivered slightly, and drew her shawl over 
 her shoulders, but nodded a patient assent. 
 
 "Well, he says it 's just what that patient oughter have 
 to cure him. He 's had lung fever and other things, and 
 this yer air and gin'ral quiet is bound to set him up. 
 We 're to board and keep .him without any fuss or feathers, 
 and the doctor sez he '11 pay liberal for it. This yer 's what 
 he sez," concluded Mr. Rivers, reading from the letter: 
 " ' He is now fully convalescent, though weak, and really 
 requires no other medicine than the — ozone ' — yes, that 's 
 what the doctor calls it ' — 'of Windy Hill, and in fact as 
 little attendance as possible. I will not let him keep even 
 his negro servant with him. He '11 give you no trouble, if he 
 can be prevailed upon to stay the whole time of his cure. ' " 
 
 "There's our spare room — it hasn't been used since 
 Parson Greenwood was here," said Mrs. Rivers reflectively. 
 "Melinda could put it to rights in an hour. At what time 
 will he come 1 " 
 
 " He 'd come about nine. They drive over from High- 
 town depot. But, " he added grimly, " here ye are orderin' 
 rooms to be done up and ye don't know who for." 
 
 "You said a friend of Dr. Duchesne," returned Mrs. 
 Rivers simply. 
 
 " Dr. Duchesne has many friends that you and me might 
 n't cotton to," said her husband. "This man is Jack' 
 Hamlin." As his wife's remote and introspective black 
 eyes returned only vacancy, he added quickly. "The noted 
 gambler! " 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 185 
 
 " Gambler 1 " echoed his wife, still vaguely. 
 
 "Yes — reg'lar; it's his business." 
 
 "Goodness, Seth! He can't expect to do it here." 
 
 "No," said Seth quickly, with that sense of fairness to 
 his fellow man which most women find it so difficult to un- 
 derstand. "No — and he probably won't mention tha 
 word ' card ' while he 's here." 
 
 " Well ? " said Mrs. Elvers interrogatively. 
 
 "And," continued Seth, seeing that the objection was 
 not pressed, "he's one of them desprit men! A reg'lar 
 fighter ! Killed two or three men in dools ! " 
 
 Mrs. Rivers stared. "What could Dr. Duchesne have 
 been thinking of? Why, we wouldn't be safe in the house 
 with him ! " 
 
 Again Seth's sense of equity triumphed. " I never heard 
 of his fightin' anybody but his own kind, and when he was 
 bullyragged. And ez to women he 's quite t' other way 
 in fact, and that 's why I think ye oughter know it afore 
 you let him come. He don't go round with decent women. 
 In fact " — But here Mr. Rivers, in the sanctity of con- 
 jugal confidences and the fullness of Bible reading, used a 
 few strong scriptural substantives happily unnecessary to 
 repeat here. 
 
 " Seth ! " said Mrs. Rivers suddenly, " you seem to know 
 this man." 
 
 The unexpectedness and irrelevancy of this for a moment 
 startled Seth. But that chaste and God-fearing man had 
 no secrets. "Only by hearsay, Jane," he returned quietly; 
 "but if ye say the word I '11 stop his comin' now." 
 
 "It 's too late," said Mrs. Rivers decidedly. 
 
 "I reckon not," returned her husband, "and that 's why 
 I came straight here. I 've only got to meet them at the 
 depot and say this thing can't be done — and that 's the 
 end of it. They '11 go off quiet to the hotel." 
 
 "I don't like to disappoint the doctor, Seth," said Mrs. 
 
185 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 Rivers. "We might," she added, with a troubled look of 
 inquiry at her husband, "we might take that Mr. Hamlin 
 on trial. Like as not he won't stay, anyway, when he sees 
 what we 're like, Seth. What do you think ? It would be 
 only our Christian duty, too." 
 
 "I was thinkin' o' that as a professin' Christian, Jane," 
 said her husband. "But supposin' that other Christians 
 don't look at it in that light. Thar 's Deacon Stubbs and 
 his wife and the parson. Ye remember what he said about 
 * no covenant with sin ' ? " 
 
 " The Stubbses have no right to dictate who I '11 have in 
 my house," said Mrs. Rivers quickly, with a faint flush in 
 her rather sallow cheeks. 
 
 "It 's your say and nobody else's," assented her husband 
 with grim submissiveness. "You do what you like." 
 
 Mrs. Rivers mused. "There 's only myself and Melinda 
 here," she said with sublime naivete j "and the children 
 ain't old enough to be corrupted. I am satisfied if you are, 
 Seth," and she again looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 " Gro ahead, then, and get ready for 'em," said Seth, hur- 
 rying away with unaffected relief. " If you have everything 
 fixed by nine o'clock, that 'U do." 
 
 Mrs. Rivers had everything "fixed" by that hour, in- 
 cluding herself presumably, for she had put on a gray dress 
 which she usually wore when shopping in the county town, 
 adding a prim collar and cuffs. A pearl-encircled brooch, 
 the wedding gift of Seth, and a solitaire ring next to her 
 wedding ring, with a locket containing her children's hair, 
 accented her position as a proper wife and mother. At a 
 quarter to nine she had finished tidying the parlor, opening 
 the harmonium so that the light might play upon its pol- 
 ished keyboard, and bringing from the forgotten seclusion 
 of her closet two beautifully bound volumes of Tupper's 
 "Poems" and Pollok's "Course of Time," to impart a liter- 
 ary grace to the centre table. She then drew a chair to the 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 187 
 
 table and sat down before it with a religious magazine in 
 her lap. The wind roared over the deep-throated chimney, 
 the clock ticked monotonously, and then there came the 
 sound of wheels and voices. 
 
 But Mrs. Rivers was not destined to see her guest that 
 night. Dr. Duchesne, under the safe lee of the door, ex- 
 plained that Mr. Hamlin had been exhausted by the jour- 
 ney, and, assisted by a mild opiate, was asleep in the car- 
 riage; that if Mrs. Eivers did not object, they would carry 
 him at once to his room. In the flaring and guttering of 
 candles, the flashing of lanterns, the flapping of coats and 
 shawls, and the bewildering rush of wind, Mrs. Rivers was 
 only vaguely conscious of a slight figure muflfled tightly in 
 a cloak carried past her in the arms of a grizzled negro up 
 the staircase, followed by Dr. Duchesne. With the clos- 
 ing of the front door on the tumultuous world without, a 
 silence fell again on the little parlor. 
 
 When the doctor made his reappearance it was to say 
 that his patient was being undressed and put to bed by his 
 negro servant, who, however, would return with the doctor 
 to-night, but that the patient would be Ifeft with everything 
 that was necessary, and that he would require no attention 
 from the family until the next day. Indeed, it was better 
 that he should remain undisturbed. As the doctor confined 
 his confidences and instructions entirely to the physical con- 
 dition of their guest, Mrs. Elvers found it awkward to press 
 other inquiries. 
 
 "Of course," she said at last hesitatingly, but with a cer- 
 tain primness of expression, " Mr. Hamlin must expect to find 
 everything here very different from what he is accustomed 
 to — at least from what my husband says are his habits." 
 
 "Nobody knows that better than he, Mrs. Rivers," re- 
 turned the doctor with an equally marked precision of man- 
 ner, "and you could not have a guest who would be less 
 likely to make you remind him of it." 
 
188 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 A little annoyed, yet not exactly knowing why, Mrs. 
 Rivers abandoned the subject, and as the doctor shortly 
 afterwards busied himself in the care of his patient, with 
 whom he remained until the hour of his departure, she had 
 no chance of renewing it. But as he finally shook hands 
 with his host and hostess, it seemed to her that he slightly 
 recurred to it. "I have the greatest hope of the curative 
 effect of this wonderful locality on my patient, but even 
 still more of the beneficial effect of the complete change of 
 his habits, his surroundings, and their influences." Then 
 the door closed on the man of science and the grizzled negro 
 servant, the noise of the carriage wheels was shut out witli 
 the song of the wind in the pine tops, and the lancho of 
 Windy Hill possessed Mr. Jack Hamlin in peace. Indeed, 
 the wind was now falling, as was its custom at that hour, 
 and the moon presently arose over a hushed and sleeping 
 landscape. 
 
 For the rest of the evening the silent presence in the 
 room above affected the household ; the half -curious servants 
 and ranch hands spoke in whispers in the passages, and at 
 evening prayers, in the dining room, Seth Rivers, kneeling 
 before and bovved over a rush-bottomed chair whose legs 
 were clutched by his strong hands, included "the stranger 
 within our gates " in his regular supplications. When the 
 hour for retiring came, Seth, with a candle in his hand, 
 preceded his wife up the staircase, but stopped before the 
 door of their guest's room. "I reckon," he said interroga- 
 tively to Mrs. Rivers, "I oughter see ef he 's wantin' any- 
 thin' ? " 
 
 "You heard what the doctor said," returned Mrs. Rivers 
 cautiously. At the same time she did not speak decidedly, 
 and the frontiersman's instinct of hospitality prevailed. He 
 knocked lightly ; there was no response. He turned the 
 door handle softly. The door opened. A faint clean per- 
 fume — an odor of some general personality rather than any 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 189 
 
 particular thing — stole out upon them. The light of Seth's 
 candle struck a few glints from some cut-glass and silver, 
 the contents of the guest's dressing case, which had been 
 carefully laid out upon a small table by his negro servant. 
 There was also a refined neatness in the disposition of his 
 clothes and effects which struck the feminine eye of even 
 the tidy Mrs. Kivers as something new to her experience. 
 Seth drew nearer the bed with his shaded candle, and then, 
 turning, beckoned his wife to approach. Mrs. Kivers hesi- 
 tated — but for the necessity of silence she would have 
 openly protested — but that protest was shut up in her com- 
 pressed lips as she came forward. 
 
 Por an instant that awe with which absolute helplessness 
 invests the sleeping and dead was felt by both husband and 
 wife. Only the upper part of the sleeper's face was visible 
 above the bedclothes, held in position by a thin white ner- 
 vous hand that was encircled at the wrist by a ruffle. Seth 
 stared. Short brown curls were tumbled over a forehead 
 damp with the dews of sleep and exhaustion. But what 
 appeared more singular, the closed eyes of this vessel of 
 wrath and recklessness were fringed with lashes as long 
 and silky as a woman's. Then Mrs. Elvers gently pulled 
 her husband's sleeve, and they both crept back with a 
 greater sense of intrusion and even more cautiously than 
 they had entered. Nor did they speak until the door was 
 closed softly and they were alone on the landing. Seth 
 looked grimly at his wife. 
 
 "Don't look much ez ef he could hurt anybody." 
 "He looks like a sick man," returned Mrs. Elvers 
 calmly. 
 
 The unconscious object of this criticism and attention 
 slept imtil late; slept through the stir of awakened life 
 within and without, through the challenge of early cocks in 
 the lean-to shed, through the creaking of departing ox 
 
190 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 teams and the lazy, long-drawn commands of teamsters,, 
 througli the regular strokes of the morning pump and the 
 splash of water on stones, through the far-oflf barking of 
 dogs and the half-intelligible shouts of ranchmen; slept 
 through the sunlight on his ceiling, through its slow de- 
 scent of his wall, and awoke with it in his eyes ! He woke, 
 too, with a delicious sense of freedom from pain, and of 
 even drawing a long breath without difficulty — two facts 
 so marvelous and dreamlike that he naturally closed his 
 eyes again lest he should waken to a world of suffering and 
 dyspnoea. Satisfied at last that this relief was real, he again 
 opened his eyes, but upon surroundings so strange, so wildly 
 absurd and improbable, that he again doubted their reality. 
 He was lying in a moderately large room, primly and se- 
 verely furnished, but his attention was for the moment riv- 
 eted to a gilt frame upon the wall beside him bearing the 
 text, "God Bless Our Home," and then on another frame 
 on the opposite wall which admonished him to "Watch 
 and Pray." Beside them hung an engraving of the "Rais- 
 ing of L£^zarus," and a Hogarthian lithograph of "The 
 Drunkard's Progress." Mr. Hamlin closed his eyes; he 
 was dreaming certainly — not one of those wild, fantastic 
 visions that had so miserably filled the past long nights of 
 pain and suffering, but still a dream! At last, opening one 
 eye stealthily, he caught the flash of the sunlight upon the 
 crystal and silver articles of his dressing case, and that flash 
 at once illuminated his memory. He remembered his long 
 weeks of illness and the devotion of Dr. Duchesne. Ht 
 remembered how, when the crisis was past, the doctor had 
 urged a complete change and absolute rest, and had tolc' 
 him of a secluded rancho in some remote locality kept bj 
 an honest Western pioneer whose family he had attended. 
 He remembered his own reluctant assent, impelled by grati- 
 tude to the doctor and the helplessness of a sick man. He 
 now recalled the weary journey thither, his exhaustion and 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 191 
 
 the semi-consciousness of his arrival in a bewildering wind 
 on a shadowy hilltop. And this was the place ! 
 
 He shivered slightly, and ducked his head under the 
 cover again. But the brightness of the sun and some exhil- 
 arating quality in the air tempted him to have another out 
 look, avoiding as far as possible the grimly decorated wall! 
 If they had only left him his faithful servant he could havi 
 relieved himself of that mischievous badinage which always 
 alternately horrified and delighted that devoted negro. But 
 he was alone — absolutely alone — in this conventicle ! 
 
 Presently he saw the door open slowly. It gave admis- 
 sion to the small round face and yellow ringlets of a little 
 girl, and finally to her whole figure, clasping a doll nearly 
 as large as herself. For a moment she stood there, arrested 
 by the display of Mr. Hamlin's dressing case on the table. 
 Then her glances moved around the room and rested upoii. 
 the bed. Her blue eyes and Mr. Hamlin's brown ones met 
 and mingled. Without a moment's hesitation she moved 
 to the bedside. Taking her doll's hands in her own, she 
 displayed it before him. 
 
 "Isn't it pitty?" 
 
 Mr. Hamlin was instantly his old self again. Thrusting 
 his hand comfortably under the pillow, he lay on his side 
 and gazed at it long and affectionately. "I never," he said 
 in a faint voice, but with immovable features, " saw any- 
 thing so perfectly beautiful. Is it alive ? " 
 
 "It's a dolly," she returned gravely, smoothing down 
 its frock and straightening its helpless feet. Then seized 
 with a spontaneous idea, like a young animal she suddenly 
 presented it to him with both hands and said, — 
 
 "Kiss it." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin implanted a chaste salute on its vermilion 
 cheek. " Would you mind letting me hold it for a little ? " 
 he said with extreme diifidence. 
 
 The child was delighted, as he ejcpected. Mr. Hamlin 
 
192 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 placed it in a sitting posture on the edge of his bed, and put 
 an ostentatious paternal arm around it. 
 
 "But you 're alive, ain't you? " he said to the child. 
 
 This subtle witticism convulsed her. "I 'm a little girl," 
 she gurgled. 
 
 "I see; her mother?" 
 
 "Ess." 
 
 "And who 'a your mother? " 
 
 "Mammy." 
 
 "Mrs. Rivers?" 
 
 The child nodded until her ringlets were shaken on her 
 cheek. After a moment she began to laugh bashfully and 
 with repression, yet as Mr. Hamlin thought a little mis- 
 chievously. Then as he looked at her interrogatively she 
 suddenly caught hold of the ruffle of his sleeve. 
 
 "Oo 's got on mammy's nighty." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin started. He saw the child's obvious mistake 
 and actually felt himself blushing. It was unprecedented 
 
 — it was the sheerest weakness — it must have something 
 to do with the confounded air. 
 
 "I grieve to say you are deeply mistaken — it is my 
 very own," he returned with great gravity. Nevertheless, 
 he drew the coverlet close over his shoulder. But here he 
 was again attracted by another face at the half-opeued door 
 
 — a freckled one, belonging to a boy apparently a year or 
 two older than the girl. He was violently telegraphing to 
 her to come away, although it was evident that he was at 
 the same time deeply interested in the guest's toilet articles. 
 Yet as his bright gray eyes and Mr. Hamlin's brown ones 
 met, he succumbed, as the girl had, and walked directly to 
 the bedside. But he did it bashfully — as the girl had not. 
 He even attempted a defensive explanation. 
 
 "She hadn't oughter come in here, and mar wouldn't 
 let her, and she knows it," he said with superior virtue. 
 "But I asked her to come as I 'm asking you," said Me, 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 193 
 
 Hamlin promptly, "and don't you go back on your sister 
 or you '11 never be president of the United States." With 
 this he laid his hand on the boy's tow head, and then, lift- 
 ing himself on his pillow to a half-sitting posture, put an 
 arm around each of the children, drawing them together, 
 with the doll occupying the central post of honor. "Now," 
 continued Mr. Hamlin, albeit in a voice a little faint from 
 the exertion, "now that we're comfortable together I'll 
 tell you the story of the good little boy who became a pirate 
 in order to save his grandmother and little sister from being 
 eaten by a wolf at the door." 
 
 But, alas! that interesting record of self-sacrifice never 
 was told. For it chanced that Melinda Bird, Mrs. Eivers's 
 help, following the trail of the missing children, came upon 
 the open door and glanced in. There, to her astonishment, 
 she saw the domestic group already described, and to her 
 eyes dominated by the "most beautiful and perfectly ele- 
 gant " young man she had ever seen. But let not the in- 
 cautious reader suppose that she succumbed as weakly as 
 her artless charges to these fascinations. The character and 
 antecedents of that young man had been already delivered 
 to her in the kitchen by the other help. With that single 
 glance she halted; her eyes sought the ceiling in chaste 
 exaltation. Falling back a step, she called in ladylike hau- 
 teur and precision, "Mary Emmeline and John Wesley." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin glanced at the children. "It's Melindy 
 looking for us," said John Wesley. But they did not 
 move. At which Mr. Hamlin called out faintly but cheer- 
 fully, "They 're here, all right." 
 
 Again the voice arose with still more marked and lofty 
 distinctness, "John Wesley and Mary Em-me-line." It 
 seemed to Mr. Hamlin that human accents could not con- 
 vey a more significant and elevated ignoring of some implied 
 impropriety in his invitation. He was for a moment 
 crushed. 
 
194 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 But he only said to his little friends with a smile, 
 "You 'd hetter go now and we '11 have that story later." 
 
 " Aflfer heckus 1 " suggested Mary Emmeline. 
 
 "In the woods," added John Wesley. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin nodded blandly. The children trotted to 
 the door. It closed upon them and Miss Bird's parting 
 admonition, loud enough for Mr. Hamlin to hear, "No 
 more freedoms, no more intrudings, you hear." 
 
 The older culprit, Hamlin, retreated luxuriously under 
 his blankets, but presently another new sensation came over 
 him — absolutely, hunger. Perhaps it was the child's allu- 
 sion to "beckus," but he found himself wondering when it 
 would be ready. This anxiety was soon relieved by the 
 appearance of his host himself bearing a tray, possibly in 
 deference to Miss Bird's sense of propriety. It appeared 
 also that Dr. Duchesne had previously given suitable direc- 
 tions for his diet, and Mr. Hamlin found his repast simple 
 but enjoyable. Always playfully or ironically polite to 
 strangers, he thanked his host and said he had slept splen- 
 didly. 
 
 " It 's this yer ' ozone ' in the air that Dr. Duchesne talks 
 about," said Seth complacently. 
 
 "I am inclined to think it is also those texts," said Mr. 
 Hamlin gravely, as he indicated them on the wall. "You 
 see they reminded me of church and my boyhood's slumbers 
 there. I have never slept so peacefully since." Seth's face 
 brightened so interestedly at what he believed to be a sug- 
 gestion of his guest's conversion that Mr. Hamlin was fain 
 to change the subject. When his host had withdrawn he 
 proceeded to dress himself, but here became conscious of his 
 weakness and was obliged to sit down. In one of those en- 
 forced rests he chanced to be near the window, and for the 
 first time looked on the environs of his place of exile. For 
 a moment he was staggered. Everything seemed to pitch 
 downward from the rocky outcrop on which the rambling 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 195 
 
 house and farm sheds stood. Even the great pines around 
 it swept downward like a green wave, to rise again in enor- 
 mous billows as far as the eye could reach. He could count 
 a dozen of their tumbled crests following each other on their 
 way to the distant plain. In some vague point of that 
 shimmering horizon of heat and dust was the spot he came 
 from the preceding night. Yet the recollection of it and 
 his feverish past seemed to confuse him, and he turned his 
 eyes gladly away. 
 
 Pale, a little tremulous, but immaculate and jaunty in 
 his white flannels and straw hat, he at last made his way 
 downstairs. To his great relief he found the sitting room 
 empty, as he would have willingly deferred his formal ac- 
 knowledgments to his hostess later. A single glance at the 
 interior determined him not to linger, and he slipped quietly 
 into the open air and sunshine. The day was warm and 
 still, as the wind only came u]3 with the going down of the 
 sun, and the atmosphere was still redolent with the morning 
 spicing of pine and hay and a stronger balm that seemed to 
 fill his breast with sunshine. He walked toward the near- 
 est shade — a cluster of young buckeyes — and having with 
 a certain civic fastidiousness flicked the dust from a stump 
 with his handkerchief he sat down. It was very quiet and 
 calm. The life and animation of early morning had already 
 vanished from the hill, or seemed to be suspended with the 
 sun in the sky. He could see the ranchmen and oxen toiling 
 on the green terraced slopes below, but no sound reached his 
 ears. Even the house he had just quitted seemed empty of 
 life throughout its rambling length. His seclusion was com- 
 plete. Could he stand it for three weeks? Perhaps it need 
 not be for so long; he was already stronger! He foresaw 
 that the ascetic Seth might become wearisome. He had an 
 intuition that Mrs. Rivers would be equally so; he should 
 certainly quarrel with Melinda, and this would probably de- 
 bar him from the company of the children — his only hope. 
 
196 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 But his seclusion was by no means so complete as he ex- 
 pected. He presently was aware of a camp-meeting hymn 
 hummed somewhat ostentatiously by a deep contralto voice, 
 which he at once recognized as Melinda's, and saw that 
 severe virgin proceeding from the kitchen along the ridge 
 until within a few paces of the buckeyes, when she stopped 
 and, with her hand shading her eyes, apparently began to 
 examine the distant fields. She was a tall, robust girl, not 
 without certain rustic attractions, of which she seemed fully 
 conscious. This latter weakness gave Mr. Hamlin a new 
 idea. He put up the penknife with which he had been 
 paring his nails while wondering why his hands had become 
 so thin, and awaited events. She presently turned, ap- 
 proached the buckeyes, plucked a spike of the blossoms 
 with great girlish lightness, and then apparently discovering 
 Mr. Hamlin, started in deep concern and said with some- 
 what stentorian politeness: "I beg youx pardon — didn't 
 know I was intruding ! " 
 
 "Don't mention it," returned Jack promptly, but with- 
 out moving. " I saw you coming and was prepared ; but 
 generally — as I have something the matter with my heart 
 — a sudden joy like this is dangerous." 
 
 Somewhat mystified, but struggling between an expression 
 of rigorous decorum and gratified vanity. Miss Melinda 
 stammered, " I was only " — 
 
 "I knew it — I saw what you were doing," interrupted 
 Jack gravely, "only I wouldn't do it if I were you. You 
 were looking at one of those young men down the hill. 
 You forgot that if you could see him he could see you look- 
 ing too, and that would only make him conceited. And a 
 girl with your attractions don't require that." 
 
 "Ez if," said Melinda, with lofty but somewhat redden- 
 ing scorn, " there was a man on this hull rancho that I'd 
 take a second look at." 
 
 "It's the first look that does the business," returned 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 197 
 
 Jack simply. "But maybe I was wrong. Would you 
 mind — as you 're going straight back to the house " (Miss 
 Melinda had certainly expressed no such intention) — 
 "turning those two little kids loose out here] I 've a sort 
 of engagement with them." 
 
 " I will speak to their mar, " said Melinda primly, yet 
 with a certain sign of relenting, as she turned away. 
 
 " You can say to her that I regretted not finding her in 
 the sitting room when I came down," continued Jack tact- 
 fully. 
 
 Apparently the tact was successful, for he was delighted 
 a few moments later by the joyous onset of John Wesley 
 and Mary Emmeline upon the buckeyes, which he at once 
 converted into a game of hide and seek, permitting himself 
 at last to be shamelessly caught in the open. But here he 
 wisely resolved upon guarding against further grown-up in- 
 terruption, and consulting with his companions found that 
 on one of the lower terraces there was a large reservoir fed 
 by a mountain rivulet, but they were not allowed to play 
 there. Thither, however, the reckless Jack hied with his 
 playmates and was presently ensconced under a willow tree, 
 where he dexterouslj' fashioned tiny willow canoes with his 
 penknife and sent them sailing over a submerged expanse of 
 nearly an acre. But half an hour of this ingenious amuse- 
 ment was brought to an abrupt termination. While cutting 
 bark, with his back momentarily turned on his companions, 
 he heard a scream, and turned quickly to see John Wesley 
 struggling in the water, grasping a tree root, and Mary Em- 
 meline — nowhere! In another minute he saw the strings 
 of her pinafore appear on the surface a few yards beyond, 
 and in yet another minute, with a swift rueful glance at his 
 white flannels, he had plunged after her. A disagreeable 
 shock of finding himself out of his depths was, however, 
 followed by contact with the child's clothing, and clutching 
 her firmly, a stroke or two brought him panting to the bank. 
 
198 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 Here a gasp, a gurgle, and then a roar from Mary Ernme- 
 line, followed by a sympathetic howl from John Wesley, 
 satisfied him that the danger was over. Rescuing the boy 
 from the tree root, he laid them both on the grass and con- 
 templated them exercising their lungs with miserable satis- 
 faction. But here he found his own breathing impeded in 
 addition to a slight faintness, and was suddenly obliged to 
 sit down beside them, at which, by some sympathetic intui- 
 tion, they both stopped crying. 
 
 Encouraged by this, Mr. Hamlin got them to laughing 
 again, and then proposed a race home in their wet clothes, 
 which they accepted, Mr. Hamlin, for respiratory reasons, 
 lagging in their rear until he had the satisfaction of seeing 
 them captured by the horrified Melinda in front of the 
 kitchen, while he slipped past her and regained his own 
 room. Here he changed his saturated clothes, tried to rub 
 away a certain chilliness that was creeping over him, and 
 lay down in his dressing gown to miserable reflections. He 
 had nearly drowned the children and overexcited himself, 
 in spite of his promise to the doctor! He would never 
 again be intrusted with the care of the former nor be 
 believed by the latter! 
 
 But events are not always logical in sequence. Mr. 
 Hamlin went comfortably to sleep and into a profuse per- 
 spiration. He was awakened by a rapping at his door, and 
 opening it, was surprised to find Mrs. Rivers with anxious 
 inquiries as to his condition. "Indeed," she said, with an 
 emotion which even her prim reserve could not conceal, " I 
 did not know until now how serious the accident was, and 
 how but for you and Divine Providence my little girl 
 might have been drowned. It seems. Melinda saw it all." 
 
 Inwardly objurgating the spying Melinda, but relieved 
 that his playmates hadn't broken their promise of secrecy, 
 Mr. Hamlin laughed. 
 
 "I 'm afraid that your little girl would n't have got into 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 199 
 
 the water at all but for me — and you must give all the 
 credit of getting her out to the other fellow." He stopped 
 at the severe change in Mrs. Rivers's expression, and added 
 quite boyishly and with a sudden drop from his usual lev- 
 ity, "But please don't keep the children away from me for 
 all that, Mrs. Elvers." 
 
 Mrs. Rivers did not, and the next day Jack and his com- 
 panions sought fresh playing fields and some new story-tell- 
 ing pastures. Indeed, it was a fine sight to see this pale, 
 handsome, elegantly dressed young fellow lounging along 
 between a blue-checkered pinafored girl on one side and a 
 barefooted boy on tlie other. The ranchmen turned and 
 looked after him curiously. One, a rustic prodigal, reduced 
 by dissipation to the swine-husks of ranching, saw fit to 
 accost him familiarly. 
 
 " The last time I saw you dealing poker in Sacramento, 
 Mr. Hamlin, I did not reckon to find you up here playing 
 with a couple of kids." 
 
 "No!" responded Mr. Hamlin suavely, "and yet I re- 
 member I was playing with some country idiots down there, 
 and you were one of them. Well ! understand that up here 
 I prefer the kids. Don't let me have to remind you of it." 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Hamlin could not help noticing that 
 for the next two or three days there were many callers at 
 the ranch and that he was obliged in his walks to avoid the 
 highroad on account of the impertinent curiosity of way- 
 farers. Some of them were of that sex which he would 
 not have contented himself with simply calling "curious." 
 
 "To think," said Melinda confidently to her mistress, 
 "that that thar Mrs. Stubbs, who would n't go to the High- 
 town Hotel because there was a play actress thar, has been 
 snoopin' round here twice since that young feller came." 
 
 Of this fact, however, Mr. Hamlin was blissfully uncon- 
 Ecious. 
 
 Nevertheless, his temper was growing uncertain j the 
 
200 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 angle of his smart straw hat was becoming aggressive to 
 strangers ; his politeness sardonic. And now Sunday morn- 
 ing had come with an atmosphere of starched piety and 
 weU-soaped respectability at the rancho, and the children 
 were to be taken with the rest of the family to the day-long 
 service at Hightown. As these Sabbath pilgrimages fiUed 
 the main road, he was fain to take himself and his loneliness 
 to the trails and byways, and even to invade the haunts of 
 some other elegant outcasts like himself — to wit, a crested 
 hawk, a graceful wild cat beautifully marked, and an elo- 
 quently reticent rattlesnake. Mr. Hamlin eyed them with- 
 out fear, and certainly without reproach. They were not 
 out of their element. 
 
 Suddenly he heard his name called in a stentorian con- 
 tralto. An impatient ejaculation rose to his lips, but died 
 upon them as he turned. It was certainly Melinda, but in 
 his present sensitive loneliness it struck him for the first 
 time that he had never actually seen her before as she really 
 was. Like most men in his profession he was a quick 
 reader of thoughts and faces when he was interested, and 
 although this was the same robust, long-limbed, sunburnt 
 girl he had met, he now seemed to see through her triple 
 incrustation of human vanity, conventional piety, and out- 
 rageous Sabbath finery an honest, sympathetic simplicity 
 that commanded his respect. 
 
 "You are back early from church," he said. 
 
 "Yes. One service is good enough for me when thar 
 ain't no special preacher," she returned, "so I jest sez to 
 Silas, ' as T ain't here to listen to the sisters cackle ye kin 
 put to the buckboard and drive me home ez soon ez you 
 please.' " 
 
 "And so his name is Silas," suggested Mr. Hamlin cheer- 
 fuUy. 
 
 "Go 'long with you, Mr. Hamlin, and don't pester," she 
 returned, with heifer-like playfulness. " Well, Silas put to, 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 201 
 
 and when we rose the hill here I saw your straw hat passin' 
 in the gulch, and sez to Silas, sez I, ' Ye kin pull up here, 
 for over yar is our new hoarder. Jack Hamlin, and I 'm 
 goin' to talk with him. ' ' All right, ' sez he, ' I 'd sooner 
 trust ye with that gay young gambolier every day of the 
 week than with them saints down thar on Sunday. He 
 deals ez straight ez he shoots, and is about as nigh onto a 
 gentleman as they make 'em.' " 
 
 For one moment or two Miss Bird only saw Jack's long 
 lashes. When his eyes once more lifted they were shining. 
 " And what did you say 1 " he said, with a short laugh. 
 
 " I told him he need n't be Christopher Columbus to have 
 discovered that." She turned with a laugh toward Jack, 
 to be met by the word "shake," and an outstretched thin 
 white hand which grasped her large red one with a frank, 
 fraternal pressure. 
 
 "I didn't come to tell ye that," remarked Miss Bird as 
 she sat down on a boulder, took off her yellow hat, and re- 
 stacked her tawny mane under it, "but this: I reckoned I 
 went to Sunday meetin' as I ought ter. I kalkilated to 
 hear considerable about ' Faith ' and ' Works, ' and sich, 
 but I didn't reckon to hear all about you from the Lord's 
 Prayer to the Doxology. You were in the special prayers 
 ez a warnin', in the sermon ez a text; they picked out 
 hymns to fit ye ! And always a drefFul example and a visi- 
 tation. And the rest o' the time it was all gabble, gabble 
 by the brothers and sisters about you. I reckon, Mr. Ham- 
 lin, that they know everything you ever did since you were 
 knee-high to a grasshopper, and a good deal more than you 
 ever thought of doin'. The women is all dead set on con- 
 vertin' ye and savin' ye by their own precious selves, and 
 the men is ekally dead set on gettin' rid o' ye on that 
 account. " 
 
 " And what did Seth and Mrs. Elvers say ? " asked 
 Hamlin composedly, but with kindling eyes. 
 
202 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMUN 
 
 " They stuck up for ye ez far ez they could. But ye see 
 the parson hez got a holt upon Seth, havin' caught him 
 kissin' a convert at camp meeting ; and Deacon Turner knows 
 suthin about Mrs. Eivers's sister, who kicked over the pail 
 and jumped the fence years ago, and she 's afeard o' him. 
 But what I wanted to tell ye was that they 're all comin' 
 up here to take a look at ye — some on 'em to-night. You 
 ain't afeard, are ye ? " she added, with a loud laugh. 
 
 " Well, it looks rather desperate, does n't it ? " returned 
 Jack, with dancing eyes. 
 
 " I '11 trust ye for all that," said Melinda. " And now 
 I reckon I '11 trot along to the rancho. Ye need n't offer 
 ter see me home," she added, as Jack made a movement to 
 accompany her. " Everybody up here ain't as fair-minded 
 ez Silas and you, and Melinda Bird hez a character to lose ! 
 So long ! " With this she cantered away, a little heavily, 
 perhaps, adjusting her yellow hat with both hands as she 
 clattered down the steep hill. 
 
 That afternoon Mr. Hamlin drew largely on his convales- 
 cence to mount a half-broken mustang, and in spite of the 
 rising afternoon wind to gallop along the highroad in quite 
 as mischievous and breezy a fashion. He was wont to allow 
 his mustang's nose to hang over the hind rails of wagons 
 and buggies containing young couples, and to dash ahead of 
 sober carryalls that held elderly "members in good standing." 
 
 An accomplished rider, he picked up and brought back 
 the flying parasol of Mrs. Deacon Stubbs without dismount- 
 ing. He finally came home a little blown, but dangerously 
 composed. 
 
 There was the usual Sunday evening gathering at Windy 
 Hill Eancho — neighbors and their wives, deacons and the 
 pastor — but their curiosity was not satisfied by the sight 
 of Mr. Hamlin, who kept his own room and his own coun- 
 sel. There was some desultory conversation, chiefly on 
 church topics, for it was vaguely felt that a discussion of 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 203 
 
 the advisability of getting rid of the guest of their host 
 •was somewhat difficult under this host's roof, with the guest 
 impending at any moment. Then a diversion was created 
 by some of the church choir practicing the harmonium with 
 the singing of certain more or less lugubrious anthems. 
 Mrs. Elvers presently joined in, and in a somewhat faded 
 soprano, which, however, still retained considerable musical 
 taste and expression, sang, " Come, ye Disconsolate." The 
 wind moaned over the deep-throated chimney in a weird 
 harmony with the melancholy of that human appeal as Mrs. 
 Rivers sang the first verse : — 
 
 " Come, ye disconsolate, where'er ye langnishi 
 Come to the Mercy Seat, ferventlj' kneel ; 
 Here bring your wounded hearts — here tell your anguish, 
 Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal! " 
 
 A pause followed, and the long-drawn, half-human sigh 
 of the mountain wind over the chimney seemed to mingle 
 with the wail of the harmonium. And then, to their 
 thrilled astonishment, a tenor voice, high, clear, but ten- 
 derly passionate, broke like a skylark over their heads in 
 the lines of the second verse : — 
 
 " Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, 
 Hope of the penitent — fadeless and pure ; 
 Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying, 
 Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure 1 " 
 
 The hymn was old and familiar enough, Heaven knows. 
 It had been quite popular at funerals, and some who sat 
 there had had its strange melancholy borne upon them in 
 time of loss and tribulations, but never had they felt its 
 full power before. Accustomed as they were to emotional 
 appeal and to respond to it, as the singer's voice died away 
 above them, their very tears flowed and fell with that voice. 
 A few sobbed aloud, and then a voice asked tremulously, — ■ 
 
 « Who is it ? " 
 
 " It 's Mr. Hamlin," said Seth quietly. " I 've heard 
 him often hummin' things before." 
 
204 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 There was another silence, and the voice of Deacon 
 Stubbs broke in harshly, — 
 
 "It 's rank blasphemy." 
 
 " If it 's rank blasphemy to sing the praise o' God, not 
 only better than some folks in the choir, but like an angel 
 o' light, I wish you 'd do a little o' that blaspheming on 
 Sundays, Mr. Stubbs." 
 
 The speaker was Mrs. Stubbs, and as Deacon Stubbs was 
 a notoriously bad singer the shot told. 
 
 " If he 's sincere, why does he stand aloof ? Why does 
 he not join us ? " asked the parson. 
 
 " He has n't been asked," said Seth quietly. " If I 
 ain't mistaken this yer gathering this evening was specially 
 to see how to get rid of him." 
 
 There was a quick murmur of protest at this. The par- 
 son exchanged glances with the deacon and saw that they 
 were hopelessly in the minority. 
 
 " I will ask him myself," said Mrs. Eivers suddenly. 
 
 " So do. Sister Rivers ; so do," was the unmistakable 
 response. 
 
 Mrs. Eivers left the room and returned in a few moments 
 with a handsome young man, pale, elegant, composed, even 
 to a grave indifference. What his eyes might have said 
 was another thing ; the long lashes were scarcely raised. 
 
 " I don't mind playing a little," he said quietly to Mrs. 
 Kivers, as if continuing a conversation, " but you '11 have 
 to let me trust my memory." 
 
 " Then you — er — play the harmonium ? " said the par- 
 son, with an attempt at formal courtesy. 
 
 "I was for a year or two the organist in the choir of 
 Dr. Todd's church at Sacramento," returned Mr. Hamlin 
 quietly. 
 
 The blank amazement on the faces of Deacons Stubbs 
 and Turner and the parson was followed by wreathed smiles 
 from the other auditors and especially from the ladies. Mr. 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE 0¥ JACK HAMLIN 205 
 
 Hamlin sat down to the instrument, and in another mo- 
 ment took possession of it as it had never been held before. 
 He played from memory as he had implied, but it was the 
 memory of a musician. He began with one or two familiar 
 anthems, in which they all joined. A fragment of a mass 
 and a Latin chant followed. An " Ave Maria " from an 
 opera was his first secular departure, but his delighted au- 
 dience did not detect it. Then he hurried them along in 
 unfamiliar language to " mio Fernando " and " Spiritu 
 gentil," which they fondly imagined were hymns, until, 
 with crowning audacity, after a few preliminary chords of 
 the " Miserere," he landed them broken-hearted in the Tro- 
 vatore's donjon tower with " Won te scordar de mi." 
 
 Amidst the applause he heard the preacher suavely ex- 
 plain that those Popish masses were always in the Latin 
 language, and rose from the instrument satisfied with his 
 experiment. Excusing himself as an invalid from joining 
 them in a light collation in the dining room, and begging 
 his hostess's permission to retire, he nevertheless lingered 
 a few moments by the door as the ladies filed out of the 
 room, followed by the gentlemen, until Deacon Turner, who 
 was bringing up the rear, was abreast of him. Here Mr. 
 Hamlin became suddenly deeply interested in a framed pen- 
 cil drawing which hung on the wall. It was evidently a 
 schoolgirl's amateur portrait, done by Mrs. Rivers. Deacon 
 Turner halted quickly by his side as the others passed out 
 
 — which was exactly what Mr. Hamlin expected. 
 
 " Do you know the face ? " said the deacon eagerly. 
 
 Thanks to the faithful Melinda, Mr. Hamlin did know it 
 perfectly. It was a pencil sketch of Mrs. Rivers's youth- 
 fully erring sister. But he only said he thought he recog- 
 nized a likeness to some one he had seen in Sacramento. 
 
 The deacon's eye brightened. " Perhaps the same one — 
 perhaps," he added in a submissive and significant tone " a 
 
 — er — painful story." 
 
206 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 " Sather — to him," observed Hamlin quietly. 
 
 " How ? — I — er — don't understand," said Deacon 
 Turner. 
 
 " Well, the portrait looks like a lady I knew in Sacra- 
 mento who had been in some trouble when she was a silly 
 girl, but had got over it quietly. She was, however, troubled 
 a good deal by some mean hound who was every now and 
 then raking up the story wherever she went. Well, one of 
 her friends — I might have been among them, I don't ex- 
 actly remember just now — challenged him, but although 
 he had no conscientious convictions about slandering a 
 woman, he had some about being shot for it, and declined. 
 The consequence was he was cowhided once in the street, 
 and the second time tarred and feathered and ridden on a 
 rail out of town. That, I suppose, was what you meant 
 by your ' painful story.' But is this the woman ? " 
 
 " Ko, no," said the deacon hurriedly, with a white face, 
 * you have quite misunderstood." 
 
 " But whose is this portrait ? " persisted Jack. 
 
 " I believe that — I don't know exactly — but I think it 
 is a sister of Mrs. Rivers's," stammered the deacon. 
 
 " Then, of course, it is n't the same woman," said Jack 
 in simulated indignation. 
 
 " Certainly — of course not," returned the deacon. 
 
 " Phew ! " said Jack. " That was a mighty close call. 
 Lucky we were alone, was n't it ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the deacon, with a feeble smile. 
 
 " Seth," continued Jack, with a thoughtful air, " looks 
 like a quiet man, but I should n't like to have made that 
 mistake about his sister-in-law before him. These quiet 
 men are apt to shoot straight. Better keep this to our- 
 selves." 
 
 Deacon Turner not only kept the revelation to himself 
 but apparently his own sacred person also, as he did not 
 <all again at Windy Hill Bancho during Mr. Hamlin's stay. 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 207 
 
 But he was exceedingly polite in his references to Jack, and 
 alluded patronizingly to a " little chat " they had had to- 
 gether. And when the usual reaction took place in Mr. Ham- 
 lin's favor and Jack was actually induced to perform on the 
 organ at Hightown Church next Sunday, the deacon's voice 
 ■was loudest in his praise. Even Parson Greenwood allowed 
 himself to be non-committal as to the truth of the rumor, 
 largely circulated, that one of the most desperate gamblers 
 in the State had been converted through his exhortations. 
 
 So, with breezy walks and games with the children, occa- 
 sional confidences with Melinda and Silas, and the Sabbath 
 " singing of anthems," Mr. Hamlin's three weeks of con- 
 valescence drew to a close. He had lately relaxed his habit 
 of seclusion so far as to mingle with the company gathered 
 for more social purposes at the rancho, and once or twice 
 unbent so far as to satisfy their curiosity in regard to certain 
 details of his profession. 
 
 " I have no personal knowledge of games of cards," said 
 Parson Greenwood patronizingly, " and think I am right in 
 saying that our brothers and sisters are equally inexperi- 
 enced. I am — ahem — far from believing, however, that 
 entire ignorance of evil is the best preparation for combating 
 it, and I should be glad if you 'd explain to the company 
 the intricacies of various games. There is one that you 
 mentioned, with a — er — scriptural name." 
 
 " Faro," said Hamlin, with an unmoved face. 
 
 "Pharaoh," repeated the parson gravely; "and one which 
 you call ' poker,' which seems to require great self-control." 
 
 "I couldn't make you understand poker without your 
 playing it," said Jack decidedly. 
 
 " As long as we don't gamble — that is, play for money 
 — I see no objection," returned the parson. 
 
 "And," said Jack musingly, "you could use beans." 
 
 It was agreed finally that there would be no falling from 
 grace in their playing among themselves, in an inquiring 
 
208 THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 
 
 Christian spirit, under Jack's guidance, he having decided 
 to abstain from card playing during his convalescence, and 
 Jack permitted himself to be persuaded to show them the 
 following evening. 
 
 It so chanced, however, that Dr. Duchesne, finding the 
 end of Jack's " cure " approaching, and not hearing from 
 that interesting invalid, resolved to visit him at about this 
 time. Having no chance to apprise Jack of his intention, on 
 coming to Hightown at night he procured a conveyance at 
 the depot to carry him to Windy Hill Eancho. The wind 
 blew with its usual nocturnal rollicking persistency, and at 
 the end of his turbulent drive it seemed almost impos- 
 sible to make himself heard amongst the roaring of the 
 pines and some astounding preoccupation of the inmates. 
 After vainly knocking, the doctor pushed open the front 
 door and entered. He rapped at the closed sitting room 
 door, but receiving no reply, pushed it open upon the most 
 unexpected and astounding scene he had ever witnessed. 
 Around the centre table several respectable members of the 
 Hightown Church, including the parson, were gathered with 
 intense and eager faces playing poker, and behind the par- 
 son, with his hands in his pockets, carelessly lounged the 
 doctor's patient, the picture of health and vigor. A disused 
 pack of cards was scattered on the floor, and before the 
 gentle and precise Mrs. Rivers was heaped a pile of beans 
 that would have filled a quart measure. 
 
 When Dr. Duchesne had tactfully retreated before the 
 hurried and stammering apologies of his host and hostess, 
 and was alone with Jack in his rooms, he turned to him 
 with a gravity that was more than half affected and said, 
 " How long, sir, did it take you to effect this corruption ? " 
 
 " Upon my honor," said Jack simply, " they played last 
 night for the first time. And they forced me to show them. 
 But," added Jack after a significant pause, " I thought it 
 would make the game livelier and be more of a moral lesson 
 
THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN 209 
 
 if I gave them nearly all good pat hands. So I ran in a cold 
 deck on them — the first time I ever did such a thing in my 
 life. I fixed up a pack of cards so that one had three tens, 
 another three jacks, and another three queens, and so on up 
 to three aces. In a minute they had all tumbled to the game, 
 and you never saw such betting. Every man and woman 
 there believed he or she had struck a sure thing, and staked 
 accordingly. A new panful of beans was brought on, and 
 Seth, your friend, banked for them. And at last the par- 
 son raked in the whole pile." 
 
 " I suppose you gave him the three aces," said Dr. 
 Duchesne gloomily. 
 
 " The parson," said Jack slowly, "had n't a single pair 
 in his hand. It was the stoniest, deadest, neatest bluff 1 
 ever saw. And when he 'd frightened ofi' the last man who 
 held out and laid that measly hand of his face down on that 
 pile of kings, queens, and aces, and looked around the table 
 as he raked in the pile, there was a smile of humble self- 
 righteousness on his face that was worth double the money." 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 
 
 The schoolmaster of Chestnut Eidge was interrupted in 
 his after-school solitude by the click of hoof and sound of 
 voices on the little bridle path that led to the scant clearing 
 in which his schoolhouse stood. He laid down his pen as 
 the figures of a man and woman on horseback passed the 
 windows and dismounted before the porch. He recognized 
 the complacent, good-humored faces of Mr. and Mrs. Hoover, 
 who owned a neighboring ranch of some importance and 
 who were accounted well to do people by the community. 
 Being a childless couple, however, while they generously 
 contributed to the support of the little school, they had not 
 added to its flock, and it was with some curiosity that the 
 young schoolmaster greeted them and awaited the purport 
 of their visit. This was protracted in delivery through a 
 certain polite dalliance with the real subject characteristic 
 of the Southwestern pioneer. 
 
 " Well, Almiry," said Mr. Hoover, turning to his wife 
 after the first greeting with the schoolmaster was over, 
 " this makes me feel like old times, you bet ! Why, I ain't 
 bin inside a schoolhouse since I was knee-high to a grass- 
 hopper. Thar 's the benches, and the desks, and the books 
 and all them 'a b, abs,' jest like the old days. Dear! 
 Dear ! But the teacher in those days was ez old and grizzled 
 ez I be — and some o' the scholars — no offense to you, 
 Mr. Brooks — was older and bigger nor you. But times is 
 changed : yet look, Almiry, if thar ain't a hunk o' stale 
 gingerbread in that desk jest as it uster be ! Lord ! how it 
 all comes back ! Ez I was sayin' only t' other day, we can't 
 
214 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 
 
 be too grateful to our parents for givin' us an eddication in 
 our youth ; " and Mr. Hoover, with the air of recalling an 
 alma mater of sequestered gloom and cloistered erudition, 
 gazed reverently around the new pine walls. 
 
 But Mrs. Hoover here intervened with a gracious appre- 
 ciation of the schoolmaster's youth after her usual kindly 
 fashion. " And don't you forget it, Hiram Hoover, that 
 these young folks of to-day kin teach the old schoolmasters 
 of 'way back more 'n you and I dream of. We 've heard of 
 your book larnin', Mr. Brooks, afore this, and we 're proud 
 to hev you here, even if the Lord has not pleased to give 
 us the children to send to ye. But we 've always paid our 
 share in keeping up the school for others that was more fa- 
 vored, and now it looks as if He had not forgotten us, and 
 ez if " — with a significant, half-shy glance at her husband 
 and a corroborating nod from that gentleman — " ez if, reelly, 
 we might be reckonin' to send you a scholar ourselves." 
 
 The young schoolmaster, sympathetic and sensitive, felt 
 somewhat embarrassed. The allusion to his extreme youth, 
 mollified though it was by the salve of praise from the tact- 
 ful Mrs. Hoover, had annoyed him, and perhaps added to his 
 slight confusion over the information she vouchsafed. He 
 had not heard of any late addition to the Hoover family, 
 he would not have been likely to, in his secluded habits ; 
 and although he was accustomed to the naive and direct 
 simplicity of the pioneer, he could scarcely believe that 
 this good lady was announcing a maternal expectation. He 
 smiled vaguely and begged them to be seated. 
 
 " Ye see,'' said Mr. Hoover, dropping upon a low bench, 
 " the way the thing pans out is this. Almiry's brother is 
 a pow'ful preacher down the coast at San Antonio and hez 
 settled down thar with a big Free Will Baptist Church 
 congregation and a heap o' land got from them Mexicans. 
 Thar's a lot o' poor Spanish and Injin trash that belong to 
 the land, and Almiry's brother hez set about convertin' 'em, 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT KIDGE 21S 
 
 givin' 'em convickshion and religion, though the most of 
 'em is Papists and followers of the Scarlet Woman. Thar 
 was an orphan, a little girl that he got outer the hands o' 
 them priests, kinder snatched as a brand from the burnin', 
 and he sent her to us to be brought up in the ways o' the 
 Lord, knowin' that we had no children of our own. But 
 we thought she oughter get the benefit o' schoolin' too, 
 besides our own care, and we reckoned to bring her here 
 reg'lar to school." 
 
 Believed and pleased to help the good-natured couple in 
 the care of the homeless waif, albeit somewhat doubtful of 
 their religious methods, the schoolmaster said he would be 
 delighted to number her among his little flock. Had she 
 already received any tuition ? 
 
 " Only from them padres, ye know, things about saints, 
 Virgin Marys, visions, and miracles," put in Mrs. Hoover ; 
 " and we kinder thought ez you know Spanish you might 
 be able to get rid o' them in exchange for ' conviction o' 
 sin ' and * justification by faith,' ye know." 
 
 " I 'm afraid," said Mr. Brooks, smiling at the thought 
 of displacing the Church's " mysteries " for certain cory- 
 bantic displays and thaumaturgical exhibitions he had 
 witnessed at the Dissenters' camp meeting, " that I must 
 leave all that to you, and I must caution you to be careful 
 what you do lest you also shake her faith in the alphabet 
 and the multiplication table." 
 
 " Mebbee you 're right," said Mrs. Hoover, mystified but 
 good-natured ; " but thar 's one thing more we oughter tell 
 ye. She 's — she 's a trifle dark complected." 
 
 The schoolmaster smiled. " Well ? " he said patiently. 
 
 " She is n't a nigger nor an Injin, ye know, but she 's 
 kinder a half-Spanish, half-Mexican Injin, what they call 
 ' mes — mes ' " — 
 
 " Mestiza," suggested Mr. Brooks; "a half-breed or mon- 
 grel." 
 
216 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 
 
 "I reckon. Now thar wouldn't be any objection to 
 that, eh ? " said Mr. Hoover a little uneasily. 
 
 "Not by me," returned the schoolmaster cheerfully. 
 " And although this school is state-aided it 's not a ' public 
 school' in the eye of the law, so you have only the foolish 
 prejudices of your neighbors to deal with." He had recog- 
 nized the reason of their hesitation and knew the strong 
 racial antagonism held towards the negro and Indian by 
 Mr. Hoover's Southwestern compatriots, and he could not 
 refrain from " rubbing it in." 
 
 " They kin see," interposed Mrs. Hoover, " that she 's 
 not a nigger, for her hair don't ' kink,' and a furrin Injin, 
 of course, is different from one o' our own." 
 
 " If they hear her speak Spanish, and you simply say 
 she is a foreigner, as she is, it will be all right," said the 
 schoolmaster smilingly. " Let her come, I '11 look after 
 her." 
 
 Much relieved, after a few more words the couple took 
 their departure, the schoolmaster promising to call the next 
 afternoon at the Hoovers' ranch and meet his new scholar. 
 " Ye might give us a hint or two how she oughter be fixed 
 up afore she joins the school." 
 
 The ranch was about four miles from the schoolhouse, 
 and as Mr. Brooks drew rein before the Hoovers' gate he 
 appreciated the devotion of the couple who were willing 
 to send the child that distance twice a day. The house, 
 with its outbuildings, was on a more liberal scale than its 
 neighbors, and showed few of the makeshifts and half- 
 hearted advances towards permanent occupation common to 
 the Southwestern pioneers, who were more or less nomads 
 in instinct and circumstance. He was ushered into a well- 
 furnished sitting room, whose glaring freshness was subdued 
 and repressed by black-framed engravings of scriptural 
 subjects. As Mr. Brooks glanced at them and recalled the 
 schoolrooms of the old missions, with their monastic shadows 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGfi 217 
 
 which half hid the gaudy, tinseled saints and flaming or 
 ensanguined hearts upon the walls, he feared that the little 
 waif of Mother Church had not gained any cheerfulness in 
 the exchange. 
 
 As she entered the room with Mrs. Hoover, her largr 
 dark eyes — the most notahle feature in her small face — 
 seemed to sustain the schoolmaster's fanciful fear in their 
 half-frightened wonder. She was clinging closely to Mrs. 
 Hoover's side, as if recognizing the good woman's maternal 
 kindness even while doubtful of her purpose ; but on the 
 schoolmaster addressing her in Spanish, a singular change 
 took place in their relative positions. A quick look of 
 intelligence came into her melancholy eyes, and with it a 
 slight consciousness of superiority to her protectors that 
 was embarrassing to him. For the rest he observed merely 
 that she was small and slightly built, although her figure 
 was hidden in a long " check apron " or calico pinafore 
 with sleeves — a local garment — which was utterly incon- 
 gruous with her originality. Her skin was olive, inclining 
 to yellow, or rather to that exquisite shade of buff to be 
 seen in the new bark of the madrono. Her face was oval, 
 and her mouth small and childlike, with little to suggest 
 the aboriginal type in her other features. 
 
 The master's questions elicited from the child the fact 
 that she could read and write, that she knew her " Hail 
 Mary " and creed (happily the Protestant Mrs. Hoover 
 was unable to follow this questioning), but he also elicited 
 the more disturbing fact that her replies and confidences 
 suggested a certain familiarity and equality of condition 
 which he could only set down to his own youthfulness of 
 appearance. He was apprehensive that she might even 
 make some remark regarding Mrs. Hoover, and was not sorry 
 that the latter did not understand Spanish. But before he 
 left he managed to speak with Mrs. Hoover alone and sug- 
 gested a change in the costume of the pupil when she came 
 
218 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE 
 
 to school. " The better she is dressed," suggerted the. v/ily 
 young diplomat, " the less likely is she to awaken any sus- 
 picion of her race." 
 
 " Now that 's jest what 's botherin' me, Mr. Brooks," 
 returned Mrs. Hoover, with a troubled face, " for you seo 
 she is a growin' girl," and she concluded, with some embar- 
 rassment, "I can't quite make up my mind how to dress 
 her." 
 
 " How old is she ? " asked the master abruptly. 
 
 " Gtoin' on twelve, but," — and Mrs. Hoover again hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " Why, two of my scholars, the Bromly girls, are over 
 fourteen," said the master, " and you know how they are 
 dressed;" but here he hesitated in his turn. It had just 
 occurred to him that the little waif was from the extreme 
 South, and the precocious maturity of the mixed races there 
 was well known. He even remembered, to his alarm, to 
 have seen brides of twelve and mothers of fourteen among 
 the native villagers. This might also account for the sug- 
 gestion of equality in her manner, and even for a slight 
 coquettishness which he thought he had noticed in her 
 when he had addressed her playfully as a muchacha. " I 
 should dress her in something Spanish," he said hurriedly, 
 " something white, you know, with plenty of flounces and 
 a little black lace, or a black silk skirt and a lace scarf, you 
 know. She'll be all right if you don't make her look 
 like a servant or a dependent," he added, with a show 
 of confidence he was far from feeling. " But you have n '1 
 told me her name," he concluded. 
 
 ''As we're reckonin' to adopt her," said Mrs. Hoover 
 gravely, " you '11 give her ours." 
 
 " But I can't call her ' Miss Hoover,' " suggested the 
 master ; " what 's her first name ? " 
 
 " We was thinkin' o' ' Serafina Ann,' " said Mrs. Hoover 
 with more gravity. 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 219 
 
 " But what is her name ? " persisted the master. 
 
 " Well," returned Mrs. Hoover, with a troubled look, 
 "me and Hiram consider it's a heathenish sort of name for 
 a young gal, but you'll find it in my brother's letter." 
 She took a letter from under the lid of a large Bible on 
 '•he table aud pointed to a passage in it. 
 
 " The child was christened ' Concepcion,' " read the 
 jiaster. " Why, that 's one of the Marys ! " 
 
 " The which ? " asked Mrs. Hoover severely. 
 
 "One of the titles of the Virgin Mary; 'Maria de la 
 Concepcion,' " said Mr. Brooks glibly. 
 
 " It don't sound much like anythin' so Christian and 
 decent as ' Maria ' or ' Mary,' " returned Mrs. Hoover sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 "But the abbreviation, 'Concha,' is very pretty. In 
 fact it 's just the thing, it 's so very Spanish," returned 
 the master decisively. " And you know that the squaw 
 who hangs about the mining camp is called ' Reservation 
 Ann,' and old Mrs. Parkins's negro cook is called ' Aunt 
 Seraflna,' so ' Serafina Ann ' is too suggestive. ' Concha 
 Hoover ' 's the name." 
 
 " P'r'aps you 're right," said Mrs. Hoover meditatively. 
 
 " And dress her so she '11 look like her name and you '11 
 be all right," said the master gayly as he took his depar- 
 ture. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was with some anxiety the next morning 
 he heard the sound of hoofs on the rocky bridle path lead- 
 ing to the schoolhouse. He had already informed his little 
 flock of the probable addition to their number, and their 
 breathless curiosity now accented the appearance of Mr. 
 Hoover riding past the window, followed by a little figure 
 on horseback, half hidden in the graceful folds of a serape. 
 The next moment they dismounted at the porch, the 
 serape was cast aside, and the new scholar entered. 
 
 A littlij alarmed even in his admiration, the master never- 
 
220 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE 
 
 theless thought he had never seen a more dainty figure. 
 Her heavily flounced white skirt stopped short just ahove 
 her white-stockinged ankles and little feet, hidden in white 
 satin, low-quartered slippers. Her black silk, shell-like 
 jacket half clasped her stayless bust clad in an under-bodice 
 of soft muslin that faintly outlined a contour which struck 
 him as already womanly. A black lace veil which had pro 
 tected her head, she had on entering slipped down to her 
 shoulders with a graceful gesture, leaving one end of it 
 pinned to her hair by a rose above her little yellow ear. 
 The whole figure was so inconsistent with its present set- 
 ting that the master inwardly resolved to suggest a modifi- 
 cation of it to Mrs. Hoover as he, with great gravity, how- 
 ever, led the girl to the seat he had prepared for her. Mr. 
 Hoover, who had been assisting discipline as he conscien- 
 tiously believed by gazing with hushed, reverent reminiscence 
 on the walls, here whispered behind his large hand that he 
 would call for her at " four o'clock " and tiptoed out of the 
 schoolroom. The master, who felt that everything would 
 depend upon his repressing the children's exuberant curiosity 
 and maintaining the discipline of the school for the next few 
 minutes, with supernatural gravity addressed the young girl 
 in Spanish and placed before her a few slight elementary 
 tasks. Perhaps the strangeness of the language, perhaps the 
 unwonted seriousness of the master, perhaps also the im- 
 passibility of the young stranger herself, all contributed to 
 arrest the expanding smiles on little faces, to check their 
 wandering eyes, and hush their eager whispers. By degrees 
 heads were again lowered over their tasks, the scratching of 
 pencils on slates, and the far-ofif rapping of woodpeckers 
 again indicated the normal quiet of the schoolroom, and the 
 master knew he had triumphed, and the ordeal was past. 
 
 But not as regarded himself, for although the new pupil 
 had accepted his instructions with childlike submissiveness, 
 and even as it seemed to him with childlike comprehension. 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT KIDGE 221 
 
 he could not help noticing that she occasionally glanced at 
 him with a demure suggestion of some understanding between 
 them, or as if they were playing at master and pupil. This 
 naturally annoyed him and perhaps added a severer dignity 
 to his manner, which did not appear to be effective, however, 
 and which he fancied secretly amused her. Was she covertly 
 laughing at him ? Yet against this, once or twice, as her 
 big eyes wandered from her task over the room, they en- 
 countered the curious gaze of the other children, and he 
 fancied he saw an exchange of that freemasonry of intelli- 
 gence common to children in the presence of their elders 
 even when strangers to each other. He looked forward to 
 recess to see how she would get on with her companions ; 
 he knew that this would settle her status in the school, and 
 perhaps elsewhere. Even her limited English vocabulary 
 would not in any way affect that instinctive, childlike test 
 of superiority, but he was surprised when the hour of recess 
 came and he had explained to her in Spanish and English 
 its purpose, to see her quietly put her arm around the wriat 
 of Matilda Bromly, the tallest girl in the school, as the two 
 whisked themselves off to the playground. She was a mere 
 child after all ! 
 
 Other things seemed to confirm this opinion. Later, when 
 the children returned from recess, the young stranger had 
 instantly become a popular idol, and had evidently dis- 
 pensed her favors and patronage generously. The elder 
 Bromly girl was wearing her lace veil, another had posses- 
 sion of her handkerchief, and a third displayed the rose 
 which had adorned her left ear, things of which the master 
 was obliged to take note with a view of returning them to 
 the prodigal little barbarian at the close of school. Later he 
 was, however, much perplexed by the mysterious passage 
 under the desks of some unknown object which apparently 
 was making the circuit of the school. With the annoyed 
 consciousness that he was perhaps unwittingly participating 
 
222 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 
 
 in some game, he finally " nailed it " in the possession of 
 Demosthenes Walker, aged six, to the spontaneous outcry 
 of " Cotched ! " from the whole school. When produced 
 from Master Walker's desk in company with a homed toad 
 and a piece of gingerbread, it was found to be Concha's white 
 satin slipper, the young girl herself, meanwhile, bending 
 demurely over her task with the bereft foot tucked up like 
 a bird's under her skirt. The master, reserving reproof of 
 this and other enormities until later, contented himself with 
 commanding the slipper to be brought to him, when he took 
 it to her with the satirical remark in Spanish that the school- 
 room was not a dressing room — Camara para vestirse. To 
 his surprise, however, she smilingly held out the tiny stock- 
 inged foot with a singular combination of the spoiled child 
 and the coquettish senorita, and remained with it extended 
 as if waiting for him to kneel and replace the slipper. But 
 he laid it carefully on her desk. 
 
 " Put it on at once," he said in English. 
 
 There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, whatever 
 his language. Concha darted a quick look at him like the 
 momentary resentment of an animal, but almost as quickly 
 her eyes became suffused, and with a hurried movement she 
 put on the slipper. 
 
 " Please, sir, it dropped off and Jimmy Snyder passed it 
 on," said a small explanatory voice among the benches. 
 
 " Silence ! " said the master. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was glad to see that the school had not 
 noticed the girl's familiarity even though they thought hiir 
 " hard." He was not sure upon reflection but that he hsU 
 magnified her offense and had been unnecessarily severe, ant 
 this feeling was augmented by his occasionally finding her 
 looking at him with the melancholy, wondering eyes of a 
 chidden animal. Later, as he was moving among the desks 
 overlooking the tasks of the individual pupils, he observed 
 from a distance that her head was bent over her desk while her 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGB 223 
 
 lips were moving as if repeating to herself her lesson, and that 
 afterwards, with a swift look around the room to assvire her- 
 self that she was unobserved, she made a hurried sign of the 
 cross. It occurred to him that this might have followed some 
 penitential prayer of the child, and remembering her tuition 
 by the padres it gave him an idea. He dismissed school a 
 few moments earlier in order that he might speak to her 
 alone before Mr. Hoover arrived. 
 
 Referring to the slipper incident and receiving her assur- 
 ances that " she " (the slipper) was much too large and fell 
 often " so," a fact really established by demonstration, he 
 seized his opportunity. " But tell me, when you were with 
 the padre and your slipper fell off, you did not expect him 
 to put it on for you ? " 
 
 Concha looked at him coyly and then said triumphantly, 
 " Ah, no ! but he was a priest, and you are a young cabal- 
 lero." 
 
 Yet even after this audacity Mr. Brooks found he could 
 only recommend to Mr. Hoover a change in the young girl's 
 slippers, the absence of the rose-pinned veil, and the sub- 
 stitution of a sunbonnet. For the rest he must trust to 
 circumstances. As Mr. Hoover — who with large paternal 
 optimism had professed to see already an improvement in 
 her — helped her into the saddle, the schoolmaster could not 
 help noticing that she had evidently expected him to per- 
 form that act of courtesy, and that she looked correspond- 
 ingly reproachful. 
 
 " The holy fathers used sometimes to let me ride with 
 them on their mules," said Concha, leaning over her saddle 
 towards the schoolmaster. 
 
 "Eh, what, missy?" said the Protestant Mr. Hoover, 
 pricking up his ears. " Now you just listen to Mr. Brooks's 
 doctrines, and never mind them Papists," he added as he 
 rode away, with the firm conviction that the master had 
 already commenced the task of her spiritual conversion. 
 
224 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 
 
 The next day the master awoke to find his little school 
 famous. Whatever were the exaggerations or whatever 
 the fancies carried home to their parents hy the children, the 
 result was an overwhelming interest in the proceedings 
 and personnel of the school hy the whole district. People 
 had already called at the Hoover ranch to see Mrs. Hoover's 
 pretty adopted daughter. The master, on his way to the 
 schoolroom that morning, had found a few woodmen and 
 charcoal burners lounging on the bridle path that led from 
 the main road. Two or three parents accompanied their 
 children to school, asserting they had just dropped in to see 
 how " Aramanta " or " Tommy " were " gettin' on." As 
 the school began to assemble several unfamiliar faces passed 
 the windows or were boldly flattened against the glass. The 
 little schoolhouse had not seen such a gathering shice it had 
 been borrowed for a political meeting in the previous autumn. 
 And the master noticed with some concern that many of the 
 faces were the same which he had seen uplifted to the glit- 
 tering periods of Colonel Starbottle, " the war horse of the 
 Democracy.'' 
 
 Tor he could not shut his eyes to the fact that they came 
 from no mere curiosity to see the novel and bizarre ; no ap- 
 preciation of mere picturesqueness or beauty ; and alas ! from 
 no enthusiasm for the progression of education. He knew 
 the people among whom he had lived, and he realized the 
 fatal question of " color " had been raised in some mysteri- 
 ous way by those Southwestern emigrants who had carried 
 into this " free state " their inherited prejudices. A few 
 words convinced him that the unhappy children had vari- 
 ously described the complexion of their new fellow pupil, 
 and it was believed that the "No'th'ii " schoolmaster, aided 
 and abetted by "capital" in the person of Hiram Hoover, 
 liad introduced either a "nigger wench," a "Chinese girl," 
 or an "Injin baby" to the same educational privileges as 
 the "pure whites," and so contaminated the sons of freemen 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE 225 
 
 ia their very nests. He was able to reassure many that the 
 child was of Spanish origin, but a majority preferred the 
 evidence of their own senses, and lingered for that purpose. 
 As the hour for her appearance drew near and passed, he 
 was seized with a sudden fear that she might not come, that 
 Mr. Hoover had been prevailed upon by his compatriots, in 
 view of the excitement, to withdraw her from the school. 
 But a faint cheer from the bridle path satisfied him, and 
 the next moment a little retinue swept by the window, and 
 he understood. The Hoovers had evidently determined to 
 accent the Spanish character of their little charge. Concha, 
 with a black riding skirt over her flounces, was now 
 mounted on a handsome pinto mustang glittering with sil- 
 ver trappings, accompanied by a vaquero in a velvet jacket, 
 Mr. Hoover bringing up the rear. He, as he informed the 
 master, had merely come to show the way to the vaquero, 
 who hereafter would always accompany the child to and 
 from school. Whether or not he had been induced to this 
 display by the excitement did not transpire. Enough that 
 the effect was a success. The riding skirt and her mus- 
 tang's fripperies had added to Concha's piquancy, and if her 
 origin was still doubted by some, the child herself was ac- 
 cepted with enthusiasm. The parents who were spectators 
 were proud of this distinguished accession to their children's 
 playmates, and when she dismounted amid the acclaim of 
 her Ijttle companions, it was with the aplomb of a queen. 
 
 The master alone foresaw trouble in this encouragement 
 of her precocious manner. He received her quietly, and 
 when she had removed her riding skirt, glancing at her 
 feet, said approvingly, " I am glad to see you have changed 
 your slippers; I hope they fit you more firmly than the 
 others. " 
 
 The child shrugged her shoulders. "Quien sn,be. But 
 Pedro (the vaquero) will help me now on my horse when 
 he comes for me." 
 
226 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE 
 
 The master understood the characteristic non sequitur as 
 an allusion to his want of gallantry on the previous day, bul; 
 took no notice of it. Nevertheless, he was pleased to see 
 during the day that she was paying more attention to her 
 studies, although they were generally rehearsed with the 
 languid indifference to all mental accomplishment which 
 belonged to her race. Once he thought to stimulate her 
 activity through her personal vanity. 
 
 " Why can you not learn as quickly as Matilda Bromly ? 
 She is only two years older than you," he suggested. 
 
 " Ah ! Mother of God ! — why does she then try to wear 
 roses like me? And with that hair. It becomes her 
 not." 
 
 The master became thus aware for the first time that the 
 elder Bromly girl, in " the sincerest form of flattery " to 
 her idol, was wearing a yellow rose in her tawny locks, and, 
 further, that Master Bromly with exquisite humor had bur- 
 lesqued his sister's imitation with a very small carrot stuck 
 above his left ear. This the master promptly removed, 
 adding an additional sum to the humorist's already over- 
 flowing slate by way of penance, and returned to Concha. 
 "But wouldn't you like to be as clever as she? — you can 
 if you will only learn." 
 
 "What for should I! Look you; she has a devotion 
 for the tall one — the boy Brown! Ah! I want him 
 not." 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this lack of noble ambition. Concha 
 seemed to have absorbed the "devotion" of the boys, big 
 and little, and as the master presently discovered even that 
 of many of the adult population. There were always 
 loungers on the bridle path at the opening and closing of 
 school, and the vaquero, who now always accompanied her, 
 became an object of envy. Possibly this caused the master 
 to observe him closely. He was tall and thin, with a 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT KIDGE 227 
 
 smooth complexionless face, but to the master's astonish- 
 ment he had the blue gray eye of the higher or Castilian 
 type of native Californian. Further inquiry proved that 
 he was a son of one of the old impoverished Spanish grant 
 holders whose leagues and cattle had been mortgaged to the 
 Hoovers, who now retained the son to control the live stock 
 "on shares." "It looks kinder ez ef he might hev an eye 
 on that poorty little gal when she 's an age to marry," sug- 
 gested a jealous swain. For several days the girl submit- 
 ted to her school tasks with her usual langxiid indifference 
 and did not again transgress the ordinary rules. Nor did 
 Mr. Brooks again refer to their hopeless conversation. But 
 one afternoon he noticed that in the silence and preoccupa- 
 tion of the class she had substituted another volume for her 
 text-book and was perusing it with the articulating lips of 
 the unpracticed reader. He demanded it from her. With 
 blading eyes and both hands thrust into her desk she refused 
 and defied him. Mr. Brooks slipped his arms around her 
 waist, quietly lifted her from the bench — feeling her little 
 teeth pierce the back of his hand as he did so, but secured 
 the book. Two of the elder boys and girls had risen with 
 excited faces. 
 
 " Sit down ! " said the master sternly. 
 
 They resumed their places with awed looks. The master 
 examined the book. It was a little Spanish prayer book. 
 '■ You were reading this ? " he said in her own tongue. 
 
 " Yes. You shall not prevent me ! " she burst out. 
 "Mother of God! they will not let me read it at the 
 ranch. They would take it from me. And now j/om .' " 
 
 " You may read it when and where you like, except when 
 you should be studying your lessons," returned the master 
 quietly. " You may keep it here in your desk and peruse 
 it at recess. Come f.o me for it then. You are not fit to 
 read it now." 
 
228 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 
 
 The girl looked up with astounded eyes, which in the 
 capriciousness of her passionate nature the next moment 
 filled with tears. Then dropping on her knees she caught 
 the master's bitten hand and covered it with tears and 
 kisses. But he quietly disengaged it and lifted her to her 
 seat. There was a sniffling sound among the benches, 
 which, however, quickly subsided as he glanced around the 
 room, and the incident ended. 
 
 Regularly thereafter she took her prayer book back at 
 recess and disappeared with the children, finding, as he 
 afterwards learned, a seat under a secluded buckeye tree, 
 where she was not disturbed by them until her orisons 
 were concluded. The children must have remained loyal 
 to some command of hers, for the incident and this custom 
 were never told out of school, and the master did not con- 
 sider it his duty to inform Mr. or Mrs. Hoover. If the 
 child could recognize some check — even if it were deemed 
 by some a superstitious one — over her capricious and pre- 
 cocious nature, why should he interfere? 
 
 One day at recess he presently became conscious of the 
 ceasing of those small voices in the woods around the 
 schoolhouse, which were always as familiar and pleasant to 
 him in his seclusion as the song of their playfellows — the 
 birds themselves. The continued silence at last awakened 
 his concern and curiosity. He had seldom intruded upon 
 or participated in their games or amusements, remembering 
 when a boy himself the heavy incompatibility of the best 
 intentioned adult intruder to even the most hypocritically 
 polite child at such a moment. A sense of duty, however, 
 impelled him to step beyond the schoolhouse, where to his 
 astonishment he found the adjacent woods empty and 
 soundless. He was relieved, however, after penetrating its 
 recesses, to hear the distant sound of small applause and 
 the unmistakable choking gasps of Johnny Stidger's pocket 
 accordion. Following the sound he came at last upon a 
 
A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE 229 
 
 little hollow among the sycamores, where the children were 
 disposed in a ring, in the centre of which, with a handker- 
 chief in each hand, Concha the melancholy ! — Concha the 
 devout! — was dancing that most extravagant feat of the 
 fandango — the audacious sembicuaca! 
 
 Yet, in spite of her rude and uncertain accompaniment, 
 she was dancing it with a grace, precision, and lightness 
 that was wonderful; in spite of its doubtful poses and se- 
 ductive languors she was dancing it with the artless gayety 
 and innocence — perhaps from the suggestion of her tiny 
 figure — of a mere child among an audience of children. 
 Dancing it alone she assumed the parts of the man and 
 woman; advancing, retreating, coquetting, rejecting, coyly 
 bewitching, and at last yielding as lightly and as immate- 
 rially as the flickering shadows that fell upon them from 
 the waving trees overhead. The master was fascinated yet 
 troubled. What if there had been older spectators ? Would 
 the parents take the performance as innocently as the per- 
 former and her little audience 1 He thought it necessary 
 later to suggest this delicately to the child. Her temper 
 rose, her eyes flashed. 
 
 "Ah, the slipper, she is forbidden. The prayer book — 
 she must not. The dance, it is not good. Truly, thera is 
 nothing." 
 
 For several days she sulked. One morning she did not 
 come to school, nor the next. At the close of the third 
 day the master called at the Hoovers' ranch. 
 
 Mrs. Hoover met him embarrassedly in the hall. "I was 
 sayin' to Hiram he ought to tell ye, but he did n't like to 
 till it was certain. Concha 's gone." 
 
 " Gone ? " echoed the master. 
 
 " Yes. Run off with Pedro. Married to him yesterday 
 by the Popish priest at the mission." 
 
 "Married! That child?" 
 
 "She wasn't no child, Mr. Brooks. We were deceived. 
 
230 A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT EIDGE 
 
 My brother was a fool, and men don't understand these 
 things. She was a grown woman — accordin' to these 
 folks' ways and ages — when she kern here. And that's 
 what bothered me." 
 
 There was a week's excitement at Chestnut Eidge, but it 
 pleased the master to know that while the children grieved 
 for the loss of Concha they never seemed to understand why 
 she had gone. 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAED 
 
 The Sage Wood and Dead Flat stage coach was waiting 
 before the station. The Pine Barrens mail wagon that 
 connected with it was long overdue, with its transfer pas- 
 sengers, and the station had relapsed into listless expecta- 
 tion. Even the humors of Dick Boyle, the Chicago 
 "drummer," — and, so far, the solitary passenger — which 
 had diverted the waiting loungers, began to fail in effect, 
 though the cheerfulness of the humorist was unabated. 
 The ostlers had slunk back into the stables, the station 
 keeper and stage driver had reduced their conversation to 
 impatient monosyllables, as if each thought the other re- 
 sponsible for the delay. A solitary Indian, wrapped in a 
 commissary blanket and covered by a cast-off tall hat, 
 crouched against the wall of the station looking stolidly at 
 nothing. The station itself, a long, rambling building con- 
 taining its entire accommodation for man and beast under 
 one monotonous, shed-like roof, offered nothing to attract 
 the eye. Still less the prospect, on the one side two miles 
 of arid waste to the stunted, far-spaced pines in the distance, 
 known as the " Barrens ; " on the other an apparently lim- 
 itless level with darker patches of sage brush, like the scars 
 of burnt-out fires. 
 
 Dick Boyle approached the motionless Indian as a possi- 
 ble relief. " You don't seem to care much if school keeps 
 or not, do you, Lo ? " 
 
 The Indian, who had been half crouching on his upturned 
 soles, here straightened himself with a lithe, animal-like 
 movement, and stood up. Boyle took hold of a corner of 
 his blanket and examined it critically. 
 
234 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAED 
 
 " Gov'ment ain't pampering you -with Al goods, Lo ! I 
 reckon the agent charged 'em four dollars for that. Our 
 firm could have delivered them to you for 2 dols. 37 cents, 
 and thrown in a box of beads in the bargain. Suthin like 
 this ! " He took from his pocket a small box containing 
 a gaudy bead necklace and held it up before the Indian. 
 
 The savage, who had regarded him — or rather looked 
 beyond him — virith the tolerating indifference of one inter- 
 rupted by a frisking inferior animal, here suddenly changed 
 his expression. A look of childish eagerness came into his 
 gloomy face ; he reached out his hand for the trinket. 
 
 " Hoi' on ! " said Boyle, hesitating for a moment ; then 
 he suddenly ejaculated, " Well ! take it, and one o' these," 
 and drew a business card from his pocket, which he stuck in 
 the band of the battered tall hat of the aborigine. " There ! 
 show that to your friends, and when you 're wantin' any- 
 thing in our line " — 
 
 The interrupting roar of laughter, coming from the box 
 seat of the coach, was probably what Boyle was expecting, 
 for he turned away demurely and walked towards the coach. 
 " All right, boys ! I 've squared the noble red man, and the 
 star of empire is taking its westward way. And I reckon 
 our firm will do the ' Great Father ' business for him at 
 about half the price that it is done in Washington." 
 
 But at this point the ostlers came hurrying out of the 
 stables. " She 's comin'," said one. " That 's her dust 
 just behind the Lone Pine — and by the way she 's racin' I 
 reckon she 's comin' in mighty light." 
 
 " That 's so," said the mail agent, standing up on the 
 box seat for a better view, " but darned ef I kin see any 
 oiitside passengers. I reckon we have n't waited for much." 
 
 Indeed, as the galloping horses of the incoming vehicle 
 pulled out of the hanging dust in the distance, the solitary 
 driver could be seen urging on his team. In a few mo- 
 ments more they had halted at the lower end of the station. 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 235 
 
 « Wonder what 's up ! " said the mail agent. 
 
 "Nothin'! Only a big Injin scare at Pine Barrens," 
 said one of the ostlers. " Injins doin' ghost dancin' — or 
 suthin like that — and the passengers just skunked out 
 and went on by the other line. Thar 's only one ez dar 
 come — and she 's a lady." 
 
 " A lady ? " echoed Boyle. 
 
 " Yes," answered the driver, taking a deliberate survey 
 of a tall, graceful girl who, waiving the gallant assistance of 
 the station keeper, had leaped unaided from the vehicle. 
 " A lady — and the fort commandant's darter at that ! 
 She 's clar grit, you bet — a chip o' the old block. And 
 all this means, sonny, that you 're to give up that box 
 seat to her. Miss Julia Cantire don't take anythin' less 
 when I 'm around." 
 
 The young lady was already walking, directly and com- 
 posedly, towards the waiting coach — erect, self-contained, 
 well gloved and booted, and clothed, even in her dust 
 cloak and cape of plain ashen merino, with the unmistak- 
 able panoply of taste and superiority. A good-sized aqui- 
 line nose, which made her handsome mouth look smaller ; 
 gray eyes, with an occasional humid yellow sparkle in their 
 depths ; brown penciled eyebrows, and brown tendrils of 
 hair, all seemed to Boyle to be charmingly framed in by 
 the silver gray veil twisted around her neck and under her 
 oval chin. In her sober tints she appeared to him to have 
 evoked a harmony even out of the dreadful dust around 
 them. What he appeared to her was not so plain ; she 
 looked him over — he was rather short ; through him — 
 he was easily penetrable ; and then her eyes rested with a 
 frank recognition on the driver. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Foster," she said, with a smile. 
 
 " Mornin', miss. I hear they 're havin' an Injin scare 
 over at the Barrens. I reckon them men must feel mighty 
 mean at bein' stumped by a lady ! " 
 
236 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAKD 
 
 "I don't think they believed I would go, and some of 
 them had their wives with them," returned the young lady 
 indifferently ; " besides, they are Eastern people, who don't 
 know Indians as well as we do, Mr. Foster." 
 
 The driver blushed with pleasure at the association. 
 " Yes, ma'am," he laughed, " I reckon the sight of even old 
 ' Fleas in the Blanket ' over there," pointing to the Indian, 
 who was walking stolidly away from the station, " would 
 frighten 'em out o' their boots. And yet he 's got inside his 
 hat the business card o' this gentleman — Mr. "Dick Boyle, 
 traveling for the big firm o' Fletcher & Co. of Chicago " — 
 he interpolated, rising suddenly to the formal heights of 
 polite introduction ; " so it sorter looks ez ef any skelpin' was 
 to be done it might be the other way round, ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Miss Cantire accepted the introduction and the joke with 
 polite but cool abstraction, and climbed lightly into the box 
 seat as the mail bags and a quantity of luggage — evidently 
 belonging to the evading passengers — were quickly trans- 
 ferred to the coach. But for his fair companion, the driver 
 would probably have given profane voice to his conviction 
 
 that his vehicle was used as a " d d baggage truck," but 
 
 he only smiled grimly, gathered up his reins, and flicked 
 his whip. The coach plunged forward into the dust, which 
 instantly rose around it, and made it thereafter a mere cloud 
 in the distance. Some of that dust for a moment overtook 
 and hid the Indian, walking stolidly in its track, but he 
 emerged from it at an angle, with a quickened pace and a 
 peculiar halting trot. Yet that trot was so well sustained 
 that in an hour he had reached a fringe of rocks and low 
 bushes hitherto invisible through the irregularities of the ap- 
 parently level plain, into which he plunged and disappeared. 
 The dust cloud which indicated the coach — probably owing 
 to these same irregularities — had long since been lost on 
 the visible horizon. 
 
 The fringe which received him was really the rim of a 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 237' 
 
 depression quite concealed from the surface of the plain, — ■ 
 which it followed for some miles through a tangled trough- 
 like hottom of low trees and underbrush, — and was a nat- 
 ural cover for wolves, coyotes, and occasionally bears, whose 
 half-human footprint might have deceived a stranger. This 
 did not, however, divert the Indian, who, trotting still dog- 
 gedly on, paused only to examine another footprint — much 
 more frequent — the smooth, inward-toed track of moccasins. 
 The thicket grew more dense and difficult as he went on, yet 
 he seemed to glide through its density and darkness — an 
 obscurity that now seemed to be stirred by other moving 
 objects, dimly seen, and as uncertain and intangible as sunlit 
 leaves thrilled by the wind, yet bearing a strange resemblance 
 to human figures ! Pressing a few yards further, he himself 
 presently became a part of this shadowy procession, which 
 on closer scrutiny revealed itself as a single file of Indians, 
 following each other in the same tireless trot. The woods 
 and underbrush were full of them ; all moving on, as he had 
 moved, in a line parallel with the vanishing coach. Some- 
 times through the openings a bared painted limb, a crest of 
 feathers, or a strip of gaudy blanket was visible, but no- 
 thing more. And yet only a few hundred yards away 
 stretched the dusky, silent plain — vacant of sound or 
 motion ! 
 
 Meanwhile the Sage Wood and Pine Barren stage coach, 
 profoundly oblivious — after the manner of all human in- 
 vention — of everything but its regular function, toiled dust- 
 ily out of the higher plain and began the grateful descent of 
 a wooded canon, which was, in fact, the culminating point 
 of the depression, just described, along which the shadowy 
 procession was slowly advancing, hardly a mile in the rear 
 and flank of the vehicle. Miss Julia Cantire, who had faced 
 the dust volleys of the plain unflinchingly, as became a sol- 
 dier's daughter, here stood upright and shook herself — her 
 
238 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 pretty head and figure emerging like a goddess from the en- 
 veloping silver cloud. At least Mr. Boyle, relegated to the 
 back seat, thought so — although her conversation and atten- 
 tions had been chiefly directed to .ne driver and mail agent. 
 Once, when he had light-heartedly addressed a remark to her, 
 it had been received with a distinct but unpromising polite- 
 ness that had made him desist from further attempts, yet 
 without abatement of his cheerfulness, or resentment of the 
 evident amusement his two male companions got out of 
 his " snub." Indeed, it is to be feared that Miss Julia had 
 certain prejudices of position, and may have thought that 
 a "drummer" — or commercial traveler — was no more fit- 
 ting company for the daughter of a major than an ordinary 
 peddler. But it was more probable that Mr. Boyle's repu- 
 tation as a humorist — a teller of funny stories and a boon 
 companion of men — was inconsistent with the feminine ideal 
 of high and exalted manhood. The man who " sets the 
 table in a roar " is apt to be secretly detested by the sex, to 
 say nothing of the other obvious reasons why Juliets do not 
 like Mercutios ! 
 
 For some such cause as this Dick Boyle was obliged to 
 amuse himself silently, alone on the back seat, with those 
 liberal powers of observation which nature had given him. 
 On entering the canon he had noticed the devious route the 
 coach' had taken to reach it, and had already invented an 
 improved route which should enter the depression at the 
 point where the Indians had already (unknown to him) 
 plunged into it, and had conceived a road through the tan- 
 gled brush that would shorten the distance by some miles. 
 He had figured it out, and believed that it "would pay." 
 But by this time they were beginning the somewhat steep 
 and difficult ascent of the caiion on the other side. The 
 vehicle had not crawled many yards before it stopped. Dick 
 Boyle glanced around. Miss Cantire was getting down. She 
 bad expressed a wish to walk the rest of the ascent, and the 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 239 
 
 coach was to wait for her at the top. Foster had effusively 
 begged her to take her own time — " there was no hurry ! " 
 Boyle glanced a little longingly after her graceful figure, 
 released from her cramped position on the box, as it flitted 
 youthfully in and out of the wayside trees ; he would like 
 to have joined her in the woodland ramble, but even his good 
 nature was not proof against her indifference. At a turn in 
 the road they lost sight of her, and, as the driver and mail 
 agent were deep in a discussion about the indistinct track, 
 Boyle lapsed into his silent study of the country. Suddenly 
 he uttered a slight exclamation, and quietly slipped from the 
 back of the toiling coach to the ground. The action was, 
 however, quickly noted by the driver, who promptly put his 
 foot on the brake and pulled up. " Wot 's up now ? " he 
 growled. 
 
 Boyle did not reply, but ran back a few steps and began 
 searching eagerly on the ground. 
 
 " Lost suthin ? " asked Foster. 
 
 " Found something," said Boyle, picking up a small object. 
 
 " Look at that ! D d if it is n't the card I gave that 
 
 Indian four hours ago at the station ! " He held up the 
 card. 
 
 "Look yer, sonny," retorted Foster gravely, " ef yer 
 wantin' to get out and hang round Miss Cantire, why don't 
 yer say so at oncet ? That story won't wash ! " 
 
 " Fact ! " continued Boyle eagerly. " It 's the same card 
 I stuck in his hat — there 's the greasy mark in the corner. 
 How the devil did it — how did he get here ? " 
 
 " Better ax him," said Foster grimly, " ef he 's anywhere 
 round." 
 
 " But I say, Foster, I don't like the look of this at all ! 
 Miss Cantire is alone, and " — 
 
 But a burst of laughter from Foster and the mail agent 
 interrupted him. " That 's so," said Foster. " That 's your 
 best holt ! Keep it up ! You jest tell her that ! Say thar 's 
 
240 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAED 
 
 another Injin. skeer on ; that that thar bloodthirsty ole 
 ' Fleas in His Blanket ' is on the warpath,' and you 're goin' 
 to shed the last drop o' your blood defendin' her ! That '11 
 fetch her, and she ain't bin treatin' you well ! G'lang ! " 
 
 The horses started forward under Foster's whip, leaving 
 Boyle standing there, half inclined to join in the laugh against 
 himself, and yet impelled by some strange instinct to take 
 a more serious view of his discovery. There was no doubt 
 it was the same card he had given to the Indian. True, that 
 Indian might have given it to another — yet by what agency 
 had it been brought there faster than the coach traveled on 
 the same road, and yet invisibly to them ? For an instant 
 the humorous idea of literally accepting Foster's challenge, 
 and communicating his discovery to Miss Cantire, occurred 
 to him ; he could have made a funny story out of it, and 
 could have amused any other girl with it, but he would not 
 force himself upon her, and again doubted if the discovery 
 were a matter of amusement. If it were really serious, why 
 should he alarm her ? He resolved, however, to remain 
 on the road, and within convenient distance of her, until she 
 returned to the coach ; she could not be far away. With 
 this purpose he walked slowly on, halting occasionally to 
 look behind. 
 
 Meantime the coach continued its difficult ascent, a diffi- 
 culty made greater by the singular nervousness of the horses, 
 that only with great trouble and some objurgation from the 
 driver could be prevented from shying from the regular track. 
 
 " Now, wot 's gone o' them critters ? " said the irate 
 Foster, straining at the reins until he seemed to lift the 
 leader back into the track again. 
 
 " Looks as ef they smelt suthin — b'ar or Injin ponies," 
 suggested the mail agent. 
 
 " Injin ponies ? " repeated Foster scornfully. 
 
 " Fac' ! Injin ponies set a boss crazy — jest as wild 
 bosses would I " 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 241 
 
 " Whar 's yer Injin ponies ? " demanded Foster incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Dunno," said the mail agent simply. 
 
 But here the horses again swerved so madly from some 
 point of the thicket beside them that the coach completely 
 left the track on the right. Luckily it was a disused trail 
 and the ground fairly good, and Foster gave them their heads, 
 satisfied of his ability to regain the regular road when neces- 
 sary. It took some moments for him to recover complete 
 control of the frightened animals, and then their nervousness 
 having abated with their distance from the thicket, and the 
 trail being less steep though more winding than the regular 
 road, he concluded to keep it until he got to the summit, 
 when he would regain the highway once more and await 
 his passengers. Having done this, the two men stood up on 
 the box, and with an anxiety they tried to conceal from 
 each other looked down the canon for the lagging pedes- 
 trians. 
 
 " I hope Miss Cantire has n't been stampeded from the 
 track by any skeer like that," said the mail agent dubiously. 
 
 " Not she ! She 's got too much grit and sabe for that, 
 unless that drummer hez caught up with her and unloaded 
 his yarn about that kyard." 
 
 They were the last words the men spoke. For two rifle 
 shots cracked from the thicket beside the road ; two shots 
 aimed with such deliberateness and precision that the two 
 men, mortally stricktn, collapsed where they stood, hanging 
 for a brief moment over the dashboard before they rolled 
 over on the horses' backs. Nor did they remain there long, 
 for the next moment they were seized by half a dozen shadowy 
 figures and with the horses and their cut traces dragged into 
 the thicket. A half dozen and then a dozen other shadows 
 flitted and swarmed over, in, and through the coach, rein- 
 forced by still more, until the whole vehicle seemed to be 
 possessed, covered, and hidden by them, swaying and mov= 
 
242 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAED 
 
 ing with their weight, like helpless carrion beneath a pack 
 of ravenous wolves. Yet even while this seething congre- 
 gation was at its greatest, at some unknown signal it as sud- 
 denly dispersed, vanished, and disappeared, leaving the coach 
 empty — vacant and void of all that had given it life, 
 weight, animation, and purpose — a mere skeleton on the 
 roadside. The afternoon wind blew through its open doors 
 and ravaged rack and box as if it had been the wreck of 
 weeks instead of minutes, and the level rays of the setting 
 sun flashed and blazed into its windows as though fire had 
 been added to the ruin. But even this presently faded, 
 leaving the abandoned coach a rigid, lifeless spectre on the 
 twilight plain. 
 
 An hour later there was the sound of hurrying hoofs and 
 jingling accoutrements, and out of the plain swept a squad 
 of cavalrymen bearing down upon the deserted vehicle. For 
 a few moments they, too, seemed to surround and possess it, 
 even as the other shadows had done, penetrating the woods 
 and thicket beside it. And then as suddenly at some signal 
 they swept forward furiously in the track of the destroying 
 shadows. 
 
 Miss Cantire took full advantage of the suggestion " not 
 to hurry " in her walk, with certain feminine ideas of its 
 latitude. She gathered a few wild flowers and some berries 
 in the underwood, inspected some birds' nests with a healthy 
 youthful curiosity, and even took the opportunity of arrang- 
 ing some moist tendrils of her silky hair with something slie 
 took from the small reticule that hung coquettishly from her 
 girdle. It was, indeed, some twenty minutes before she 
 emerged into the road again ; the vehicle had evidently dis- 
 appeared in a turn of the long, winding ascent, but just 
 ahead of her was that dreadful man, the " Chicago drum- 
 mer." She was not vain, b\it she made no doubt that he was 
 waiting there for her. There was no avoiding him, but his 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CASD 243 
 
 companionship could be made a brief one. She began to 
 walk with ostentatious swiftness. 
 
 Boyle, whose concern for her safety was secretly relieved 
 at this, began to walk forward briskly too without looking 
 around. Miss Cantire was not prepared for this ; it looked 
 so ridiculously as if she were chasing him ! She hesitated 
 slightly, but now as she was nearly abreast of him she was 
 obliged to keep on. 
 
 " I think you do well to hurry, Miss Cantire," he said as 
 she passed. " I 've lost sight of the coach for some time, and 
 I dare say they 're already waiting for us at the summit." 
 
 Miss Cantire did not like this any better. To go on be- 
 side this dreadful man, scrambling breathlessly after the 
 stage — for all the world like an absorbed and sentimentally 
 belated pair of picnickers — was really too much. " Per- 
 haps if you ran on and told them I was coming as fast as 
 I could," she suggested tentatively. 
 
 " It would be as much as my life is worth to appear 
 before Foster without you," he said laughingly. " You 've 
 only got to hurry on a little faster." 
 
 But the young lady resented this being driven by a 
 " drummer." She began to lag, depressing her pretty brows 
 ominously. 
 
 " Let me carry your flowers," said Boyle. He had noticed 
 that she was finding some difficulty in holding up her skirt 
 and the nosegay at the same time. 
 
 "No ! Ko ! " she said in hurried horror at this new sug- 
 gestion of their companionship. " Thank you very much — 
 hut they 're really not worth keeping — I am going to throw 
 them away. There ! " she added, tossing them impatiently in 
 the dust. 
 
 But she had not reckoned on Boyle's perfect good-humor. 
 That gentle idiot stooped down, actually gathered them up 
 again, and was following ! She hurried on ; if she could 
 only get to the coach first, ignoring him ! But a vulgar 
 
244 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 man like that would be sure to hand them to her with some 
 joke ! Then she lagged again — she was getting tired, and 
 she could see no sign of the coach. The drummer, too, was 
 also lagging behind — at a respectful distance, like a groom 
 or one of her father's troopers. Nevertheless this did not 
 put her in a much better humor, and halting until he came 
 abreast of her, she said impatiently : " I don't see why Mr. 
 Foster should think it necessary to send_ any one to look 
 after me." 
 
 "He didn't," returned Boyle simply. "J got down to 
 pick up something." 
 
 " To pick up something ? " she returned incredulously. 
 
 " Yes. That." He held out the card. " It 's the card of 
 our firm." 
 
 Miss Cantire smiled ironically. " You are certainly de- 
 voted to your business." 
 
 " Well, yes," returned Boyle good-humoredly. " You see 
 I reckon it don't pay to do anything halfway. And what- 
 ever I do, I mean to keep my eyes about me." In spite of 
 her prejudice. Miss Cantire could see that these necessary 
 organs, if rather flippant, were honest. " Yes, I suppose 
 there is n't much on that I don't take in. Why now, Miss 
 Cantire, there 's that fancy dust cloak you 're wearing — it 
 isn't in our line of goods — nor in anybody's line west of 
 Chicago ; it came from Boston or New York, and was made 
 for home consumption ! But your hat — and mighty pretty 
 it is too, as you've, fixed it up — is only regular Dunstable 
 stock, which we could put down at Pine Barrens for four and 
 a half cents a piece, net. Yet I suppose you paid nearly 
 twenty-five cents for it at the Agency ! " 
 
 Oddly enough this cool appraisement of her costume did 
 not incense the young lady as it ought to have done. On 
 the contrary, for some occult feminine reason, it amused and 
 interested her. It would be such a good story to tell her 
 friends of a " drummer's " idea of gallantry ; and to tease 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 245 
 
 She flirtatious young West Pointer who had just joined. 
 And the appraisement was truthful — Major Cantire had 
 only his pay — and Miss Cantire had been obliged to select 
 that hat from the government stores. 
 
 "Are you in the habit of giving this information to 
 ladies you meet in traveling ? " she asked. 
 
 " Well, no ! " answered Boyle — " for that 's just where 
 you have to keep your eyes open. Most of 'em would n't 
 like it, and it 's no use aggravating a possible customer. 
 But you are not that kind." 
 
 Miss Cantire was silent. She knew she was not of that 
 kind, but she did not require his vulgar indorsement. She 
 pushed on for some moments alone, when suddenly he hailed 
 her. She turned impatiently. He was carefully examining 
 the road on both sides. 
 
 " We have either lost our way," he said, rejoining her, 
 "or the coach has turned off somewhere. These tracks are 
 not fresh, and as they are all going the same way, they were 
 made by the up coach last night. They 're not our tracks ; 
 I thought it strange we had n't sighted the coach by this 
 time." 
 
 " And then " — said Miss Cantire impatiently, 
 
 " We must turn back until we find them again." 
 
 The young lady frowned. " Why not keep on until we 
 get to the top ? " she said pettishly. " I 'm sure I shall." 
 She stopped suddenly as she caught sight of his grave face 
 and keen, observant eyes. " Why can't we go on as we 
 are ? " 
 
 " Because we are expected to come back to the coach — 
 and not to the summit merely. These are the ' orders,' and 
 you know you are a soldier's daughter ! " He laughed as 
 he spoke, but there was a certain quiet deliberation in his 
 manner that impressed her. When he added, after a pause, 
 " We must go back and tind where the tracks turned off," 
 she obeyed without a word. 
 
246 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 They walked for some time, eagerly searching for signs 
 of the missing vehicle. A curious interest and a new reli- 
 ance in Boyle's judgment obliterated her previous annoy- 
 ance, and made her more natural. She ran ahead of him 
 with youthful eagerness, examining the ground, following 
 a false clue with great animation, and confessing her defeat 
 with a charming laugh. And it was she who, after retracing 
 their steps for ten minutes, found the diverging track with 
 a girlish cry of triumph. Boyle, who had followed her 
 movements quite as interestedly as her discovery, looked a 
 little grave as he noticed the deep indentations made by 
 the struggling horses. Miss Cantire detected the change in 
 his face ; ten minutes before she would never have ob- 
 served it. " I suppose we had better follow the new 
 track," she said inquiringly, as he seemed to hesitate. 
 
 " Certainly," he said quickly, as if coming to a prompt 
 decision. "That is safest." 
 
 " What do you think has happened ? The ground looks 
 very much cut up," she said in a confidential tone, as new 
 to her as her previous observation of him. 
 
 "A horse has probably tumbled and they 've taken the 
 old trail as less difficult," said Boyle promptly. In his 
 heart he did not believe it, ye he knew that if anything 
 serious had threatened them the coach would have waited 
 in the road. " It 's an easier trai' for us, though I suppose 
 it 's a little longer," 'le added presently. 
 
 " You take everything so good-humoredly, Mr. Boyle," 
 she said after a pause. 
 
 " It 's the way to do business, Miss Cantire," he said. 
 "A man in my line has. to cultivate it." 
 
 She wished he had n't said that, but, nevertheless, she 
 returned a little archly : " But you have n't any business 
 with the stage company nor with me, although I admit I 
 intend to get my Dunstable hereafter from your firm at the 
 wholesale prices." 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAKD 247 
 
 Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, 
 softened by distance, floated down from the ridge above 
 them. " There ! " said Miss Cantire eagerly. " Do you 
 hear that ? " 
 
 His face was turned towards the distant ridge, but really 
 that she might not question his eyes. She continued with 
 animation : " That 's from the coach — to guide us — don't 
 you see ? " 
 
 "Yes," he returned, with a quick laugh, "and it says 
 hurry up — mighty quick — we 're tired waiting — so we 'd 
 better push on." 
 
 " Why don't you answer back with your revolver ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Have n't got one," he said. 
 
 " Have n't got one ? " she repeated in genuine surprise. 
 " I thought you gentlemen who are traveling always carried 
 one. Perhaps it's inconsistent with your gospel of good- 
 humor." 
 
 " That 's just it. Miss Cantire," . he said with a laugh. 
 "You've hit it." 
 
 " Why," she said hesitatingly, " even / have a derringer 
 — a very little one, you know, which I carry in my reti- 
 cule. Captain Richards gave it to me." She opened her 
 reticule and showed a pretty ivory-handled pistol. The 
 look of joyful surprise which came into his face changed 
 quickly as she cocked it and lifted it into the air. He 
 seized her arm quickly. 
 
 " No, please don't, you might want it — I mean the re- 
 port won't carry far enough. It 's a very useful little thing, 
 iov all that, but it 's only effective at close quarters." He 
 kept the pistol in his hand as they walked on. But Miss 
 Cantire noticed this, also his evident satisfaction when 
 she had at first produced it, and his concern when she was 
 about to discharge it uselessly. She was a clever girl, and 
 a frank one to those she was inclined to trust. And she 
 
248 DICK Boyle's business card 
 
 began to tiust this stranger. A smile stole along her oral 
 cheek. 
 
 " I really believe you 're afraid of something, Mr. Boyle," 
 she said, without looking up. " What is it ? You have n't 
 got that Indian scare too ? " 
 
 Boyle had no false shame. " I think I have," he re- 
 turned, with equal frankness. " You see, I don't under, 
 stand Indians as well as you — and Foster.'' • 
 
 " Well, you take my word and Foster's that there is not 
 the least danger from them. About here they are merely 
 grown-up children, cruel and destructive as most children 
 are ; but they know their masters by this time, and the old 
 days of promiscuous scalping are over. The only other 
 childish propensity they keep is thieving. Even then they 
 only steal what they actually want, — horses, guns, and pow- 
 der. A coach can go where an ammunition or an emigrant 
 wagon can't. So your trunk of samples is quite safe with 
 Foster." 
 
 Boyle did not think it necessary to protest. Perhaps he 
 was thinking of something else. 
 
 " I 've a mind," she went on slyly, " to tell you some- 
 thing more. Confidence for confidence : as you 've told me 
 your trade secrets, I '11 tell you one of ours. Before we 
 left Pine Barrens, my father ordered a small escort of 
 cavalrymen to be in readiness to join that coach if the 
 scouts, who were watching, thought it necessary. So, you 
 see, I'm something of a fraud as regards my reputation for 
 courage." 
 
 " That does n't follow," said Boyle admiringly, " for 
 your father must have thought there was some danger, or 
 he would n't have taken that precaution." 
 
 " Oh, it was n't for me," said the young girl quickly. 
 
 " Not for you ? " repeated Boyle. 
 
 Miss Cantire stopped short, with a pretty flush of color 
 jiid an adorable laugh. " There ! I 've done it, so I might 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 249 
 
 as well tell the whole story. But I can trust you, Mr. 
 Boyle." (She faced him with clear, penetrating eyes.) 
 " Well," she laughed again, " you might have noticed that 
 we had a quantity of baggage of passengers who did n't go ? 
 Well, those passengers never intended to go, and had n't 
 any baggage I Do you understand ? Those innocent-look- 
 ing heavy trunks contained carbines and cartridges from 
 our post for Fort Taylor " — she made him a mischievous 
 curtsy — " under my charge ! And," she added, enjoying 
 his astonishment, "as you saw, I brought them through 
 safe to the station, and had them transferred to this coach 
 with less fuss and trouble than a commissary transport and 
 escort would have made." 
 
 " And they were in this coach ? " repeated Boyle ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 " Were ? They are ! " said Miss Cantire. 
 
 " Then the sooner I get you back to your treasure again 
 the better," said Boyle with a laugh. " Does Foster know 
 it?" 
 
 " Of course not ! Do you suppose I 'd tell it to any- 
 body but a stranger to the place ? Perhaps, like you, I 
 know when and to whom to impart information," she said 
 mischievously. 
 
 Whatever was in Boyle's mind he had space for profound 
 and admiring astonishment oi the young lady before him. 
 The girlish simplicity and trustf\ilness of her revelation 
 seemed as inconsistent with his previous impression of her 
 reserve and independence as her girlish reasoning and 
 manner was now delightfully at variance with her tallness, 
 her aquiline nose, and her erect figure. Mr. Boyle, like 
 most short men, was apt to overestimate the qualities of 
 size. 
 
 They walked on for some moments in silence. The 
 ascent was comparatively easy but devious, and Boyle could 
 Bee that this new detour would take them Btill some time 
 
250 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 to reach the Bummit. Miss Can tire at last voiced the 
 thought in his own mind. " I wonder what induced them 
 to turn, off here ? and if you had n't heen so clever as to 
 discover their tracks, how could we have found them ? 
 But," she added, with feminine logic, " that, of course, is 
 why they fired those shots." 
 
 Boyle remembered, however, that the shots came from 
 another direction, but did not correct her conclusion. 
 Nevertheless he said lightly : " Perhaps even Foster might 
 have had an Indian scare." 
 
 " He ought to know ' friendlies ' or ' government reser- 
 vation men ' better by this time," said Miss Cantire ; 
 "however, there is something in that. Do you know," 
 she added with a laugh, " though I have n't yonr keen 
 eyes I 'm gifted with a keen scent, and once or twice I 've 
 thought I smelt Indians — that peculiar odor of their 
 camps, which is unlike anything else, and which one de- 
 tects even in their ponies. I used to notice it when I rode 
 one ; no amount of grooming could take it away." 
 
 " I don't suppose that the intensity or degree of this 
 odor would give you any idea of the hostile or friendly 
 feelings of the Indians towards you ? " asked Boyle grimly. 
 
 Although the remark was consistent with Boyle's objec- 
 tionable reputation as a humorist. Miss Cantire deigned to 
 receive it with a smile, at which Boyle, who was a little 
 relieved by their security so far, and their nearness to their 
 journey's end, developed further ingenious trifling until, at 
 the end of an hour, they stood upon the plain again. 
 
 There was no sign of the coach, but its fresh track was 
 visible leading along the bank of the ravine towards the 
 intersection of the road they should have come by, and to 
 which the coach had indubitably returned. Mr. Boyle drew 
 a long breath. They were comparatively safe from any 
 invisible attack now. At the end of ten minutes Miss 
 Cantire, from her superior height, detected the top of the 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAED 251 
 
 missing vehicle appearing above the stunted bushes at the 
 junction of the highway. 
 
 " Would you raind throwing those old flowers away 
 now ? " she said, glancing at the spoils which Boyle still 
 carried. 
 
 " Why ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, they 're too ridiculous. Please do." 
 
 " May I keep one ? " he asked, with the first intonation 
 of masculine weakness in his voice. 
 
 " If you like," she said, a little coldly. 
 
 Boyle selected a small spray of myrtle and cast the other 
 flowers obediently aside. 
 
 " Dear me, how ridiculous ! " she said. 
 
 " What is ridiculous ? " he asked, lifting his eyes to 
 hers with a slight color. But he saw that she was strain- 
 ing her eyes in the distance. 
 
 " Why, there don't seem to be any horses to the coach!" 
 
 He looked. Through a gap in the furze he could see the 
 vehicle now quite distinctly, standing empty, horseless and 
 alone. He glanced hurriedly around them ; on the one side 
 a few rocks protected them from the tangled rim of the ridge ; 
 on the other stretched the plain. " Sit down, don't move 
 until I return," he said quickly. "Take that." He handed 
 back lier pistol, and ran quickly to the coach. It was no il- 
 lusion ; there it stood vacant, abandoned, its dropped pole 
 and cut traces showing too plainly the fearful haste of its 
 desertion ! A light step behind him made him turn. It was 
 Miss Cantire, pink and breathless, carrying the cocked der- 
 ringer in her hand. " How foolish of you — without a wea- 
 pon," she gasped in explanation. 
 
 Then they both stared at the coach, the empty plain, and 
 
 at each other ! After their tedious ascent, their long detour, 
 
 their protracted expectancy and their eager curiosity, there 
 
 was such a suggestion of hideous mockery in this vacant, 
 
 ■ useless vehicle — apparently left to them in what seemed 
 
252 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS OARD 
 
 their utter abandonment — that it instinctively affected them 
 alike. And as lam writing of human nature I am compelled 
 to say that they both burst into a fit of laughter that for the 
 moment stopped all other expression ! 
 
 " It was so kind of them to leave the coach," said Miss 
 Cantire faintly, as she took her handkerchief from her wet 
 and mirthful eyes. " But what made them run away ? " 
 
 Boyle did not reply ; he was eagerly examining the coach. 
 In that brief hour and a half the dust of the plain had blown 
 thick upon it, and covered any foul stain or blot that might 
 have suggested the awful truth. Even the soft imprint of the 
 Indians' moccasined feet had been trampled out by the later 
 horse hoofs of the cavalrymen. It was these that first 
 attracted Boyle's attention, but he thought them the marks 
 -made by the plunging of the released coach horses. 
 
 Not so his companion ! She was examining them more 
 closely, and suddenly lifted her bright, animated face. 
 " Look I " she said; "our men have been here, and have 
 had a hand in this — whatever it is." 
 
 " Our men ? " repeated Boyle blankly. 
 
 " Yes ! — troopers from the post — the escort I told you 
 of. These are the prints of the regulation cavalry horse- 
 shoe — not of Foster's team, nor of Indian ponies, who 
 never have any ! Don't you see ? " she went on eagerly ; 
 " our men have got wind of something and have galloped 
 down here — along the ridge — see ! " she went on, point- 
 ing to the hoof prints coming from the plain. " They 've 
 anticipated some Indian attack and secured everything." 
 
 " But if they were the same escort you spoke of, they must 
 have known you were here, and have " — he was about to 
 say " abandoned you," but checked himself, remembering 
 they were her father's soldiers. 
 
 " They knew I could take care of myself, and would n't 
 stand in the way of their duty," said the young girl, antici- 
 pating him with quick professional pride that seemed to fit 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD, 253 
 
 her aquiline nose and tall figure. " And if they knew that," 
 she added, softening with a mischievous smile, " they also 
 knew, of course, that I was protected by a gallant stranger 
 vouched for by Mr. Foster ! No ! " she added, with a cer- 
 tain blind, devoted confidence, which Boyle noticed with a 
 slight wince that she had never shown before, " it 's all right ! 
 and ' by orders,' Mr. Boyle, and when they 've done their 
 work they '11 be back." 
 
 But Boyle's masculine common sense was, perhaps, safer 
 than Miss Cantire's feminine faith and inherited discipline, 
 for in an instant he suddenly comprehended the actual truth ! 
 The Indians had been there first ; they had despoiled the 
 coach and got off safely with their booty and prisoners on 
 the approach of the escort, who were now naturally pursu- 
 ing them with a fury aroused by the belief that their com- 
 mander's daughter was one of their prisoners. This convic- 
 tion was a dreadful one, yet a relief as far as the young girl 
 was concerned. But should he tell her ? No ! Better 
 that she should keep her calm faith in the triumphant 
 promptness of the soldiers — and their speedy return. 
 
 " I dare say you are right," he said cheerfully, " and let 
 us be thankful that in the empty coach you 'U have at least 
 a half-civilized shelter until they return. Meantime I '11 go 
 and reconnoitre a little." 
 
 " I will go with you," she said. 
 
 But Boyle pointed out to her so strongly the necessity 
 of her remaining to wait for the return of the soldiers that, 
 being also fagged out by her long climb, she obediently con- 
 sented, while he, even with his inspiration of the truth, did 
 not believe in the return of the despoilers, and knew she 
 would be safe. 
 
 He made his way to the nearest thicket, where he rightly 
 believed the ambush had been prepared, and to which un- 
 doubtedly they first retreated with their booty. He expected 
 to find some signs or traces of their spoil which in their haste 
 
254 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 they had to abandon. He was more successful than he an> 
 ticipated. A few steps into the thicket brought him full 
 upon a realization of more than his worst convictions — the 
 dead body of Foster ! Near it lay the body of the mail agent. 
 Both had been evidently dragged into the thicket from where 
 they fell, scalped and half stripped. There was no evidence 
 of any later struggle ; they must have been dead when they 
 were brought there. 
 
 Boyle was neither a hard-hearted nor an unduly sensitive 
 man. His vocation had brought him peril enough by land 
 and water; he had often rendered valuable assistance to 
 others, his sympathy never confusing his directness and com- 
 mon sense. He was sorry for these two men, and would 
 have fought to save them. But he had no imaginative 
 ideas of death. And his keen perception of the truth was 
 consequently sensitively alive only to that grotesqueness 
 of aspect which too often the hapless victims of violence are 
 apt to assume. He saw no agony in the vacant eyes of the 
 two men lying on their backs in apparently the complacent 
 abandonment of drunkenness, which was further simulated 
 by their tumbled and disordered hair matted by coagulated 
 blood, which, however, had lost its sanguine color. He 
 thought only of the unsuspecting girl sitting in the lonely 
 coach, and hurriedly dragged them further into the bushes. 
 In doing this he discovered a loaded revolver and a flask of 
 spirits which had been lying under them, and promptly 
 secured them. A few paces away lay the coveted trunks 
 of arms and ammunition, their lids wrenched off and their 
 contents gone. He noticed with a grim smile that his own 
 trunks of samples had shared a like fate, but was delighted 
 to find that while the brighter trifles had attracted the In- 
 dians' childish cupidity they had overlooked a heavy black 
 merino shawl of a cheap but serviceable quality. It would 
 help to protect Miss Cantire from the evening wind, which 
 was already rising over the chill and stark plain. It also 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CAR© 255 
 
 occurred to him that she would need water after her parched 
 journey, and he resolved to look for a spring, being rewarded 
 at last by a trickling rill near the ambush camp. But he 
 had no utensil except the spirit flask, which he finally emptied 
 of its contents and replaced with the pure water — a heroic 
 sacrifice to a traveler who knew the comfort of a stimulant. 
 He retraced his steps, and was just emerging from the thicket 
 when his quick eye caught sight of a moving shadow before 
 him close to the ground, which set the hot blood coursing 
 through his veins. 
 
 It was the figure of an Indian crawling on his hands and 
 knees towards the coach, scarcely forty yards away. For the 
 first time that afternoon Boyle's calm good-humor was over- 
 swept by a blind and furious rage. Yet even then he was 
 sane enough to remember that a pistol shot would alarm the 
 girl, and to keep that weapon as a last resource. For an 
 instant he crept forward as silently and stealthily as the 
 savage, and then, with a sudden bound, leaped upon him, 
 driving his head and shoulders down against the rocks before 
 he could utter a cry, and sending the scalping knife he was 
 carrying between his teeth flying with the shock from his 
 battered jaw. Boyle seized it — his knee still in the man's 
 back — but the prostrate body never moved beyond a slight 
 contraction of the lower limbs. The shock had broken the 
 Indian's neck. He turned the inert man on his back — the 
 head hung loosely on the side. But in that brief instant 
 Boyle had recognized the "friendly" Indian of the station 
 to whom he had given the card. 
 
 He rose dizzily to his feet. The whole action bad passed 
 in a few seconds of time, and had not even been noticed by 
 the sole occupant of the coach. He mechanically cocked 
 his revolver, but the man beneath him never moved again. 
 Neither was there any sign of flight or reinforcement from 
 the thicket around him. Again the whole truth flashed -J.pon 
 him. This spy and traitor had been left behi^a by the 
 
256 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 marauders to return to the station and avert suspicion ; ha 
 had been lurking around, but being without firearms, had 
 not dared to attack the pair together. 
 
 It was a moment or two before Boyle regained his usual 
 elastic good-humor. Then he coolly returned to the spring, 
 " washed himself of the Indian," as he grimly expressed it 
 to himself, brushed his clothes, picked up the shawl and 
 flask, and returned to the coach. It was getting dark now, 
 but the glow of the western sky shone unimpeded through 
 the windows, and the silence gave him a great fear. He was 
 relieved, however, on opening the door, to find Miss Cantire 
 sitting stiffly in a corner. " I am sorry I was so long," he 
 said, apologetically to her attitude, " but " — 
 
 " I suppose you took your own time," she interrupted in 
 a voice of injured tolerance. " I don't blame you ; any- 
 thing 's better than being cooped up in this tiresome stage 
 for goodness knows how long ! " 
 
 "I was hunting for water," he said humbly, "and have 
 brought you some." He handed her the flask. 
 
 " And I see you have had a wash," she said a little envi- 
 ously. "How spick and span you look! But what's the 
 matter with your necktie ? " 
 
 He put bis hand to his neck hurriedly. His necktie was 
 loose, and had twisted to one side in the .struggle. He col- 
 ored quite as much from the sensitiveness of a studiously 
 neat man as from the fear of discovery. "And what's 
 that ? " she added, pointing to the shawl. 
 
 " One of my samples that I suppose was turned out of 
 the coach and forgotten in the transfer," he said glibly. " I 
 thought it might keep you warm." 
 
 She looked at it dubiously and laid it gingerly aside. 
 " You don't mean to say you go about with such things 
 openly ? " she said querulously. 
 
 " Yeo, ■■>ne mustn't lose a chance of trade, you know," 
 be resumed with a smile. 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 257 
 
 "And you haven't found this journey very profitahle," 
 she said dryly. "You certainly are devoted to your husi- 
 ness ! " After a pause, discontentedly: "It's quite night 
 already — we can't sit here in the dark." 
 
 " We can take one of the coach lamps inside ; they 're 
 still there. I've been thinking the matter over, and I 
 reckon if we leave one lighted outside the coach it may 
 guide your friends back." He had considered it, and be- 
 lieved that the audacity of the act, coupled with the know- 
 ledge the Indians must have of the presence of the soldiers 
 in the vicinity, would deter rather than invite their ap- 
 proach. 
 
 She brightened considerably with the coach lamp which 
 he lit and brought inside. By its light she watched him 
 curiously. His face was slightly flushed and his eyes very 
 bright and keen looking. Man killing, except with old 
 professional hands, has the disadvantage of affecting the 
 circulation. 
 
 But Miss Cantire had noticed that the flask smelt of 
 whiskey. The poor man had probably fortified himself from 
 the fatigues of the day. 
 
 " I suppose you are getting bored by this delay," she said 
 tentatively. 
 
 " Not at all," he replied. " Would you like to play 
 cards ? I 've got a pack in my pocket. We can use the 
 middle seat as a table, and hang the lantern by the window 
 strap." 
 
 She assented languidly from the back seat ; he was on the 
 front seat, with the middle seat for a table between them. 
 First Mr. Boyle showed her some tricks with the cards and 
 kindled her momentary and flashing interest in a mysteri- 
 ously evoked but evanescent knave. Then they played 
 euchre, at which Miss Cantire cheated adorably, and Mr. 
 Boyle lost game after game shamelessly. Then once or 
 twice Miss Cantire was fain to put her cards to her mouth 
 
258 DICK BOYLE'S business CAED 
 
 to conceal an apologetic yawn, and her blue-veined eyelids, 
 grew heavy. Whereupon Mr. Boyle suggested that she 
 should make herself comfortable in the corner of the coach 
 with as many cushions as she liked and the despised shawl, 
 while he took the night air in a prowl around the coach and 
 a lookout for the returning party. Doing so, he was de- 
 lighted, after a turn or two, to find her asleep, and so re- 
 turned contentedly to his sentry round. 
 
 He was some distance from the coach when a low moan- 
 ing sound in the thicket presently increased until it rose 
 and fell in a prolonged howl that was repeated from the 
 darkened plains beyond. He recognized the voice of wolves ; 
 he instinctively felt the sickening cause of it. They had 
 scented the dead bodies, and he now regretted that he had 
 left his own victim so near the coach. He was hastening 
 thither when a cry,- this time human and more terrifying, 
 came from the coach. He turned towards it as its door 
 flew open and Miss Cantire came rushing toward him. Her 
 face was colorless, her eyes wild with fear, and her tall, slim 
 figure trembled convulsively as she frantically caught at 
 the lapels of his coat, as if to hide herself within its folds, 
 and gasped breathlessly, — 
 
 " What is it ? Oh ! Mr. Boyle, save me ! " 
 
 " They are wolves,'' he said hurriedly. " But there is 
 no danger ; they would never attack you ; you were safe 
 where you were ; let me lead you back." 
 
 But she remained rooted to the spot, still clinging des- 
 perately to his coat. "No, no! " she said, "I dare not! 
 I heard that awful cry in my sleep. I looked out and saw 
 it — a dreadful creature with yellow eyes and tongue, and 
 a sickening breath as it passed between the wheels just 
 below me. Ah ! What 's that ? " and she again lapsed in 
 nervous terror against him. 
 
 Boyle passed his arm around her promptly, firmly, mas- 
 terfully. She seemed to feel the implied protection, and 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 259 
 
 yielded to it gratefully, with the further hreakdown of a sob. 
 " There is no danger," he repeated cheerfully. " Wolves 
 are not good to look at, I know, but they would n't have 
 attacked you. The beast only scents some carrion on the 
 plain, and you probably frightened him more than he did 
 you. Lean on me," he continued as her step tottered j 
 " you will be better in the coach." 
 
 " And you won't leave me alone again ? " she said in 
 hesitating terror. 
 
 "No!" 
 
 He supported her to the coach gravely, gently — her 
 inaster and still more his own — for all that her beautiful 
 loosened hair was against his cheek and shoulder, its per- 
 fume in his nostrils, and the contour of her lithe and perfect 
 figure against his own. He helped her back into the coach, 
 with the aid of the cushions and shawl arranged a reclin- 
 ing couch for her on the back seat, and then resumed his old 
 place patiently. By degrees the color came back to her 
 face — as much of it as was not hidden by her handkerchief. 
 
 Then a tremulous voice behind it began a half-smothered 
 apology. " I am so ashamed, Mr. Boyle — I really could 
 not help it ! But it was so sudden — and so horrible — I 
 should n't have been afraid of it had it been really an In- 
 dian with a scalping knife — instead of that beast ! I don't 
 know why I did it — but I was alone — and seemed to be 
 dead — and you were dead too — and they were coming to 
 eat me ! They do, you know — you said so just now ! Per- 
 haps I was dreaming. I don't know what you must think 
 of me — I had no idea I was such a coward ! " 
 
 But Boyle protested indignantly. He was sure if 7ie had 
 been asleep and had not known what wolves were before, 
 he would have been equally frightened. She must try to 
 go to sleep again — he was sure she could — and he would 
 not stir from the coach until she waked, or her friends 
 came. 
 
'260 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 She grew quieter presently, and took away the handker- 
 chief from a mouth that smiled though it still quivered ; 
 then reaction began, and her tired nerves brought her lan- 
 guor and finally repose. Boyle watched the shadows thicken 
 around her long lashes until they lay softly on the faint 
 flush that sleep was bringing to her cheek ; her delicate lips 
 parted, and her quick breath at last came with the regular- 
 ity of slumber. 
 
 So she slept, and he, sitting silently opposite her, dreamed 
 — the old dream that comes to most good men and true once 
 in their lives. He scarcely moved uhtU the dawn lightened 
 with opal the dreary plain, bringing back the horizon and 
 day, when he woke from his dream with a sigh, and then a 
 laugh. Then he listened for the sound of distant hoofs, and 
 hearing them, crept noiselessly from the coach. A compact 
 body of horsemen were bearing down upon it. He rose 
 quickly to meet them, and throwing up his hand, brought 
 them to a halt at some distance from the coach. They 
 spread out, resolving themselves into a dozen troopers and 
 a smart young cadet-like officer. 
 
 " If you are seeking Miss Cantire," he said in a quiet, 
 businesslike tone, " she is quite safe in the coach and asleep. 
 She knows nothing yet of what has happened, and believes 
 it is you who have taken everything away for security against 
 an Indian attack. She has had a pretty rough night — 
 what with her fatigue and her alarm at the wolves — and I 
 thought it best to keep the truth from her as long as pos- 
 sible, and I would advise you to break it to her gently." 
 He then briefly told the story of their experiences, omitting 
 only his own personal encounter with the Indian. A new 
 pride, which was perhaps the result of his vigil, prevented 
 him. 
 
 The young officer glanced at him with as much courtesy 
 as might be afforded to a civilian intruding upon active 
 military operations. "I am sure Major Cantire will be 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 261 
 
 greatly obliged to you when he knows it," he said politely, 
 " and as we intend to harness up and take the coach back to 
 Sage Wood Station immediately, you will have an opportu- 
 nity of telling him." 
 
 " I am not going back by the coach to Sage Wood," said 
 Boyle quietly. " I have already lost twelve hours of my 
 time — as well as my trunk — on this picnic, and I reckon 
 the least Major Cantire can do is to let me take one of your 
 horses to the next station in time to catch the down coach. 
 I can do it, if I set out at once." 
 
 Boyle heard his name, with the familiar prefix of " Dicky," 
 given to the officer by a commissary sergeant, whom he re- 
 cognized as having met at the Agency, and the words " Cliicago 
 drummer " added, while a perceptible smile went through- 
 out the group. " Very well, sir," said the officer, with a 
 familiarity a shade less respectful than his previous formal 
 manner. " You can take the horse, as I believe the In- 
 dians have already made free with your samples. Give him 
 a mount, sergeant." 
 
 The two men walked towards the coach. Boyle lingered 
 a moment at the window to show him the figure of Miss 
 Cantire still peacefully slumbering among her pile of cush- 
 ions, and then turned quietly away. A moment later he 
 was galloping on one of the troopers' horses across the empty 
 plain. 
 
 Miss Cantire awoke presently to the sound of a familiar 
 voice and the sight of figures that she knew. But the young 
 officer's first words of explanation — a guarded account of the 
 pursuit of the Indians and the recapture of the arms, sup- 
 pressing the killing of Foster and the mail agent — brought 
 a change to her brightened face and a wrinkle to her pretty 
 brow. 
 
 " But Mr. Boyle said nothing of this to me," she said, 
 sitting up. " Where is he ? " 
 
262 DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 
 
 " Already on his way to the next station on one of oui 
 horses ! Wanted to catch the down stage and get a new 
 box of samples, I fancy, as the braves had rigged themselves 
 out with his laces and ribbons. Said he 'd lost time enough 
 on this picnic," returned the young officer, with a laugh. 
 " Smart business chap ; but I hope he did n't bore you ? " 
 
 Miss Cantire felt her cheek flush, and bit her lip. " I 
 found him most kind and considerate, Mr. Ashford," she 
 said coldly. " He may have thought the escort could 
 have joined the coach a little earlier, and saved all this ; 
 but he was too much of a gentleman to say anything about 
 it to me," she added dryly, with a slight elevation of her 
 aquiline nose. 
 
 Nevertheless Boyle's last words stung her deeply. To 
 hurry off, too, without saying " good-by," or even asking 
 how she slept ! No doubt he had lost time, and was tired 
 of her company, and thought more of his precious samples 
 than of her ! After all, it was like him to rush off for an 
 order ! 
 
 She was half inclined to call the young officer back and 
 tell him how Boyle had criticised her costume on the road. 
 But Mr. Ashford was at that time entirely preoccupied with 
 his men around a ledge of rock and bushes some yards from 
 the coach, yet not so far away but that she could hear what 
 they said. " I '11 swear there was no dead Injin here when 
 we came yesterday ! We searched the whole place — by 
 daylight, too — for any sign. The Injin was killed in his 
 tracks by some one last night. It 's like Dick Boyle, lieu- 
 tenant, to have done it, and like him to have said nothin' 
 to frighten the young lady. He knows when to keep his 
 mouth shut — and when to open it." 
 
 Miss Cantire sank back in her corner as the officer turned 
 and approached the coach. The incident of the past night 
 flashed back upon her — Mr. Boyle's long absence, his 
 flushed face, twisted necktie, and enforced cheerfulness. She 
 
DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD 263 
 
 was shocked, amazed, discomfited — and admiring ! And 
 tliis hero had been sitting opposite to her, silent all the rest 
 of the night ! 
 
 " Did Mr. Boyle say anything of an Indian attack last 
 night ? " asked Ashford. " Did you hear anything ? " 
 
 " Only the wolves howling," said Miss Cantire. " Mr. 
 Boyle was away twice." She was strangely reticent — in 
 complimentary imitation of her missing hero. 
 
 " There 's a dead Indian here who has been killed," be- 
 gan Ashford. 
 
 " Oh, please don't say anything more, Mr. Ashford," in- 
 terrupted the young lady, " but let us get away from this 
 horrid place at once. Do get the horses in. I can't stand it.'* 
 
 But the horses were already harnessed and mounted, 
 postilion-wise, by the troopers. The vehicle was ready to 
 start when Miss Cantire called " Stop ! " 
 
 When Ashford presented himself at the door, the young 
 lady was upon her hands and knees, searching the bottom 
 of the coach. "Oh, dear! I've lost something. I must 
 have dropped it on the road," she said breathlessly, with 
 pink cheeks. " You must positively wait and let me go 
 back and find it. I won't be long. You know there 's 
 ' no hurry.' " 
 
 Mr. Ashford stared as Miss Cantire skipped like a school- 
 girl from the coach and ran down the trail by which she 
 and Boyle had approached the coach the night before. She 
 had not gone far before she came upon the withered flowers 
 he had thrown away at her command. " It must be about 
 here," she murmured. Suddenly she uttered a cry of 
 delight, and picked up the business card that Boyle had 
 shown her. Then she looked furtively around her, and, 
 selecting a sprig of myrtle among the cast-off flowers, con- 
 cealed it in her mantle and ran back, glowing, to the coach. 
 " Thank you ! All right, I 've found it," she called to 
 Ashford, with a dazzling smile, and leaped inside. 
 
264 DICK Boyle's business card 
 
 The coach drove on, and Miss Cantire, alone in its re- 
 cesses, drew the myrtle from her mantle and folding it care- 
 fully in her handkerchief, placed it in her reticule. Then 
 she drew out the card, read its dryly practical information 
 over and over again, examined the soiled edges, brushed 
 them daintily, and held it for a moment, with eyes that saw 
 not, motionless in her hand. Then she raised it slowly to 
 her lips, rolled it into a spiral, and, loosening a hook and 
 eye, thrust it gently into her bosom. 
 
 And Dick Boyle, galloping away to the distant station, 
 did not know that the first step towards a realization of his 
 foolish dream had been taken ! 
 
APPENDIX 
 
GLOSSARY OF FAR-WESTERN TERMS 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 Since the first publication of these stories, so many of 
 the idiomatic expressions originating in the West, South- 
 west, and California Coast of America have become current, 
 and in some cases incorporated in the dictionaries, that a 
 glossary of those comprised in the present volumes may 
 seem gratuitous and impertinent. Nevertheless, the com- 
 piler has selected a few of the more local and characteristic, 
 and has endeavored to give in addition to their generally 
 accepted meaning, some account of their derivation. For 
 many of these phrases, although generally accepted in their 
 original meaning have, in the course of years, become so 
 abridged and condensed as no longer to convey by their 
 mere terms any comprehensive idea or awaken any consecu- 
 tive thought. That tremendously emphatic Westernism, 
 "You bet!" may be offered as an instance. To a for- 
 eigner it conveys nothing, although as it first caught the 
 public fancy in its original form, " You can bet your life 
 on it," it was capable of translation. "You get!" is 
 another instance of this abbreviation. It stood originally 
 as "You get out of this!" — but the abbreviated form is 
 unintelligible without this recollection. The well-known 
 idyl of the stranger who, awakening one night at a Cali- 
 fornia hotel, saw a burglar entering his window, is a case 
 in point. " You get ! " he said, leveling his revolver at 
 the intruder. " You bet ! " was the prompt rejoinder of the 
 
268 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 burglar as he disappeared. Yet these four purely legitimate 
 English words, each intelligible in themselves, are not 
 comprehensible to the average English reader without the 
 omitted portion of the sentence. The well-known Califor- 
 nian imperative to silence, " Dry up," was finally reduced to 
 " Dry," and became meaningless. A more modern instance 
 of this condensation may be seen in the saying, " It will be 
 a cold day in June when I do so and so ; " i. e. an improb- 
 able contingency. Yet this is now abbreviated to unintei- 
 ligibility, as " It will be a cold day when I do so and so." 
 It is important that the derivation should endeavor to be 
 accurate rather than ingenious. The compiler found in an 
 English glossary of the present volumes the grave explana- 
 tion that the phrase, " handing in one's checks," referred to 
 the change from the checked shirt of the frontier to the 
 white shirt of civilization when the stranger came home. 
 Contrast this with the original in the gambler's grim illus- 
 tration of Death's last reckoning, and the balancing of 
 accounts at the end of the life-long game ! The saying, 
 " to take the cake," which had its origin in the well-known 
 prize " walk " of the negro waiter, at the American water- 
 ing-place hotel, has become popular in England, but is now 
 known under its delightful English paraphrase of " taking 
 the Huntley and Palmer," the celebrated English cake and 
 biscuit manufacturers. One can imagine the future philo- 
 logist hopelessly involved in this new obscurity, and can 
 easily conceive that the eventual doom of all slang may be 
 that it shall become too recondite rather than too vulgar. 
 Most of the words or phrases given below are not so remote 
 in origin but that their derivations can be arrived at with 
 some degree of accuracy. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 Adobe (Span.). 1. Bricks made of earth and horsehair or 
 
 straw, used without mortar. 2. The rich, unctuous loam 
 
 used for this purpose, but of great fertile quality. 
 Ayuntiamento (Span.). Provincial legislative assembly. 
 Arroyo (Span.). " Rivulet," but generally used to express a 
 
 dry watercourse between rocky banks. 
 Alcalde (Span.). Justice of the Peace. After the American 
 
 occupation of California, the first Justices of the Peace were 
 
 called Alcaldes. 
 Agua bendita (Span.). Holy water. 
 Aguinaldo (Span.). New year or Christmas gift. 
 Alameda (Span.). Grove or alley of poplar trees. 
 Almorjal. Marshy gi-ound where cattle graze. 
 Buckeye. A smaller variety of the horse chestnut, " ^sculus 
 
 glabra." 
 Bower (right). The knave of trumps in " euchre ; " the best 
 
 card. 
 BoTver (left). The knave of the same color as trumps and the 
 
 second best card. 
 Bunk. A wooden berth or bed built against the inner wall of 
 
 a cabin. 
 Blaze. Notch in the bark of a tree, used as a guide post. " To 
 
 blaze " a tree, i. e. to notch trees to indicate a way or passage 
 
 through a forest. 
 Bluff. To lay odds on a worthless hand at cards — to deceive 
 
 by ostentation or bluster. 
 Blue grass. The region of Blue Grass meadow in Kentucky, 
 
 famous for grazing ; hence " a Blue Grass horse." 
 Buck. 1. " Bucking," or " buck jumping," the peculiar leap of 
 
 the half broken muslang of Texas and California intended to 
 
 dislodge the rider. It is a jump made with a-fe.linely arched 
 
 back and a finishing jolt with rigid legs on alighting. 2. " To 
 
 buck against faro," " to buck against the tiger " (i. e. monie) 
 
 to hopelessly take risks in gambling games. 
 Borrachon. Drunkard. 
 
?70 GLOSSAEY OF FAR WESTERN TERMS 
 
 Bits (two). Twenty-five cents. A "bit" was originally the 
 name given to the Spanish shilling. 
 
 Broncho (Span.). The native horse of California and the 
 plains. 
 
 Canyon or Canon (Span.). " A tunnel," a ravine, or precipi- 
 tous valley between high rocks, with or ■without a water- 
 course. 
 Jbipa. Counters or "checks" used to represent money in 
 gambling. 
 
 Cache (Fr.). A cavity used or made by traders and hunters 
 
 to receive provisions and stores they wish to conceal. 
 Oamarero (Span.). The chamberlain. The head servant in 
 great houses. 
 
 Ca&ada. A Spanish diminutive of Canon. See Canon. 
 
 Caramba (Span.). A familiar Spanish oath. 
 
 Cavorting. To prance ; to move about rapidly. 
 
 Chaparral (Span.). Chaparro: evergreen oak tree, but used 
 to describe any dense thicket of low bushes. 
 
 Checks. Counters. " To pass in one's checks," i. e. to go to 
 one's final account. 
 
 Chimisal. A local name in California, Texas, and Mexico for 
 the grease wood. From the Spanish chamiza : wild reed or 
 cane. 
 
 Chipper. Active, merry, brisk, lively. 
 
 Corral (Span.). A stockaded inolosure for cattle or horses. 
 
 Corregldor. Spanish magistrate, mayor of a town. 
 
 Coyote (Span.). The prairie wolf. The California variety is 
 somewhat smaller in size. 
 
 Cuarto (Span.). Room, apartment. 
 
 Cuervos (Span.). Ravens. 
 
 Dandy-nigger. Something superior, or first class. 
 
 Dead beat. To sponge ; to live upon others. 
 
 Diggers. California Indians who dig for roots as food. A 
 name of contempt. 
 
 Disparatado (Span.). Inconsistent; extravagant; foolish. 
 
 Divide. Portion of ridge which separates one ravine from an- 
 other, sending the waters from the slopes in different direc- 
 tions. 
 
 Dod blasted ; Dog goned. Euphemisms veiling much stronger 
 oaths. 
 
 •Dry up." To "shut up," i. e. cease talking. Allusion is 
 made elsewhere to the local significance of this expression 
 
GLOSSARY OF FAK WESTERN TEEMS 271 
 
 for evaporated fluency in a country of six months' di'ought 
 
 and dried-up rivers. 
 Dust — Dusted. To run away. " He got up and dusted." 
 Bminal (Span.). Wood of evergreen oak. 
 Encinal (Span.). Wood of evergreen oak. 
 Erpadachio (Span.). A bully ; a braggart. 
 Espadachio (Span.). A bully ; a braggart. 
 Falda (Span.). That part of a hill or mountain that slopes or 
 
 breaks into the plain. 
 Flamdoodle. Nonsensical vain boasting, i. e. "flapdoodle." 
 Flapjack. A griddle-cooked pancake. 
 
 Flume. A narrow passage confining water for turning a mill- 
 wheel, or more frequently au aqueduct of wood, conveying 
 
 water to sluice boxes. 
 Fonda (Span.). Hotel ; inn ; lodging-house. 
 Galoot. A grotesque or humorous equivalent for " man " or 
 
 " person," i. e. " chap." 
 Git ! You git ! ' i. e. " Go ! " An abbreviated imperative of 
 
 " Get out." 
 Gopher. Generic name for mining or burrowing animals. 
 
 Applied to a species of mole in California, and in the South 
 
 to a land turtle. 
 Greaser. Name given to the lower class of Mexicans. It 
 
 originated during the Mexican war. 
 Great Scott! A mild form of oath where the name of a 
 
 famous American general is substituted for tlie Deity. 
 Ground sluicing. The process common among miners of 
 
 washing down the sides of banks by jets of water. 
 Gulch. A ravine. Gulch mining : mining in gulches. A gulch 
 
 is smaller than a canon. 
 Hacienda (Span.). Farm, estate. 
 Hasta maSiana (Span.). Till to-morrow. 
 " Head." To "put a head " on any one, indicated the process 
 
 of, by the damaging results of a fisticufE fight on the face 
 
 and head. 
 "Heeled." "Armed." Possibly from the fact that the revolver 
 
 usually hung from the belt behindi 
 Indian giver ; Injin giver. An expression applied to those 
 
 who expect a valuable return for their gifts, or who take 
 
 them back. 
 Jay bird. The blue " jay " — a synonym for a dandy. 
 Jumper. The party who ejects and succeeds the squatter " in 
 
272 GLOSSARY OF FAR WESTERN TERMS 
 
 possession " or occupancy, but equally 'without title to the 
 land. 
 
 Iiambaste. To beat. 
 
 Iiaiiat; Riata. A twisted or braided rawhide or horsehair 
 rope, used for catching or tethering cattle and horses. 
 
 Zilano (Span.). Level; plain; smooth. 
 
 Lick (First). First chance ; first choice. 
 
 Lo que es elmundo (Span.). Literally, " Whatisthe world ! " 
 Equivalent to " the way the world goes." 
 
 " Iio." The first word of Pope's famous apostrophe, " Lo, the 
 poor Lidian," humorously used in the far West as a distin- 
 guishing title for the aborigine. 
 
 MadroSo (Span.). Strawberry tree — Arbutus unedo — the 
 most picturesque of California sylva; fruit of the straw- 
 berry tree. 
 
 Majordomo. Steward, superintendent. 
 
 Manano per la manana. To-morrow morning. 
 
 Manzanillo and Manzanilla, diminutives of manzano, an ap- 
 ple-tree. A shrub or bush (Arctosiaphylos) bearing red and 
 yeUow berries like crab apples. 
 
 Mariposa (Span.). Butterfly; also the name for a flower 
 whose petals have the iris of a butterfly's wing. 
 
 Mestiza (Span.). The offspring of a white man and an Indian 
 woman. 
 
 Muchaoha (Span.). Girl, lass. 
 
 Muchacho (Span.). Boy, lad. 
 
 Mustang (Span.). Horse of Spanish and Indian breed. 
 
 Nary. The great Western negative for " not any." 
 
 Nigger luck. Inconsequent good luck ; the luck of igno- 
 rance or incapacity, as opposed to skill and judgment. A 
 popular belief in the mines regarding "strikes," or the 
 discovery of " leads " and " pockets," by " greenhorns " or 
 strangers. 
 
 Ornery. Corruption of " ordinary," with a spice of contempt. 
 
 Osos (Span.). Bears. 
 
 Outcrop. The upheaval of strata above the surface, indicat- 
 ing the quality of mineral below. 
 
 Pay dirt; Pay gravel. A miner's term, signifying earth 
 which it " pays " to work. 
 
 Pasear (Span.). Walk ; promenade. 
 
 Patio (Span.). Inner courtyard. 
 
 Peart. Corruption of " pert." 
 
GLOSSARY OF FAR WESTERN TERMS 273 
 
 FeOn (Span.). Laborer, servant, workingman. 
 
 Pesos (Span.). Spanish coin ; dollar ; piaster; piece of eight. 
 
 Peter out (to). To exhaust or be exhausted ; generally to 
 diminish feebly in quantity. 
 
 Pocket. A deposit where, in mining for gold, a quantity of 
 the metal is found accumulated. It is isolated, and distinct 
 from a " vein " or " lead." 
 
 Pike. A Calif ornian name given particularly and originally to 
 emigrants from Pike County, Missouri ; a cant term for a 
 very rustic Southwestern or Western farmer. 
 
 Pile. A gambler's term for a good round sum, but most gen- 
 erally the sum total, as " he went his whole pile." 
 
 Placer (Span.) digging. Locality where gold is found mixed 
 with surface earth. 
 
 Plug. A horse. 
 
 Poco mas o menos (Span.). More or less. 
 
 Pooo tiempo (Span.). " One moment ! Wait a bit." 
 
 Posada. House; dwellingplace. 
 
 Posse (Latin). A company ; a party. 
 
 Presidio (Span.). A garrisoned place or fort. 
 
 Pueblo (Span.). A village; a township. 
 
 Purp stuff. Food for a puppy, or " purp" ; feeble nonsense ; 
 idle or silly talk. 
 
 Quien sabe (Span.). Who knows? 
 
 Ranchero. Farmer ; cattle raiser. 
 
 Rancho (Span.). A cattle station or farm. 
 
 RiSIe. Corruption of "ripple," i. e. to "make the riffle," to 
 get into the channel and secure soundings ; a term used on 
 the Mississippi. 
 
 S ; The Four S's — Sano, Solo, Soliesto y Seguto. Given 
 in praise ; " wholesome, single, sympathetic, and discreet." 
 
 Sabe (Span.). From saber, " to know." Also, to have know- 
 ledge or experience, as " he has a good deal of sale." Oddly 
 enough, the negative form, " no sabe," was used entirely by 
 the Chinese, as " no shabbee," to express a want of compre- 
 hension or understanding of the speaker. 
 
 Sembi cuaoa (Span.). A Spanish dance, of Moorish origin. 
 
 Serape (Span.). A Mexican blanket worn by men. 
 
 Shucks. Outer shell of various food stuffs, Indian corn, etc. 
 " Not worth shucks " denotes worthlessness. 
 
 Shyster. Low-class criminal lawyers hanging about the lavj 
 courts. 
 
274 GLOSSARY OF FAE 'WESTERN TEEMS 
 
 Skyugle. To steal ; to convey by stealth. 
 
 Slouch (No). To be " no slouch ; " one deserving of praise 
 for ability, cleverness, and energy. Always used in the nega- 
 tive. 
 
 Sluice or Sluice-boz. A trough used by miners in washing 
 earth to find gold. 
 
 SlumgulUon. The thick viscid refuse of the sluice-boxes, gen- 
 erally of highly colored red ferruginous clay and water; 
 mud. 
 
 Snake-root. Indian remedy for snake bites. 
 
 Snoop (to). To put in an appearance by stealth. 
 
 So long. Good-by. Origin unknown. 
 
 Tailings. The refuse gravel and stones thrown out of a sluice- 
 box after the gold has been precipitated. 
 
 Temblor (Span.). Earthquake. 
 
 Tienda (Span.). A shop; a store. 
 
 Tortillas (Span.). A pancake ; an omelet ; sometimes any 
 crisp cake. 
 
 Tules. Mexican names for reed-like grasses spreading over 
 large marshy districts in the Southwestern States. 
 
 Va XTsted con Dios (Span.). The usual Spanish salutation : 
 " Go with God." 
 
 Vamose. Derived from the Spanish vamos, and colloquially 
 "to go; " "Vamose the ranch," to leave the house. 
 
 Vaquero (Span.). A cowboy ; a herdsman. 
 
 VientoB genesules (Span.). Trade winds. The prevailing 
 winds of California are the summer "northwest trades" 
 and the winter " southwest trades." 
 
 Verba buena (Span.). "Good herb." Micromeria Douglassii. 
 A species of Mentha, valuable as a tisane or fermentation. 
 The original name of San Francisco, still retained by aL 
 uslaad in the harbor. 
 
AN INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 IN THE 
 
 STORIES AND ROMANCES OF BRET HARTE 
 
 Abner. See Blossom ; Dean ; Ingomar ; Mulrady ; Nott. 
 
 Addy. A schoolgirl at the Crammer Institute for Young 
 Ladies. An Episode o/Fiddletown. 
 
 Ad^Ie. See L'Hommadieu. 
 
 Adlerkreutz, General. Commanding at Schlachtstadt. A grim 
 but gentle veteran. Unser Karl. 
 
 Admiralty, The First Lord of the. An uncle of John Gale, 
 much troubled by models of battle-ships, that will capsize in his 
 bath-tub. GoUi/ and the Christian (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Ah Pe. Tretheriok's Chinese servant. .471 Episode of Fiddle- 
 town. 
 
 Ah Pe. Gabriel Conroy's Chinese servant. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Ah Pe. Montagu Trixit's Chinese servant. A Belle of Canada 
 City. 
 
 Ailsa. See Callender. 
 
 Aladdin. See Prince, James. 
 
 Alexander. See McGee. 
 
 Algernon, Lord. The son of Lord Beverdale, a handsome, 
 good-natured young man, for a time regarded by Miss Des- 
 borongh as a possible husband. The Desborough Connections. 
 
 Alice. See Brant ; Peyton ; Riggs ; Rightbody ; Semlia. 
 
 Alkali Dick. See Fountains. 
 
 Allan. See Brewster. 
 
 Allen, Reuben. A successful but unsophisticated miner, who, 
 visiting San Francisco, becomes infatuated with the notorious 
 Madame le Blanc. A sufferer from heart disease, he is yet able 
 to overcome her "bully," O'Ryan, and his devotion to that 
 " high-toned lady," as he regards her, excites considerable com- 
 
2i6 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 !ii\cii. When a prominent citizen is assassinated in her gam- 
 Ki<i'. . jtas, and she is arrested, and at the inquest all her un- 
 •iiiory record is revealed, Allen, called as a witness, is found to 
 be dead in his chair. How Reuben Allen "saw Life" in San 
 Francisco. 
 
 Altascar, Fernando Jesus Maria. A native Californian, with 
 all the gravity and courtesy of his race. By a decision of the 
 courts, a large part of his rancho is added to that of Joseph 
 Tryan. He preserves his gentlemanly bearing towards George 
 Tryan and the surveyor, but his passion breaks out against 
 the elder Tryan, and he curses the land he is giving up. Notes 
 by Flood and Field. 
 
 Altascar, Pepita. Daughter of Don Fernando; She loves and 
 is loved by George Tryan. Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 Alvarado, Don Ceesar. A haughty young aristocrat, who 
 wastes years of devotion upon Mamie Mulrady, and subse- 
 quently attempts to prove Slinn's claim to her father's pro- 
 perty. A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Alvarado, Dona Carmen. A relative of Don Jos^ Sepul- 
 vida, with a tender interest in his welfare. A Knight-Errant 
 of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Alvarado, Dona Inez. A relative of Don Jose Sepulvida, and 
 peculiarly solicitous for his welfare. A Knight-Errant of the 
 Foot-Hills. 
 
 Alvarado, Don Ramon. . A Spanish-American of illustrious 
 family, and the pastoral owner of the land which became the 
 townships of Rough-and-Ready and Red Dog. A Millionaire 
 of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Alvin. See Mulkady. 
 
 Amador, Dona Maria. The mother of Doiia Felipa Peralte ; 
 a Spanish gentlewoman. The Mystery of the Hacienda. 
 
 Amador, Don Fedro. A wealthy Californian grandee ; uncle 
 to Enriquez Saltello. A festa takes place in the patio of Don 
 Pedro's casa, and, under its friendly cover, the elopement is 
 possible. The Devotion of Enriquez. 
 
 Amelyn, Miss. A connection of Lord Beverdale, and a guest 
 at Scrooby Priory. A high-bred, conscientious, and sensible 
 girl. The Desborough Connections. 
 
 Amethyst, Mr. A fashionable jeweler, who sells pearls by the 
 shovelful. Lothaw {Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Amlta. See Saltonstall. 
 
 Andreas. A groom employed in the Saltonstall stables. Maruja. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 277 
 
 Annie. The former sweetheart of Cyrus Hawkins ; he has loved 
 her through many years of absence, and he builds a fine house 
 for her on his claim, but learns at last that she has married 
 another man. The Fool of Five Forks. 
 Annie. See Hays. 
 
 Antonio. The vaquero attached to the stable of the Mission 
 of San Carmel. In his care the padre places Francisco, with 
 letters for the Father Superior at San Jos^. At the Mission oj 
 ■ San Carmel. 
 
 Appleby, Cecilia Jane. An unsophisticated young country 
 girl, with a " gift for singing " and a passion for sunlight and 
 warmth. She is impressed with the strength and reserve of 
 the exhorter James Seabright, who saves her from the designs 
 of Elisha Braggs, her singing-teacher. An Episode of West 
 Woodlands. 
 
 Aramis. One of the musketeers. The Ninety-Nine Guardsmen 
 (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Argalls, Mrs. See Howard, Katb. 
 
 Arguello, Juan de. A lover of Kate Howard, and the father 
 of Yerba. His subsequent marriage to her mother legalizes 
 the girl's pretensions to his name. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Arguello de la Yerba Buena, Miss. See Ykrba Buena. 
 
 Aristides. See Morpheu. 
 
 Armiger, Lady Griselda. A visitor at Oldenhurst. A Phyllis 
 of the Sierras. 
 
 Amot, Miss Nelly. A San Francisco schoolteacher and a very 
 pretty girl, with frank gray eyes and slightly freckled cheeks, 
 who visits Five Forks and entertains a sentimental regard for 
 Hawkins. The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 Arthur. See Poinsett and Wayne. 
 
 Ashbrook, Lady. A friend of Sibyl Eversleigh. Trent's 
 Trust. 
 
 Ashe, John. A tall, dark, handsome Kentuokian, whose family 
 pride compels him to break his engagement with Jinny 
 M'Closky, on learning the story of her birth. The Rose of 
 Tuolumne. 
 
 Ashe, Miss Lucy. Sister of John. " A flashing brunette and 
 terrible heart-breaker." The Rose of Tuolumne. 
 
 Ashford, Lieutenant. The young officer in command of the 
 troopers who pursue the Indians who have rifled the Sage 
 Wood coach. Dick Boyle's Business Card. 
 
 Ashley, Philip. See Poinsett, Abthuk. 
 
278 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Ashwood, Mrs. A guest of the Harcourts in San Francisco. 
 " A rich and still youthful widow," with " a certain languorous 
 thoughtfuluess." In the midst of a romantic reverie she meets 
 John Milton Harcourt. She becomes his patroness. A First 
 Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Atherly, Sir Edward. Of Ashley Grange. The head of the 
 Atherly family. The Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Atherly, Jenny. See Lascelles. 
 
 Atherly, Mrs. Sally Magregor, the wife of Philip Atherly, and 
 the mother of the twins, Peter and Jenny. She and her 
 husband are captured by Indians, and a. chief is the father of 
 her children. Later she is a washerwoman at Rough and 
 Keady, and she dies in an asylum for inebriates. The Ancestors 
 of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Atherly, Peter. The owner of the Eureka mine at Atherly, 
 formerly Rough and Ready. He goes to England to make 
 inquiries about his ancestors, and is introduced to his father's 
 relations. On his return to America, he is elected to Congress, 
 and meets in Washington an Indian who reveals to him that he 
 is the son of a great chief. He keeps the secret, but endeavors 
 to benefit his real father's race, and becomes a commissioner to 
 investigate certain of their grievances. On the plains he falls 
 in with a party of his English friends, who are making a 
 Western tour. Lady Elfrida Runnybroke is one of them, and 
 the attraction the two already have for each other grows 
 stronger. Peter's sister foolishly separates herself and the 
 English girl from the party, they are taken prisoners by 
 treacherous Indians, and Peter, coming to their rescue, is also 
 captured. Atherly and Mrs. Lascelles sacrifice themselves to 
 save Lady Elfrida, and are tortured to death. The Ancestors 
 of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Athos. One of the musketeers. The Ninety-Nine Guardsmen 
 {Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Aunt Jane. See M'Closky. 
 
 Aunt Sally. See Briggs. 
 
 Aunt Viney. Dick Braey's aunt and housekeeper. In spite of 
 her disgust at the idea of living in a large old Spanish house 
 and managing an array of lazy peons, she soon adapts herself 
 to circumstances and becomes the wonder and admiration of 
 her nephew, niece, and servants. The Mystery of the Hacienda. 
 
 Australian Pete. An ex-convict and desperado, who attempts 
 the life of Flint, under a misapprehension, in a San Francisco 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 279 
 
 gambling den, and is killed by his own weapon. Out of a 
 Pioneer's Trunk. 
 
 Avondale, Caroline. A handsome, self-possessed woman of 
 thirty, who has charge of Bobby Dornton, his mother having 
 been her friend. Certain contents of the mysterious bag 
 Kandoph Trent has in charge lead to some intimacy between 
 himself and Miss Avondale, for a time a sentimental intimacy 
 on the young man's part, which is brought to an end by her 
 apparent alliance with Sir William, and acquiescence in his 
 contentions regarding Bobby's birth. Trent's Trust. 
 
 Avrksby, Mrs. A lady at Simla of an inquisitive disposition. 
 For Simla Reasons (Condensed Navels). 
 
 Axes, 'Arry. A music-hall singer, who imagines himself 
 Chevalier, the artist. Zut-Ski {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Baby. See Sylvester. 
 
 Badfellab, Prince. A dishonest man ; godson of the ogress. 
 His crafty actions profit him nothing. The Ogress of Silver Land. 
 
 Baker. An itinerant preacher, whose methods are adapted to 
 the nature of the people he works among, and who, under the 
 name of Bulger, " samples " Rattlesnake Camp before starting 
 a revival there. Bulger's Reputation. 
 
 Baker, Judge. A guest at the Woodses' dinner-party. A Ward 
 of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Baker, Mrs. Judge Baker's wife. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Baker, Mrs. Betsy. The widow of John Baker. She saves one 
 of the " boys," as her husband would have done. She takes 
 advantage of Home's confidences to warn Green of the danger 
 of discovery. The Postmistress of Laurel Run. 
 
 Baker, Ephraim. The blacksmith at Blue Cement Ridge, and 
 the father of little Peggy. Miss Peggy's Proteges. 
 
 Baker, John. Foreman of " The Last Chance." In saving the 
 miners from a "cave-in," he loses his own life, leaving hif 
 young wife to the chivalry of the settlement. The Postmistresi. 
 of Laurel Run. 
 
 Baker, Peggy. A charming little girl who makes playfellows 
 of the animated nature around her, and believes that you can 
 do anything with creatures if you are not afraid of them and 
 love them. She has a little menagerie, to which her devoted 
 friends, the miners, contribute. The last wild animal she 
 tames by kindness is a hunted, desperate man, who takes refuge 
 in the enclosure containing her prot^g^s. Miss Peggy's Proteges. 
 
280 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Banks, Mr. In all things a business man. One of the Excel- 
 sior's passengers, and an exile at San Antonio. The Crusade of 
 the Excelsior. 
 
 Barker. A soldier in Major Portfire's command, who acts as 
 oody-guard to Miss Portfire. The Princess Bob and her Friends. 
 
 Barker. Ruskbrook's architect. A Mcecenas of the Pacific 
 Slope. 
 
 Barker. An inhabitant of One Horse Gulch. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Barker, Mrs. See Collinson, Sadie. 
 
 Barker, Blisha. See Braggs, Eusha. 
 
 Barker, George. A college man of simple and generous ele- 
 ments. The consequences of his presumed wealth cause his 
 unpractical and imaginative mind such distress that he is greatly 
 relieved to find that he is really a poor man. The love of 
 Kitty Carter and the discovery of a "pocket" constitute his 
 " luck." He marries Kitty ; her relations take full advantage 
 of his generosity and simplicity, and he loses much money in 
 foolish investments, sometimes by sheer luck partially recover- 
 ing himself. After the death of his faithless wife, he happily 
 marries Mrs. Horneastle. Barker's Luck ; Three Partners. 
 
 Barker, Mrs. George. See Carter. 
 
 Barker, Jim. A citizen of Buckeye Camp. The Transformation 
 of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Baron Fomposo. See Morales, Don Juan. 
 
 Barstow, Sam. The generous patron of the Pine Clearing 
 School. When appealed to for an assistant, he engages a versa- 
 tile variety actor to maintain discipline. The New Assistant 
 at Pine Clearing School. 
 
 Bassett, Lacy. " Captain Jim's Friend ; " a hypocritical, cow- 
 ardly blusterer, who, obtaining an unaccountable influence over 
 Captain Jim, leads him from one disastrous venture to another 
 and eventually shoots him, in terror lest his own abject charac- 
 ter should be revealed to the world. Captain Jim's Friend. 
 
 Bateman, Jo. A respecter of the Sabbath. The Transforma- 
 tion of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Baxter, Mrs. Formerly Spencer Tucker's mistress and known 
 as French Inez. Now married to a certain Captain Baxter. 
 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 Baxter, John. See Randolph. 
 
 Baxter, Polly. Parson Baxter's daughter ; courted in a desul- 
 tory fashion by the faithless Bassett. Captain Jim takes the 
 affair into his own hands, courts her for his friend, and insists 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 281 
 
 on Bassett's marrying her. It is in a dispute over her that 
 Bassett shoots his dupe. They are finally married. Captain 
 Jim's Friend. 
 
 Beard, Cassius. In spite of his rough surroundings, this miner 
 is as full of sentiment as a girl. The discovery of a ring 
 strangely colors his dreams and conduct, confirming his care- 
 less, improvident habits. He is electrified into action by the 
 energy of the woman he loves. Pound at Blazing Star. 
 
 Beasley, Ira. A dweller on the Bolinas Plain, who is seized 
 with sudden jealousy, thinking his wife is not insensible to the 
 admiration of the deputy sheriff, who stops at Beasley's house 
 while pursuing an escaped murderer. Beasley shoots the 
 deputy, and when the criminal he was in search of is declared 
 guilty of the homicide, Ira confesses that he fired the shot and 
 is acquitted. The Judgment of Bolinas Plain. 
 
 Beasley, Sue. The wife of Ira. She hides the acrobat pur- 
 sued by the deputy, is fascinated by him, and the two elope at 
 the moment when Beasley kills the official. Later she returns 
 to her husband, and keeps forever in his mind " her heroic sac- 
 rifice in disappearing as a witness against him." The Judg- 
 ment of Bolinas Plain. 
 
 Bedell, Sam. A tunnelman of the Blue Cement Lead, and one 
 of Peggy Baker's devoted friends. Miss Peggy's Proteges. 
 
 Beeswinger, Judge. In " Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands," he is intro- 
 duced as a member of the California Assembly, who is chaffed 
 by Yuba Bill. In " Gabriel Conroy," he is a guest at Gabriel's 
 house. Some years later, as told in "Clarence," he gains, 
 through a correspondence with Mrs. Brant and a clever ruse, a 
 knowledge of the conspirators' plans and an entrance to their 
 meeting, where he announces himself as a newly appointed 
 United States marshal. He is a guest of Colonel Starbottle on 
 the night when a supper party is surprised by the arrival of 
 little Pansy, and his jesting calls forth a challenge from the 
 Colonel, — jesting for which the Judge afterwards apologizes. 
 Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands ; Gabriel Conroy ; Clarence ; A Ward 
 of Colonel Starbottle. 
 
 Belcher, Rev. Mr. A canting preacher, whose educational 
 theories are despised and set at naught by Johnnyboy. He 
 becomes Johnnyboy's stepfather, and runs away with the family 
 fortune. Johnnyboy. 
 
 Beljambe, Mile. A proposed bride of Duke Michael. Rupert 
 the Resembler (Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Belle. See Tucker. 
 
282 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Bellefield, Miss. A member of the " Western Star Combina 
 tion Troupe." A Ward of Colonel StarbottU. 
 
 Ben. See Dabnet. 
 
 Benham, Henry. The brother of Mrs. Peyton. A business 
 partner of Peyton's. He manifests a peculiar dislike for 
 Clarence. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Bent, Tom. A young inventor and engineer, notable for the 
 smudge on his face, and, at first, for an indifference to Rose's 
 prettiness, which is overcome in the end. Through the Santa 
 Clara Wheat. 
 
 Bessy. See Robenson. 
 
 Betsy. See Baser. 
 
 Beverdale, Lord. The master of Scrooby Priory. TTie Des- 
 borough Connections. 
 
 Biggs. Secretary of the " Blue Mass Qaicksilver Mining Com- 
 pany." The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Bigsby, Mrs. The sister of Dan'l Borem. Dan'l Borem (Con- 
 densed Novels'). 
 
 Bijah. See Brown and Hays. 
 
 Bike, Mary. The youug woman whom John Lummox decides 
 to marry. Dan'l Borem (Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Bill. See Profane Bill and Yuba Bill. 
 
 Billings, Johnny. A native son of Tasajara. He disturbs the 
 exercises at the Library by a truthful but unfortunate reply to 
 the Rev. Dr. Pilsbury's question. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Billings, Ned. A citizen of Sidon (California). A First Family 
 of Tasajara. 
 
 Billingsgate, Flora. Flirts with Heavystone. Guy Heavystone 
 (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Billy. See Riley. 
 
 Billy. An unruly goat, who may be said to have butted himself 
 out of the sympathetic family in San Francisco, with whom his 
 early days were spent. He next appears at Rooky CaSon, 
 where vain attempts are made to utilize him as a draught 
 animal. After a boisterous career there, he receives a moral 
 lesson from the Reverend Mr. Withholder, and is trained for 
 the stage by the " Sacramento Pet," with whom he performs 
 in " Esmeralda." An Esmeralda of Rocky Canon. 
 
 Bilson. An accommodating lounger at Rawlett's store. A First 
 Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Bilson, Joshua. Landlord of the Summit House, Buckeye HilL 
 Mr. Bilson' s Housekeeper. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 283 
 
 Bird, Melinda. One of the " help " at Windy Hill Ranoho ; a 
 tall, robust girl, not without certain rustic attractions, of which 
 she is fully conscious, but at bottom honest and sensible. She 
 and Mr. Hamlin form u friendly alliance, during his visit to 
 the place. The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Black, Michael. See Michael. 
 
 Blair, Dr. Richard. A skillful and gentle young surgeon, who 
 heals Mrs. MaoGIowrie's injured dog, and falls in love with 
 his patient's mistress. Like every one else, he believes her to 
 be the widow of a noted desperado, but she finally confides to 
 him the true story of her marriage, and rewards his constant 
 devotion. Mr. MacGlowrie's Widow. 
 
 Slanc, Madame le. A woman with a dozen aliases, the pro- 
 prietress of a San Francisco restaurant and gambling saloon. 
 She is carried into an apothecary's shop to have certain inju- 
 ries, received at a riotous /ete, attended to, and is there seen by 
 the simple-minded Allen, who becomes infatuated with her. 
 He haunts her saloon, and she is evidently not displeased by his 
 devotion. In a spasm of vengeful morality, the woman and her 
 whole entourage are arrested ; Allen, held as a witness, dying 
 at the trial. How Reuben Allen " saw Life " in San Francisco. 
 
 Blanche. See Masterton and Sackvillb. 
 
 Blandford, Edw^ard. A simple and sincere man ; the frigidity 
 of his wife and a dismal home render his life a desolate one. 
 He discovers his wife's attachment to Demorest, and, believing 
 them both guilty, leaves North Liberty. The evidences of his 
 death appear conclusive to the townspeople, though not entirely 
 so to his wife. Five years later he appears to Demorest in 
 California, where he goes by the name of Johnson. The Argo- 
 nauts of North Liberty. 
 
 Blandford, Mrs. Joan. Formerly Joan Salisbury. A young 
 Connecticut woman with a most rigorous code of conduct. 
 Upon her marriiige to Ned Blandford, she refuses to meet his 
 former comrades. She falls in love with a chance acquaintance, 
 and conducts a sentimental flirtation with him until she finds 
 that he is Dick Demorest, an old friend of her husband. She 
 then bids him leave her, but her husband sees the two talking 
 together, and, believing them both faithless, leaves his home 
 and is supposed to have been drowned. She theu marries 
 Demorest, who takes her to California, where the temptations 
 of a frontier life lead her into disloyalty to him in turn. After 
 the discovery of her duplicity, she returns to her Connecticut 
 home. The Argonauts of North Liberty. 
 
284 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 Bleareyed. One of The Three. A Privates Honor (Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Blossom, Abner. The father of Mistress Thankful. Under 
 surveillance as a lukewarm supporter of the Colonial cause, the 
 yisit to his farm of supposed foreign spies causes the arrest of 
 the obstinate yet diplomatic farmer. Thankful Blossom. 
 
 Blossom, Thankful. A high-spirited and self-willed Colonial 
 maiden. She deceives herself into a belief that she loves Allan 
 Brewster. His treason and the sincerity of Major Van Zandl 
 undeceive her somewhat fickle heart. Thankful Blossom. 
 
 Blunt, Captain. Leader of the relief party which rescues the 
 emigrants of Starvation Camp. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Bly, Herbert. A clerk in Carstone's Bank in San Francisco. A 
 boyishly impulsive young man, who falls in love with Miss 
 Cherry Brooks, and refuses to give her up when Mr. Carstone 
 tells him of her brother's embezzlement, and hints at a dis- 
 charge if he persists in allying himself with the family. Find- 
 ing the young man true to his sweetheart, the employer raises 
 his salary in order to make it possible for him to marry. A 
 Secret of Telegraph Hill. 
 
 Bob. See Cherokee Bob, Delatoub, and Falloner. Also 
 see Robert. 
 
 Bobby. See Dornton. 
 
 Bob the Bucker, The faithful servant of Don Josd Sepulvida, 
 by whom he is called Roberto. His devotion is marred only by 
 severe and prolonged fits of intoxication, during which he spares 
 neither property nor person. A Knight-Errant of the Foot-HiUs. 
 
 Bodine, James. A desperado for whom the VigUants are justly 
 in search. By the aid of his devoted wife and an equally de- 
 voted friend he is hidden in San Francisco till the time comes 
 when he can make his escape. Under the Eaves. 
 
 Bodine, Mamie. The respectably born wife of the outlaw. He 
 repays the sufferings she has endured for his sake, by abandon- 
 ing her and her children, taking another woman with him in 
 his flight. Under the Eaves, 
 
 Boltrope, Captain Henry, R. N. Of H. M. S. Belcher. Mr. 
 Midshipman Breezy (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Bones, Brother. One of the inmates of the Bishopsgate Street 
 Monastery. Golly and the Christian (Ctmdensed Novels). 
 
 Bookham. Seuior member of the Sacramento banking-house of 
 Bookham & Sons. Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Boompointer, Judge. In "Brown of Calaveras,'' he is intro- 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 285 
 
 -duced as one of Mrs. Brown's admirers. In " Fonnd at Blaz- 
 ing Star," he is persuaded by tbe blandishments of Miss Porter 
 to yield up the ill-fated ring. Gabriel Conroy's trial for mur- 
 der is held before him. In " Salomy Jane's Kiss," John Dart 
 steals his horse. He is believed to be a suitor for the hand of 
 Miss Trotter. Brown of Calaveras ; Found at Blazing Star ; 
 Gabriel Conroy ; Salomy Jane's Kiss ; Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper. 
 
 Boompointer, Judge. John Jenkins's guardian angel. John 
 Jenkins (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Boompointer, Senator. A Western politician of great influ- 
 ence. A "famous dispenser of place and preferment — this 
 second husband of Susy ! " He not only believes in his own 
 importance, but convinces others of it. Clarence. 
 
 Boonder. A dog of obscure pedigree and conservative notions. 
 Boonder. 
 
 Boone, Leonidas. A charming boy of fourteen, who has a boy- 
 ish adoration for the pretty Mrs. Burroughs, which she utilizes 
 by making him assist in the secret conveyance of letters be- 
 tween herself and Jack Hamlin. But she sometimes perplexes 
 and troubles the lad, and his ingenuous confidences to Hamlin, 
 the first time they meet, enlighten that gentleman as to the 
 woman's real character. A Mercury of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Boorem, Mr. A resident of San Francisco. A First Family of 
 Tasajara. 
 
 Borem, Danl. "A quaint morril character " with dry though 
 protracted humor, which at once thrills and bores his acquaint- 
 ance. Dan'l Borem (Condensed Novels). 
 
 " Boston." A noted wag, who prepares a burlesque christening 
 service, which is not used. The Ltick of Roaring Camp. 
 
 "Boston." A practical joker, who makes a butt of the poet. 
 The Poet of Sierra Flat. 
 
 Boutelle, Amy. A well-born Southern girl, impoverished by 
 the war. She teaches in a "Western town, is a kind friend to 
 the forlorn Lasham children, and is the first to discover that 
 Fallouer is not their brother. Their common interest in the 
 children leads to a warmer interest in each other, which results 
 in their marriage. Jimmy's Big Brother from California. 
 
 Bower, the Left. Brother of the Right Bower, and second in 
 command at the Lone Star Claim. Left out on Lone Star 
 Mountain. 
 
 Bower, the Right. The leader of the five partners of the Lone 
 Star Claim. Left out on Lme Star Mountain. 
 
286 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Bowers, James. A lamberman whose soul has been awakened 
 by an intimacy with Nature. He has heard " the creepin', the 
 sighin', and the whispeiin' through the bracken and the ground- 
 vines, of all that lives there." He sympathizes with a " fear- 
 some keer of bugs and creepin' things," and is successful in 
 discovering the identity of "White Violet," the author of 
 " Underbrush." A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 
 Boyle, Richard. A Chicago " drummer," a cheerful humorist, 
 quick-witted, brave, and self-reliant. Miss Cantire and himself 
 are the only passengers on the Sage Wood coach, and when the 
 young lady chooses to walk awhile, he, from certain indications 
 suspecting danger, follows her. They lose sight of the coach, 
 and hear shots in the distance, which are fired by Indians, who 
 have attacked it, killed the driver and mail-agent, and carried 
 oS the baggage and horses. At last they reach the rifled 
 coach, and Boyle persuades his companion to stay in it while 
 he reconnoitres. He discovers the worstj but keeps the know- 
 ledge from Miss Cantire, protects her while she sleeps, killing 
 a skulking Indian who is about to attack her, and when some 
 of her father's troopers come to the rescue, rides away with- 
 out saying what he has done. Dick Boyle's Business Card. 
 
 Brace. A supporter of Parks in resisting the movement against 
 the saloon kept by Jovita Mendez. The Transformation of 
 Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Brace, IVIr. A young man of variable affections ; passenger on 
 the Excelsior, and one of the four exiles at San Antonio. An 
 ingenious Lothario, typically American in his adaptability to 
 circumstance. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Brace, Jack. An e]q>ressman in the employ of Wells, Fargo & 
 Co., and the successful suitor of Miss Nellie Wynn. In the 
 Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Brackett, Mrs. Jane. She runs away from Starvation Camp, 
 but dies before she can reach help. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Bracy, Biok. A matter-of-fact young man who lives for a 
 time with his aunt and cousin on an old Californian hacienda. 
 His growing love for Cecily is shaken by the nightly appear- 
 ance of a mysterious and beautiful Spanish woman, but, with 
 the knowledge that the new inamorata is only a ghost, his alle- 
 giance to his cousin is renewed. The Mystery of the Hacienda. 
 
 Bracy, Jack. An admirer of Miss Circe. His horse runs away 
 with Johnnyboy. Johnnyboy. 
 
 Bradley, Mrs. Jennie. The illogical and charming wife of the 
 
INDEX TO CHABACTEES 287 
 
 host at The Lookout. Discontented with the idyllic life on the 
 edge of the Grand Canon, she becomes disloyal to her husband. 
 A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Bradley, Jim. The optimistic host at The Lookout, with a 
 " face of good-natured and alert intelligence." A versatile 
 college-bred man, owner of a saw-mill, which he runs himself. 
 He never argues with his petulant wife. After making a for- 
 tune, he gratifies his wife's ambition by taking her abroad. A 
 Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Bragg. A confederate of Marion in San Francisco. He leads 
 the operations on the blufE against the Union fort in the bay. 
 The Conspiracy of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Braggley, Silas. A camp-meeting " exhorter ; " a heavy, power- 
 fully built man, with a stolid, animal, and unintelligent face. 
 An Apostle of the Tules. 
 
 Braggs, Blisha. Formerly first mate of the Tamalpais under 
 the name of Elisha Barker. Having, with the help of others 
 of the crew, wrecked the vessel and made off with her treasure, 
 he is spending the remainder of his life in comfortable circum- 
 stances as a singing-teacher at a mission. He wishes to marry 
 Cissy Appleby, who is a pupil of his, but his designs in this and 
 in other directions are frustrated by James Seabright. An 
 Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 Brant, Mrs. Alice. Soon after her marriage to Clarence, this 
 perturbed spirit yields to her Southern sympathies and actively 
 supports the "cause" in California. Later she engages as a 
 Confederate spy, and, in the disguise of a mulatto woman, 
 begins operations at " Gray Oaks." She is finally captured, 
 and is interviewed by her husband. General Clarence Brant. 
 Her love revives, she forgets the " cause," and begs Clarence 
 to leave with her. The husband refuses, and plans to save her 
 at the risk of his career and life. While escaping, with her 
 husband's connivance, she is shot. See Peyton, Mrs. Alice. 
 Clarence. 
 
 Brant, Clarence. The son of Hamilton Brant, and, in spite of 
 many good qualities, an heir to his father's cool, ruthless, and 
 unflinching ferocity. The evidences of his inherited taint are 
 infrequent, and remain unaccounted for in the boy's mind. He 
 is sent, as a child of eleven, to his father in California, and, 
 being lost while crossing the plains, is picked up by the Peyton 
 party. He exhibits the reticence and distrust of the misunder- 
 stood child. He is educated at the expense of his father, whom 
 
288 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 he believes to be dead, and whom he knows only as Tom Plynn, 
 a friendly miner. The fortune of the father descends to the 
 young man upon bis father's violent death, and Clarence soon 
 after visits the Robles Rancho. He finds that he no longer 
 loves the comrade of his youth, but turns rather to the matron 
 who had scorned him when a child. Mrs. Peyton becomes his 
 yr'ite upon the death of John Peyton, and Clarence enters upon 
 a new epoch. At the outbreak of the Civil War, he enlists in 
 the Union army, separating from his wife, and is promoted 
 rapidly. At the close, he learns of his wife's death, and after- 
 wards marries the woman who had saved his honor, Misc- 
 Faulkner. A Waif of the Plains ; Susy : A Story of the Plains; 
 Clarence. 
 
 Brant, Colonel Hamilton. Clarence's father, also known as 
 Jackson Brant, Brant Fauquier, and Tom Flynn. A Kentuck- 
 ian, who has left home and family to become a gambler and 
 desperado in California. Clarence happens on him at Dead- 
 man's Gulch, when he introduces himself as Tom Flynn, and, 
 learning the boy's story, conveys him to the rancho of Don 
 Juan Robinson, who plays the part of a cousin, Jackson Brant, 
 though Clarence is instructed to call him by the former name, 
 Clarence becomes strangely attached to Flynn, whom every one 
 else fears, but does not learn the man's identity until after his 
 death. Brant provides for his son's education, and on his 
 death, as an insurgent in Mexico, leaves his fortune to him. 
 A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Brant, Jackson. See Brant, Hamilton, and Robinbon, Don 
 Juan. 
 
 Bray, Edmund. One of the five members of the Eureka Mining 
 Company. On an intensely hot day, he volunteers to bring a 
 pail of water from a spring, reached by a precipitous trail de- 
 scending from the stage road. From this road. Miss Neworth 
 accidentally falls upon him. He assists her up the dangerously 
 steep path, and restores her to her family. The track made by 
 her fall reveals the presence of gold, greatly to the enrichment 
 of the young man and his partners. The mishap also leads to 
 the marriage of the young lady and her rescuer. A Jack and 
 .Till of the Sierras. 
 
 Breeze, Mr. The young assistant editor of the " San Francisco 
 Daily Informer." He has a room in the upper story of a half 
 unoccupied business building, and he accidentally becomes 
 aware of some mysterious lodgers in certain vacant rooms on 
 
INDEX TO CHAEA.CTERS 289 
 
 the same floor. They prove to be the family of a weTi-known 
 desperado, for whom the Vigilants are searching, and Breeze's 
 kindness to the children wins the mother's gratitude. Under 
 the Eaves. 
 
 Breezy, Mr. Midshipman. A young naval officer of prowess 
 and renown. Mr. Midshipman Breezy {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Bre-ivster, Captain Allan. A discontented member of the 
 Connecticut contingent of the Colonial array. He participates 
 in the disaffection over the choice of Washington as Comman- 
 der-in-Chief, and is arrested by Major Van Zandt upon the 
 charge of mutinous conduct. He escapes through the conni- 
 vance of Thankful Blossom. Thankful Blossmn. 
 
 Brewster, Cyrus. One of Prosper Riggs's comrades in the 
 Wild Cat camp. Prosper's Old Mother. 
 
 Brice, Ed'WEird. A brave young express messenger, in charge 
 of the package of greenbacks carried on a coach " held-up " by 
 Snapshot Harry. Before handing his box to the robber, he dis- 
 covers that it has been already rifled by treacherous members 
 of the gang ; and this emboldens him to seek the outlaw in his 
 retreat, not altogether fruitlessly. He is guided from the place 
 by Harry's pretty niece, and together they discover the dead 
 body of the possessor of the treasure, and the treasure itself. 
 This leads to his business advancement and his ultimate mar- 
 riage to the niece. A Niece of Snapshot Harry's. 
 
 Briggs, Mr. A midshipman on H. M. S. Belcher. Mr. Mid- 
 shipman Breezy (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Briggs, Sheriff. Leads the attack on MoKinstry's barn. Cressy. 
 
 Briggs, Jefferson. The visionary and unpractical proprietor of 
 a wayside hostelry in California. He falls in love with one of 
 his guests, a city girl, but is forced by money difficulties to give 
 up his hotel and leave her. After a period of ill luck, he be- 
 comes an express agent, and proves his heroism in an encounter 
 with robbers. Miss Mayfteld nurses him through the fevei 
 which ensues, and then marries him. Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 
 
 Briggs, Jim. A neighbor of Hays. He informs the latter of 
 Horseley's predicament. A Night at " Hays." 
 
 Briggs, Jo. Storekeeper at One Horse Gulch. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Briggs, Percy. An advocate of municipal cleanliness. He 
 organizes a committee to deal with Bulger, but desists when he 
 discovers that Bulger is an evangelist. Bulger's Reputation. 
 
 Briggs, Pulaski. A partner in the Zip Coon Company. A 
 Buckeye Hollow Inheritance. 
 
290 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Briggs, Aunt Sally. JefE's housekeeper at the "Half-Way 
 House." Blessed with the faculty of harmonizing events with 
 the Scriptures, she dolefully supervises Jefi's moral and reli- 
 gious conduct. Jeff Briggs^ Love Story. 
 
 Briggs, Silas. A farm-hand at Foster's Rancho, and a devoted 
 slave of Lanty. Lanty Foster's Mistake. 
 
 Brimborion, Mme. The preceptress of Fanny Meritoe. The 
 Four Chmrdians of Lagrange. 
 
 Brimmer, Mrs. Barbara. The disturbing element in the Arca- 
 dian simplicity of life on board the Excelsior ; a loquacious, 
 insincere, ease-loving woman, with certain feline traits highly 
 developed. In the enervating climate of Todos Santos she is 
 the first to yield to dishabille in dress and conduct. The Cru- 
 sade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Brimmer, Quincy. A punctilious and wealthy merchant re- 
 cently from Boston. His wife maintains caste distinctions on 
 board the Excelsior, by virtue of his position and her own con- 
 nections. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Briones, Do&a Anna. Don Caesar's sister. A Ward of the 
 Golden Gate. 
 
 Briones, Don Caesar. Present at the Woodses' dinner party. 
 Afterwards the disappointed lover who reveals to Yerba her 
 mother's character. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Briones, Dolores. A girl of aristocratic family, who flirts for 
 a brief moment in the background of the story. Maruja. 
 
 Briones, Don Juan. Owner of the hacienda nestling among 
 the foothills of Santa Clara Valley. During the interview 
 with Senor Cranch he wears a " stifE, glazed, broad-brimmed 
 black hat," under which appears " a dark face of quixotic 
 gravity and romantic rectitude." In his old age he adopts the 
 foundling Juanita and, though he loves her, resigns the maiden 
 to Cranch. A t the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Briones, Don Ilffiguel. Commandante of the Presidio of Todos 
 Santos. Though a veteran of sixty years, he remains a viva- 
 cious gallant and devotes himself to Doiia Markham. The 
 Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Bromley, Major. One of the convivial officers stationed at 
 Logport. The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Bromly, Matilda. The eldest girl iu the Chestnut Bidge 
 School. A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Brooks, Mr. First mate of the Excelsior. The Crusade of the 
 Excelsior. 
 
INDEX TO CHAKAGTERS 291 
 
 Brooks, Mr. The young schoolmaster of Chestnut Kidge, who 
 deals with his difficult Mexican pupil, Concha, with intelligent, 
 if unavailing, sympathy and skill. A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Brooks, Miss Cherubina. Commonly called Cherry ; "a tall, 
 slim blonde, with a shy, startled manner." Brought up with- 
 out any knowledge of the world, she is an odd combination of 
 child and woman, and is original to the verge of audacity. 
 Altogether she is a most charming and provoking puzzle to 
 Herbert Bly, her mother's lodger, who loses little time in falling 
 in love with her, and whose love she returns. A Secret oj 
 Telegraph Hill. 
 
 Brooks, Chester. In "Colonel Starbottle's Client," he is in- 
 troduced as one of Miss Sally Dows's admirers. In "Sally 
 Dows," he falls in battle while fighting for the South, and 
 Courtland finds upon his body a portrait of Sally and a letter 
 addressed to her. Colonel Starbottle's Client j Sally Dows. 
 
 Brooks, Henry. An alert, determined, good-looking man, 
 whose smiling face hardly commends itself to the thriving, but 
 depressed and dyspeptic, inhabitants of Santa Ana. He con- 
 trives to bring some gayety into the place, and he becomes in- 
 terested in a pretty widow, Mrs. Wade, who confides to him 
 the story just told her by a strange man, regarding her late 
 husband, who had been supposedly killed by robbers. The 
 
 ; stranger avers that Wade was really a member of the gang, 
 and demands hush-money ; but Brooks, who had been one of 
 the men robbed, recognizes the man as a mate of Wade's, and 
 frightens him away. Brooks marries the widow, but never 
 allows her to know that the alarming revelations made to her 
 were true. A Widow of Santa Ana Valley. 
 Brooks, Joshua. One of the active members of the meeting at 
 
 the rancho. Cited in the warrant as a leader. Clarence. 
 Brooks, Mrs. Joshua. An ascetic widow of San Francisco, 
 who has espoused religion on the death of her husband, and 
 whose piety is genuine but obtrusive. She habitually wears a 
 shawl, but with the appearance of George Dornton upon the 
 scene, that emblem of renunciation is laid aside, and later she 
 is reported to be contemplating a change in her condition. A 
 Secret of Telegraph Hill. 
 Brooks, Tappington. He remains behind the scenes, in fact as 
 far off as Portland, Oregon, during the progress of the story, 
 but is often spoken of by the other characters. To his mother 
 he is all that i" '"■•" - ' ' """'' 
 
292 INDEX TO CHAEACTEKS 
 
 earnest Sunday-school worker, devoted to his church. To Mr 
 Carstoue he is a defaulter and a hypocrite, made such hy a 
 false system of bringing-up. To George Dornton he is a fel- 
 low-gambler and a man about town. A Secret of Telegraph Hill 
 
 Brown. Broad-shouldered and robust, with a face weak and 
 disfigured by dissipation. A loving but unhappy husband, who 
 innocently unbosoms himself of his anxieties about his wife to 
 Jack Hamlin, the very man who is planning an elopement with 
 her. Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 BroTvu, Mrs. The boarding-house landlady, who conceives a 
 fondness for the baby. Baby Sylvester. 
 
 Srown, Sefior. The American alcalde at San Jos^ ; " lazy, spe- 
 cious, and red-faced." At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Bro'wn, Bijah. A country butcher, and one of Flip's discomfited 
 suitors. Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 Brown, Gabriel. The assumed name of MacGlowrie, im- 
 prisoned for swindling in Arkansas, and after his escape to 
 California, figuring there as a popular revivalist. Mr. Mao- 
 Glowrie's Widow. 
 
 Brown, Jack. A Tres Pinos tippler, who uses " original loca- 
 tions" to soften the distrustful heart of Koscommou. The 
 Story of a Mine. 
 
 Brown, Morley. The wealthy uncle and guardian of Joscelinda 
 Wells, who, with two or three other large mine owners, is en- 
 deavoring to " freeze out " the smaller settlers in Buckeye Hol- 
 low. A Buckeye Hollow Inheritance. 
 
 Brown, Sophonlsba. A simple and credulous country girl, per- 
 suaded by Stratton to leave home and then deserted on a Sac- 
 ramento steamer. Jack Hamlin in his tactful way saves her 
 from suicide, and assumes a guardianship attractive in its disin- 
 terestedness. A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 
 
 Brown, Mrs. Sue. A handsome woman, who has an intrigue 
 with her husband's friend, Jack Hamlin. Brown of Calaveras. 
 
 Brown-Robinson, Mrs. A society lady of Greyport. Mrs, 
 Skaggs's Husbands. 
 
 Brunton, Mr. The rector of Chillingworth, the guardian of 
 Sibyl Eversleigh. Trent's Trust. 
 
 Buchanan, Mr. A kindly Scotchman, not without canniness, 
 who stands in the background of the story dressed in extrava- 
 gant tweeds. As a guest of the Saltonstalls he watches the 
 courtships of his younger companions with shrewdness, though 
 be is not without some hidden tenderness himself. Marvja. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 293 
 
 Buckeye. A vicious mustang ridden by Dr. West. Mounted 
 upon Buckeye his master takes his last ride. Maruja. 
 
 Budd, Mary Bllen. A young woman who helps in the kitchen 
 at the Big Flume Hotel. Asked in marriage by the landlord, 
 she accepts his offer, but soon breaks with him, influenced by 
 the fact that he had consulted his former wife as to the wisdom 
 of his choice, said wife, Rosalie, being now married to Mr. 
 Byers, Mary Ellen's former husband. The Landlord of the Big 
 Flume Hotel. 
 
 Buena Yerba. See Yerba Buena. 
 
 Bulger. See Baker. 
 
 BuUeboye, Prince. A godson of the Ogress. His good for» 
 tune shows that honesty is the best policy. The Ogress of Sil- 
 ver Land. 
 
 BuUen, Dick. " The oracle and leader of Simpson's Bar." He 
 accomplishes a difficult and perilous fifty-mile ride on Christ- 
 nias eve to buy toys for Johnny. His taunts to Uncle Jim and 
 Uncle Billy make the former discontented with his life at 
 Cedar Camp. How Santa Claus came to Simpson's Bar ; Uncle 
 Jim and Uncle Billy. 
 
 Bumpo, Natty. "The celebrated Pike Ranger of Douner 
 Lake." He loves and is loved by Genevra Tompkins, but on 
 learning that the raven tresses which he rescues from the dead 
 Muck-a-Muck's hand are false, and that his lady-love has not 
 been scalped, he never recovers from the deception, and refuses 
 to marry her. Muck-a-Muck (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Bungstarter, Calhoun. A California lawyer and duelist. In 
 " The Romance of MadroKo Hollow," he is Jack Folinsbee's 
 second in the duel with young Culpepper Starbottle. In 
 " Jinny," he appears as a rival of Colonel Starbottle for politi- 
 cal honors. His duel with Captain MoFadden is prevented by 
 the medicine administered to the party by Hawkins, the Fool 
 of Five Forks. Later he becomes Colonel Starbottle's law 
 partner. The Romance of Madrono Hollow ; Jinny ; The Fool of 
 Five Forks ; Colonel Starbottle's Client. 
 
 Bunker, Captain. The master of the Excelsior. A good sea- 
 man, but an unstable man. Drink and the loss of his bark 
 unsettle liis mind. The news of his escape from Todos Santos 
 to the mainland stirs the complacent husbands in San Francisco 
 into a search for their wives. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Bunker, Mrs. Mary. The wife of a fisherman. She is led 
 into a " conspiracy " by Marion, who appears heroic to hel 
 
294 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 unsophisticated eyes. She drifts into disloyalty to her conntry 
 and to her husband, but is shaken from her infatuation by 
 the visit of Mrs. Fairfax and the attempt of the Secessionists 
 to land upon her premises. She prevents the success of their 
 operations by alarming the officers at the fort. The Conspiracy 
 of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Bunker, Paul. The hero of a. novel of whom the Writer of 
 Stories dreams. He is a young American of Quaker stock, 
 visiting the English home of his family, where he meets his 
 uncle and his cousins, Dorcas and Jane Bunker, with whom he 
 has intercourse after the manner of various novelists. Finally 
 he attends a telephonic dinner where the unseen guests con- 
 verse pleasantly together, though all are eating in their own 
 homes. A Romance of the Line. 
 
 Bunker, Zephas. A fisherman who builds a home for his young 
 wife on a, lonely bluff. Prosaic by nature, he is unsuspicious 
 of the romantic possibilities in his wife. He is moved by the 
 tears of Mrs. Fairfax and transports her to Mazatlan. The 
 Conspiracy of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Burke, the Slogger. Lady Selina's first husband ; a villain of 
 the deepest dye. He is killed in a vain attempt to wreck a 
 train. Selina Sedilia {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Burleydon, Lady. Of a family that had nothing but wealth 
 and rectitude. Rupert the Reseiribler (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Burleydon, Iiord. The head of the Razorbill family. Rupert 
 the ReserrMer (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Burnhams, the. Friends of the Wynns, whom Nellie is sup- 
 posed to visit when she goes to Indian Spring. In the Car- 
 quinez Woods. 
 
 Burroughs, Mrs. Pretty, fascinating, and treacherous, by an 
 ingenious device she manages to conceal her correspondence 
 with Hamlin from her watchful and jealous husband. With 
 equal ingenuity she plans a possibly fatal injury to Mr. Bur- 
 roughs, from which he is accidentally saved by her boyish 
 adorer, Leonidas. A Mercury of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Butts, Judge. The oracle of Rough-and-Ready. A Millionaire 
 of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Byers, Constantine. A timber merchant, the second husband 
 of Mrs. Langworthy, who declares him to be " a good provider 
 and handy," bnt divorces him for having concealed the fact of 
 his earlier divorce. The Landlord of the Big Flume Hotel. 
 
 Byers, Mrs. Constantine. Locally known as "The Prairie 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 295 
 
 Flower of Elkhain Creek." She obtains a divorce from her 
 amiable husband, Abner Langworthy, and marries the less 
 amiable Byers, divorcing him in his turn. The Landlord of the 
 Big Flume Hotel. 
 Byways, Mr. James. An unfortunate man who dies in appar- 
 ent poverty, leaving his entire estate to a, hotel maid servant, 
 Peggy MofEatt. An Heiress of Red Dog. 
 
 Csesar. See Alvarado and Briones. 
 Calhoun. See Bungstarter and Weaver. 
 " California Pet," the. A popular young actress, a saucy and 
 pretty brunette, who plays masculine parts. She assists in the 
 escape of Milton Chubbnck after discovering that the poet is a 
 woman. The Poet of Sierra Flat. 
 
 Callender, Ailsa. The only child of David Callender. She 
 is faithful to her word to Jamie Gow, though she does not love 
 him ; but when free, she gladly becomes the wife of the young 
 American. Young Robin Gray. 
 
 Callender, David. The severely conscientious father of Ailsa. 
 A Scotch inventor, who, after years of ill-success, establishes 
 his claims. In his imperturbable dignity, he is slightly suspi- 
 cious of the courtesy of the consul and the interest of Robin 
 Gray. Young Robin Gray. 
 
 Calton, Chris. A good-looking and rather emotional young 
 man, much petted by women. Carried to the Summit House 
 to recover from an accident, he falls in love with Miss Trotter, 
 and hoping to attract her attention to himself, he feigns an 
 attachment for the pretty chambermaid, Frida, and asks the 
 lady's good ofGces in the matter ; but finally confesses the 
 truth and avows his love. Miss Trotter is much moved, but 
 does not accept him. Years later she learns of his marriage to 
 Frida. Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper. 
 
 Calton, James. The elder brother of Chris, strong in all the 
 qualities wherein the younger is weak. He is angered by his 
 brother's supposed feelings towards Frida, and he at once rec- 
 ognizes the superior qualities of Miss Trotter. Mr. Bilson's 
 Housekeeper. 
 
 Calvert, Lieut. George. A young officer, who finds his only 
 relaxation in dissipation, until his better feelings are aroused 
 by love for Maggie Culpepper. His affection for her saves the 
 real manliness of his character. The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Camperdovirn, Major-General. An American ; better dressed 
 
296 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 than most Englishmen, but showing " no other signs of inferi- 
 ority and plebeian extraction." Lothaw {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Camperdown, Mrs. Mary Ann. A beautiful woman of Hel- 
 lenic type, who has invented a new religion of Woman SufFrage, 
 Free Love, Mutual Affinity, and Communism. Lothaw {Con- 
 densed Novels). 
 
 Camperly, Mrs. One of Jack Hamlin's ardent admirers. From 
 her he escapes to the quiet home of Aunt Chloe. A Protegee 
 of Jack Hamlin's. 
 
 Canterbridge, Lady. Francis Mainwaring's cousin. A clever 
 Englishwoman, who disturbs Bradley's equipoise. A Phyllis oj 
 the Sierras. 
 
 Cantire, Miss. The handsome, high-spirited daughter of a 
 major, commanding a frontier post. A passenger with Dick 
 Boyle in the Sage Wood coach, she is at first inclined to snub 
 him, but later depends upon him for advice and assistance, and 
 though she does not know it, owes to him her life. Secretly, 
 she is carrying as luggage in trunks a quantity of carbines and 
 cartridges, and when she sees the despoiled coach, she thinks 
 these, things have been taken by troopers from the fort. Boyle 
 does not undeceive her, and effectively cares for her till the 
 troopers come to their rescue, when he rides away. The Indian 
 he has killed is discovered by the soldiers, and by degrees she 
 learns the true history of the night and sees Boyle as a hero. 
 Dick Boyle's Business Card. 
 
 Captain Dick. See Macleod, Kichard Graeme. 
 
 Captain Jim. A miner, whose generous and over-confiding 
 nature allows him to become the tool of the worthless Lacy 
 Bassett. Attracted by the showiness of the latter, he refuses 
 to discountenance him, and, after supporting him in one disas- 
 trous venture after another, he falls a victim to his parasite's 
 cowardly pistol. Captain Jim's Friend. 
 
 Cara. See Murano. 
 
 Carden, Mr. A Sacramento banker. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Carmen. See De Haro. 
 
 Caroline. See Catron ; Coventry ; Johnson ; also Carrt. 
 
 Carpenter. The spokesman of the " Vigilance Committee " 
 organized against the saloons of the transformed camp. The 
 Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Carpenter, Mrs. Bob. Leader of the " set " in Buckeye Camp. 
 The ^transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Carr, Miss Christie. Daughter of Philip Carr ; a pretty and 
 
INDEX TO OHAKACTEES 297 
 
 attractive girl, with much social tact, but less sunny and 
 sanguine in temperament than her sister. Her practical and 
 cautious nature puts her out of sympathy with her enthusiastic 
 and unbusiness-like father. Her presence of mind saves the 
 life of her lover, George Kearney. Demi's Ford. 
 
 Carr, Miss Jessie. The younger of Philip Carr's two daughters, 
 and, like her sister, pretty and charming. She inherits her 
 father's enthusiastic nature. She becomes engaged to Fairfax 
 Munroe. Devil's Ford. 
 
 Carr, Philip. A mining engineer, enthusiastic but weak and 
 unpractical. He brings his city-bred daughters iuto a mining 
 camp, where he becomes a partner. His elaborate and expen- 
 sive methods of working the claim at Devil's Ford are on the 
 point of bringing ruin to the mine, when nature, in the shape 
 of a flood, interferes and carries the work to a successful com- 
 pletion. Devil's Ford. 
 
 Carroll, Captain Henry. A courteous and courageous young 
 officer, whose passion for Maruja deserves a kinder fate. 
 Through his boldness the compromising letters of Dona Maria 
 Saltonstall are rescued from Mr. Prince, and his presence ia 
 needed in the climax which throws Maruja irrecoverably into 
 the arms of his rival. Maruja. 
 
 Carry. See Trkthekick. See also Carolike. 
 
 Carstone, Mr. A prominent San Francisco banker. After test- 
 ing Herbert BIy's loyalty to Miss Cherry Brooks, he raises his 
 salary to enable him to marry her. A Secret of Telegraph Hill. 
 
 Carter, Colonel. The commandant at Fort Biggs. The Ances- 
 tors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Carter, Edmund. Mrs. North's lawyer, and a member of the 
 family expedition which seeks to induce James North to return 
 to the world. The Man on the Beach. 
 
 Carter, Jim. A friend of Mary Foulkes and her family of dolls. 
 A Mother of Five. 
 
 Carter, Kitty. Pretty and bewilderingly complex to Barker's 
 loving comprehension. She seems to prefer poverty to wealth, 
 if with the former she is assured of Barker. She proves shal- 
 low and selfish, caring little for her husband and child, com- 
 promises herself with Van Loo, and is burned to death in the 
 Hymettus Hotel, while trying to save her diamonds. Barker's 
 Luck ; Three Partners. 
 
 Cass. See Beard, Cassius. 
 
 CasB, Henry. One of the robbers of Wells, Fargo & Co.'s 
 
298 INDEX TO CHAEACTEKS 
 
 boxes. While escaping with his confederates, he is killed in 
 it " fair fight " by Kanaka Joe. Before his death he buries the 
 stolen treasure. Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Cassidy. A trooper at Fort Biggs, the last white man to see 
 Peter Atherly alive. The Ancestors of Peter Atkerly. 
 
 Castro, Bon Jose. Friend of Governor Micheltorena. The 
 Story of a Mine. 
 
 Castro, Josita. One of Ferba's school friends, who encourages 
 her notion of relationship to the Arguellos. A Ward of the 
 Golden Gate. 
 
 Castro, Jovita. The Mexican girl who betrays the Sobriente 
 claim for her American lover. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Catlins, Sol. An aggressive and successful pioneer. In spite 
 of Jennie Miller's contempt, he wins her by strategy. A 
 Treasure of the Galleon. 
 
 Cato. Courtland's negro overseer. A leader of the negro voters 
 at Redlands. After a quarrel with Higbee, the latter attempts 
 his capture with bloodhounds. Sally Dows. 
 
 Catron, Caroline. Roger Catron's wife. Roger Catron's F. lend. 
 
 Catron, Roger. After a life heretofore blameless and correct, 
 he suddenly goes wrong, deserts his wife for another woman, 
 and goes rapidly down liill. One day he is picked out of the 
 gutter and put in jail, and thence sent to an insane asylum. 
 He escapes on the way, but is on the point of killing himself; 
 when he comes to his senses, and seeks refuge in Captain 
 Dick's cottage. That gentleman, in his own humorous way, 
 reinstates him in the good graces of his fellow-citizens and his 
 wife. Roger Catron's Friend. 
 
 Catron, Mrs. Walker. Roger Catron's rich sister-in-law, who 
 takes Mrs. Roger Catron into her family on the supposed death 
 of Roger. Roger Catron's Friend. 
 
 Cecily. Dick Bracy's pretty cousin. She vists Dick and his 
 Aunt Viney at the Hacienda de los Osos. A mutual interest 
 soon ripens into love on both sides. The hacienda ghosts inter- 
 fere with the course of true love, but the whole story of the 
 mystery, as told by Dona Felipa Peralte, brings about a res- 
 toration of their wavering affections, and sets matters right. 
 The Mystery of the Hacienda. 
 
 Chalker. Mr. Masterman's English groom. Mrs. Skaggs's 
 HiLibands. 
 
 Champney, Mr. An Englishman serving as "superintendent" 
 on the Dows plantation. His love for his young mistress is 
 hopeless and unselfish, Sally Dows. 
 
INDEX TO CHAKACTERS 299 
 
 Charles. See Thompson. 
 
 Charley. See Mountain Charley. 
 
 Cheek, Mr. Steward of H. M. S. Belcher. Mr. Midshipman 
 Breezy {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Cherokee Bob. A half-breed desperado, who blackmails Bland- 
 ford and conducts an unsuccessful intrigue with Mrs. Demorest. 
 The Argonauts of North Liberty. 
 
 Cherokee Jack. A desperado, with a fondness for Dickens and 
 a quiet fascination of manner. He gives the name of Kearney 
 in introducing himself. " Who was my Quiet Friend f " 
 
 Cherokee Sal. The dissolute and irreclaimable mother of "the 
 Luck." She dies in giving him birth. The Luck of Roaring 
 Camp. 
 
 Cherry. See Brooks, Miss Cherubina. 
 
 Ching Long. A Chinaman who captures the fair stranger for 
 NN. NN (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Chitterlings, Bromley. A six-and-a-half -year-old boy at Doem- 
 ville Academy, when the story opens. A few years later he 
 appears as the Boy Avenger and Pirate Prodigy sailing along 
 the shores of Patagonia in a long, low, black schooner. The 
 Hoodlum Band (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Chivers, Godfrey. The spokesman of the band of highway- 
 men. In the pursuit of his vocation, his methods are chival- 
 rous, his language oratorical. " For all his cynical levity, for 
 all his affected exaggeration, there was the ring of an unmistak- 
 able and even pitiable vanity in his voice, and a self-conscious- 
 ness that sufBused his broad cheeks and wreathed his full 
 mouth." Some years before his appearance as a highwayman, 
 he has met the wife of Collinsou on her way to join her hus- 
 band at his home in the Sierras, and she has become his 
 mistress and an accomplice in his crimes. In a Hollow of the 
 Hills. 
 
 Christian, CaptEiin. See Schwartz. 
 
 Christie. See Carr. 
 
 Chubb, Miss Clarissa. Mrs. Brimmer's satellite. On account 
 of her irreproachable connections, she is worthy of her patron's 
 notice. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Cbubbuck, Milton. The assumed name of the' poet of Sierra 
 Flat, who is introduced as a bashful youth, with a weak face and 
 moist, shy eyes like a rabbit's, who acts as cook in McCorkle's 
 cabin. The poem, published in the " Sierra Flat Record " at 
 advertising rates, makes a hit by its very worthlessness, and 
 
300 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 the whole community unite in a mock adulation of its author, 
 who finally turns out to be a woman. The Poet of Sierra Flat. 
 
 Chu Chu. Don Francisco's bucking Califoruian mustang ; a 
 beautiful but wild and uucertain filly, whose only affection is 
 for Consuelo Saltello. Chu Chu. 
 
 Chu Chu. A " staid and respectable filly of American pedigree,'' 
 who goes wild with excitement in the brisk air of the plains. 
 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 Chu Chu. A mule who likes to have her own way. Johnson's 
 Old Woman. 
 
 Cicely. See Preston. 
 
 Circe, Miss. Succumbs to the childish charms of Johnnyboy. 
 Johnnyboy. 
 
 Cissy. See Appleby, Lasham, and Trixit. 
 
 Clara. See Sanherra and Tretherick. 
 
 Clarence. See Brant. 
 
 Clarissa. Lady Selina's maid. Selina Sedilia (^Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Clarissa. See Chubb. 
 
 Clark, Sal. Mrs. Markle's maidservant. A sociable and sen- 
 timental old maid. She imagines herself in love with Victor 
 Bamirez, whom she believes to be an " Eyetalian," and, on his 
 death, she arrays herself in mourning. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Clarkson. A citizen of Angel's. The Transformation of Buck- 
 eye Camp. 
 
 Clay, Madison. A prosperous stock-raiser from Kentucky, 
 who has family feuds. Halomy Jane's Kiss. 
 
 Clay, Salomy Jane. The handsome daughter of Madison. She 
 kisses John Dart, a young horse-thief, in the hands of the Vigi- 
 lants, because he has no friends to bid him good-by. He 
 escapes and haunts the neighborhood to get a glimpse of her, 
 and she finally elopes with him. Salomy Jane's Kiss. 
 
 Clementina. See Harkutt. 
 
 Clifford, Tinky. A variety actress. Mr. Jack Hamlin's Medi- 
 ation ; A Ward of Colonel Starbottle. 
 
 Clinch, James. A most prosaic American business man, with 
 a contempt for German moderation. He wanders through 
 Sammtstadt and visits a quaint dye-house, where a German 
 maiden offers him wine. Overcome by sleep, he learns in his 
 dreams of the manners of his German ancestors. A Legend of 
 Sammtstadt. 
 
 Clinch, Col. Ringwood. A typical colonel of the extreme 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 301 
 
 West. He is so sensible as to deliver a package of greenbacks 
 when taken at a hopeless disadvantage, and proves his cour- 
 age in the pursuit of the robbers as well as in checkmating 
 the schemes of the express company's bullying agent. Snow- 
 Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Clytemnestra. See Morphkr. 
 
 Cockey 'Wax. The sobriquet of the Colonel, who has a per- 
 sonal difficulty with MuUedwiney, which results disastrously. 
 A Private's Honor {Condensed Navels). 
 
 CoUinson, Sadie. The unfaithful wife of Collinson. Though 
 hating her association with Chivers, she sees no escape from 
 her environment, and is unable to throw off the fascinating 
 influence of her paramour. She travels under the pseudonym 
 of Mrs. Barker. In a Hollow of the Hills. 
 
 Collinson, Seth. The proprietor of a rude hostelry in the 
 Sierras. He has preceded his wife into the new West to make 
 a home for her. There he waits for her coming, until hope is 
 crushed by the rumor of her death. When his wife does ap- 
 pear, stumbling upon his retreat by accident, " the man of 
 simple directness and no imagination saw only his wife before 
 him, — a little breathless, a, little flurried, a little disheveled 
 from rapid riding as he had sometimes seen her before, but 
 otherwise unchanged." But the alterations in voice and man- 
 ner caused by her reckless life with Chivers warn the husband 
 that the wife of his young manhood is dead, though she appears 
 visibly in the flesh. He dies in the belief that he has seen a 
 vision. In a Hollow of the Hills. 
 
 Colonel, The. See Cockey Wax. 
 
 Colonel, The. The eldest of the four perplexed guardians of 
 Fanny Meritoe. He does his part bravely, and contributes 
 tales of adventure, and much useful information to the com- 
 posite epistles. The Four Guardians of Lagrange. 
 
 Concepcion. The housekeeper at Masterton's adobe. "A 
 wrinkled Indian woman, brown and veined like a tobacco leaf." 
 A Convert of the Mission. 
 
 Concha. An orphan Mexican girl of twelve, a mestiza, confided 
 to the care of the kind-hearted Hoovers. They do their best 
 for her, dress her by the schoolmaster's advice in Spanish fash- 
 ion, and duly send her to school, accompanied by a vaquero, 
 where she is languidly indifferent to her tasks, endeavors un- 
 successfully to coquet with her master, and bewitches most of 
 the children. One morning she does not appear, nor the next^ 
 
302 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 and, inquiries being made, the teacher finds that she has eloped 
 with and married the vaquero. A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Concha. The old Mexican maidservant at the Kancho de los 
 Cuervos. A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 Concbo. A simple-minded Mexican miner, who possesses a 
 large vocabulary of secular and ecclesiastical curses. Pedro 
 strangles him to prevent him from claiming the mine. The 
 Story of a Mine. 
 
 Conroy, Gabriel. An uncouth but gentle giant, of superb 
 physique, but modest and diffident in manner and perfectly 
 simple and sincere in character. He escapes from Starvation 
 Camp in the Sierras with his little sister Oily, and takes a 
 squatter's claim at One Horse Gulch, where he finds a little 
 gold, and where he earns a reputation as a nurse for the sick. 
 Mme. Devarges, a divorcee and adventuress, learns of the pres- 
 ence of silver in his claim, and, assuming the name of Grace 
 Conroy, his sister, who is the real owner of the property by 
 inheritance from Dr. Paul Devarges, begins proceedings against 
 Grabriel, but,-being saved by him from drowning, changes her 
 mind and marries him instead. The silver is found, and 
 Gabriel becomes rich. He is accused of killing his wife's for- 
 mer suitor and accomplice, Victor Ramirez, and does all in his 
 power to sacrifice himself in order to save her, whom he be- 
 
 ; lieves to be the guilty person; but on the testimony of Henry 
 Perkins, alias Henry Devarges, he is acquitted. He had mar- 
 ried simply to give his little sister a companion, but the birth 
 of a child draws him towards his wife, who has loved him for 
 sometime, though her motives in marrying him were wholly 
 selfish. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Conroy, Grace. Gabriel Conroy's sister; fifteen years old 
 when the story opens, with an exquisite little figure, an oval 
 face, and dark eyes shaded by long lashes. She escapes from 
 Starvation Camp in the Sierras with her lover, Philip Ashley. 
 At her bidding, the latter, whose real name is Arthur Poinsett, 
 returns to the camp to carrj' aid to the others, but he basely 
 deserts her, and she seeks help at the Presidio at San G^ronimo. 
 The Comandante, Don Jos^ Salvatierra, touched by her beauty 
 and helpless condition, adopts her as his daughter, with the 
 name Dolores. To conceal her identity and to give color to 
 the story that she is Don Josh's daughter by an Indian prin- 
 cess, her face is daily stained by her maid. After Don Josh's 
 death she lives at the rancho in the role of religieuse, and is 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 303 
 
 famed throughout the country for her extraordinary beauty no 
 less than for her good deeds, but later is reunited to her for- 
 mer lover and becomes Mrs. Poinsett. Gabriel Conroy. 
 Conroy, Mrs. JuUe. See Dbvabges, Julie. 
 Conroy, Olympia. Younger sister of Gabriel and Grace Con- 
 roy. A frank and impetuous little girl, devoted to her brother 
 Gabe with a half sisterly and half maternal afEection. Gabriel 
 Conroy. 
 Consuelo. See Saltello. 
 
 Consul, The. The American consul at St. Kentigern. He in- 
 troduces Mr. Robert Gray to the Callenders, and watches the 
 course of his true love for Ailsa. As a guest at Glenbogie 
 House he has ocular evidence of the truth regarding a hinted 
 scandal. He is consulted by the syndicate interested in the 
 property of The McHulish. He advises the Desboroughs in 
 regard to their search for their English relations ; and later is 
 a guest, with the younger lady, at Scrooby Priory, and assists 
 her in inventing pretexts for her sudden departure. Ymmg 
 Robin Gray; A Rose of Glenbogie; The Heir of the McHvlishes; 
 The Desborough Connections. 
 Consul, The. The American Consul at Schlachtstadt. He 
 gives up " Unser Karl " to the German military authorities, to 
 serve his time in the army. Unser Karl. 
 Cooledge, Jake, of Boston. A miner at Rough and Ready. 
 
 Dick Spindler's Family Christmas. 
 Corbin, Jo. The gloomy, laconic, and ill-fated person who, being 
 " drove hard by his partner, Tom Jeffcourt," kills him with 
 his own revolver, and spends the rest of his life in a patient 
 expiation. The last act of this is the offering of himself iu 
 Jeffcourt's place to the Southern cause. When Jeffcourt's sis- 
 ter, who has demanded this sacrifice and has come to release 
 him from it, is killed by a bullet intended for him, he falls on 
 his bayonet in final despair. Colonel Starbottle's Client. 
 Coriander. See Lady Coriander. 
 
 Corwin, Ezekiel. A shrewd, calculating, and self-sufScient 
 Connecticut Yankee. He serves Blandford as " hired man " 
 until the disappearance of the latter. Corwin then drifts to 
 California, and does a thriving business with patent medicines 
 among the unsuspicious natives. He assists Mrs. Demorest iu 
 a romantic escapade, and returns with her to North Liberty. 
 The Argonauts of North Liberty. 
 Cota. See Ramierez. 
 
304 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Count Terdinand. See Godoy, Senor. 
 
 Courtland, Colonel. Formerly a Union soldier. He becomes 
 interested in Southern lauds at a time when residence in the 
 South is dangerous. As the manager of a land syndicate, he 
 defends his interests with great courage. Sally Dows. 
 
 Coventry, Lady Caroline. A beautiful young lady, beloved 
 by Faraday Little, whom she finally marries after a thrilling 
 balloon-voyage which she accidentuUy takes with him. Hand- 
 some is as Handsome does (^Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Coyle, Golly. The only granddaughter of a somewhat vague 
 clergyman, who exists with an aunt solely for Golly's epistolary 
 purposes. She light-heartedly becomes a hospital nurse, a song 
 and dance girl, and after much tribulation, has a gleam of 
 common or ordinary sense, " chucks " her countryman, the only 
 great novelist, and gets married in a natural, simple way like 
 anybody else. Golly and the Christian (Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Cranch, Jack. A bluff seaman, not amenable to priestly in- 
 fluence. He deserts his ship off the California coast, taking the 
 captain's infant daughter with him in the dingy. Being pur- 
 sued, he leaps overboard and makes his escape through the surf 
 to shore, thinking the baby will be found by his pursuers ; but 
 the boat is hidden in the fog, and he learns years afterwards 
 that the child was given up for lost. He then devotes himself 
 to seeking her, and at last finds her in the role of acolyte at a 
 mission, and with the name of Francisco. He also finds his 
 happiness in Juanita, another foundling girl and the playmate 
 of Francisco, and he carries the two away with him, the one as 
 his wife and the other as his ward and the heiress to her dead 
 father's wealth. At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Cressy. See McKinstry. 
 
 Crosby, Jack. Chartered jester on the Excelsior. A flippant 
 passenger and castaway at Todos Santos, whose humor oft 
 beguiles the weary way. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Culpepper. See Stakbottle. 
 
 Culpepper, Boone. A misanthrope, known from his solitary 
 habits as the " Kingfisher of Dedlow," who brings up his family 
 in complete isolation. His death is as lonely as his life, and his 
 body is found floating in a skiff with a charge of buckshot 
 through the head and shoulders. The Heritage of Dedloa 
 Marsh. 
 
 Culpepper, Jim. Brought up as a misanthrope in his lonely life 
 on Dedlow Marsh, his sudden admiration for the civilized prefc- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 305 
 
 tiness of Cicely Preston leads him to join the society of Log- 
 port. A wild career of dissipation brings him to the verge of 
 suicide, from wliieh he is saved at the eleventh hour. The 
 Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Culpepper, Maggie. The lovely but uncivilized mistress of 
 Dedlow Marsh. Thrown by an accident among the people of 
 Logport, she at first scorns their attempted refinement and then 
 yields to its attractions, until the spectacle of her brother's 
 ruinous debauchery brings back a vehement love for the virtues 
 of her primitive life. The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Curson, Dick. A tall and strongly built man, with a " small and 
 handsome mouth that lisped except when he was excited," blue 
 eyes, aud "a perpetual smile of half-cynical good-humor." He 
 is stabbed by his mistress, Teresa, in a tit of jealousy, but readily 
 forgives her when he recovers. In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Curtis, Major. A member of Brant's staff. Clarence. 
 
 Curtis, Mammy. Katiuka Jalliuger's negro nurse. A Treasure 
 of the Redwoods. 
 
 Curtis, Elijah. The " town drunkard " of Tasajara. He escapes 
 from his environment, takes the name of Fletcher, and in 
 southern California regains his self-control. He attacks Har- 
 court through his journal, and gives up the struggle only upoa 
 the appeal of Clementina. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Custer, Harry J. A citizen from Scott's Camp, California. 
 A member of the syndicate of speculators formed for the pur- 
 pose of pushing Malcolm MoHulish's claim to his ancestral 
 estates. He accompanies the pretended heir to Scotland, where 
 his reputation for shrewdness receives a severe blow in his deal- 
 ings with the astute MoFen. The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 Cutler, Mrs. The widow of tlie Sacramento partner of James 
 Smith alias Farendell. When he is compelled to fly from the 
 city on the evfi of their marriage, and she discovers that he has 
 lost all her money, and is, contrary to the general belief, still 
 living, she retains her love for him and does not expose him. 
 She tries with poor success to become an actress, and when he 
 returns a prosperous man, she, fallen in every way, tawdry and 
 poverty-stricken, pleads vainly her love and faithfulness. The 
 Reincarnation of Smith. 
 
 Cyrus. See Hawkins. 
 
 Dabney, Ben, or " Uncle Ben.'' " His avuncular title ... an 
 ironical tribute to his amiable incompetency and heavy good* 
 
306 INDEX TO CHAEACTEKS 
 
 nature." He belies his reputation by turning out a man of 
 considerable fortune, and declares his real name to be Ben. 
 jamin Daubigny. In love with Cressy, he takes to the copy- 
 book to repair his education, and tries to make up the qnarre! 
 between her father and the " Harrisons " by buying the dis- 
 puted boundary land. It afterwards appears that Ford has 
 had an affair with Dabney's deserted wife in Missouri. Dabney 
 uses this fact to Ford's disadvantage when be finds that the 
 schoolmaster is in love with Cressy. Cressy. 
 
 Dabney, Mrs. Ben. See Price, Lou. 
 
 Daddy. See Downey. 
 
 Dall, Mrs. A government Indian agent's wife, for whom the 
 wretched Elijah Martin, figuring as the chief of the Minyo 
 Indians, conceives an ungovernable passion. A Drift from 
 Redwood Camp. 
 
 Dan the Quartz Crusher. The original owner of Jinny. 
 " Jinny." 
 
 Dart, John. A young horse-thief, who is made another man by 
 Salomy Jane's kiss. At the risk of his life he lingers about her 
 house till he can thank her. Ten years after their elopement 
 and marriage he owns a stock farm in the Blue Grass country, 
 and his wife is famed for her beauty. Salomy Jane's Kiss. 
 
 D'Artagnan. One of the musketeers. The Ninely-Nine Guards- 
 men (CondensedNovels). 
 
 Dashboard. " The brilliant and fascinating." A young New- 
 Yorker, who attempts with some success to make a butt of the 
 Man from Solano. The Man from Solano. 
 
 Daubigny, Benjamin. See Dabnet, Ben. 
 
 Davis, Mamie. A frivolous neighbor of the Hayses. A Night 
 at " Hays." 
 
 Davis, Seth. A country lout with whom Cressy makes up an 
 engagement to excite the emulation of the new schoolmiister> 
 which, however, costs both his own and her dismissal. After 
 the engagement is broken and Cressy has returned to seliool, 
 Seth becomes Ford's most dangerous rival. He attempts the 
 master's life during the encounter between the McKinstry 
 forces and the sheriff's posse, and afterwards, at the duel 
 with designs on them both, secretly fires on McKinstry from 
 behind Ford. Cressy. 
 
 'Da.'ws, Rev. Mr. Pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Sandy 
 Bar. He tries in vain to mediate between York and Scott 
 The Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
INDEX TO CHAKACTERS 307 
 
 Dawson. Leader of the ambuscade at Wynyard's Bar. Tkt 
 Sheriff of Siskiyou. 
 
 Bawson, Jim. An intelligent farm-hand who befriends Rose 
 in sending for lier father, and converses with Mrs. Randolph 
 upon her erratic past. Through the Santa Clara Wheat. 
 
 Dean, Abner. A ready man with liis revolver. He informs 
 Plunkett's fellow-citizens of the old man's deception. In 
 " Cressy," he reappears as the Honorable Abner Dean, assem- 
 blyman from Angel's, who writes an editorial for the Indian 
 Springs " Star " on the occasion of the opening of the Eureka 
 Ditch and the Big Bluff Extension. A Monte Flat Pastoral ; 
 Cressy. 
 
 Dean, Octavia. A pupil of the Indian Spring school, enamored 
 of Rupert Filgee. Cressy. 
 
 Deane, Gideon. A poor young Methodist preacher, who is at 
 first discouraged because he lias not the eloquence to sway men 
 with his words ; but he saves a gambler from lynching by an 
 act of unassuming courage, and his bravery, simplicity, unself- 
 ishness, and delicate kindness convert the dying gambler and 
 earn for himself the friendship of the influential Jack Hamlin. 
 He gives up the prospect of becoming a successful preacher in 
 order to care for the widow and the fatherless by marrying 
 Mrs. Hiler. An Apostle of the Tules. 
 
 Debs, John. An aged North-Countryman ; a park-keeper on the 
 estate of Lord Beverdale. The Desborough Connections. 
 
 Decker, Mrs. Elsie. A heartless, pretty, and hypocritical 
 young woman, who encourages the attentions of John Oakhurst 
 in order to divert any suspicions that her husband may enter- 
 tain of her intimacy with Dick Hamilton. A Passage in the 
 Life of Mr. John Oakhurst. 
 
 Decker, Joseph. A master carpenter. The obtuse and 
 blindly loving husband of a heartless and unfaithful wife. A 
 Passage in the Life of Mr. John Oakhurst. 
 
 Deeside, Lady. A clever and decorous coquette, who utilizes 
 Mrs. MaeSpadden as a shield for her intrigues. The consul 
 receives by accident the rose and note intended for Kilcraithie, 
 and thus is able to detect her and assure MaeSpadden of his 
 wife's innocence. A Rose of Glenbogie. 
 
 Deeside, Sir Allan. A confiding husband, who recites a mov- 
 ing tale of a wife's unfaithfulness, while his own wife is pre- 
 paring to meet the hot-headed Kilcraithie. After the latter's 
 encounter with the Frenchman, Deeside manoeuvres to warn 
 
308 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 MacSpadden of the danger which is really his own, A Rost 
 of Glenhogie. 
 
 De Perri&res, Armand. A crazy Frenchman, who tries to con- 
 ceal his age under a mask of cosmetics and elegant but fan- 
 tastically old-fashioned clothes. He expresses himself in lofty 
 language, and is proud of his position as a French gentleman, 
 but secretly supports himself by menial work in the seclusioit 
 of his room. Abner Nott persists in calling him Ferrers. 
 A Shipof'Jid. 
 
 De Haro, Carmen. A niece of Victor Garcia. " The whole 
 expression of her face was piquancy that might be subdued by 
 tenderness or made malevolent by anger." When she learns 
 that her skill with a pen has been used by her uncle for a 
 dishonorable purpose, she uses her adroitness for the advan- 
 tage of Thatcher. Her drooping eyelids and broken English 
 are more effective in the congressional lobby than the expe- 
 rience of Mrs. Hopkinsou. She becomes the wife of Thatcher. 
 The Story of a Mine. 
 
 De Laine, Miss. A daughter of the famous house of Musslin, 
 De Laine & Co., New York, who endeavors to patronize Miss 
 Helen Maynard. Two Americans. 
 
 Delatour, Mrs. A refined woman, who draws from nature all 
 needful compensation for poverty and bereavement. As " White 
 Violet," the mysterious contributor to "The Excelsior Maga- 
 zine," she stirs the self-complacency of Hamlin and attracts 
 the rough but sympathetic Bowers to her side. In his affection 
 ahe finds her " rest." A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 
 Delatour, Bob. The aggressive son of Mrs. Delatour, who 
 wonders what his " God-forsaken famerly " would do without 
 him. His family regard him as a " limb." He alone knows 
 the commercial value of poetry, and he straightway becomes 
 a financier. Like all young people he yields to the charms of 
 Jack Hamlin, who saves him from his first wrong-doing. A 
 Sappho of Green Springs. 
 
 Delatour, Cynthia. Eldest daughter of the Delatour family. 
 She confronts the redoubtable Hamlin " with a certain dignity, 
 half real, half affected, but wholly charming." A Sappho of 
 Green Springs. 
 
 Delatour, Eunice. Cynthia's sister, graced with a " piquant 
 upper lip.'' A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 
 Delfosse, Monsieur. A French guest at Glenhogie House. He 
 is a, rival of Eilcraithie for the favor of Lady Deeside. A 
 Rose of Glenhogie. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEKS 309 
 
 Demander. See Shakpe. 
 
 Demorest, Dick. A comrade of Blandford's youth. A chival- 
 rous but dissipated young man. He meets Joan Blandford by 
 chance, and, ignorant of her relation to liis friend, learns to 
 love her. He is persuaded by the frightened wife to leave 
 North Liberty, but after the supposed death of her husband he 
 returns to marry her. In California, he discovers after some 
 years the infidelity of the woman he loves, and relinquishes his 
 claim upon her. The Argonauts of North Liberty. 
 
 Bemorest, Mrs. Joan. See Blakdford, Mrs. Joak. 
 
 Demorest, Philip. A partner of George Barker. As extrava- 
 gant in speech as he is honorable in conduct. The three miners 
 are rewarded for their perseverance by the discovery of a rich 
 " pocket." This good fortune enables Demorest to spend five 
 years in European travel. On returning to California he is 
 disillusioned as to the love affair which has been to him a 
 sacred memory, and he loses heavily in the trouble which comes 
 to Stacy's bank. Barker's Luck; Three Partners. 
 
 Denise, Madame. One of the opera troupe entertained at Los 
 Osos. A Mmcenas of the Pacific Slope. 
 
 Dennis. See McCaffrey. 
 
 Dent, Ridgeivay. An educated and brilliant young man, who 
 falls in love with Jinny M'Closky at first sight. He is stabbed 
 in the back by a rejected suitor of Jinny, but is nursed back to 
 health by her and eventually becomes engaged to her. The 
 Rose of Tuolumne. 
 
 Denville, Terence. A daredevil Irish boy, who fights duels, 
 distinguishes himself at Waterloo, and marries Blanche Saok- 
 ville, the love of his youth. Terence Denville {Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Desborough, Mrs. The widow of a New York millionaire of 
 English birth. The Desborough Connections. 
 
 Desborough, Sadie. The daughter of Mrs. Desborough. Her 
 mother and herself visit England and endeavor to learn some- 
 thing about the late Mr. Desborough's family connections. The 
 ladies " get on " in English society, and are guests of Lord 
 Beverdale at Sorooby Priory, and the son of the house is an 
 admirer of Sadie. She accidentally discovers that the aged 
 laborer, Debs, is her grandfather. He suddenly dies, and the 
 girl decides that she cannot marry Lord Algernon, leaves the 
 Priory, and secretly accompanies the funeral of Debs, north- 
 ward. The Desborough Connections. 
 
310 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 Sespard, Captain Tack. A product of the lawless and des^ 
 perate life of the pioneer cities ; a true man to his friends ; a 
 desperado in the eyes of primitive justice. He is saved from 
 drowning by Martin Morse, whom he in turn rescues from a 
 similar death. He at last meets death by hanging. In the 
 Tules. 
 
 Devarges, Henry. Brother of Paul, with whose wife he has 
 eloped, afterwards separating from her. He becomes an in- 
 terpreter and translator of Spanish under the name of Henry 
 Perkins. In this character he appears while at work as a 
 frowzy and choleric old man ; in the afternoon he is the antique 
 dandy, with dyed hair, cosmetics, and old-fashioned clothes. 
 He still loves Madame Devarges, or Mrs. Conroy, as she has 
 become, and is jealous of her. His testimony as to the death 
 of Ramirez acquits Gabriel, but the reader is left in doubt as 
 to whether Devarges himself may not have been the real mur- 
 derer after all. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Devarges, Julie. Divorced wife of Dr. Paul Devarges ; a 
 woman of many affairs, in which real love has played but a 
 small part. Learning of her former husband's discovery of 
 silver and bequest of the land containing it to Grace Conroy, 
 she assumes the latter's name and commences proceedings 
 against Gabriel Conroy, who holds a squatter's title to the 
 land ; but being saved from drowning by Gabriel, she abandons 
 the plan and seeks to gain the same ends by marrying him. 
 She comes to love him, however, as she has never loved before, 
 and, after he is acquitted of the murder of her former lover, 
 Victor Samirez, a real aifection for her is awakened in his 
 heart by the birth of their child. She is a small, light-haired 
 woman, with a pretty smile. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Devarges, Dr. Paul. A distinguished naturalist, who has been 
 unhappy in his domestic affairs. He joins Captain Conroy's 
 unfortunate party of emigrants and dies of starvation in the 
 Sierras, after telling Grace Conroy of his discovery of silver 
 and bequeathing the land grant to her. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 "Deijvdrop, Dorothy." This is the pseudonym of the poetess 
 who calls on Don Jos^ Sepulvida in response to his invitation. 
 She is "a taU, large-featured woman, with an extraordinary 
 quantity of blond hair parted on one side of her broad fore- 
 head." Don Jos^ finds to his astonishment that her poetic 
 woes are purely imaginary. A Knight Errant of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Dexter, Rev. Mr. A sententious clergvman resident in Lake° 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 311 
 
 ville. He assists the Lane family in welcoming Uncle Sylves- 
 ter. Their Uncle from California. 
 
 Dick. The hostler who forms one of the party in pursuit of the 
 robbers, and guides his companions through a severe snow- 
 storm to Henuicker's mountain hostelry. Snow-Bound at 
 Eagle's. 
 
 Dick. See Boyle ; Bracy ; Curson ; Demorest ; Foun- 
 tains ; Hall ; Keene ; Mattingly ; North ; Renshaw ; 
 Sylvester ; Whiskicy Dick. 
 
 Dick, Captain. See Macleod, Richard Graeme. 
 
 Diggs, Dr. David. A surgeon who attends an elderly gentle- 
 man suffering from acute hydrocephalus. No Title (Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Dimmick, Joe. A citizen of Simpson's Bar. How Santa Claus 
 came to Simpson's Bar. 
 
 Dimmidge, Eliza Jane. The wife of Micah, who inserts a de- 
 fiant answering advertisement to his in the " Clarion ; " but the 
 public refuse to believe in its authenticity. Mrs. Dimmidge, 
 finding that jealousy caused her husband's outburst, is happily 
 reconciled to him. The Boom in the " Calaveras Clarion." 
 
 Dimmidge, Micah. He belongs to a settlement of English 
 North-Country miners. His wife has quarreled with and left 
 him ; and he inserts in the " Calaveras Clarion " a notice in the 
 largest type, filling a column, that he will no longer be respon- 
 sible for her debts, etc. ; thereby causing an unprecedented sale 
 of the paper. The Boom in the " Calaveras Clarion." 
 
 Dim'wood, Flora. The pretty, high-spirited niece of Snapshot 
 Harry, who, though entirely loyal to her uncle, feels keenly the 
 stigma which his mode of life sets upon her. She proves a 
 friend in need to the courageous young expressman, Brice, who 
 speedily and permanently finds favor in her eyes. A Niece 
 of Snapshot Harry's. 
 
 Dim'wood, Henry. A dashing highwayman known as Snapshot 
 Harry. Though he has more than once " held up " Yuba Bill's 
 coach, that worthy testifies that " Harry is a clean fighter, with 
 no underhand tricks." A Niece of Snapshot Harry's. 
 
 Dingwall, Mr. An Englishman, the deputy manager of the 
 San Francisco bank in which Randolph Trent is employed. 
 Trent's Trust. 
 
 Dittmann, Helling. A Grerman ; a witness for the defense in 
 the murder trial. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Dobbs, Expectant. At first Congressman Gashwiler's private 
 
312 INDEX TO CHAKACTEKS 
 
 secretary, regarding his patron " with a certain dog-like expec- 
 tancy." Later he appears as a meek and hopeful ofGce-seeker, 
 dependent upon Gashwiler and lingering in Washington from 
 month to montli, comforting himself with promises and the 
 recollection of past oratorical triumphs in Remus. The Story 
 of a Mine; The Office-Seeker. 
 
 Dobbs, Mrs. Fannie. The wife of Expectant Dobbs. In the 
 last hours of the " office-seeker " she joins him. The Office- 
 Seeker. 
 
 Dobbs, Mrs. Eugenia Neworth's aunt. A Jack and JiU of the 
 Sierras. 
 
 Dobbs, Professor. A geologist, a friend and admirer of Mrs , 
 Enriquez Saltillo. He is the scientific adviser of the El Bolero 
 mining company, and falsiiies his report to suit the wishes of 
 the majority of the board, and for an augmented fee. The 
 Passing of Enriquez. 
 
 Doctor, the. An excellent raconteur, who cannot brook any in- 
 terruption whatever, not even an expression of interest, so that 
 his friends preserve a complete and apparently inattentive 
 silence whenever he shows signs of having a story to teD, and 
 throughout the telling of it. A Ghost of the Sierras. 
 
 Dodd, James. An officious deputy-sheriff ; later, a " road- 
 agent." Jessie Mayfleld overhears a tumultuous interview 
 between this officer and Jeff Briggs. By strategy she settles 
 the obligation and outwits Dodd. In the second phase of his 
 career, he, with other robbers, attacks the stage-coach on which 
 Jefl is express messenger, and captures the gold dust, but after- 
 wards yields it up on the payment of twenty thousand dollars. 
 Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 
 
 Dodd, William. A teamster, who presents her first doll to 
 Mary Foulkes. A Mother of Five. 
 
 Dolores. Colonel Starbottle's lady (?) friend, whose undesira- 
 ble presence at a dancing-party brings about two duels and two 
 deaths. The Romance of Madrono Hollow. 
 
 Dolores. Teresa's friend and correspondent. In the Carguinez 
 Woods. 
 
 Dolores. See Sax-vatibrra. 
 
 Dominlco. See Father Dominico. 
 
 DoQa Clara. See Santierra. 
 
 DoSa Dolores. See Salvatierra. 
 
 DoSia Felippa. See Peralte. 
 
 DoSa Isabel See Ramirez- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 313 
 
 Dofla Maria. See Saltonstall and Sepulvida. 
 
 Dofia Ursula. The duenna of Dona Isabel ; with " discreet 
 and mercenarily averted orbs." The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Don Caesar. See Alvarado and Briones. 
 
 Don Francisco. See Grey. 
 
 Don Jos^. See Salvatierra ; Santierra ; Sepulvida ; Wiles. 
 
 Don Juan. See Briones and Salvatierra. 
 
 Don Miguel. See Briones. 
 
 Don Pedro. See Kuiz. 
 
 Don Ramon. See Kamirez. 
 
 Dorman, Low. A young half-breed, son of a white man and a 
 Cherokee woman. His name among the Indians is L'Eau Dor- 
 mante. He is a man of fine physique and superior mental 
 abilities, very simple and straightforward, and wholly lacking 
 any sense of humor. He lives encamped in a hollow tree in 
 the Carquinez Woods, where he indulges his taste for solitude 
 and botany, and collects plants and animals for a scientific 
 society. He harbors the fugitive Teresa, with whom he falls 
 in love after being jilted by Miss Wynn, and with whom he 
 perishes in a forest fire. In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Dornton, Bobby. The little son of Sir John Dornton, the 
 child of a private marriage, confided, after his mother's death, 
 to the care of Miss Avondale. His uucle affirms the boy's 
 illegitimacy, and the delicate child dies before his father can 
 assert his claims. Trent's Trust. 
 
 Dornton, George. A professional gambler and notorious duel- 
 ist, known as "Gentleman George." His characteristics are 
 " coolness, courage, and almost philosophic fatalism." He is a 
 faithful friend to Tappington Brooks. After the Vigilance 
 Committee has routed the gambling fraternity out of San 
 Francisco, he reappears as a dashing stockbroker, and is re- 
 ported as being about to marry Mrs. Brooks. A Secret of Tele- 
 graph Hill, 
 
 Dornton, Sir John. A born wanderer, with a, passion for the 
 sea. When he falls heir to the family title and estate, he has 
 not been heard from for years. His younger brother concludes 
 very hastily that he was a man found drowned at San Fran- 
 cisco, shortly after Sir John's interview with Randolph Trent, 
 and assumes the elder's heritage. For the sake of his son, John 
 Dornton wavers in his determination not to declare himself, bnc 
 after the child's death he feels free to follow his own incliiia> 
 tions, and disappears finally. Trent's Trust. 
 
314 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Dcrnton, Sir 'William. The younger brother of Sir John, ai 
 ill-coDditioned man in disposition and habits. Before leaving 
 England for the last time, his brother endeavors to have a 
 private interview with the holder of his title, but William, ter- 
 rified at the sight of him, falls into a fit from which be never 
 recovers. Trent's Trust. 
 
 Dorotea. See Saltonstall. 
 
 Downey, Caddy and Mammy. An aged and saintly couple, 
 the pets of the mining-camp at Rough-and-Keady. They live 
 on the bounty of their neighbors, and Daddy is made postmas- 
 ter and treasurer of certain charitable funds. After five years 
 they suddenly disappear, and the funds disappear at the same 
 time. It then comes out that Mammy's real name is George 
 F. Fenwick, and Daddy's is Jem Flanigan, and that both are 
 actors and swindlers from Australia. Two Saints of the Foot- 
 Hills. 
 
 Do'ws, Captain Masterton. Sally's father ; a Southern land- 
 owner. He " never lifted his head again after Richmond was 
 taken, and drank himself to death." Colonel Starbottle's Client; 
 Sally Dows. 
 
 DO'WS, Miss Mirandy. A Southern gentlewoman. Miss Sally's 
 aunt and guardian. Her " old beliefs had given way to a half 
 cynical acceptance of new facts." Sally Dows. 
 
 Dows, Sally. A vivacious Kentucky girl, cousin to the Jeff- 
 courts. In " Colonel Starbottle's Client," she conducts a reli- 
 gious correspondence with Corbin, and awakens in her cousin 
 Julia a jealousy which prompts a violent attack upon that inno- 
 cent and unsuspecting man. After the war, somewhat sobered 
 by responsibilities, she prefers business to sentiment, and con- 
 ducts her plantation according to Northern methods, protecting 
 herself the while against a multitude of suitors. She saves 
 Courtland's life, endangering her own, and at last yields her 
 independence and surrenders to the Northerner. Colonel Star- 
 bottle's Client; Sally Dows. 
 
 Drake, Mrs. Abner. A sympathetic widow, who pays a, visit 
 of condolence to Mrs. Pulaski Wade. A Widow of Santa Ana 
 Valley. 
 
 Drake, Francis Horatio Nelson. A friend of Lord Brown- 
 stone Ewer. Golly and the Christian {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Drummond, Cyrus. A Northern capitalist, who visits Ked- 
 lands with Courtland. In contrast with the latter, he is strongly 
 affected by sectional prejudice. Sally Dows. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 315 
 
 Orummond, Peter. A facetious miner and comrade of Beard 
 
 at Blazing Star. Found at Blazing Star. 
 Duchesne, Dr. A pioneer physician and snrgeon, resident at 
 different times in various towns and mining-camps of California. 
 " Of a naturally refined nature and liberal education," frank, 
 fearless, and skillful; popular with men, women, and children. 
 We first find him the resident physician of Smith's Pocket, 
 where he becomes a friend of the schoolmaster, Mr. Gray, to 
 whom he reveals his suspicions of M'liss's connection with her 
 father's death. In " The Man on the Beach," he attends the 
 baby and James North in their respective illnesses. While at 
 Brown's Ferry, he attends Mornie Nixon, and saves the lives 
 of the Twins of Table Mountain by his courage, presence of 
 mind, and knowledge of human nature. In " A Millionaire of 
 Rough and Ready," he treats poor Slinn, the paralytic. In 
 " Cresfey," he extracts the ball from McKinstry's hip after the 
 duel. In " The Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge," he attends Jose- 
 phine Forsyth's wounded stranger. Wliile stationed at Buck- 
 eye Camp, he attends the wounded Saunders and Shuttleworth 
 and covers their discomfited retreat. In " A Convert of the 
 Mission," his advice to the nervously exhausted circuit preacher, 
 Stephen Masterton, brings about a wonderful cure. He at- 
 tends Martin Morse, at the request of Jack Despard, and 
 brings him safely through an attack of "tule fever." He 
 enlightens a company of miners regarding the nature of the 
 Chinese medicines they have been buying from See Yup. He 
 attends little Florry Fraser in her last illness. As the physi- 
 cian of Chris Calton he highly appreciates the intelligence and 
 capability of Miss Trotter. He is the highly regarded medical 
 attendant of Mrs. Rivers of Windy Hill Rancho, and he sends 
 Mr. Hamlin to her house to complete his recovery after a 
 serious illnes.s. In "Gabriel Conroy," he is surgeon to the 
 relief party which visits Starvation Camp, and he attends Jack 
 Hamlin in his failing health and on his deathbed. M'liss ; The 
 Man on the Beach ; The Twins of Table Mountain ; A Million- 
 aire of Rough-and-Ready ; Cressy ; The Chatelaine of Burnt 
 Ridge ; The Transformation of Buckeye Camp; A Convert of the 
 Misnion; In the Tides ; See Yup; The Youngest Prospector in 
 Calaveras; Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper; The Convalescence oi 
 ■Jack Hamlin ; Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Duchess, The. See Soho. 
 
 Duchess, The. " Tlie superlative of beauty, wealth, and posi- 
 tion." Lothaw {Condensed Novels). 
 
316 INDEX TO CHARACTEKS 
 
 "Duchess, The." One of the outcasts; a young woman of no 
 reputation. She and the others carefully keep all knowledge 
 of their real character from Piney Woods, and she and Piney 
 perish from cold and hunger in each other's arms. The Out- 
 casts of Poker Flut. 
 
 Duffy. One of the defrauded mining partners of Smith, alias 
 Farendell. He aids the impoverished and forsaken Mrs. Cut- 
 ler, but his heart is given to Mrs. Smith, who, when she is 
 assured of her faithless husband's death, rewards his long con^ 
 stancy. The Reincarnation of Smith. 
 
 Dumont, Jack. Miss Sally's cousin. A young Frenchman in- 
 terested in the Freedman's cause. As a member of the Dows 
 family, he takes part in the family feud, and uses a " scatter 
 gun " upon Higbee. Sally Dmos. 
 
 Dumphy, Mrs. Jane. Peter's wife ; one of the starving emi- 
 grants. Crazed by hardship, she carries a bundle of rags, which 
 takes the place in her mind of her dead child. She dies after 
 seeing a vision of the rescuing party. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Dumphy, Peter. He deserts the starving band of emigrants c;; 
 learning of a mysterious something hidden by Dr. Devarges. 
 He escapes, and the information which he gets from Dr. 
 Devarges's cache as to the location of gold and silver stands 
 Lira in such good stead that in five years he has accumulated 
 millions, and is a leading banker and capitalist of San Fran- 
 cisco. His brusqueness gives him an undeserved reputation 
 for frankness and honesty. "To a conceit that was so out- 
 spoken as to be courageous, to an ignorance that was so freely 
 
 ' and shamelessly expressed as to make hesitating and cautious 
 wisdom appear weak and unmanly beside it, Mr. Dumphy 
 added the rare quality of perfect unconsoieutiousness unmixed 
 with any adulteratiug virtue." He is always loud and emphatic 
 in his enthusiasm for California. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Duncaster, Lord. An anglicized Scot. The McHulish lands 
 form a part of his estate, and he is The McHulish. The Heif 
 of the McHulishes. 
 
 Dunn, Jim. Sheriff of Yolo, shot and wounded by the escaping 
 Teresa. One of Miss Nellie Wynn's suitors, and being pos- 
 sessed of worldly goods, the one most favored by her father, as 
 well as by the young lady herself in her more serious moments. 
 He is honest and no coward. He perishes in the forest fire 
 which burns the Carquinez Woods. In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Dunshunner, Lord. An imppcunious Englishman, whose title 
 attracts Louise Macy. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEAOTEES 317 
 
 Du Page, Marie. A schoolmate of Miss Kitty Lane. A favor- 
 ite and the prospective heir of Enoch Lane. The dramatic 
 artifices of " Uncle Sylvester " at first alarm her ; she then 
 becomes curious as to his intentions, and in the end begs for- 
 giveness for her distrust. The fortune unearthed proves to be 
 the legacy bequeathed her by Enoch Lane. Their Uncle from 
 California. 
 
 Edgardo. Lady Selina's lover, with a past as shady as hers. 
 He engages Burke the Slogger to wreck the train which is 
 bringing his wife to Sloperton Grange, and, failing in this, he 
 employs another villain for a similar dire purpose and wth 
 better success. He perishes with Lady Selina in the explosion 
 which ruins the church where they have gone to be married, 
 Selina Sedilia {Condensed Novels). 
 
 XidTvard. See Sir Edward. 
 
 Xileanor. See Keene. 
 
 Elijah. See Curtis and Martin. 
 
 EUsha. See Braggb. 
 
 ElBbetb. See Pkincebs Alexandrine Elsbeth Marie Stb 
 
 PHANIE VON WeSTPHALEN-AlSTADT. 
 
 Elsie. See Decker and Kirkby. 
 
 Emile. See L'Hommadieu. 
 
 Euriquez. See Saltbllo. 
 
 Esteban. See Padre Esteban. 
 
 Eunice. See Delatour. 
 
 Euphemia. See Harkutt. 
 
 Eversleigh, Sibyl. An attractive young English girl, the cousiv, 
 and heiress of the Domtons. She is at first interested i\. 
 Randolph Trent as the last person to have seen Sir John alivoi 
 and later for himself ; and when he visits her at Dornton Hall 
 after her supposed accession to the estate, she confides to 
 him that like her cousin, she cares nothing for the inheritance. 
 Later Sir John lets her know of his existence, but begs her to 
 retain the estate, as the course best pleasing to himself. She 
 travels extensively in search of him, travels afterward shared 
 by her husband. Years later, she and her family become the 
 occupants of Dornton Hall. Trent's Trust. 
 
 "Ewer, Iiord BroTwnstone. The recreant lover of Jinny Jones. 
 Golly and the Christian {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Expectant. See Dobbs. 
 
 Ezekiel. See Corwin. 
 
318 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Fagg, David. " He was a good sort of fellow, but he lacked 
 manliuess and spirit." After achieving wealth by a stroke of 
 luck, he falls in love with Miss Nellie Robins, but finding her 
 more interested in Rattler than in him, he lends that gay 
 deceiver money enough to set him up in business and enable 
 him to marry. He then leaves for his home in the East, but is 
 lost at sea on the way. The Man of No Account. 
 
 Fairfax. See MuNROE. 
 
 Fairfax, Captain. The favored suitor of Miss Georgia Piper. 
 The Youngest Miss Piper. 
 
 Fairfax, Mrs. An ardent Virginian secessionist and " disciple " 
 of Marion. She leaves her husband because of his indolence 
 in furthering the " cause," and assists Marion in California. 
 Mrs. Bunker is used to forward correspondence between them. 
 The Conspiracy of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Pairley, Bob. David Fairley's runaway son, still loved and 
 looked for by his sister Flip. Known in Sonora as Bob Ridley, 
 and killed by Lance Harriott, who, ignorant of his victim's 
 identity, undertakes a search for Fairley after meeting Flip. 
 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 Fairley, David. A querulous old charcoal-burner. He is de- 
 ceived by the appearance of rock crystals in his charcoal-pits, 
 and believes that he has discovered the secret of diamond- 
 making. Over his slovenly ways Flip watches, through the 
 days of her childhood, for to her he is " dad " and family. 
 The murder in the cabin completes the wreck of his mind. 
 Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 Fairley, Flip. The child of David Fairley. A little freckled 
 nymph of the mountains, who fears neither man nor nature. 
 Through love of a renegade brother, she ministers to homeless 
 tramps and Chinamen, hoping that some day the prodigal may 
 stray into her canon, or that " some o' these chaps might run 
 across brother and do him a good turn for the sake of me." 
 Harriott's frank and careless manner wins her childish affec- 
 tion, and she protects him from discovery. During the suc- 
 ceeding six months, Harriott sends her finery in which she 
 decks herself, and, Cinderella-like, forgets the misery of home 
 life. This experience and her love for the desperado hasten 
 her dawning womanhood. She dies with Harriott, suffocated 
 in her father's charcoal-pit. Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 Fall, William. Known in Cedar Camp as Uncle Billy. He and 
 his partner, Uncle Jim, had long lived together and owned 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 3l9 
 
 everything in common save their blankets, and went through 
 an unchanged routine daily. Uncle Jim, aroused to a sense 
 of the futility of their lives, leaves everything to his partner 
 and goes to San Francisco. Later Uncle Billy makes a great 
 strike, and with a draft for twenty thousand dollars goes in 
 search of Uncle Jim, to save whose pride. Fall deliberately and 
 secretly loses most of the money. Uncle Jim and Uncle Billy. 
 
 Falloner, Robert. A lucky miner, who generously sends a re- 
 mittance to the little brother arid sister of an unlucky one, who 
 is at the point of death. Later, in traveling through the West, 
 he stops at the town where they live to tell them of their loss, 
 but by their friends he is supposed to be the brother himself. 
 He accepts the situation for the time, takes charge of the chil- 
 dren, and after the death of the little girl, he adopts the boy as 
 his brother. Jimmy's Big Brother from California, 
 
 Fantine. A beautiful blonde of sixteen. " One of those women 
 who do wrong in the most beautiful and touching manner." 
 Fantine (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Paquita. Maruja's coquettish maid, employed by her mistress 
 in matters of trust. Maruja. 
 
 Faraday. See Little. 
 
 Farendell, James. See Smith. 
 
 Farquier, Roger. A Washington departmental clerk and a 
 dignified Southern gentleman reduced in circumstances. At 
 the boarding-house conducted by himself and his wife live Mr. 
 and Mrs. Hopkinson. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Father Dominico. A priest of the mission of San Felipe. 
 Three Partners. 
 
 Father Felipe. The family priest of the Sepulvidas. He takes 
 a more than paternal interest in the safety of Don Josh's life 
 and property. A Knight-Errant of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Father Felipe. Priest of the Mission of San Antonio. An old 
 man, gentle, courteous, and refined in manner and bearing, but 
 unpicturesque and old-fashioned in dress. He is the friend and 
 counselor of Dona Dolores Salvatierra. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Father Jos^ Antonio Haro. See Haro. 
 
 Father Pedro. The padre at San Carrael, to whom Sanchioha 
 brings the little foundling. He adopts the little girl into the 
 service of the Chnrch, concealing her sex under the name of 
 Francisco, and taking upon himself the entire care of the child. 
 He brings her up as an acolyte, and loves her with all a father's 
 love. It is only after many struggles and subterfuges that he 
 
320 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 is prevailed upon to confess the truth and give her up to Cranch, 
 her rightful guardian. At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Father Pedro. One of Clarence Brant's instructors at the 
 Jesuits' College. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Father Sobriente. The principal of the Jesuits' College at San 
 Jos^. The good padre, who is aware of the parentage of his 
 pupil Clarence Brant, treats him with great tact and tender- 
 ness. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Father. See Padre. 
 
 Faulkner. A partner of Jack Fleming. A Treasure of the 
 Redwoods. 
 
 Faulkner, Miss Matilda. A young Southern woman, whose 
 zeal for the " cause " leads her to enlist as a Confederate spy. 
 Under the pretext of preserving family papers, she enters 
 Brant's headquarters, and from " Gray Oaks " maintains a sys- 
 tem of signals with the enemy. But with the growth of her 
 love for Clarence, she regrets her share in his undoing and con- 
 fesses to him. Clarence, perceiving that she is hut a tool in 
 the hands of a seeming mulatto woman, who eventually proves 
 to be his wife, gives the girl a " safe-conduct " to Washington. 
 At the close of the war, in which his wife is killed, she marries 
 him. Clarence. 
 
 Faulkner, Ned. A chivalrous and peculiarly sensitive young 
 man, who, driven by the dishonesty of others to "take the 
 road," finds himself in an equivocal position with the young 
 woman whom he loves. Happily, the outcome of the story 
 mends his fortunes. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Fauquier, Brant. See Brant, Hamilton. 
 
 Fauquier, Jim. A sententious resident of Blazing Star. Found 
 at Blazing Star. 
 
 Felipa. See Peralte. 
 
 Felipe. See Father Felipe. 
 
 Fenwick, George F. See Downey, Daddy and Mammy. 
 
 Ferdinand. See Godoy. 
 
 Fergus, Simon. A vindictive old man, who prays at the camp- 
 meeting for "justification by faith," while his shot-gun is still 
 in his wagon. An Apostle of the Tules. 
 
 Ferri&res. See Db Ferrieres. 
 
 Filgee, H. G. Father to Rupert and Johnny. Cressy. 
 
 Filgee, Jack. An admirer of Polly Harkness, shy and timid 
 when sober and quite unpresentable at other times. An Es- 
 meralda of Rocky Canon. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 321 
 
 Filgee, Johnny. Rupert's younger brother. A youthful gos- 
 sip, who, concealed in a tree, witnesses the duel between Mc- 
 Kinstry and Ford, and sees Davis fire on McKinstry. Cressy. 
 
 Filgee, Rupert. The most promising pupil of the Indian 
 Spring school. A handsouie youth, adored by the girls, wliom 
 he despises. He assists " Uncle Ben " at the copy-book, and 
 afterwards, when the latter leaves Indian Spring for Sacra- 
 mento in his character of man of fortune, accompanies him as 
 private secretary. Cress;/. 
 
 Fitz-Fulke, Lady. Whose mother was immortalized by Byron ; 
 she hopes that near the Sphinx, she may pass for being young. 
 Zut-Ski (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Fitz-Fulke, Lord. The son of the elderly-youthful lady. Zut- 
 Ski {Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Fitz Harry, the Hon. Captain. A visitor at Oldenhurst, ad- 
 dicted to foraging on the sideboard. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Flanigan, Jem. See Dovitnky, Daddy and Mammy. 
 
 Flash, Hon. Jackson. Has a bloodless rencontre with Colonel 
 Starbottle. An Episode of Fiddletown. 
 
 Flash-in-the-Pan. The ghost of an Elizabethan sailor, who 
 appears to be "a man of choleric humor." The Legend of 
 Devil's Point. 
 
 "Fleas in the Blanket." The sobriquet of a "friendly" 
 Indian, who acts as a spy for his fellows in the matter of the 
 attack on the Sage Wood coach. Later, Dick Boyle discovers 
 the man crawling towards the abandoned coach containing Miss 
 Cantire, and kills hlra noiselessly. Dick Boyle's Business Card. 
 
 Fleet, Joe. The youngest of the four guardians of Fanny 
 Meritoe. He is responsible for the sentiment in the composite 
 letters sent to her, and in the end appears to have had some 
 private correspondence with her. The Four Guardians of 
 Lagrange. 
 
 Fleetwood, Captain. An officer at Fort Biggs, who commands 
 the company sent to avenge the death of the Atherlys. The 
 Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Fleming. A jovia' teamster, the father of Julian. A Tale of 
 Three Truants. 
 
 Fleming, John. A good-looking, well-bred miner, young, hope- 
 ful, and inefficient. He borrows a pan of Miss Jallinger for 
 prospecting purposes, and at a second meeting she shows him 
 gold near her father's cabin. The fatlier passes the strike over 
 to Jack when ^e becomes Jallinger's son-in-law. A Treasure oj 
 the Redwoods. 
 
322 INDEX TO CHABACTEES 
 
 Fleming, Julian. A lanky giant of seventeen, who was present 
 as referee at a fight between two younger pupils of the Hem- 
 lock Hill school, for the " Kingship " of Table Eidge. The 
 boys are caught in a heavy snowstorm, are carried down the 
 mountain side by an avalanche, euter the buried cabin of a 
 tunnel-man by the chimney, finding there food and shelter, and 
 finally make their way to school after an absence from home of 
 fifty hours. A Tale of Three Truants. 
 
 rietoher. See CaRTis, Elijah. 
 
 Fletcher, Captain. A miuer at Sawyer's Ledge. Jimmy's Big 
 Brother from California. 
 
 Fletcher, Judge. Supposed to be a suitor for the hand of Miss 
 Trotter. Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper. 
 
 Flint. While employed as a carpenter by the Lanes, he dis- 
 covers a bricked closet, containing a fortune in louis d'or. 
 The coins are removed during frequent visits, and are placed iu 
 circulation in California, whence Sylvester Lane traces them 
 back to their source. Their Uncle from California. 
 
 Flint, Dick. One of the committee of the Excelsior Company. 
 The Goddess of Excelsior. 
 
 Flint, Harry. A penniless young man, who closely resembles 
 Shelby Fowler, and is persuaded by circumstances to assume 
 his name. This event heralds his prosperity. Among Fowler's 
 effects he discovers several " daguerreotypes of pretty faces, 
 one of which was singularly fascinating to him." A year 
 later he encounters in England the original of the portrait, and 
 learns that he bears her brother's name. Out of a Pioneer's 
 Trunk. 
 
 Flip. See Fairley. 
 
 Flirtia, the Princess. Cousin of the King of Trulyruralania. 
 She concludes to marry Duke Michael, owing to the confusion 
 arising from there being so many of Rupert. Rupert the Re- 
 sembler (Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Flora. North's aged Indian handmaid. The Man on the Beach. 
 
 Fludder. One of the " Red Gulch Contingent," who are hosts 
 at the picnic given in honor of the Piper family. The Youngest 
 Miss Piper. 
 
 Flynn, Senator. A dispenser of official patronage. John 
 Milton Harkutt declines tlie " government berth " tendered by 
 the Senator at the suggestion of Mrs. Ashwood. A First 
 Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Flynn, Tom. A miner from Virginia ; a " good-natured hxa 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 323 
 
 not over-bright giant," with a blond mustache. How Santa 
 Claus came to Simpson's Bar ; The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 Plynn, Tom. A San Francisco gambler. He is deceived by- 
 Flint's resemblance to Fowler, and buys at an auction sale the 
 latter's portmanteau, which he presents to Flint. Upon his 
 advice the young, man assumes the name of the man whom he 
 resembles. Out of a Pioneer's Trunk. 
 
 Flynn, Tom. The betrothed of Jinney Jules, whom, with 
 Heramingway, he rescues from the floating cabin. When the 
 Waters were up at " Jules'." 
 
 Flynn, Tom. See Brant, Colonel Hamilton. 
 
 Folinsbee, Old Man. A Yankee in California. The Romance 
 of Madrono Hollow. 
 
 Folinsbee, Jack. Son of " old man Folinsbee." He is instru- 
 mental in having Colonel Starbottle and his mistress ejected 
 from a ball-room. The affair results in a duel with Culpepper 
 Starbottle, in which the latter is killed, and in another with the 
 gallant colonel, who kills Folinsbee. The Romance of Madrono 
 Hollow. 
 
 Folinsbee, Jack. A handsome but worthless young man, who 
 has wrecked his health and his fortune by dissipation and gam- 
 bling. He makes love to the heiress, Peggy Moffatt, who loves 
 him much better than he deserves. He dies, fortunately for 
 both, before he can redeem his promise to Jack Hamlin to 
 marry her. An Heiress of Red Dog. 
 
 Folinsbee, Miss Jo. Daughter of " old man Folinsbee ; '' a 
 pretty and attractive girl, with a chip hat and blue ribbons. 
 She is much admired in the settlement. In " The Iliad of 
 Sandy Bar," she is called the Lily of Poverty Flat. " The Ro- 
 mance of Madrono Hollow " records the story of young Cul- 
 pepper Starbottle's love for her. The Iliad of Sandy Bar ; 
 The Romance of Madrono Hollow. 
 
 Folinsbee, John. A miner who has made his " pile " in Cali- 
 fornia, and who, to please the boys, hunts up Peter Schroeder 
 in the Fatherland. Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Folsom, Daddy. A weak, but emotional and aggressively 
 hopeful neighbor, who cares for Dick Lasham in his last illness. 
 writing a letter in the dying boy's name to his little brother 
 and sister. Jimmy's Big Brother from California. 
 
 Fontonelles, The Comtesse de. The mother of Ren^e. The 
 Strange Experience of Alkali Dick. 
 
 Fontonelles, Ren^e de. The young daughter of the house, 
 
S24 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 who sees Alkali Dick by moonlight in the garden of the ChStean 
 de Fontonelles, and thinks him the spirit of a long dead an- 
 cestor. She bravely addresses him, but faints when he ntters 
 the only French word applicable to his situation that he can 
 remember, " Perdu." Unseen he carries her into the house, 
 where he meets the gaze of the portrait of the Comte Armand, 
 extraordinarily like himself. The Strange Experience of Alkali 
 Dick. 
 
 foo-Yup. The Chinese servant at The Lookout. A Phyllis of 
 the Sierras. 
 
 Ford, Mistress. A patrician dame of Morris County ; a warm- 
 hearted advocate of the Continental cause. Thankful Blossom. 
 
 Cord, Jack. A sentimental youth of twenty, master of the In- 
 dian Spring school. He is in love with Cressy, though he lacks 
 the resolution to love her openly, or to promise her marriage. 
 After extricating himself from many difficult situations, into 
 which the jealousy of her other lovers and the falseness of his 
 own position place him, he is considerably surprised by Cressy's 
 marriage to Joe Masters. Cressy. 
 
 )f ord, John. Nicknamed " The Old Man." An energetic, gen- 
 erous, and sensitive boy of nineteen, one of the partners of the 
 Lone Star Claim, and the life of the cabin. The four others. 
 a lazy and shiftless set, are on the point of deserting him, when 
 a stroke of luck puts him into prospective possession of a for- 
 tune. He determines to share it with his partners, but the 
 gold is buried by a landslide before they can reach it. The 
 occurrence restores harmony, however, and points the way to 
 prosperity. Left out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 Forester, Amy. The pretty daughter of a man of business 
 importance, who marries Tenbrook, a miner, whom she first 
 meets on a night when her father and herself are snow-bound 
 near his lonely cabin. A Night on the Diiide. 
 
 Forester, Jenny. A gay young schoolmarm of San Francisco.. 
 The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 Forrest, Charlotte. A young American girl, a born artist, who 
 sketches a fountain in the beautiful garden of Domesday 
 Abbey, not knowing that the half-seen figure of a sea-god is in 
 reality a handsome fellow-couutryman, who had ventured to 
 plunge into the basin and been surprised there. From the 
 sketch she makes a study in oils which is greatly admired, and 
 is bought by Mr. Jackson Potter of Chicago. Wishing to re- 
 purchase the picture she calls on the gentleman, to recoguize 
 
INDEX TO CHAKACTERS 325 
 
 him as her antique statue. By their marriage they both own 
 the masterpiece. A Vision of the Fountain. 
 
 Forsyth, Lieutenant. A gallant young officer at Fort Biggs. 
 The Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Forsyth, Josephine. An energetic young woman who succeeds 
 to her uncle's estate at Burnt Ridge, and carries on its business 
 with masculine independence. Her womanly sympathies are 
 first aroused by the stranger whom she finds wounded and un- 
 conscious in the road, and helps to nurse through an operation 
 and an imbecile convalescence. The Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge. 
 
 Forsyth, Stephen. Josephine's good-for-nothing brother. He 
 throws Randolph from the ledge on the night of the accident in 
 order to regain the money which the latter has won from him 
 in gambling. Three months afterwards, when trying to pillage 
 his sister's desk in her absence, he is surprised by Randolph. 
 The shock of seeing his would-be assassin shakes the sick man 
 back to his reason. The Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge. 
 
 Forsyth, Thomas. A very disagreeable old person, shiftless 
 and incompetent, with a sentimental eye to his wrongs under 
 the domestic patronage of his independent daughter. The 
 Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge. 
 
 Forsyth, Mrs. Thomas. Josephine's mother, and one of her 
 husband's species. The Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge. 
 
 Foster. The driver of the Sage Wood and Dead Flat stage- 
 coach. He makes light of the Indian scare at Pine Barrens, 
 but is himself killed on his coach by ambushed savages. Dick 
 Boyle's Business Card. 
 
 Foster, Mrs. The mother of Lanty. Lanty Foster's Miitake. 
 
 Foster, Atalanta. Usually called Lanty. A pretty, high-spir- 
 ited girl, who on a dark evening aids an unknown horseman to 
 find the road, and keeps for him a jewel-hilted dagger which 
 he has dropped. Later she thinks the man is a Mexican horse 
 thief temporarily confined in her father's barn, and restores 
 the dagger and sets him free, only to find that the horseman 
 was the officer who had arrested the thief. Lanty Foster's 
 Mistake. 
 
 Foster, Jack. Expressman, — alert, vigilant, familiar, and fate- 
 ful. 2'he Four Guardians of Lagrange. 
 
 Foster, James. Known as Uncle Jim. After leaving his part- 
 ner, he becomes a crossing-sweeper in San Francisco, and when 
 Uncle Billy finds him, he has saved more than nine hnndred 
 dollars. Fall pretends to have but five hundred, losing the 
 
326 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 rest of his fortune at the Arcade Saloon. The two buy a small 
 wheat ranch and prosper, but Uncle Billy never tells his secret. 
 Uncle Jim, and Uncle Billy. 
 
 Foulkes, Mary. The happy mother of five dolls, and the play- 
 fellow of the " boys " along the express route. A Mother of 
 Five. 
 
 Fountains, Richard. A cowboy called Alkali Dick, a member 
 of Buffalo Bill's company, a picturesque figure, with his long 
 hair, pointed beard, and Van Dyck collar. Riding from Paris 
 to Havre, he enters the park of the Chateau de Fontonelles, 
 and those who see him there think him the apparition of the 
 first Comte de Fontonelles. The Strange Experience of Alkali 
 Dick. 
 
 rovrler, Shelby. An adventurer who disgraces his name in 
 Australia, and brings upon his family the enmity of his accom.. 
 plice in crime, Australian Pete. Out of a Pioneer's Trunk. 
 
 Francisco. The name with which Father Pedro christens the 
 abandoned baby girl whom he devotes to the service of the 
 Church, and brings up as an acolyte. When Crauch appears 
 as her guardian, with the story of her parentage and of the 
 wealth which awaits her, she surrenders to the allurements of 
 the world, and leaves her foster father in heartless thoughtless- 
 ness. "The past had no place in her preoccupied mind; her 
 bright eyes were full of eager anticipation of a substantial 
 future." A^ the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Frank. See Mainwaring, Francis. 
 
 Fraser, Florry. A little child, Johnny Medliker's favorite play- 
 mate, to whom he confides the secret of his discovery. She 
 keeps it faithfully to the end. Both children die of an epi- 
 demic prevailing at Burnt Springs. The Youngest Prospector 
 in Calaveras. 
 
 Fred. The young editor of the " Excelsior Magazine." Curious 
 as to the identity of his contributor, " White Violet," he under- 
 takes a search for her, but is headed off by his friend Jack 
 Hamlin. A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 
 French Pete. A criminal pursued by the constable of Fisher's 
 Crossing. Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 French Pete. A Wag of Rough-and-Ready. A Millionaire of 
 Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Frenshaw, Frank. Editor of the Mountain Banner. A pas- 
 senger in the coach robbed by Snapshot Harry. A Niece of 
 Snapshot Harry's. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 327 
 
 rrida. See Jansen. 
 
 Trisbee, Tom. See Jeffcourt, Tom. 
 
 Frisny, Dick. One of the "lied Gulch Contingent." The 
 Youngest Miss Piper. 
 
 Fritz. The lieutenant of Spitz. Rupert the Resembler (Con- 
 densed Novels). 
 
 Gabriel. See Conroy and Lane. 
 
 Gale, John. He loves Golly and desires the Perfect Life. He 
 becomes Brother Boreas in a monastery in Bishopsgate Street, 
 which has an Arctic climate of its own, and it is found there 
 that a gratuitons and blameless idiocy is his only peculiarity. 
 He takes a last and sublime resolve, that his duty as a perfect 
 Christian is to kill Golly. A gleam of common sense which 
 comes to her saves them both. Golly and the Christian (Con- 
 densed Novels). 
 
 Garcia, Manuel. The uucle of Fepita Kamirez. The keeper 
 of the mission garden in whose coverts Masterton meets Fepita. 
 A Convert of the Mission. 
 
 Garcia, Victor. The nnscrnpnlous nncle of Carmen. To him 
 come the bewildered Mexicans, Manuel and Miguel, with the 
 tale of desertion. He persuades Carmen to forge the signature 
 of Governor Micheltorena, and then, with Roscommon, presents 
 the claim to Congress. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Garnier, Monsieur. A young Frenchman in Maruja's train; 
 clever, self-confident, and witty. His devotion is more eon- 
 trolled than that of his rivals. From start to finish he is never 
 really in the race. Maruja. 
 
 Gash'wiler, Pratt C. A venal congressman, who manoeuvres 
 the Roscommon claim through the lower house, but is beaten 
 in the Senate. Expectant Dobbs looks to this "powerful influ- 
 ence " in national affairs for an official recognition of carapaigE 
 services, but is betrayed. The Story of a Mine ; The Office- 
 Seeker. 
 
 Genevra. See Tompkins. 
 
 Gentleman George. See Dornton, George. 
 
 George. See Barker ; Calvert; Dornton; Kearney; Lee; 
 Thomson; Tryan. 
 
 George. A notorious gambler. His last name is not revealed, 
 but it is said to be associated with " reckless hardihood, dissi- 
 pation, and blood." Gideon Deane saves him from lynching 
 and converts him as he lies on his deathbed. An Apostle of the 
 Tules. 
 
328 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Gideon. See Deane. 
 
 Gildersleeve, Gus. A Western scout attached to the Peyton 
 train. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Giles, Mr. Putney. Lothaw's agent. He gives a dinuer-party. 
 Lothaw (Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Gilroy. The leader of a band of squatters. He attempts the 
 seizure of the Robles Bancho, and, failing, leads Jim Hooker 
 into the desertion of his claim. Susy : A Story of the Plains. 
 
 Godoy, SeHor. Secretary to the Spanish embassy. Under the 
 name of " Count Ferdinand," he visits Blossom Farm and in- 
 troduces " Baron Pomposo " to Thankful. Their visit leads to 
 the arrest of Abner Blossom on the charge of harboring spies. 
 ThanJcful Blossom. 
 
 Golightly, Charles Francis Adams. Aged ten ; a pupil of 
 Doemville Academy. He becomes a politician at an early age. 
 The Hoodlum Band (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Golly. See Coylb. 
 
 Go'w, Jamie. An assistant of Callender in his inventive ca^ 
 pacity. The proximity to the daughter creates a tenderness 
 which is soon dissipated by distance. He leaves Scotland for 
 Honduras, and there disposes of an invention. Young Robin 
 Gray. 
 
 Grace. See Conroy and Nevil. 
 
 Gray, Mr. The schoolmaster of Smith's Pocket. He befriends 
 the wayward M'liss and accomplishes much towards civilizing 
 her. He is a young man of character and refinement, but 
 rather impressionable. M'liss. 
 
 Gray, Robert. A wealthy young American, who is called upon 
 by his friend the consul to escort Ailsa Callender and her father 
 to their home. The fresh simplicity and directness of the 
 Scotch girl attract him, and by means of his yacht he contrives 
 to visit her frequently. He offends the pride of the inventor 
 by his generosity in the hour of their distress, but this extrava- 
 gance only endears him to Ailsa. Young Robin Gray. 
 
 Green, Stanton. The postmaster at Hickory Hill. He is 
 saved from the results of his pilfering of the mails by Mrs. 
 Baker, who acts under the impulse of that loyalty which is pre- 
 valent in frontier communities. The Postmistress of Laurel 
 Run. 
 
 Green'wood, Parson. The minister of the church at High- 
 town. He shares in the reaction in Mr. Hamlin's favor among 
 his parishioners, and finally asks him to explain to himself and 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 329 
 
 his friends the mysteries of faro and poker. They play a 
 game of the latter, for beans, under Jack's supervision, in 
 which the Parson wins by the neatest blufE his instructor had 
 ever seen. The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Grey. A complacent young editor, who complies with the 
 strange requests of the prodigal son. The Home-Coming of 
 Jim Wilkes. 
 
 Grey, Mr. The editor of the "Mountain Clarion" and later of 
 the San Francisco " Daily Excelsior," known to his Spanish 
 friends as Don Francisco, generally shortened to Don Pancho, 
 He endeavors to discover the perpetrator of the assaults near 
 the Kamierez fonda, and Cota's wild mustang cannot unseat 
 him. He is the owner of Chu Chu, the admirer of Consuelo 
 Saltello, the close friend of her brother Enriquez, and the 
 chronicler of his fortunes. What Happened at the Fonda ; Chu 
 Chu ; The Devotion of Enriquez ; The Passing of Enriquez. 
 
 Grey, Clinton. One of the Committee of the Excelsior Com- 
 pany. Having left five sisters in the States, he is able to 
 properly arrange on the dummy the Parisian dresses that have 
 been missent to the hotel. The Goddess of Excelsior. 
 
 Grey, John. A hermit of the Pacific coast, who is brought to a 
 proper sense of his duty in life by a visit from a bright and 
 beautiful young lady. The Princess Boh and her Friends. 
 
 Greyson, Captain. Known as the gallant who indulged in 
 " philanderin' " with Louise Macy. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Grubbins. Breezy's schoolmaster. Mr. Midshipman Breezy 
 (Condensed Novels). 
 
 truest, Henry. The only son of Dr. West. Cast in his boy- 
 hood upon his own resources, he becomes a mere tramp. He 
 meets Maruja by chance, and his first steady feeling in life is 
 love for her. Fascinated by his strong, wild nature, Maruja 
 first fears and then loves him. She has agreed to fly with him, 
 when the secret of his birth is disclosed, and she eventually 
 marries him as the rightful heir to Dr. West's property. 
 Maruja. 
 
 «uest, Henry, Sr. See West, Dk. 
 
 Guild, Dr. The physician to whom Concho offers the little flask 
 of quicksilver in payment for a dose of mercury. The Story of 
 a Mine. 
 
 Gunn, Amos. A New York financier of irregular methods. 
 To prevent a disclosure of the relations between his family and 
 Flint, he plans to marry Kitty Lane. Her refusal and the 
 
830 INDEX TO OHAKACTEES 
 
 sinister threats of Sylvester Lane hasten his departure for 
 
 New York. Their Uncle from California. 
 •Etunn, Peter. A New York broker. The basis of his fortune 
 
 is laid by Flint's peculations, and is augmented by the floating 
 
 of wild-oat securities. Their Uncle from California. 
 Guy. See Heavystone. 
 
 Hale, John. A conscientious and somewhat forbidding young 
 man, whose ideas of propriety, law, and order are so upset by 
 the events of the story that he finds himself obliged to shield 
 indirectly the robbers against whom his righteous indignation 
 has been aroused. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Hale, Mrs. Josephine. A romantic young woman, who, long 
 accustomed to the cold propriety of her husband, finds in the 
 advent of two strangers beneath her roof the opportunity for a 
 delightful flirtation with one of them. Her happiness in the 
 memory of it is only enhanced when she learns that George Lee 
 is a highwayman. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Hale, Minnie. Hale's little daughter. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Hall, Dick. Familiarly known as Whiskey Dick. An oracle 
 of the bar-rooms of Devil's Ford. He has an admiration for 
 " fash'nable young ladies," and he manages to keep sober in 
 the presence of Miss Christie Carr, to whom he is especially 
 devoted, and to whom he makes himself very useful by dis- 
 closing secrets in an artless and tactless way. He is used as 
 a tool by Steptoe in his machinations against the three partners. 
 Devil's Ford ; Three Partners. 
 
 Hall, Joe. Sheriff of Calaveras County. "A quiet, gentle, 
 thoughtful man," uncouth and unprepossessing, but faithful to 
 his duty. In "Two Saints of the Foot-Hills," he reveals to 
 their former friends the real characters of Daddy and Mammy 
 
 ' Downey. He risks his life to protect his prisoner, Gabriel Con- 
 roy, from the lynchers, and then risks it again in attempting to 
 recapture him single-handed. Two Saints of the Fooi-Hills ; 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Hall, Seth. A deputy-sheriff in charge of Jack Despard on a 
 Sacramento steamer. He is overcome by his prisoner, who 
 escapes to the friendly shelter of Morse's cabin. In the Tules. 
 
 Hamilton, Dick. A rich banker and social leader, of good birth, 
 education, and position. Killed by John Oakhurst in a duel 
 about Mrs. Decker. It is then disclosed that he has been 
 carrying on an intrigue with that lady, who has used Oak- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 331 
 
 hurst's devotion as a blind. A Passage in the Life of Mr. John 
 Oakhurst. 
 Hamlin, Jack. A peripatetic California gambler, famous as 
 much for his easy audacity and the delicious fascination of his 
 personality as for his success in his chosen profession. He 
 always conducts a square game, and is as honest as it is possible 
 for a gambler to be. While many fear his sarcastic wit, he is 
 generally popular, and especially so with women and children. 
 He is faithful to his friends, and always ready to help a fellow- 
 mortal in distress. His chief pleasures are flirtation, badinage, 
 and music, and he is fond of children. His tenor voice has had 
 training in a church choir, and he is an enthusiastic organ- 
 player. In person he is handsome, languid, and accurately 
 dressed, with a pale " Greek face " of " Homeric gravity." We 
 first hear of him in " The Idyl of Red Gulch," where he is said 
 to have thrown a decanter at the head of a confederate for 
 mentioning Miss Mary's name in a bar-room. Next, he falls 
 in love with the wife of Brown of Calaveras, and is on the 
 point of eloping with her, when Brown's innocent trustfulness 
 changes his mind, and he bravely flees from temptation. He 
 is exiled from Sandy Bar by the vigilance committee. In 
 " How Santa Claus came to Simpson's Bar " and " A Passage in 
 the Life of Mr. John Oakhurst," we learn that Mr. Hamlin 
 is still in the profession. He becomes the confidant of Peggy 
 Moffatt, the heiress of Red Dog, in her love affair. The Fool 
 of Five Forks, with a stroke of " nigger luck," breaks his bank. 
 In " Found at Blazing Star," we find him conducting a game at 
 Wingdam. In " An Apostle of the Tules," he takes care of 
 the dying gambler George, and forms a strange friendship with 
 the preacher, Gideon Deane. He exchanges civilities with Don 
 Jos^ Sepulvida, the Knight-Errant of the Foot-Hills, and offers 
 to return the horse he has won from the drunken Roberto. 
 Out of curiosity he seeks the unknown Sappho of Green Springs, 
 but from a more chivalrous motive he gives up the search at her 
 request, and contents himself with quintupling the editor's pay- 
 ments for her poems. He is a friend of John Milton Harcou|rt, 
 formerly of Tasajara, and his adviser in the affair with the 
 editor of the " Pioneer." He visits Wayne's Bar " profession^ 
 ally," and observes the coquetry of the wife of the Bell-Ringer 
 of Angel's. He assumes the care of a simple and plain country 
 girl, deserted by a fellow gambler, and with great forethought 
 and delicacy provides for her peace and future welfare. He 
 
332 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 helps guard the treasure which the three partners take from 
 Heavy Tree Hill, stops the elopement of Mrs. Barker with 
 Van Loo, and assists the partners in guarding Marshall's claim. 
 He makes some stringent criticisms to the well-meaning Mr. 
 Joshua Rylands, regarding his mistaken treatment of his wife, 
 doing much good to both. He corresponds with the fascinating 
 Mrs. Burroughs, under cover to the hoy, Leonidas, from whose 
 innocent revelations he learns of the deadly trap set by the 
 lady for her husband ; and so writes an anonymous letter to 
 that jealously watchful man warning him of his wife's intended 
 elopement with the gambler. Jack Hamlin. He severely pro- 
 tests against Colonel Starbottle's guardianship of Pansy Stan- 
 nard, as prejudicial to the interests of the child, the Colonel at 
 last yielding to Jack's arguments. Recovering from a grave 
 illness, he is sent to the Windy Hill rancho for his convalescence. 
 Received with some distrust by its serious-minded owners, he 
 rapidly wins their favor by his charming personality, his liking 
 for the children, his rare gifts as musician and singer, and his 
 unfailing good temper; and before he leaves he is actually 
 forced to expound to some of the austere friends of his host 
 the mysteries of faro and poker. He befriends Gabriel Conroy 
 in his misfortunes, and, though ill himself, risks his life to save 
 him from the lynchers. He entertains a sentimental passion 
 for the mysterious Dona Dolores. He dies in the presence of 
 his faithful servant Pete, after pretending conversion in order 
 to ease the devout old negro's mind. The Idyl of Red Gulch ; 
 Brovm of Calaveras; The Iliad of Sandy Bar ; How Santa 
 Claits came to Simpson's Bar ; A Passage in the Life of Mr. 
 John Oakhurst; An Heiress of Red Dog ; The Fool of Five 
 Forks ; Found at Blazing Star ; An Apostle of the Tules ; A 
 Knight-Errant of the Foot-Hills ; A Sappho of Green Springs ; 
 A First Family of Tasajara ; The Bell-Ringer of Angel's ; A 
 Protegee of Jack Hamlin's; Three Partners ; Mr. Jack Hamlin's 
 Mediation ; A Mercury of the Foot-Hills ; A Ward of Colonel 
 Starbottle; The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin ; Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Hammersley, Jack. Mayor of San Francisco. One of the 
 three original members of the Trust, his position in it expiring 
 with his term, and descending upon his ofGcial successors until 
 Yerba becomes of age. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Hank. One of the McKinstry household. Cressy. 
 
 Harcourt. The more suggestive name that Harkutt and his 
 family assume with the growth of their fortune. A First Family 
 qf Tasajara. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 333 
 
 Haroourt, Loo. The wife of John Milton Harcourt. She has 
 been a servant in the Harcourt family, and the boy is disin- 
 herited for his runaway marriage. She is in striking contrast 
 to the buoyancy and assertiveness of her youthful husband. 
 A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Harkins, Jim. A scoundrel who defrauds the stockholders of 
 Excelsior Ditch out of their rightful earnings, and who ulti- 
 mately is compelled to disgorge the money. Snow-Bound at 
 Eagle's. 
 
 Harkness, Polly. A brown, wild-eyed, disheveled girl, the 
 daughter of a logger and charcoal-burner at Rocky Canon. An 
 Esmeralda of Rocky Canon. 
 
 Harkutt, Clementina. The eldest daughter of Harkutt. An 
 unemotional nature, with concealed primitive instincts. She 
 forms a weird friendship for Curtis, and waits for his regenera- 
 tion. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Harkutt, Daniel D. Proprietor of the general store at Sidon. 
 A man who accommodates his ethical creed to suit circum- 
 stances. The disappearance of Curtis and knowledge of a 
 prospective railway give him advantages in speculation, which 
 he uses relentlessly. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Harkutt, Mrs. Daniel D. The wife of the storekeeper. She 
 wears " a singularly permanent expression of pained sympathy 
 upon her face." She is not out of harmony with the luxury 
 that results from Harkutt's speculation, but then appears as 
 the " motherly hostess." A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Harkutt, Euphemia. The youngest daughter of Daniel Har- 
 kutt. She marries a young surveyor, and when disillusionized 
 returns to her home. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Harkutt, John Milton. An optimistic young reporter. His 
 father disinherits him upon his marriage, and the young couple 
 begin the struggle in San Francisco. After the death of his 
 wife he meets Mrs. Ashworth. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Harlowe. Counsel for Eoyal Thatcher. The Washington law- 
 yer in whose home Carmen brings Thatcher to her feet. The 
 Story of a Mine. 
 
 Haro, Father Jos^ Antonio. An enthusiastic Jesuit mission- 
 ary of the eighteenth century in California. " Of tall and 
 cadaverous aspect," and " lugubrious visage." He meets Satan 
 on a mountain-top, and is shown a vision cf the decline of Span- 
 ish power and the advent of the gold-seekers. The Legend of 
 Monte del Diablo. 
 
334 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 Haro. See De tiAKO. 
 
 Harriott, Lance. A fugitive from justice, whom Flip Fairley 
 finds in the woods and helps escape. He conceives a fondness 
 for her and undertakes a search for her missing brother, Bob, 
 not knowing that he himself has killed him under another 
 name. When hard pressed by the pursuing ofGcers, he over- 
 hears the truth told to old David Fairley by one of them and, 
 in a passion of anger and despair, he shoots the man. He and 
 Flip are found dead the next morning, suffocated at her father's 
 charcoal-pit, with their hands clasped in each other's. Flip : 
 A California Romance. 
 
 Harrison. Dr. West's foreman. Maruj'a. 
 
 Harrison, Cal. A son of the Harrisons, who is a pupil at the 
 Indian Spring school. Cressy. 
 
 Harrison, Jim. Brother of Joe Harrison. He carries on the 
 feud with McKiustry over a disputed boundary. He is Mc- 
 Kinstry's second in the duel. Cressy. 
 
 Harrison, Joe. Jim Harrison's brother. Cressy. 
 
 Harry. See Custer ; Dimwood ; Flint ; Pendleton ; Slinn. 
 See also Henry. 
 
 Hatha'way, Paul. A young man at the opening of the story. 
 Secretary to the mayor of San Francisco, and afterwards a 
 rising politician. He is the third and chance member of the 
 Trust to whom Kate Howard commits her child. Bearing a 
 merely formal relation to his ward for several years, he is 
 suddenly called upon to play the active guardian to her honor. 
 In meeting her he finds himself her lover ; and the course of 
 his love is seriously complicated by his position, in which his 
 duties as guardian come into conflict with the girl's ignorance 
 of her real parentage. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Hawkins, Cyrus. An eccentric and half-demented hypochon- 
 driac, still faithful to a woman who has long since forgotten 
 him. He is the laughing-stock of the camp on account of liis 
 many acts of folly. He is described as " tall, finely formed, 
 and dark bearded," with "a pair of hazel eyes, very large, very 
 gentle, but inexpressibly sad and mournful." He rescues the 
 husband of the woman he has loved so long from a cave-in at. 
 the mine, but in so doing meets his own death. The Fool cf 
 Five Forks. 
 
 ttavrkins, Larry. An admirer of Polly Swinger, who believes 
 that the garden of her father is haunted by the ghost of Sobri- 
 ente. When the earthly character of the visitant is revealed 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 335 
 
 and the gold ledge discovered, Hawkins becomes the Colonel's 
 partner and son-in-law. The Secret of Sobriente's Well. 
 
 Hays. An inflexible pioneer character, affected neither by hard- 
 ship nor prosperity. Morose and gloomily sectarian. The 
 desertion of his wife and the elopement of his eldest daughter 
 make of him a confirmed misanthrope. Death spares him the 
 distress of dealing with Jack, his youngest son. A Night at 
 "Hays." 
 
 Hays, Annie. The eldest daughter of the Hays family. A 
 Night at " Hays." 
 
 Hays, 'Bijah. The eldest son of the Hays family. He threatens 
 " to set up a rival establishment to his father's." A Night at 
 "Hays." 
 
 Hays, Jack. The dissolute son of the misanthrope. His con- 
 tact with city life ruins him. On the night of his father's 
 death, bo returns with " Lottie," but through fear never again 
 meets him alive. A Night at " Hays." 
 
 Hays, Jo. The companion of Tom's wife on her visit to the 
 Pioneer Restaurant. In a Pioneer Restaurant. 
 
 Hays, Zuleika. Her father's housekeeper. A wearied, unen- 
 thusiastio frontier girl of eighteen. A Night at "Hays." 
 
 Heavystone, Guy. A powerful man, with a stern, rigid face 
 and a fierce and bloodthirsty disposition. He dies the death 
 of Samson. Guy Heavystone (^Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Heckshill, Sam. A " land grabber " by repute. A passenger 
 in the coach stopped by Snapshot Harry. A Niece of Snapshot 
 Harry's. 
 
 Hemmingway, Miles. A young gentleman from Boston, the 
 secretary of a mining company. When the waters are up, he 
 is afloat in a cabin with Jinney Jules, whose attitude towards 
 him — whether coquettish or not — he can hardly determine. 
 When the Waters were up at "Jules'." 
 
 Henderson. Owner of a ranch in the Santa Cruz Mountains. 
 Flip: A California Romance. 
 
 Henderson, Mayor. The member of the Trust who accom- 
 panies Hathaway to the Convent of Santa Clara. A Ward of 
 the Golden Gate. 
 
 Henderson, Joe. A Union man. Wynyard Marion shoots him 
 in a duel growing out of a political dispute. The Conspiracy 
 of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Hennicker. A man of shady reputation, who keeps a hostelry 
 in the Sierras. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
336 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Hennicker, Zenobia. An untrained beauty of the Sierras, who 
 does not want for sense and courage. She takes John Hale 
 under her protection while he puts up at her father's hostelry. 
 Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Henry. See Benham. See also Harry. 
 
 Herbert. See Bly. 
 
 Hernandez, Mrs. The "rich widow of a coffee-planter." 
 Jamie 6ow is led by her substantial charms to forget his 
 Scotch lassie at Loch Dour. Young Robin Gray. 
 
 Hickory. See Hunt. 
 
 Hicks, Private. In Major Van Zandt's command. Thankful 
 Blossom. 
 
 Higbee, Tom. A hot-headed young Southerner, unaware that 
 the war is over. He is struck in a quarrel by Courtland's over- 
 seer, Cato, and leads the attempt to capture the negro. Sally 
 Dows. 
 
 Hiler, Mrs. Marvin. The widow of a Methodist circuit-rider. 
 Left in poverty, " prematurely old and prematurely disap- 
 pointed," she has " all the inexperience of girlhood with the 
 cares of maternity." She is apathetic and spiritless, and has a 
 habit of sniffling. Gideon Deane takes pity on her forlorn con- 
 dition, and gives up the prospect of becoming a successful 
 preacher in order to marry her. An Apostle of the Tules. 
 
 Hiler, Selby. Eldest child of Mrs. Marvin Hiler. An Apostle 
 of the Tules. 
 
 Hippolyte. A lover. La Femme {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Hiram. The shy youth to whom Zaidee Hooker is engaged. 
 Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff. 
 
 Hoffman. An American of German descent. During a ramble 
 through the village of his ancestors he stumbles upon an august 
 party, and is accidentally included in the photograph of the 
 ducal family. This intrusion and the interest shown by the 
 Princess make him an object of suspicion to the officials. The 
 Princess, masquerading as a dairymaid under the name of Els- 
 beth, warns him of his danger, and to save her from unpleasant 
 consequences he crosses the frontier. The Indiscretion oj 
 Elsbeth. 
 Home, Harry. An agent of the post-oiSce department. He 
 possesses a " blending of urban ease with frontier frankness." 
 The Postmistress of Laurel Run. 
 Hooker, Jim. A youth whose sanguinary career dates from the 
 perusal of dime-novel writings, and is limited to threats and 
 
INDEX TO OHARACTEES 337 
 
 large stories. Clarence Brant is fascinated by this bloodthirsty 
 cattle-boy attached to the Peyton train, and in his later life 
 helps him in many ways. Jim portrays the melodrama on the 
 California stage, and, after Susy Peyton's entrance upon the 
 same life, the two marry. A divorce soon follows, and Jim 
 deserts the stage to engage in business. A Waif of the Plains; 
 Susy : A Story of the Plains ; Clarence. 
 
 Hooker, Mrs. The mother of Zaidee, and her aider and abettor 
 in the matter of her suit. Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff. 
 
 Hooker, Zaidee. A young girl with beautiful and expressive 
 eyes, and by their aid she induces Colonel Starbottle to over- 
 come his distaste for breaoh-of-promise suits and undertake her 
 absurd and apparently hopeless case, which his eloquence 
 carries to a triumphant conclusion. Colonel Starbottle for the 
 Plaintiff. 
 
 Hoover, Hiram. A well-to-do ranchman at Chestnut Ridge, a 
 good-natured, generous man. A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Hoover, Mrs. Hiram. A kindly woman, whose brother, a 
 preacher at San Antonio, confides to her care the orphan, 
 Concha. She and her husband treat the child as a daughter, 
 and endeavor to educate and convert her, with ill-success. The 
 good woman recognizes from the first in the girl the precocious 
 maturity of her race, and is hardly surprised at her elopement. 
 A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Hopkins, Cyrus. A farmer, upon whose family Jim Hooker 
 makes his usual startling impression. Clarence Brant provides 
 Jim with a claim adjoining the Hopkins ranch- Susy : A Story 
 of the Plains. 
 
 Hopkins, Mrs. Cyrus. The mother of the impressionable 
 Phcebe. With her daughter she accepts credulously the tales 
 of Jim Hooker. Susy : A Story of the Plains. 
 
 Hopkins, FhcBbe. A simple-minded country girl. Jim Hooker 
 appears to her as a visitant from the great outlying world of 
 romance. Stisy : A Story of the Plains. 
 
 Hopkinson, Josiah. A contractor for government supplies, 
 resident in Washington. " Nobody minded Hopkinson ; in the 
 blaze of Mrs. Hopkinson's fascinations, he was completely lost 
 sight of." The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Hopkinson, Mrs. Josiah. The artful lobby worker. A woman 
 of some beauty, and much knowledge of the weaknesses of 
 Congressmen. She is retained by Wiles and Gashwiler to 
 lobby for the possession of the Blue Mass Mine. The Story 
 of a Mine. 
 
338 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Hopper, Zob. One of Lanty Foster's enamoured swains. Lanty 
 Foster's Mistake. 
 
 Hop Li. A Chinese laundryman, a friend of Triidt's servant 
 A Belle of Canada City. 
 
 Hop Sing. A Chinese merchant. An intelligent and well-edu- 
 cated gentleman. Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 Hornblcwer, Deacon. He takes possession of the kite made 
 by Li Tee, and consequently is carried up into a tree. Three 
 Vagabonds of Trinidad. 
 
 Horncastle. See Steftoe. 
 
 Horncastle, Eddy. The yovmg son of Steptoe (Horncastle) 
 and Mrs. Horncastle. He dies with his father. J^hree 
 Partners. 
 
 Horncastle, Mrs. The beautiful wife of the man who calls 
 himself Steptoe, from whom she has long been separated. She 
 falls in love with George Barker, and tells him so after his 
 wife's faithlessness. She saves his little child on the night of 
 the fire at Hymettus, and later marries the father. Three 
 Partners. 
 
 Hornsby, Joe. Coroner at Red Chief's Crossing. He mistakes 
 Miss Porter's freedom of manner for license, and is at once 
 ostracized. Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Horseley. " Lottie's " husband. A neighbor of Hays. Unlike 
 the latter, he is unable to forget his erring wife. A Night at 
 "Hays." 
 
 Horseley, Lottie. A San Francisco actress, with whom Jack 
 Hays is infatuated. A Night at "Hays." 
 
 Horton. The one of the guardians, who contributes humor to 
 the remarkable letters written in collaboration by the four to 
 their ward. The Four Guardians of Lagrange. 
 
 Hoskins, Henry J. A grocer, and one of Hathaway's political 
 " backers." A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Hoskins, Jim. Dr. Ruysdael's factor. Liberty Jones's Discovery. 
 
 Hotchkiss, Adoniram K. A rigid, ascetic, taciturn, middle- 
 aged man — a deacon, whom Zaidee Hooker accuses of love- 
 making, by the expedient of marking tender words in hymn- 
 books, and the like. The developments of her breach-of-pro- 
 mise ease prove so mirth-inspiring that the defendant is goaded 
 into compromising with the plaintiff for a sum large enough to 
 enable her to marry the youth to whom she is engaged, — her 
 sole reason for bringing the suit. Colonel Starbottle for the 
 Plaintiff. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 3Si> 
 
 Houston, Gus. A very young miner at Sawyer's Ledge. 
 Jimmy's Big Brother from California. 
 
 Howard, Kate. A notorious woman of San Francisco, mother 
 of Yerba Buena by Juan de Arguello. Having endowed the 
 oliild with all her own property, she abandons her to the guard- 
 ianship of a Trnst of three, in order that her daughter may not 
 know the shame of her birth. Afterwards, under the assumed 
 name of Mrs. Argalls, Kate Howard discovers Colonel Pendle- 
 ton in a hospital, and presents him with the proofs of her final 
 marriage with Arguello, which gives Yerba a right to the name 
 she has fancifully assumed. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Hunt, Hickory. One of the youthful pirates. The Queen of 
 the Pirate Isle. 
 
 Hurlstone, James. A tempestuous spirit, embittered and hys- 
 terical in expression. Disheartened by the pursuit of his wife, 
 he resolves upon suicide. Saved by Seilor Perkins, he escapes 
 to the shelter of the mission of Todos Santos. In contrition, 
 he confesses to Padre Esteban, and becomes his pupil. The 
 quiet of his pastoral life is disturbed by his love for Eleanor 
 Keene. He is saved from a dishonorable avowal by the solicit- 
 ous padre, and decides to escape from his trial. The necessity 
 of this sacrifice is prevented by the discovery of his wife's death. 
 The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Ignacio. Father Jos6 Antonio Haro's pious muleteer, who res- 
 cues the priest from a bear. The Legend of Monte del Diablo. 
 
 Incarnacion. A vaquero in the employ of Judge Peyton. 
 After the latter's death Clarence retains him as steward. He 
 brings his master the news of Pedro's death. Susy : A Story 
 of the Plains. 
 
 fndian Molly. A servant of the Hales. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Inez. See Baxter, Mrs. 
 
 Ingomar. The keeper of the Wingdam Temperance Hotel. A 
 large and powerful barbarian, whose real name is Abner. He 
 comes from Illinois, where he has married Parthenia, a school- 
 teacher from Boston. A Night at Wingdam. 
 
 Isabel. See Ramirez. 
 
 Islington, Tom. A boy of fourteen when the story opens. He 
 has formed a strange friendship with the hummer Johnson alias 
 Skaggs, who makes him his heir. Later he appears in the 
 East as lover of Miss Blanche Masterraan. Mrs. Skaggs's Htis-- 
 bands. 
 
340 INDEX TO CHAKACTERS 
 
 Jack. See Brack; Brown; Cherokee Jack; Cranch; Crosby: 
 Dkspari ; Dumont; Fleming; Founsbee; Ford; Hamlin; 
 Hays; Oakhurst; Poindexter; Prince; Riggs; Shipley; 
 SoMEKS. See also John and Johnny. 
 
 Jackson. Mill-owner at Pine Clearing and a school trustee. 
 The New Assistant at Pine Clearing. 
 
 Jackson, Mr. Secretary of Don Diego Fletcher. A First Fam- 
 ily of Tasajara. 
 
 Jael. See Raby. 
 
 Jallinger, Henry Boone. A religious reclnse, and a mighty 
 hunter, who regards gold-mining as sinful. A Treasure of the 
 Redwoods. 
 
 Jallinger, Katinka. Henry's pretty, unsophisticated daughter. 
 Accidentally meeting Jack Fleming, she falls in love with him, 
 plans a, second meeting, and shows him gold on her father's 
 claim. The young pair become engaged, and Jallinger, from 
 conscientious scruples, passes the strike over to Fleming. A 
 Treasure of the Redwoods. 
 
 James. Rushbrook's major-domo, a sagacious functionary. A 
 Maecenas of the Pacific Slope. 
 
 James. See Bowers; Hurlstone; North. See Jim. 
 
 James, Sir. The master of Moreland Hall and an aspirant for 
 the hand of Helen Maynard. Two Americans. 
 
 Jamie. See Gow. 
 
 Jane. See MacKinnon. 
 
 Jansen, Frida. A pretty flirtatious Swedish chambermaid at 
 the Summit House. She becomes the second wife of Mr. Bil- 
 son, the landlord, is left a widow, and later reappears as the 
 neglected wife of Chris Calton. Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper. 
 
 Jarman, Richard. An escaped convict from a British penal 
 colony, who is a semaphore keeper at a station on the bay of 
 San Francisco. He is saved from capture by a fisherman's 
 daughter, who misleads the police by making a wrong signal. 
 The two fly together, are hurriedly married, and Jarman be- 
 comes a rich cattle-owner in Southern California. The Man at 
 the Semaphore. 
 
 Jason. "A middle-aged adventurer," who has married Miss 
 Circe. Johnnyboy. 
 
 Teff. See Briggs. 
 
 Jeffcourt, Julia. Tom JefEcourt's sister. A young woman 
 whose demand for vengeance upon her brother's murderer is 
 prompted bv her jealousy of Miss Sally Dows. She falls in 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 341 
 
 love with the object of her supposed hatred, and is planning 
 flight with him from the war, when she is killed by a Yankee 
 bullet. Colonel Starbottle's Client. 
 
 Jeffcoort, Mrs. Martha. Tom JefEcourt's mother, who tries to 
 make the most out of Corbin's self-imposed penance by " bleed- 
 ing " him for more and more money on her son's fictitious share 
 in Corbin's " claim." Colonel Starbottle's Client. 
 
 Jeffcourt, Tom, alias Tom Frisbee, alias Jack Walker. The 
 miserable young fellow who was Corbin's partner, and who 
 meets his death at Corbin's hands in a quarrel for which he 
 himself is responsible. Colonel Starbottle's Client. 
 
 Jenkins, Benjamin Franklin. First introduced as a pupil at 
 Doemville Academy, aged seven. At the age of twelve he is 
 the Boy Chief of the Pigeon Feet Indians, reveling in gore. 
 The Hoodlum Band (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Jenkins, Harrison. Youngest son of John Jenkins. He re- 
 proves his father for killing the eldest son, and is himself killed 
 by " a tumbler thrown from the parental fist." JoJin Jenkins 
 (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Jenkins, John. A victim to the tobacco habit. He struggles 
 vainly with his appetite, but gets deeper and deeper into vice, 
 until, after wantonly killing two of his children, he suddenly 
 reforms, and from that day is " an altered man." John Jen- 
 kins (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Jeukinson. The landlord of the inn at San Mateo, whose equa- 
 nimity, somewhat disturbed by the riotous Roberto, is not 
 entirely restored by the courteous calmness of his master. A 
 Knight-Errant of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Jenkinson, Polly. The dimpled daughter of the landlord of 
 San Mateo. She finds the grave and romantic Don Jos^ so 
 gentle and kind that she subsequently accompanies him as his 
 bride to his paternal estate. A Knight-Errant of the Foot- 
 Hills. 
 
 Jennie. See Bradley. 
 
 Jennings, Captain. An officer stationed at the fort in San 
 Francisco Bay. The Conspiracy of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Jennings, Parson. The spiritual leader of Buckeye Camp. 
 The Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Jenny. See Miller. 
 
 Jerrold. One of the partners of the Eureka Mining Company. 
 A Jack and Jill of the Sierras. 
 
 Jessie. See Carr ; Lawton ; Mayfield. 
 
342 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 Jim. An Indian vagrant tied to the civilization of the settle- 
 ment by the single link of " fire-water." In daBger of lynch- 
 ing, he takes refuge in an island, with Iii Tee, where they are 
 visited and afterward betrayed by Bob Skinner, whose father 
 leads a party to hunt down the fugitives. Jim and his dog are 
 shot, but not till the latter has avenged himself upon one of 
 the assailants. Three Vagabonds of Tririidad. 
 
 Jim. Colonel Starbottle's negro servant and ex-slave. Punc- 
 tiliously courteous like his master. He rejoices in the depar- 
 ture of Pansy. Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff; A Ward of 
 Colonel Starbottle. 
 
 Jim. Edgar Pomfrey's Indian servant. The Mermaid of Light- 
 house Point. 
 
 Jim. Miggles's former lover, now a helpless and feeble-minded 
 paralytic, cared for by the faithful Higgles. Miggles. 
 
 Jim. One of the friends of Mrs. Kylands before her marriage. 
 Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation. 
 
 Jim. One of the McKinstry household. Gressy. 
 
 Jim. See Bradley ; Captain Jim Culpepper ; Dunn ; 
 Hooker ; North ; Prince ; Wilkes. 
 
 Jimmy. See Laqham. 
 
 Jinny. A donkey of character and individuality, who finally 
 rebels against all authority, but forms a voluntary friendship 
 with Miss Jessie Lawton and is faithful to her, even unto death. 
 " Jinny. " 
 
 Jinny. See M'Closky. 
 
 Jo. See FonNSBEK. 
 
 Joan. See Blandford. 
 
 Jock. See MacSpadden. 
 
 Joe. See Decker ; Hall ; Kanaka Joe ; Masters ; Mat- 
 
 TINGLT. 
 
 John. See Ashe ; Baker ; Baxter ; Ford ; Hale ; Oak- 
 hurst. See also Jack and Johnny. 
 
 John Milton. See Harkdtt. 
 
 Johnny. See Filgee, Medliker, Starleigh, and Walker. 
 
 Johnny. Son of the Old Man — a little boy with a "fevier," 
 rheumatism, and other ills. He has just heard about Christmas 
 and is interested in " Sandy Claws." How Santa Claris came 
 to Simpson's Bar. 
 
 Johnnyboy. See Sluysdael, Johnnyboy. 
 
 Johnson. The father of the " Old Woman." Johnson's " Old 
 Woman." 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 343 
 
 Johnson. A lounger at Rawlett's store. A First Family of 
 Tasajara. 
 
 Johnson. A lounger at Briggs's store. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Johnson. See Blandford, Edward. 
 
 Johnson. See Skaggs. 
 
 Johnson, Billy. One of the Johnson children. Johnson's " Old 
 Woman." 
 
 Johnson, Bob. A miner. He and his fellows, in their glee at 
 the rediscovery of the old lead, array themselves in approved 
 pirate fashion and, joining in the children's play, do homage to 
 Polly as their queen. The Queen of the Pirate Isle. 
 
 Johnson, Cal. A jovial gambler ; a passenger in the stage that 
 conveys Clarence to Sacramento. One of Brant's confederates. 
 A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Johnson, Caroline. Johnson's " Old Woman," who turns out 
 to be an independent person of the advanced age of fifteen, 
 ■who keeps the shanty in the "clearing" during her father's 
 absences, mothers her smaller brothers and sisters, and resents 
 the interest of well-meaning strangers. " There ain't the 
 created thing, livin' or dead, that she can't stand up straight 
 and look at." Johnson's " Old Woman." 
 
 Johnson, 'Dolphus. One of the Johnson children. Johnson's 
 " Old Woman." 
 
 Johnson, Hannibal. A negro demagogue at Kedlands. A 
 prospective county judge. Sally Dows. 
 
 Johnson, Mirandy. One of the Johnson children. Johnson's 
 " Old Wortmn." 
 
 Johnson, T. Barker. An American filibuster. He operates 
 with great bravery and some success in Central America, is 
 elected president of an unstable republic, and endeavors in 
 Germany to raise funds and emigrants for its maintenance. 
 The Schroeder family are led from varied motives to join him. 
 Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Johnson, Mrs. T. Barker. The wife and able confederate of 
 the filibuster. "With a party of American girls nnder the care of 
 Jack Folinsbee, she visits the peaceful home of Peter Schroeder, 
 and soon after begins to work upon his sentimental nature. 
 Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Jones. One of Georgia's representatives in Congress. The 
 Story of a Mine. 
 
 Jones, Clarinda. A pupil of the Indian Spring school. Cressy. 
 
 Jones, Hemlock. A detective of superhuman insight, the 
 
844 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 Terror of Peculators. He even discovers that Lis devoted and 
 adoring friend, the Doctor, has stolen the cigar case, incriisted 
 with diamonds, presented to Jones by the Turkish ambassador, 
 though it is still in its owner's drawer. The Stolen Cigar Case 
 (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Jones, Jiany. Golly's deserted and self-immolated friend. 
 Golly and the Christian (^Condensed Novell'). 
 
 Jones, Liberty. A forlorn young girl, who with her unloving 
 father is traveling along the slope of the Santa Cruz range. 
 An earthquake kills the father, and the friendless girl is en- 
 gaged by Dr. Ruysdael to look after his stock. She discovers 
 'an arsenical spring, which makes her beautiful. Later it is 
 known as Liberty Spring, and the place becomes a health-resort. 
 Liberty Jones's Discovery. 
 
 Jones, Mary. A,housemaid. No Title (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Jones, Mary. " A young girl in book muslin and a coral neck- 
 lace ; " gay and beautiful. She marries John Jenkins on his 
 promise to reform in the matter of smoking. John Jenkins 
 (Condensed Novels). 
 
 3ob6. Father Pedro's muleteer. 
 
 3ob6. See Father Jose ; Salvatierra ; Santierra ; Septjl- 
 vroA ; Wiles. 
 
 Josephine. See Forsyth ; HAle ; Randolph. 
 
 Josh. See Sibblee. 
 
 Joshua. See Uncle Joshua. 
 
 Josita. See Castro. 
 
 Jovita. See Castro and Mendez. 
 
 Jovita. The raw-boned, vicious mare which carries Dick Bullen 
 on his perilous ride. How Santa Claus came to Simpson's Bar. 
 
 Joyce, Mrs. Captain. The lively wife of an officer at Fort 
 Biggs. The Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Juan. See Briones and Salvatierra. 
 
 Juanita. The foundling whom Dou Juan Briones adopts. In 
 her maidenhood she becomes the playmate of Francisco. She 
 is for a time thought to be the heiress, but herself discovers the 
 truth by opening the letter from Father Pedro. After coqnet- 
 tishly teasing Cranch, she leaves her home to become his wife. 
 A t the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Judge, the. A stage-passenger ; one of Miggles's guests. 
 Miggles. 
 
 Judge, the. One of the Doctor's listeners. A Ghost of the 
 Sierras. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTEKS 345 
 
 Judge, the. One of the partners of the Lone Star Claim. So 
 nicknamed because he is " singularly inequitable '' and lias no 
 knowledge of the law. Of a weak and vacillating nature. 
 Left out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 Jules. A pioneer of '49. The settlement founded by him, is, 
 when the waters are up, half submerged, a state of things 
 placidly acquiesced in by the inhabitants. When the Waters 
 were up at " Jules'." 
 
 Jules, Jinney. A handsome, frank, good-humored girl, the 
 daughter of Jules. When the Waters were up at " Jules'." 
 
 Julia. See Jeffcourt. 
 
 Julie. See Devarges. 
 
 Kanaka Joe. A gambler and " all-round desperado." After a 
 quarrel with Henry Cass over a game of cards, it is evident 
 to both that one must die. Cass is shot to death on the road to 
 Blazing Star. Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Kane. The junior partner of a firm of apothecaries, who dresses 
 the cuts on Madame le Blanc's head in a rather thorough-going 
 manner, and afterward prescribes for Reuben Allen. How 
 Reuben Allen " Saw Life " in San Francisco. 
 
 Karl. See Schwartz. 
 
 Kate. See MacSpadden ; Scott ; Somers ; Sylvester ; Vak 
 
 CORLEAR. 
 
 Kate. The charming niece of Mrs. Price, who dazzles Spindler's 
 guests. Dick Spindler's Family Christmas. 
 
 Kayne, the Hon. Evelyn. One of the EngUsh party at Fort 
 Biggs. The Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Kearney. See Cherokee Jack. 
 
 Kearney, George. The youngest of the partners of the Devil's 
 Ford claim, handsome and brave, the lover of Miss Christie 
 Carr. His daring act during a flood saves the mine from ruin, 
 and he himself is saved from drowning by Christie. Devil's 
 Ford. 
 
 Kearney, Philip. The elder of the Kearney brothers, and one 
 of the partners of the Devil's Ford claim. A good mimic and 
 a good singer. Devil's Ford. 
 
 Keene, Eleanor. A typical American girl, who rules the com- 
 pany on the Excelsior by virtue of her beauty and grace. In 
 Todos Santos she is regarded as the incarnation of Anarchy 
 and Revolution, " beautiful and victorious." Fascinated in the 
 beginning by the constant melancholy of Hurlstone, she passes 
 
346 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 through all the variations of a young girl's love, from maternal 
 pity to a wonaan's ardor. On the death of his wife, Hurlstone 
 is free to declare his love. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Keene, Richard. Eleanor's brother. A jaunty young Ameri- 
 can, who organizes the expedition for the rescue of the Excel- 
 sior. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Kennedy. Member of the State Legislature of California. A 
 First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Kennedy. Postmaster at Fisher's Crossing. A jealous suitor 
 of the adroit Flip. Flip : A California Romance. 
 
 £entuck. The baby " rastles " with his finger, and from that 
 moment he has a special fondness for the child. He meets his 
 death in trying to rescue " the Luck " from the flooded river. 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 Kentucky Ike. A miner in the Wild Cat camp. Prosper's 
 Old Mother. 
 
 Keppler, Dr. Physician to the Rightbody family. The Great 
 Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Key, Preble. Marked by a pleasant voice, and a lithe and 
 supple figure. " Though his face was still young and his mus- 
 tache quite dark, his hair was perfectly gray." In virtue of 
 his youth he is somewhat sentimental, but in spite of that he is 
 a confirmed prospector. In a Hollow of the HUls. 
 
 Elilcraitlue. A young Highlander, Laird of Whistlecrankie. 
 He loses his head in a flirtation with Lady Deeside, and quar- 
 rels with his rival, Delfosse. A Rose of Glenbogie. 
 
 King of France, the. Has an adventure with Louise de la 
 Valli^re and the four friends. The Ninety-Nine Guardsmen 
 (^Condensed Nooels^. 
 
 Kirby, Lieutenant. One of Lieutenant Calvert's boon com- 
 panions. The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Kirkby, Elsie. An American girl abroad for a purpose. Self- 
 assertive and opinionated. Malcolm McHulish convinces her 
 of his claim to a Scotch title and its accompanying lands. She 
 loses interest in the young Scotchman when she learns that his 
 castles are built of air. The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 Kirkby, Mrs. A worldly minded and skeptical mother, with a 
 marriageable daughter. She is a stockholder in the syndicate, 
 but prefers compromise to revolution. The Heir of the Mc- 
 Hulishes. 
 
 Kitty. See Carter and Laitb. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 347 
 
 Iiacy. See Bassett. 
 
 Lady Caroline. See Coventry. 
 
 Lady Coriander. The only unmarried daughter of the Duohessj 
 of High Church proclivities. She finally marries Lothaw. 
 Loihaw {Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Lady Selina. See Sedilia. 
 
 La F&re, Count de. See Athos. 
 
 Lagrange, Colonel. A Confederate officer arrested within the 
 Union lines. He is brought with Faulkner before Braut, who 
 surmises that these are his wife's aides. Clarence. 
 
 Lance. See Harriott. 
 
 Lane, Gabriel. Brother to Sylvester. He ie led by the Gunns 
 into investments in worthless securities, and approves of a mar- 
 riage between Amos Gunn and his daughter Kitty. From the 
 consequences of this complaisance he is rescued by his brother. 
 Their Uncle from California. 
 
 Lane, Kitty. The winsome daughter of Gabriel Lane. She 
 hopes to find in " Uncle Sylvester " the embodiment of her 
 romantic fancies, and is disappointed in bis conventional ap- 
 pearance. Their Uncle from California. 
 
 Lane, Sylvester. An eccentric adventurer, who returns to the 
 homestead to search for the buried fortune. By means of 
 clever ruses he frightens Gunn into a partial restoration, and 
 discovers a second cache in a half-ruined cabin. As a story- 
 teller he is somewhat tantalizing, but as a shrewd man of 
 affairs he saves his family from financial disaster. Their Uncle 
 from California. 
 
 LangTvorthy, Abner. The landlord of the Big Flume Hotel. 
 A good-natured, impassive man, whose wife had divorced him 
 for " incompatibility of temper." Five years later the lady, 
 now Mrs. Byers, stops at the hotel, the two meet amicably an«l 
 he asks her advice regarding a possible second wife. With 
 her approval he proposes to Miss Budd and is accepted; an 
 engagement soon broken, for Mary Ellen, who had been the 
 first Mrs. Byers, objects to having been approved by her suc- 
 cessor. When Mrs. Byers obtains her second divorce, her 
 husbands become friends and confirmed celibates. The Land- 
 lord of the Big Flume Hotel. 
 
 Lankey, Mr. A midshipman on the Belcher. Mr. Midshipman 
 Breezy (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Lanty. See Foster. 
 
 Lascelles, Mrs. Charles. Jenny, twin sister of Peter Atherly, 
 
348 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 tbe wife of a gentle, amiable young lawyer. A passionate, im> 
 pnlsive, wayward woman, who has inherited many Indian 
 qualities. Her father's people attract her, and she becomes 
 their victim at last. The Ancestors of Peter A iherly. 
 
 Lasham, Cissy. The little sister of Dick. When dying she 
 says that Dick is dead, and that Falloner is an angel sent to 
 tell her. Jimmy's Big Brother from California. 
 
 Lasham, Dick. An unfortunate young miner, whose last hours 
 are troubled by the thought of his helpless orphan brother and 
 sister, who have sent him a childish letter begging him to write 
 and send his picture. Jimmy's Big Brother from California. 
 
 Lasham, Jimmy. The little brother of Dick, who rapturously 
 greets Falloner as his brother, recognizing him from his photo- 
 graph, which has been sent to the child by a good-natured 
 miner, to satisfy his wish for a picture of Dick. Jimmy's Big 
 Brother from California. 
 
 La Valli^re, Louise de. Loved by the King of France. The 
 Ninety-Nine Guardsmen (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 La'wton, Miss Jessie. A gentle young invalid from San Fran- 
 cisco, who has come to the foot-hills for her health, and who 
 spends her days sketching in a little cemetery. Here she 
 makes the acquaintance of Jinny, the donkey, and the two 
 become firm friends. " Jinny." 
 
 L'Eau Dormante. See Dorman, Low. 
 
 Lee, George. A highwayman of the Robin Hood type, brave, 
 careless, and generous, who finds recreation in a week of en- 
 forced idleness by a flirtation with Mrs. John Hale. Snow- 
 Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Legrande. A Frencb-Patagonian attache. One of the guests 
 at the table of the " amateur pirate." With the Entrees. 
 
 Leonidas. See Boone. 
 
 Leyton, Mr. Charles. The gentleman in whose party Miss 
 Nevil visits Los Osos. He afterwards, in her interest, consults 
 Bushbrook on Somers's prospects, and is the occasion of Miss 
 Nevil's interference in the inquiry. A McBCenas of the Pacific 
 Slope. 
 
 Jjeyton, Mrs. Charles. The lively wife of Charley Leyton. 
 A Maecenas of the Pacific Slope. 
 
 L'Hommadieu, Adele. Major Randolph's stepdaughter. A 
 faithful reflection of her mother. Through the Santa Clara 
 Wheat. 
 
 L'Hommadieu, Emile. Major Randolph's stepson. The pro- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 349 
 
 duct of Josephine's training. He counts upon the auseepti' 
 bility of the feminine heart. Through the Santa Clara Wheat. 
 
 'Lige. See Curtis. 
 
 Lightbody. One of the loquacious guests at the table of the 
 "amateur pirate;" the "heavy literary man." With the 
 Entrees. 
 
 Lionel. Sir Edward's natural son. Sir Edward discovers him 
 in a learned and philosophical bootblack. The Dweller of the 
 Threshold (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Li Sing. Foreman to Jackson Wells, and chief laundryman to 
 the settlement. A Buckeye Hollow Inheritance. 
 
 Li Tee. A friendless Chinese boy whom the Editor of the 
 Trinidad " Sentinel " tries to employ and protect. But every 
 man's hand is against the child, and after a piece of ingenious 
 mischief, he seeks safety in flight, in company with two other 
 outcasts, the Indian Jim and his dog. Suffering and starving, 
 he stupefies himself with opium and dies. Three Vagabonds 
 of Trinidad. 
 
 Little, Faraday Huxley. A plain-looking but clever young 
 man of scientific tastes. He twice saves the life of his sweet- 
 heart. Lady Caroline Coventry, who finally accepts him. Hand- 
 some is as Handsome does (Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Lo. An Indian dog presented to little Peggy Baker by one of 
 her admirers. It is absolutely and totally uncivilized, but is 
 completely devoted to its mistress. Miss Peggy's Proteges. 
 
 Longbowe, John. An Elizabethan adventurer, a composite 
 portrait from several originals. The Adventures of John Long- 
 howe,Yeoman (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Loo. See Hakcoukt. 
 
 Lothaiw. An immensely rich young man, who fulfills his destiny 
 by marrying the aristocratic Lady Coriander. Lothaw (Con- 
 densed Novels). 
 
 Lottie. See Horsbley. 
 
 Louise. See La Vallibkb and Macy. 
 
 Louise. " Uncle Joshua's " daughter; a pretty girl, modest and 
 reserved, and apparently on a higher social plane than her 
 father, with whom she is making a European tour. " A Tour- 
 ist from. Infianny." 
 
 liovr Dorman. See Dorman, Low. 
 
 Luck, Thomas. The fatherless child of Cherokee Sal. His 
 mother dying at his birth, he is adopted by the camp and given 
 in charge of Stumpy, who faithfully devotes himself to his 
 
350 INDEX TO CHARACTEES 
 
 care. The presence of a helpless haby brings about many 
 changes in the rough camp, and a prosperity follows which the 
 miners declare to have been brought about by him. He is 
 called " the Luck," and, being without a name of his own, is 
 formally named Thomas Luck. While still an infant he per- 
 ishes iu the arms of Kentuck, who is trying to rescue him from 
 the flooded river. The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 Luminoz, John. Known to his family as " the perfect Lummox." 
 He had been two years in college, but thought it rather fine of 
 himself — a habit of thought in which he often indulged — to 
 become a clerk, but soon got tired of it and went to Europe 
 for two years. In returning, he meets on the " liner " Mary 
 Bike, and aftef serving Dan'l Borem as clerk, and getting the 
 better of him in a "boss trade," he concludes to marry her, 
 and so goes on another " liner " to meet her. Dan'l Borem 
 {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Iiuzury, Archdeacon. John Gale's clerical chief. Golly and 
 the Christian (Condensed Novels). 
 
 MacFen, Sir James. "A man of large yet slow and cautious 
 nature, learned and even pedantic, yet far-sighted and practi- 
 cal; very human and hearty in social intercourse, which, how- 
 ever, left him as it found him, — with no sentimental or 
 nnbusiness-like entanglements." In his dealings with "The 
 Syndicate " he efEects a compromise to the advantage of his 
 client, Lord Dunoaster, the " Heir of the McHuIishes." The 
 Heir of the McHuIishes. 
 
 MacGlowrie. See Brown, Gabriel. 
 
 MacG-lcwrie, Mrs. A charming, gracefully languid Southerner, 
 the mistress of the Laurel Spring House. She is supposed to 
 be the widow of Allen MacGlowrie, a noted Kentuckian, of 
 belligerent tendencies, and the sister of Stephen and Hector 
 Boompointer of equally lurid reputations, while her own expe- 
 rience of frontier life is believed to have been rude and start- 
 ling. In truth she is the divorced wife of a worthless cousin of 
 Allen, an escaped convict, who appears at Laurel Spring as the 
 "Inspired Cowboy," a noted revivalist. He is alarmed af 
 meeting her, and arranges an interview to beg her silence 
 They are accidentally seen together by Dr. Blair, the lady's 
 true lover, to his distress, and Mrs. MacGlowrie confesses to 
 him her true history, and consents to change her ill-omened 
 name for his. Mr. MacGlowrie's Widow. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 351 
 
 MacKinnon, Jane. The " hired girl " of Mr. and Mrs. Ry- 
 lands. Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation. 
 
 MacKinstrey, Dick. A Kentuckian; a friend, and on one oc- 
 casion a second of Colonel Starbottle. A Ward of Colonel 
 Starbottle. 
 
 Macleod, Richard Graeme. " Captain Dick,'' an old retired 
 sea-captain with an " amphibious " dialect. He harbors Roger 
 Catron and sets him on his feet again, turning the tide of pub- 
 lic opinion in Roger's favor by the ingenious bluntness and 
 frankness with which he exposes the foibles of his enemies. 
 Roger Catron's Friend. 
 
 Macquoich, Lady. The hostess of Glenbogie House. She ia 
 moved by the fear of scandal to dispossess Delfosse and Kil- 
 craithie in turn of the room with two exits. A Rose of Glenbogie. 
 
 Macquoich, Sir John. The host of Glenbogie House. Like 
 his guests he is deceived by the unconventionality of Mrs. Mac- 
 Spadden and believes her indiscreet. A Rose of Glenbogie. 
 
 MacSpadden. See McSpadden. 
 
 MacSpadden, Jock. The loyal and complacent husband of 
 " Mistress MacSpadden." A Rose of Glenbogie. 
 
 MacSpadden, Mrs. Kate. Jock MacSpadden's wife; a young 
 Scotch woman, whose freedom of manner and vivacity of 
 speech give rise to suspicion. She is apparently a party to an 
 intrigue with Kiloraithie, but her husband believes in her inno- 
 cence. She is possessed by a feverish and unnatural gayety. 
 A Rose of Glenbogie. 
 
 Macy, Louise. The cousin and companion of Mrs. Bradley at 
 The Lookout. A piquant American girl, who subordinates 
 sentiment to policy. She tantalizes Maiiiwaring during his con- 
 valescence by mischievously shocking the proper Englishman, 
 and completes his discomfiture by " philanderin' " with Captain 
 Greyson. Slie is prevented by fate in the tangible forms of 
 Riclielieu Sharpe and a stray zephyr from becoming Lady 
 Maiiiwaring. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Madeline, Monsieur. " An angel and inventor of jet-work." 
 He becomes M. le Maire. Fantine (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Madison. See Wayne. 
 
 Maggie. See Culpepper and Robcommon. 
 
 Maimwaring, Francis. " The personification of close-cropped, 
 clean, and wholesome English young manhood." Traveling in 
 the resinous Si(erras to strengthen his lungs, he is startled and 
 charmed at the prodigality of nature and the freedom of man- 
 
352 INDEX TO CHAEACTBKS 
 
 ners. Though fresh from Oxford, he is ima£PectecI and simple 
 in dealing with men, self-conscious and awkward with women. 
 He finds rest and health at The Lookout, but the coquetry of 
 Louise Macy greatly disturbs his peace of mind. He is at- 
 tracted by the sincerity and candor of Minty. A Phyllis of the 
 Sierras. 
 
 Mainwaring, Lady. An English gentlewoman and the mother 
 of Francis. A Phyllis of the Sierras, 
 
 Mainwaring, Robert. A younger brother of Francis. His 
 happiness depends, in his own opinion, upon some calamity to 
 the heir. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Mainwaring, Sir Robert. The father of Francis. To pre- 
 serve his ancestral estates intact, he speculates in California 
 enterprises, with disastrous results. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Mciitland, Miss Clara. The daughter of the governor of 
 Jamaica. She nurses Mr. Midshipman Breezy in his recovery 
 from the fever, and then marries him. Mr. Midshipman 
 Breezy (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Malcolm. See McHulish. 
 
 Mallory, Mr. A widower and follower of Rose. Having been 
 a boon companion of Major Randolph, he intrusts his daughter 
 to his friend's care while speculating in mines. Through the 
 Santa Clara Wheat. 
 
 Mallory, Rose. A pretty and fastidious girl. She is easily 
 impressed by the ostentation of the foreign element in Major 
 Randolph's household, and jnst escapes the trap laid for her 
 and her fortune by the match-making mother and amorous 
 son. In her distress she calls for her father, and is quickly 
 rescued. Through the Santa Clara Wheat. 
 
 Malmsey Butt. The ghost of an English sailor of Queen 
 Elizabeth's time. He appears as "a spherical-bodied man-of- 
 war's-man, with a rubicund nose." The Legend of Devil's 
 Point. 
 
 Mammy. See Downey. 
 
 Man from Solano, the. A sharp and unscrupulous rustic from 
 California, who visits New York, and, while he is made a butt 
 by the fashionable people with whom he comes in contact, 
 succeeds in making a good living o>it of his friends, and goes 
 off the scene in a blaze of glory with forty thousand dollars in 
 his pocket, won at cards from the members of a " fash'nable " 
 club. The Man from Solano. 
 
 Mann, Hank, A miner in the Wild Cat camp. Prosper's " Old 
 Mother." 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 353 
 
 Manners, Jack. A member of the " Poco Mds 6 Menos " club, 
 and the young lawyer whom Tom, the Western waiter, consults 
 on the subject of his runaway wife. In a Pioneer Restaurant. 
 
 Mannersly, Miss Urania. A young woman of cold exterior, 
 but susceptible to the grace and versatility of Enriquez Saltello. 
 She marries him in an original and determined manner. Urania 
 and Enriquez reappear in a lodging in Dupont Street, where 
 their baby is hung upon the wall in a bark papoose case, the 
 mother thinking that " the only natural and hygienic mode of 
 treating the human child." She has written some articles on 
 the Aztecs. Later their friend the Editor sees Mrs. Saltillo 
 and Professor Dobbs together at the Carqninez Springs Hotel, 
 " a reckless, frivolous caravansary," during an earthquake 
 shock. At the same time Enriquez sees the two in a vision, 
 and takes it as a warning of the catastrophe which next day 
 overwhelms him. 2'Ae Devotion of Enriquez ; The Passing of 
 Enriquez. 
 
 " Man-o'-War Jack.'' An English sailor from the Australian 
 colonies. He sings " the Luck " to sleep. The Luck of Roaring 
 Camp. 
 
 Manuel. A half-breed servant of the Hales, who makes an 
 unsuccessful attempt to rob the house in his master's absence. 
 Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Manuel. A peon attached to Demorest's establishment. The 
 Argonauts of North Liberty. 
 
 Manuel. " A slim half-breed and ex-convert of the Mission of 
 San Carmel." One of the four prospectors and an accomplice 
 of Garcia. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Manuela. Don Jos^ Salvatierra's Indian maidservant, who 
 becomes the maid of his adopted daughter, Dona Dolores. 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Manuela. The fat lady friend of Victor Bamirez. Gabriel 
 Conroy. 
 
 Marabout, Lady Blanche. Supposed to be about to marry 
 Mr. Eawjester. Miss Mix (Condensed Novels). 
 
 March, Henry. One of the lost party of emigrants. He be- 
 comes hysterical in his weakness, and dies of starvation. 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Maria. See North ; Saltonstall ; Sepulvida. 
 
 Marie. See Dn Page. 
 
 Marion, Wynyard. A leader of Secessionist activity in Cali- 
 fornia. His courtesy to Mary Bunker leads her into a " con- 
 
354 INDEX TO CHAEAOTERS 
 
 spiraoy " against the Union and her home. The Conspiracy of 
 Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Markham, James. " A youngish, feminine-looking man of 
 thirty, notable for his beardlessuess." The resigned spouse of 
 Susan Markham. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Markham, Mrs. Susan. Under all circumstances she is in 
 command of her faculties. A sufEragist by nature, a contro- 
 versialist by habit, she alone can follow the tortuities of Senor 
 Perkins's flights. She is pitied by the authorities of Todos 
 Santos as the deserted Dulcinea of the filibuster, and through 
 diplomacy soon gains her freedom. The Crusade of the Ex- 
 celsior. 
 
 Markle, Mrs. Susan. At first a boarding-house keeper at One 
 Horse Gulch, and afterwards proprietor of the Grand Conroy 
 Hotel. A genial, gentle, and unaffected woman, capable and 
 bright. She sets her cap at Gabriel, but does not seem quite 
 so eager for the match as her handmaid, Sal Clark. Gabriel 
 Conroy. 
 
 Mark-the-Pinker. The ghost of an English sailor of Eliza- 
 bethan times. The Legend of Devil's Point. 
 
 Marsh, Cassie. A gently nurtured and intelligent young girl, 
 whose father has suffered reverses of fortune. She takes charge 
 of the books of the Excelsior Hotel, and becomes aware of the 
 secret of the contents of the box in the committee's room, and 
 one evening tries on the dresses, which she wears with grace. 
 She is seen in them, but not recognized, by the President and 
 some other members of the committee, to their great mystifi- 
 cation. Finally the President presents them to her, to wear as 
 his wife. The Goddess of Excelsior. 
 
 Marsh, Dezter. The manager of the Excelsior Hotel, and the 
 father of Cassie. The Goddess of Excelsior. 
 
 Martin. See Morse. 
 
 Martin, Elijah. A despised, shiftless member of the community 
 at Kedwood Camp. Saved from drowning by strange fortune, 
 he becomes the recognized chief of the Minyo Indians, through 
 their superstitious awe at his appearance. Thanks to his iner- 
 tia, his rule is prolonged for two years, when the first positive 
 feelings of his life are evoked by an unreasoning passion for 
 the wife of an Indian agent. The agent's murder is the signal 
 for the destruction of the Miuyo tribe, and Martin becomes 
 again the contemptible " Skeesicks " of Redwood Camp. A 
 Drift from Redwood Camp. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 355 
 
 Martin, Lieutenant. A Union officer in Brant's command. A 
 private shows him the evidence of Alice Brant's death- 
 Clarence. 
 
 Martin, Mrs. The schoolmistress at Pine Clearing. An impor- 
 tation into frontier life, she marks " the issue between the 
 regenerate and unregenerate life." She arouses an "opposi- 
 tion " among the barbaric element in the Clearing. To aid her 
 in keeping order in the schoolroom, " an assistant " is engaged. 
 The New Assistant at Pine Clearing School. 
 
 Martinez, Ramon. The leader of a band of "road-agents" 
 devoted to stage-robbing. He is inveigled into marriage by 
 the aggressive Polly. An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 Martinez, Senor. A cattle trader, and the political " boss " of 
 Todos Santos. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Marvin, Mr. A desirable suitor for Miss Rightbody's hand. 
 The Great Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Marvin, Mrs. Mother of Alice's possible fianc^. The Great 
 Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Mary. See Bunker ; Foulkes ; Miss Mary ; Rogers. 
 
 Mary. The wife of a logger. While alone with her baby in 
 their house on the Dedlow Marsh, she is overtaken by a flood, 
 and saves herself and her child by climbing upon a drifting 
 tree, which finally goes aground. High-Water Mark. 
 
 Mary Ann. See Camperdown. 
 
 Maryland Joe. See Mattingi.y. 
 
 " Marysville Pet," The. See Neville, Euphemia. 
 
 Masterman, Miss Blanche. Daughter of Skaggs ; adopted by 
 her mother's second husband. Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands. 
 
 Masterman, Renwyck. The second husband of Mrs. Skaggs ; 
 the rich owner of ClifEwood Lodge, at Greyport. Mrs. Skaggs's 
 Husbands. 
 
 Masters. The owner of a claim next to Slinn's. He thinks his 
 neighbor demented, and he himself gives up when success is 
 just at hand. A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Masters, Bill. A Harvard graduate, who has traveled abroad, 
 but "with his slovenly dress, his overflowing vitality, his intense 
 appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism, and his mouth filled 
 with crackers and cheese," he cuts " but an unromantio figure " 
 beside Jack Hamlin, the gambler, " with his pale Greek face 
 and Homeric gravity." Brown of Calaveras ; The Romance of 
 Madrono Hollow. 
 
 Masters, Joe. The one of Creasy's suitors whom she finally 
 marries. Cressy. 
 
356 INDEX TO CHAEACTEIS 
 
 Masterton, Dick. A young engineer, the son of Judge Master- 
 ton, who is working in the New Mill at Canada City, to learn 
 the details of its management. He is sent by the directors to 
 try and obtain possession of certain securities which Trixit holds. 
 In following the banker to his retreat in the mountains, 
 Masterton is injured by a fall, is kindly cared for by Cissy, and 
 revises the somewhat contemptuous opinion he had formed of 
 that country belle. The Belle of Canada City. 
 
 IVIasterton, Joyce. An admirer of Miss Sally Dows ; slain in 
 battle while fighting as a private in the Confederate Army. 
 Colonel Starbottle's Client ; Sally Dows. 
 
 Masterton, Stephen. A passionate pioneer ezhorter and 
 circuit-rider. Exhausted by spiritual excesses, he leaves his 
 camp-meetings and sojourns in a Spanish settlement. His 
 "conversion" results from a chance meeting with Pepita 
 Ramirez, whom he soon loves, and for whose church he for- 
 sakes his own. A Convert of the Mission. 
 
 Maston, Mr. and Mrs. Residents of Sandy Bar. Roger 
 Catron's Friend. 
 
 Mattingly, Dick. One of the original five partners of the 
 Devil's Ford claim, and, like the others, honest, simple-hearted, 
 and chivalrous. Devil's Ford. 
 
 Mattingly, Maryland Joe. Elder brother of Dick Mattingly, 
 and one of the partners at Devil's Ford. A good story-teller. 
 Devil's Ford. 
 
 Maxvrell, Lavryer. Counsel for Mme. Devarges in her char- 
 acter of Grace Conroy, and afterwards Gabriel's counsel in his 
 trial for murder. He is troubled with a nervous smile, which 
 he is constantly wiping from his mouth. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 May. See Sylvester. 
 
 Mayfield, Jessie. A pretty little woman of twenty-five, who 
 conies to California for her health. The simplicity and nobility 
 of JefE's nature appeal to her, but her wealth raises a barrier 
 between them. A kindly accident brings Jeff, severely wounded, 
 to her new home, and with womanly tact she wins her lover as 
 a husband. Jeff Briggs's Love Story. 
 
 Mayfield, Mrs. Jessie's mother and helpless chaperone. Jeff 
 Briggs's Love Story. 
 
 Mayfield, 'Williani Henry. The wealthy father of Jessie. In 
 fair weather he is marked by a patronizing superiority. Jeff 
 Briggs's Love Story. 
 
 Maynard, Dr. A Southern practitioner, " conservative, old- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 357 
 
 fashioned, and diplomatic." He attends Courtland in the ill- 
 ness resulting from the snake-bite and exposure in the swamp. 
 Sally Dows. 
 
 Maynard, Mr. A Charleston merchant, the father of Helen, 
 who, after a three years' residence in Europe, returns home at 
 the outbreak of the Civil War, which wrecks his fortune, and 
 falls at Ball's Bluff. Two Americans. 
 
 Maynard, Helen. A well-born Southern girl, who, while at 
 school in Paris, is left a penniless orphan. She is brave and 
 independent, works hard at the Conservatoire, but fails to 
 obtain a prize. She becomes attached to a promising young 
 American artist as poor as herself, meets the Dowager Duchess 
 of Soho, and is invited to go with her to England, remains 
 there for some years, and finally encounters the artist again 
 with the happiest results. Two Americans. 
 
 M'Caffrey, Dennis. A worthless deserter from the army, with 
 a susceptible Irish heart. He is fed and clotlied through the 
 secret assistance of Maggie Culpepper, and when recaptured 
 refuses to betray his benefactress. The Heritage of Dedlow 
 Marsh. 
 
 M'Carty, Michael. A poor market-gardener, sometime guard- 
 ian of Jinny. " Jinny." 
 
 McCarthy, Mr. Second mate of the Excelsior. The Crusade 
 of the Excelsior. 
 
 McClosky. See M'Closky. 
 
 McClosky, Mrs. Jane. An aunt of the unregenerate Susy, 
 over whom she acquires an unfortunate influence. A coarse- 
 flbred, vulgar woman. Through tliis relative Susy begins her 
 "stage career," and at her instigation wounds her foster- 
 mother and her playmate by her indifference. Susy : A Story 
 of the Plains. 
 
 McCorkle. See M'Corklb. 
 
 McCorkle, Mrs. Euphemia. A name signed to the poetical 
 correspondence of Hurlstone's wife, a name that never fails to 
 rouse the lambent eloquence of Senor Perkins on board the 
 Excelsior. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 McCorkle, Rev. Henry. The first clergyman in the trans- 
 formed Buckeye Camp. He officiates at the marriage of 
 Jovita Mendez and Mayor Parks. The Transformation of 
 Buckeye Camp. 
 
 McCorkle, Morgan. A well-known citizen of Angel's, em- 
 ploye and patron of the poet. The Poet of Sierra Flat. 
 
358 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 McCormick, Joel. One of the unfortunate emigrants of Star- 
 vation Camp. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 McFadden, Captain. His political duel with Calhoun Bung- 
 starter is prevented by the Fool's medicine. The Fool of Five 
 Forks. 
 
 McFadden, Mrs. Owner of a township lot at Green Springs. 
 A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 
 McFeckless, Alaster. Enamoured of the weirdly beautiful 
 eyes of the Princess Zut-Ski, and like her a patient of Dr. Pil- 
 grim. Zut-Ski (^Condensed Novels}. 
 
 McGee, Alexander. An apologetic, self-accusing miner. He 
 trusts Madison with his uufaithful wife, and leaves her to the 
 man she loves. On his deathbed he calls for Madison, and tells 
 of his unavailing sacrifice. The Bell-Ringer of Angel's. 
 
 McGee, Mrs. Safie. The wife of McGee, a frivolous and irre- 
 sponsible young woman, entirely wanting in moral sense. She 
 fails to influence Madison, who loves her, and turns to his 
 younger brother. Her infidelity is discovered by Madison, and 
 she escapes by stealth. The Bell-Ringer of Angel's. 
 
 McGillup, Mary. A rebel spy. Mary McGillup (^Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 McGlasher, Jim. " Chief of the Bureau for the Dissemination 
 of Useless Information." The Office-Seeker. 
 
 McHulish, Donald. A lowly member of a widely scattered 
 family. The Heir of the McHulishes. 
 
 McHulish, Malcolm. A weak, half crazy youth from Kentucky, 
 who imagines himself the heir to the McHulish property in 
 Scotland. He falls into the hands of speculators, who form a 
 syndicate for the purpose of pushing his claim. On his visit to 
 Scotland, he is disappointed to find that the clan does not flock 
 to his standard with the enthusiasm of feudal times. His party 
 is outwitted in a " compromise " by Sir James MacFen, the 
 agent of the real McHulish, Lord Duncaster. The Heir of the 
 McHulishes. 
 
 McKinstry, Cressy. An audacious coquette of the frontier, 
 and the oldest pupil of the Indian Spring school. She is in 
 love with Ford, while secretly engaged to Joe Masters. Find- 
 ing Ford unequal to the valor o£ flight with her from the envy 
 of his rivals, she takes leave of him and her love to marry 
 Masters. Cressy. 
 
 McKinstry, Dick. Cressy's brother. Cressy. 
 
 McKinstry, Hiram. Cressy's father ; a ranchman and a "red- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTEES 359 
 
 handed frontier brawler," whose method of argument is the 
 rifle. Yet he has an almost motherly tenderness for his 
 daughter, whom he longs to give the "kam" that has not 
 been present in his own life. He favors Ford's suit, but chal- 
 lenges him to a duel when he fancies that the schoolmaster 
 has hidden Cressy with a view to elopement. Cressy. 
 
 MoKinstry, Mrs. Hiram. Cressy's mother. " A fair type of 
 a class not uncommon on the Southwestern frontier ; women 
 who were ruder helpmates to their rude husbands and brothers, 
 who had shared their privations and sufferings with surly, mas- 
 culine endurance, rather than feminine patience." Cressy. 
 
 M'Closky. See McClosky. 
 
 M'Closky, Miss Jinny. A beautiful girl, strong, courageous, 
 and true, with a number of lovers. While engaged to John 
 Ashe she falls in love with Ridgeway Dent, but remains true 
 to her betrothed until he breaks the engagement. The Rose 
 of Tuolumne. 
 
 M'Closky, Mr. An uncouth and obtuse but good-hearted man ; 
 stepfather of the Rose. The Rose of Tuolumne. 
 
 M'Corkle. See McCorkle. 
 
 M'Corkle. A regular customer of Roscommon, who spends his 
 " last cint on a tare into Gilroy." The Story of a Mine. 
 
 M'Corkle, Euphemy and Mamie. Daughters of Mrs. M'Cor- 
 kle. Devil's Ford. 
 
 M'Corkle, Mrs. From Pike County. She repels the advances 
 of the Misses Carr. Devil's Ford. 
 
 M'Ginnis, OMwen. A miner at Rocky Canon, who vainly en- 
 deavors to make Billy the goat useful. An Esmeralda of Rocky 
 Canon. 
 
 McSnagley, Rev. Joshua. A vulgar, uneducated preacher, 
 canting and insincere. He preaches a sermon on the moral of 
 Roger Catron's life. He incurs M'liss's hatred by trying to 
 reclaim her. He is shot dead by Waters at Smith's claim. 
 Roger Catron's Friend; M'liss. 
 
 McSpadden. See MacSpadden. 
 
 McSpadden. A boy-faced ensign, shot by Terence in a duel 
 resulting from a meaningless joke made by McSpadden. Ter- 
 ence Denville (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Meade, Rowley. One of the miners at Buckeye. The Trans- 
 formation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Medliker, Jim. Of Medliker's Ranch at Burnt Spring. The 
 father of Johnny. The Youngest Prospector in Calaveras. 
 
360 INDEX TO CHABACTEES 
 
 Medliker, John Bunyan. A child of eight who discovers gold 
 near his father's cabin, and resolutely refuses to tell any grown 
 person where he found it. He dies soon after with the secret 
 untold. The Youngest Prospector in Calaveras. 
 
 Medliker, Mrs. Johnny's mother. The Youngest Prospector in 
 Calaveras. 
 
 Meely. See Parsons and Stryker. 
 
 Melinda. See Bird. 
 
 Melons. A young scapegrace, who is at once the terror and the 
 admiration of the neighborhood. He is seven years old, with 
 hair of a venerable whiteness. His usual costume is a pair of 
 pantaloons "apparently belonging to some shapely youth of 
 nineteen." Melons. 
 
 Mendez, Jovita. A daring Mexican ^rl, who is held responsi- 
 ble by the indignant but fascinated citizens of Buckeye Camp 
 for its transformation. She establishes the first saloon, and 
 creates civic dissension. In spite of her trade, she is decent 
 and law-abiding, and protects herself from insults with pistol 
 and tongue. The Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Meritoe, Fanny. Left nearly penniless by her father to the 
 guardianship of four friends, who not knowing how to break 
 the news of her misfortunes to her, write letters in the names 
 of her dead parents, send generous gifts, and so win her affec- 
 tion, that she comes to California to join her father and mother. 
 But the youngest of her guardians manages to privately inform 
 her of the truth, and probably in the end console her. The 
 Four Guardians of Lagrange. 
 
 Merrydevr, Mrs. A woman of light and irresponsible manner 
 and rather unsavory reputation, yet with some depth of char- 
 acter. Upon her Reddy places the blame for his ruin in San 
 Francisco. She still loves him, hut, on finding that he no 
 longer cares for her, she sacrifices her love and hrings about 
 the return of Nellie Woodridge's wavering affection to her be- 
 trothed lover by marrying Louis Sylvester and thus removing 
 the disturbing element. The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 Merton, Major. An American officer stationed at Springfield. 
 Thankful Blossom. 
 
 Merwin, Captain. A society man of Greyport. Mrs. Skaggs's 
 Husbands. 
 
 Mesthyn, Lady. A guest at Scrooby Priory. TTie Desborough 
 Connections. 
 
 Miaow. Otherwise known as "Puskat," — the warmth-lovinp' 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 361 
 
 one, who sometimes sits on a Man Cub's lap. Jungle Folk 
 (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Michael, Duke. Called Black; the treacherous cousin of the 
 King of Trulyruralauia. Rupert the Eesembler (Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Michet, Amad^e. A witness for the defense in the murdej 
 trial. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Miggles. A frank, fearless, and beautiful young woman, who 
 lives in a lonely cabin, devoting her life to the care of her para- 
 lytic lover, whom she refuses to marry on tlie ground that 
 what she does for him would then be her duty instead of her 
 pleasure. Later, we learn that she accompanies her lover to a 
 San Francisco hospital. Miggles; A Night on the Divide. 
 
 Miguel. A Monterey butcher. He prefers prospecting to his 
 trade, and later becomes an accomplice of Garcia in procuring 
 the forged signature. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Miguel. A desperado, who pursues Henry Guest with murder- 
 ous intent for the sake of his gold, but who is restrained by old 
 Pereo. Maruja. 
 
 Miguel. Josephine Forsyth's Mexican vaquero, an old retainer. 
 It is he who makes the discovery of Randolph's identity and 
 the circumstances of his accident, and finally tells the story to 
 Josephine. The Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge. 
 
 Miguel. See Briones and Padre Miguel. 
 
 Mike. See Roscommon. 
 
 Miller, Jenny. A motherless girl of eighteen. Sensitive to the 
 crude life about her, she indulges in solitary rambles. She 
 discovers a submerged galleon and begins to excavate it. After 
 the wreck of a vessel, a box of securities is lodged by the waves 
 in the half uncovered galleon. A Treasure of the Galleon. 
 
 Miller, Laivyer. The father of Jenny. His daughter is dis- 
 tressed at the change in his attitude toward the rude life about 
 them. To succeed with the successful, he is forced into com- 
 promises. A Treasure of the Galleon. 
 
 Millikens, Mrs. The widowed mother of Jane and Mary, " a 
 bit larky on her own account." For Sim'la Reasons {Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Millikens, Jane. The sister of Mary, who accidentally receives 
 a third of Sparkley's proposal. For Sim'la Reasons (Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Millikens, Mary. The young lady to whom Sparkley meant to 
 propose. Far Sim'la Reasons (Condensed Novels). 
 
362 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Mills, Union. One of the partners of the Lone Star Claim; so 
 nicknamed because at one time a patch on his trousers had 
 borne those words conspicuously. He is one of the weakest 
 and most shiftless of the lot. heft out on Lone Star Mountain. 
 
 Milly. See Woods. 
 
 Milton. See Chubbuck and Harktitt. 
 
 Minty. See Shakpe. 
 
 Mirandy. See Dews. 
 
 Miss Jo. See Folinsbee. 
 
 Miss Mary. A school-teacher from the East; delicate and re- 
 iiued. She is adored reverently by all Red Gulch. Her pity 
 for the drunkard, Sandy, ripens into a more sentimental feeling 
 with the prospect of reform on his part, but after consenting to 
 take charge of Tommy, Sandy's illegitimate child, who is placed 
 in her hands by his mother, she refuses to see Sandy again. 
 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 Mix, Miss. Governess to Mr. Rawjester's little girl; "not 
 handsome." She and Mr. Kawjester fall in love with each 
 other, and are united after all obstacles are removed. Miss 
 Mix (Condensed Novels'). 
 
 MoSatt, Peggy. An exceedingly plain and uncouth young 
 woman, to whom, when a, maidservant at the Rockville Hotel, 
 Mr. James Byways, leaves his entire property, having first 
 exacted a promise from her that she would never share her 
 wealth with any one whom she loved. She keeps her promise, 
 and the money which she gives to the man she loves, the pro- 
 fligate Jack Folinsbee, is what she herself has earned for that 
 purpose. An Heiress of Red Dog. 
 
 Molly. See Indian Molly. 
 
 Monk, Hank. Stage-driver out at Reno. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Montague, Flora. " The Western Star of Terpsichore and 
 Song," sometimes the guest of Colonel Starbottle, who is an. 
 noyed by an accidental meeting with her, when he is accom- 
 panied by his ward. A Ward of Colonel Starbottle. 
 
 Monte Castello, Prince of. An Italian nobleman, husband of 
 the grown-up Sarah Walker. Sarah Walker. 
 
 Montgomery, Jack. Adoptive father of one of Mary Foulkes's 
 dolls. A Mother of Five. 
 
 Montgomery, Miss. The stage name of Hurlstone's wife, who 
 corresponds with Perkins over the pen name of Euphemia 
 McCorkle. A despicable adventuress, with a predilection for 
 matrimonial i;augles. While escaping from her, Hurlstone 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 363 
 
 becomes a passenger on the Excelsior, and is saved from suicide 
 by the philanthropic Perkins. Through his benefactor he 
 learns of his wife's death. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Montgomery, Nell. See Rylands. 
 
 Montmorency, Miss. One of the " Western Star Combination 
 Troupe." A Ward of Colonel Starhottle. 
 
 Montmorris, Miss. A passenger on the " Unser Fritz." " A 
 Tourist from Injianny." 
 
 Moo KoTW. Who has nourished the mighty ones of the earth. 
 Jungle Folk (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Morales, Don Juan. The Spanish ambassador. He travels 
 through the colonies incognito, under the name of Baron 
 Pomposo, and lodges for a night at the home of Abner Blossom. 
 Upon information that the foreigner is a spy, his host is im- 
 prisoned. Thankful Blossom. 
 
 Morez, Mateo. The proprietor of a Spanish posado in San 
 Buenaventura. Obsequious in manner, and as obtuse as the 
 circumstance warrants. The Argonauts of North Liberty. 
 
 Morgan. See McCorkle. 
 
 Mornie. See Nixon. 
 
 Morpher, Aristides. An enterprising boy, given to wandering 
 and truancy. He discovers the gold in Smith's Pocket by 
 watching its mysterious miner. M'liss. 
 
 Morpher, Cassandra. " Keerless " of her clothes. M'liss. 
 
 Morpher, Clytemnestra. "An early bloomer," with round 
 waist, white throat, large blue eyes, and blushes, — altogether 
 quite " dangerously pretty," but a model of deportment withal. 
 She entertains a schoolgirl's passion for the master, Mr. Gray, 
 and is cordially hated by M'liss. M'liss. 
 
 Morpher, James. Husband of Mrs. Morpher and father of the 
 children. M'liss. 
 
 Morpher, Lycurgus. Worries his mother by dipping in the 
 cupboard "between meals." M'liss. 
 
 Morpher, Octavia. " Keerless " of her clothes. M'liss. 
 
 Morpher, Mrs. Sue. " A womanly and kind-hearted specimen 
 of Southwestern efflorescence, known in her maidenhood as the 
 ' Per-ra-rie Kose.' By a steady system of struggle and self- 
 sacrifice, she had at last subjugated her naturally careless dis- 
 position to principles of ' order,' which as a pious woman she 
 considered, with Pope, as 'Heaven's first law.'" Mr. Gray 
 places M'liss under her care. M'liss. 
 
 Morris, "Lympy." One of the untamed Southern girls at Red- 
 lands. Sally Dows. 
 
364 INDBX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 Morse, Martin. A simple frontiersman, with heart full of 
 charity for the race. The invasion of Captain Jack Despard 
 into his primeval Arcadia stirs him with a new passion. He 
 dreams of the return of this evangel of the outer world, and 
 finally is driven hy adversity to seek for the desperado. When 
 he finds Despard, he meets death with reckless heroism, iu a 
 vain attempt to save his friend's life. In the Tules. 
 
 Mortimer, Miss. A confederate of the " gang of road-agents " 
 who robbed the Red Chief Pioneer Coach. She is used as a 
 decoy, and she lures Beard by a fable into helping her discover 
 the buried treasure. Through the suspicion of Miss Porter, 
 she fails to secure it. Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Mortmain, Ralph. An acquaintance of Heavystone. Guy 
 Heavystone {Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Morton, Alexander. Commonly called Sandy. A tall young 
 drunkard, with a blond beard and long, silken mustache. 
 Miss Mary finds him one day lying by the side of the road in 
 his customary condition, and with mingled disgust and pity 
 gives him advice which results in his exchanging the stimulus 
 of alcohol for that of love. From that time he devotes himself 
 to her in an unobtrusive way. The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 Morvin, Miss. The housekeeper at the Laurel Spring House. 
 Mr. MacGlowrie's Widow. 
 
 Mosby. The proprietor of a grocery at Rattlesnake Camp. 
 Bulger's Reputation. 
 
 Moscovr, Count. A foreigner, and a pupil of Machiavelli. 
 No Title {Condensed Novels). 
 
 "Mother Shipton." An abandoned woman, ejected from 
 Poker Flat with other outcasts. She starves herself to death 
 in order to save the life of Piney Woods, the innocent young 
 girl who has joined the party in company with her lover. The 
 Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 Mountain Charley. A chivalrous stage-driver, surpassed only 
 by Yuba Bill in general fitness for pioneer life. He shields 
 Miss Porter from the insults of Hornsby, and, struck with her 
 courage, invites her to " freeze " to him. Found at Blazing 
 Star. 
 
 Moyler-Spence, M. P. One of the English tourists at Fort 
 Biggs. TTie Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Muck-a-Muck. A noble California red man, shot by Natty 
 Bumbo, holding Genevra Tompkins's waterfall in his hand. 
 Mttck-a-Muck (Condensed Novels). 
 
INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 363 
 
 Mulledwiney. One of The Three. He tells stories that are 
 large and strong, and cause all the animals to fly from the 
 jnngle. A Private's Honor; Jungle Folk (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Mullins, Polly. "A mild, innocent child of nature." An 
 accomplice of the Ramon Martinez band, she is detected in the 
 act of signaling from the coach, and invents an ingenious ac- 
 count of her tribulations. This secures the sympathy of Yuba 
 Bill and other astute cavaliers to the extent that her marriage 
 to the bandit is hurriedly accomplished and the bridal couple 
 dispatched with their plunder. An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 Mvilrady, Abner. The ungrateful and worthless sou of Alvin 
 Mnlrady. A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Mulrady, Alvin. An honest, hard-working man, who, after a 
 prosperous career of market-gardening, becomes a millionaire 
 mine-owner. Deserted by his wife and daughter, who leave 
 him to travel in search of social success, he befriends old Slina 
 in the hour of need, and his lonely figure commands the respect 
 and sympathy of the reader. A Millionaire of Rough-and- 
 Ready. 
 
 Mulrady, Malviny. The wife of Alvin Mulrady. She rules 
 her husband with her unscrupulous worldly wisdom. When 
 his efforts and good luck have made her rich, she leaves him 
 alone without hesitation, to find success abroad for herself and 
 her daughter Mamie. A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Mulrady, Mamie. Alvin Mulrady's pretty and selfish daugh- 
 ter, who, in the pride of sudden wealth, casts aside the gallantry 
 of young Harry Slinn and the devotion of Don Caesar Alvarada 
 and leaves her father desolate, to go abroad with her mothel 
 in search of a brilliant match. A Millionaire of Rough-and- 
 Ready, 
 
 Munroe, Fairfax. Always called by his first name. A young 
 man of good family ; one of the partners of the Devil's Ford 
 Claim. Being more cautious than the rest, he comes into 
 opposition witli the superintendent, Mr. Carr. He becomes 
 engaged to Miss Jessie Carr. Devil's Ford. 
 
 Murano, Carlotta. Usually called Cara. She is the daughter 
 of an Italian fisherman and an American mother. Her father 
 erects a temporary shelter not far from the semaphore kept by 
 Jarman, an escaped convict, who lives in constant terror of 
 recapture. Cara falls in love with him, saves him from the 
 police, and marries him. The Man at the Semaphore. 
 
 Murano, Lucy. A child sister of Carlotta. The Man at the 
 Semaphore. 
 
366 INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 
 
 Mnriatta (or Murietta), Joaquin. The Mexican bandit. Cap- 
 tured by Captain Wetherby, he is released by Lany, who mis- 
 takes the captor for the bandit. Murietta, thinking the girl in 
 love with him, lingers about the ranch and is retaken. The 
 Twins of Table Mountain • Lanty Foster's Mistake. 
 
 Mushymush. See Sniffen, Euza Jane. 
 
 Myers, Ned. One of Peggy Baker's friends, who adds a vener- 
 able horned owl to her menagerie. Miss Peggy's Proteges. 
 
 Myiiel, Bishop. A good man ; a saint. Fantine (Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Ned. See Blandfokd and Faulkner. 
 
 Nellie. See Wtnn. 
 
 Nelly. See Arnot and Woodridge. 
 
 Nevll, Miss Grace. A chance visitor at the Los Osos villa. 
 She immediately wins Rushbrook's sympathy by her natural 
 and unaffected presence in his artificial surroundings. She 
 discovers her love for him only after he has tried to protect her 
 from the knowledge that shall destroy her faith in Somers. 
 They finally marry. A Maecenas of the Pacific Slope. 
 
 Neville, Euphemia. Professionally known as the " Marysville 
 Pet." A clever little soubrette, with a wide range of parts. 
 She appears dramatically before the unsophisticated eyes of 
 Band, and thereafter leads him captive. 2'Ae I'lains of Table 
 Mountain. 
 
 Nevrorth, Eugenia. She falls down a ledge — the fall being 
 broken by Edmund Bray, who half leads half carries her back 
 to the road. She writes him a graceful note of thanks, which 
 is found by one of his partners, who interprets it as an intima/- 
 tion of the gold which is discovered in the place. Bray seeks 
 her out in San Francisco, and ultimately marries her. A Jack 
 and Jill of the Sierras. 
 
 NeTworth, Harry. Eugenia's brother. A Jack and Jill of the 
 Sierras. 
 
 Neworth, Mr. A San Francisco capitalist, interested as an in- 
 vestor in the Eureka mines. The father of Eugenia. A Jack 
 and Jill of the Sierras. 
 
 Nez Retroussez, Mother. A poor old woman, who sells as- 
 paragus. She gives the bishop three bad sous in change. 
 Fantine (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Nips. The tyrannical purser of H. M. S. Belcher. Mr. Mid- 
 shipman Breezy (Condensed Novels). 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 367 
 
 Nixon, Mat. The father of Mornie. Somewhat indifferent to 
 parental duties until shooting becomes a part of their fulfill- 
 ment. The Twins of Table Mountain. 
 
 Nlzon, Mornie. The child of dissolute parents, she becomes 
 desperate at the apparent desertion of her lover, Euth, and 
 joins the theatrical company of Sol Saunders, thus exposing 
 herself to the insults of her townspeople. Her child is born in 
 the cabin of the Twins, and here she awaits the return of its 
 father. The Twins of Table Mountain. 
 
 NN. Ardently in love with a mysterious stranger whom he has 
 seen at a mantua-maker's. The object of his devotion proves 
 to be a dummy. NN {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Norah. Montagu Trixit's cook. A Belle of Canada City. 
 
 North, Dick. Son of Mrs. Mary North, and a member of the 
 expedition. The Man on the Beach. 
 
 North, Tames. Disappointed in love for a fickle and worthless 
 woman, he retires from the world and nurses his sorrow and 
 his love in a lonely cottage by the sea. A little baby, washed 
 ashore near his hut after a storm, is the means of bringing him 
 into contact with Miss Bessy Robinson, a neighbor's daughter, 
 to whom he intrusts the child. It transpires later that the 
 child is his own, the actress mother having been drowned in the 
 same storm which brought the baby to its father. Bessy con- 
 sents to continue to be the little girl's mother by marrying 
 North. The Man on the Beach. 
 
 North, Miss Maria. Daughter of Mrs. Mary North. She takes 
 a passionate farewell of her cousin. The Man on the Beach. 
 
 North, Mrs. Mary. James North's aunt ; the leader of the 
 family expedition which seeks in vain to induce him to return 
 to civilization. The Man ore the Beach, 
 
 Nott, Abner. The owner and occupant of the ship Pontiac, 
 a beached wreck which he has fitted up as a lodging-house. 
 Originally a Missouri farmer, he never seems quite in keeping 
 with his surroundings, in spite of the strange pride which he 
 takes in his ship, and the incongruity is heightened by the 
 " bucolic suggestions " of his huge boots. He has a peculiar 
 genius for misconceptions, which leads him into the most 
 fatuous actions. A Ship of '49. 
 
 Nott, Rosey. Daughter of Abner Nott ; an imaginative and 
 romantic young girl, who is also beautiful and graceful. She 
 and Dick Renshaw fall in love with eacli other. She is kind to 
 the crazy De Ferriferes in his distress. A Ship of 'Ji9. 
 
368 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Nugat, Count de. A foreign nobleman. Mrs. Skaggs's Hus- 
 bands. 
 
 Oakhurst, John. A handsome and chivalrous gambler, ad- 
 mired by Lis friends, feared by his enemies, and fawned upon 
 by women. " There was something in his carriage, something 
 in the pose of his beautiful head, something in the strong and 
 fine manliness of his presence, something in the perfect and 
 utter discipline and control of his muscles, something in the 
 high rgpose of his nature, — a repose not so much a matter of 
 intellectual ruling as of his very nature, — that go where he 
 vrould, and with whom, he was always a notable man in ten 
 
 I thousand." He always plays an open and honest game. The 
 Introduction to " Tales of the Argonauts " quotes some remarks 
 of his, and relates au instance of his thoughtful care for the 
 unfortunate. He contributes a lady's handkerchief, beautifully 
 embroidered, as a present to the orphan Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 The presence of his determined face in the audience at Sierra 
 Flat assists in saving the Poet from the rude horse-play of the 
 mob. " A Passage in the Life of Mr. John Oakhurst " tells 
 the story of one of his most serious love-affairs. He falls in 
 love with Mrs. Decker, the pretty and proper wife of an un- 
 suspecting husband, and kills his friend Dick Hamilton in a 
 duel fought on her account, only to learn that her flirtation 
 with him has been merely a cloak for a more serious intrigue 
 with Hamilton. After a scene with Mrs. Decker he returns 
 to his profession, and conducts it with success until the fall 
 of 1850, when he is exiled from Poker Flat in company with 
 three other iulmoral characters, — a man and two women. 
 He loyally stands by his companions in distress, despite his 
 own intellectual superiority. When the party is snowed in 
 and there seems to be no hope of rescue, after doing all he 
 can to help the others, he retires to some distance iind there 
 shoots himself, leaving a characteristic epitaph upon a tree 
 above his body. Introduclion to Tales of the Argonauts ; The 
 Luck of Roaring Camp ; The Poet of Sierra Flat ; A Pas- 
 sage in the Life of Mr. John Oakhurst ; The Outcasts of Poker 
 Flat. 
 
 O'Flaherty, Michael. A witness for the defense in the murder 
 trial. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Old Man, the. Johnny's father. A man of about fifty, 
 " grizzled and scant of hair, but still fresh and youthful of com- 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 369 
 
 plexion. A face full of ready but not very powerful sympathy, 
 with a chameleon-like aptitude for taking on the shade and 
 color of contiguous moods and feelings." How Santa Claus 
 came to Simpson's Bar. 
 
 Old Man, the. See Ford, John. 
 
 Oily. See Conroy, Olympia. 
 
 Olooya. A fair-skinned, golden-haired, blue-eyed girl whomi 
 Pomfrey, a lighthouse keeper, and recluse scholar, finds to be 
 living with a tribe of Indians as apparently one of themselves. 
 On inquiry, he learns that there are a few members of this 
 company as white as the girl, and looked up to as a superioi? 
 caste. Frightened at first, she gradually learns to trust him ; 
 but when her brother offers to sell her to Pomfrey, and is 
 indignantly upbraided therefor, the girl disappears. It is 
 known later that she has been sold to a miner of a very low 
 type, who had filled her with terror on his first appearance. In 
 a fever vision, Pomfrey connects her with certain sailors of Sir 
 Francis Drake's crew, who deserted on that coast and took 
 Indian wives. The Mermaid of Lighihouxe Point. 
 
 O'Ryan, Jimmy. A prize-fighter, and the " chucker out " of 
 Madame le Blanc. How Reuben Allen " Saw Life " in San 
 Francisco. 
 
 Ostrander, Philip. A gifted artist, who had been an officer in 
 the Civil War, in which he lost an arm. While working and 
 studying in Paris he meets Helen Maynard and loves her, but 
 later loses sight of her. He fights with the Parisians in 1871, 
 and afterward gains distinction as a Cliilean general, meets 
 Helen in England, and marries her. Two Americans. 
 
 Otherwise. One of The Three. A Private's Honor; Jungle 
 Folk (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Overstone, Major. A stoical frontier swindler. His superior 
 wickedness raises for him in Wynyard's Bar a defense against 
 the law. He is captured, however, by the "new Sheriff of 
 Siskiyou," and dies with hiiu in the burning woods. The Sheriff 
 of Siskiyou. 
 
 Padre Esteban. Priest of the Mission of Todos Santos, and a 
 member of the Order of San Francisco d'Assisi. The healer 
 of distressed souls ; the coipforter of those who mourn. Hurl- 
 stone is welcomed by the tranquil priest, who hopes to make of 
 him a fit successor. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Padre Jos^. He warns his flock at San Buenaventura of the 
 
370 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 diabolical origin of patent medicines. The Argonauts of North 
 Liberty. 
 
 Padre Miguel. A priest, the friend of old Pereo. Maruja. 
 
 Padre Vicentio. A benevolent priest of the Mission Dolores, 
 who has a strange vision of the future of San Francisco. The 
 Adventure of Padre Vicentio. 
 
 Padre. See Father. 
 
 Fancho. See Gkey. 
 
 Pansy. See Stannakd. 
 
 Parker, Colonel. An astute lawyer, who settles the unhappy 
 difBerenees between Don Jos^ and his family. A Knight-Errant 
 of the Foot-HilU. 
 
 Parker, Cyrus. A miner suffering from dyspepsia, who experi- 
 ments with Chinese medicines. See Yup. 
 
 Parker, Jim. The third member of the unsuccessful mining 
 party; "close-shaven, thin, and energetic." In a Hollow of the 
 Hills. 
 
 Parkhurst, Tack. One of the partners of the Eureka Mining 
 Company, a cheerful and humorous mysogynist. The first to 
 discover the riches of Eureka Mountain. A Jack and Jill of the 
 Sierras. 
 
 Parks. Lieutenant Calvert's valet. The Heritage of Dedlow 
 Marsh. 
 
 Parks. Mayor of Buckeye Camp. He objects to the invasion 
 of Jovita Mendez, but later becomes her champion and hus- 
 band. The Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Parsons, Mrs. Cyrus, A camp-meeting devotee. An Apostle 
 of the Tules. 
 
 Parsons, Meely. A comely young girl of seventeen, between 
 whom and Gideon Deane the beginning of a sentimental at- 
 tachment exists. An Apostle of the Tides. 
 
 Parthenia. The name given by the author to the wife of a 
 hotel-keeper of Wingdam. She is a Boston girl of refinement 
 and education, married to a big, strong man of the pioneer 
 type, — Ingomar alias Abner, — who is kind to her in his way, 
 and with whom she is happy after a fashion. She is slender 
 and overworked, and her beauty has faded. A Night at Wing- 
 dam. 
 
 Patsey. A recruit of the pirate band. The Queen of the Pirate 
 Isle. 
 
 Patterson. The storekeeper at Los Cuervos, in Tucker's era- 
 ploy until the latter's downfall. He is faithful to his former 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTBKS 371 
 
 friend, with a " dog-like and unreasoning affection," in spite of 
 the fact that Tucker's fall leaves him almost penniless. He is 
 grave and matter-of-fact, and stupid withal. A Blue Grass 
 Penelope. 
 
 Patterson, Mrs. A termagant, who rails insultingly at Mrs. 
 Tucker. A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 Paul. See Hathaway. 
 
 Peaaeley, Rev. Mr. A pompous Presbyterian clergyman and 
 trustee of the Pine Clearing School. The New Assistant at 
 Pine Clearing School. 
 
 Pedro. The stout vaquero whom Wiles selects as his partner 
 from the four Mexican prospectors. The two scoundrels are 
 suspicious of each other. Pedro makes away with the sleeping 
 Concho, and Wiles then takes formal possession of the mine. 
 The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Pedro. See Father Pedro; Ruiz; Valdez. 
 
 Peggy. See Baker and Mopfatt. 
 
 Pegrelli, Signora. One of the opera troupe entertained at Los 
 Osos. Later a guest at Rushbrook's town-house, where she 
 conducts a compromising flirtation with Jack Somers. A 
 McBcenas of the Pacific Slope. 
 
 Pendleton, Colonel Harry. A Kentuckian gentleman of the 
 old school, who came to California in '49, and keeps up the tra- 
 ditions of the " gentleman of honor." He is one of the Trust to 
 whom Kate Howard commits her child, and he remains faithful 
 to his charge at personal risks and under the repeated loss of 
 his own fortune. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Pepita. A servant at the convent, who reveals to Don Caesar 
 Kate Howard's relationship to Yerba. A Ward of the Golden 
 Gate. 
 
 Pepita. A servant of the Saltonstalls. She overhears a con- 
 versation between her mistress, Dona Maria, and Dr. West. 
 Maruja. 
 
 Pepita. See Altascar and Ramirez. 
 
 Peralte, Dona Felipa. A young Californian girl. She relates 
 to Dick Bracy and his cousin the story of the unhappy lovers 
 wliose ghosts haunt the hacienda. The Mystery of the Haci- 
 enda. 
 
 Pereo. The life-long major-domo of the Saltonstalls. His un- 
 sleeping watch over the interests and honor of the family 
 becomes a monomania. Suspicious of Dr. West's designs, he 
 murders him in secret, and later, in his madness, makes a fruit" 
 
372 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 less attempt on the life of Henry Guest. He meets a mad- 
 man's death in a wild charge upon a locomotive. Maruja. 
 
 Perez, Jos^. The preserver of peace at the saloon kept by 
 Jovita Mendez. The Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 P^rigord. " The gigantic innkeeper of Provins." See Porthos. 
 The Ninely-Nine Guardsmen (^Condensed Novels'). 
 
 P^rigord, Dame. The innkeeper's wife. The Ninety-Nine 
 Guardsmen (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Perkins, Se&or. While concerned in affairs of state, the filibus- 
 ter styles hiuiself " Generalissimo Leonidas Bolivar Perkins." 
 A visionary but heroic patriot. The peacemaker and optimis- 
 tic prophet on board the Excelsior, within whose calm exterior 
 smoulder a wealth of conspiracies. From generalizations in 
 print upon the right of man to self-government, he proceeds to 
 the conduct of a revolution in Central America, and becomes 
 the liberator of the people of Quinquinamho. When defeated 
 by the legitimists, he accepts death with the graceful equa- 
 nimity that marks his nature. Successful for a time because 
 of his knowledge of human nature, he dies because of its inhu- 
 manity. TTie Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Perkins, Henry. See Devarges, Henry. 
 
 Perkins, Josiab W. A humble citizen of New Jersey, whose 
 kindness to a, maiden forever obscures her recollection of 
 Washington. A Jersey Centenarian. 
 
 Pete. Hamlin's black henchman, faithful alike to his master 
 and to his religion. At Hamlin's deathbed he offers his own 
 soul as a sacrifice to save Jack's. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Pete. See Austrauan Pete ; French Pete ; Eed Pete, and 
 Spanish Pete. 
 
 Peter. See Drummond ; Dumphy ; Schroeder. 
 
 Peters. A hungry lounger at Harkutt's store. A First Family 
 of Tasajara. 
 
 Peters, Johnny. A small citizen of Sidon, who taunts John 
 Milton Harkutt with his father's connection with Curtis's dis- 
 appearance. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Peyton, Mrs. Alice. The wife of John Peyton. A woman of 
 pure heart, but somewhat stubborn will. Irascible in temper, 
 unreasonable in conduct. She adopts Susy and endeavors to 
 overcome the child's inherited traits, but uses other means than 
 love. Soon after the death of John Peyton, she becomes the 
 wife of Clarence. See Brant, Mrs. Auce. A Waif of the 
 Plains ; Susy : A Story of the Plains. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 373 
 
 Peyton, Judge John. An emigrant of wealth and refinement 
 On the plams he befriends the little waifs, Clarence and Susy, 
 adopting Susy at the appeal of his wife. He invests in Cali- 
 fornia lands of uncertain title, and has great difficulty in de- 
 fending them against squatters. Though kindly in disposition, 
 he is subject to outbursts of temper, and at such times is at 
 the mercy of his enemies. Chief among these latter is Pedro 
 Valdez, whose indolence and assumption bring upon liim his 
 master's wrath. Peyton is murdered by Pedro, and dragged 
 at the heels of his own horse. A Waif of the Plains ; Susy : 
 A Story of the Plains. 
 
 Peyton, Susette Alexandra. Daughter of Jake Silsbee ; 
 adopted by John Peyton. A child who never reaches maturity. 
 Though not insincere by nature, she is given to a dramatic ex- 
 aggeration that leads her into extravagance, untrutlifulness, 
 and disloyalty. She is impatient of restraint, and resents the 
 maternal guidance of Mrs. Peyton. She joins Jim Hooker on 
 the stage, and remains a " soubrette " until her hero becomes 
 tiresome. Her second husband. Senator Boompointer, gratifies 
 her love for display. A Waif of the Plains ; Susy : A Story 
 of the Plains ; Clarence. 
 
 Philip. See Ashley and Kearney. 
 
 Phillips, Lawyer. Mrs. Catron's lawyer. Roger Catron's 
 Friend. 
 
 Phoebe. See Hopkins. 
 
 Pico, General. An old-fashioned guest of the Saltonstalls. 
 Maruja. 
 
 Pico, Don Andreas. The father of Rosita Pico. A Spanish 
 landowner, who befriends Blandford in California. The Argo- 
 nauts of North Liberty. 
 
 Pico, Rosita. A sentimental Spanish heiress, who attaches 
 herself to Mrs. Demorest. She is piqnaint and vivacious, and 
 oftentimes a little daring in her adventures. The melancholy 
 abstraction of Johnson fascinates her. The Argonauts of North 
 Liberty. 
 
 Pi B61. The leader of the Gee Gees, who are ridden by The 
 English. Jungle Folk {Condensed Novels'). 
 
 Pilcher, Mr. An eminent contractor, who owns stock in the 
 Conroy mine. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Pilgrim, Dr. Haustus. A noted London specialist in mental 
 diseases. He is spending his holiday on the Nile, his dahabiyeh 
 filled with a number of his patients. " Zut-SM " (Condensed 
 Novels'). 
 
374 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Pillsbury, Rev. Dr. An oratorical clergyman resident at Tasa/^ 
 jara. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Pinckney, Captain. A graduate of West Point, and an army 
 officer. A South Carolinian by birth, he joins the Secessionists 
 in California. During the early stages of the conspiracy, he 
 corresponds with Mrs. Clarence Brant, and is present at the 
 meeting at the Kancho. Clarence there challenges him, believ- 
 ing him responsible for Mrs. Brant's disloyalty. In the duel 
 which follows, the officer is killed. " A man of easy ethics, but 
 rigid artificialities of honor." Clarence. 
 
 Piney. See Tibbs and Woods. 
 
 Pinkey. See Preston. 
 
 Pinkuey, Randolph. This young St. Simon finds in Table 
 Mountain a refuge from temptation. His solitude is invaded 
 by his brother's sin and some straying actors. The Twins of 
 Table Mountain. 
 
 Pinney, Rutherford. The more passionate of the Twins. 
 The flight of Mornie Nixon arouses him to a sense of duty, 
 and he roams over California in search of her. In despair he 
 returns to Table Mountain, to find her waiting for him with 
 their child. The Twins of Table Mountain. 
 
 Piper, Delaware. The younger sister of Virginia, Georgia, 
 and Louisiana Piper. A quick-witted and alarmingly frauk 
 girl, who shows what her sisters' admirers find, an incompre- 
 hensible partiality for Tom Sparrell, a country storekeeper. 
 By his advice, she refuses to attend the picnic at Reservoir 
 Ca£on, and when the catastrophe occurs, she assists Sparrell in 
 the rescue of the party, and later announces her intention to 
 marry him. The Youngest Miss Piper. 
 
 Piper, Judge. The father of the four charming Miss Pipers, 
 a gentleman not disconnected with the " sharp deal " made by 
 the directors of the Pioneer Ditch Company. The Youngest 
 Miss Piper. 
 
 Pirate Jim. Negro porter and janitor at DoemviUe Academy. 
 He has had a long and eventful career as a pirate. The Hood- 
 lum Band (^Condensed Novels}. 
 
 Plodgitt, Mistress. " She had unfortunately survived not only 
 her husband, but his property." The owner of a San Francisco 
 lodging-house, in which Carmen de Haro plies her brush. 7'Ae 
 Story of a Mine. 
 
 Plunkett, Judge. An " oily " little man of about fifty ; counsel 
 fur Mrs. Smith in the administration of her husband's estate, 
 Mliss. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 375 
 
 Plunkett, Old Man. A weak old man, half-crazed by rais=. 
 fortune, whose monomania is the thought of going home. Fop 
 years he talks constantly of going. When his wife and daughter 
 are brought to him from the East, he does not recognize them, 
 but, falling in a fit, goes to his " home" at last. A Monte Flat 
 Pastoral. 
 
 Poindexter, Captain Jack. A San Francisco lawyer ; Mrs. 
 Spencer Tucker's friend and legal adviser. A flne-looking 
 man, erect and soldierly, who has served three years in the 
 army. One of his traits is a " compassionate and kind-hearted 
 pessimism." He becomes a Union genera] during the war, and 
 is brought one day sorely wounded to the door of Mrs. 
 Tucker's Kentucky farmhouse, where the reader is left to sup- 
 pose that he finds happiness as well as health. A Blue Grass 
 Penelope. 
 
 JPoinsett, Arthur. A brilliant young man, of lively imagina- 
 tion and much poetic sensibility, but conceited, self-sufficient, 
 and heartless. He has joined Captain Conroy's hand of emi- 
 grants under the name of Philip Ashley, and under that name 
 he becomes the accepted lover of Grace Conroy, with whom he 
 escapes from Starvation Camp, and whom he soon deserts, 
 resuming his real name. Five or six years later, a prominent 
 young lawyer of San Francisco, he falls in love with Dona 
 Dolores Salvatierra, who finally turns out to be Grace Conroy, 
 and the two are reunited and married. He assists his old 
 acquaintance, Peter Dumphy, in some of his schemes, and he is 
 Gabriel's principal counsel in the murder trial. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 PoUy. An imaginative little girl of nine, who becomes the 
 Queen of the Pirate Isle. While descending with her fol- 
 lowers into a mine by means of a " slide," she loses the hair 
 from her doll's head, and the miners, overhearing the story of 
 her loss, recover the missing scalp and rediscover a lost lead at 
 the same time. The Queen of the Pirate Isle. 
 
 Polly. See Baxter ; Jenkinson ; Mtjllins. 
 
 Pomfrey, Edgar. The keeper of a lonely lighthouse on the 
 northern coast of California, a recluse of scientific tastes and 
 scholarly habits. He is startled one morning by seeing a white 
 woman swimming near, though there are only Indians in the 
 neighborhood. Later he sees her again, dressed as a squaw, 
 and his servant declares that she is a real Indian. She nurses 
 him in a sudden illness, and he becomes more and more 
 interested in her, and is passionately indignant when the girl's 
 
376 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 brother offers to sell her. She disappears, and Pomfrey finds 
 too late that the brother has sold her to a brutal miner. The 
 Mermaid of Lighthouse Point. 
 
 PompoBO, Baron. See Morales, Don Jtjan. 
 
 Poole, Jake. A deputy sheriff put in possession of Trizit's 
 house. He follows Cissy to the mountains to see that she 
 comes to no harm. A Belle of Canada City. 
 
 Porter, Miss. A young woman who throws off the trammels of 
 convention and sojourns at Red Chief's Crossing. She takes an 
 active part in post-mortem examinations and murder trials. 
 She is attracted by the sentimental Cass Beard, and helps him 
 out of the snares laid by Miss Mortimer. Found at Blazing 
 Star. 
 
 Portfire, Major, In command at Fort Jackson. The Princess 
 Bob and her Friends. 
 
 Portfire, Miss Jessamy, Daughter of Major Portfire ; a slim, 
 shapely, elegantly dressed young woman, with a contralto voice 
 and a decided character. She makes a partly successful at- 
 tempt to reclaim the Princess Bob. The Princess Boh and her 
 Friends. 
 
 Porthos. First introduced as P^rigord, " the gigantic innkeeper 
 of Provins." After being impoverished by the remarkable 
 appetites of three festive musketeers, he joins them, revealing 
 himself as Porthos, and all four fall upon each other's necks. 
 The Ninety-Nine Guardsmen {Condensed Novels). 
 
 hotter, Jackson. A young western American of singular 
 personal beauty of a classic type, who on a hot summer's day 
 visits the lovely Italian garden of Domesday Abbey, and, trust- 
 ing in the solitude around him, undresses and plunges into a 
 marble basin containing time-worn fountains with grouped 
 figures. Seated upon one of the half-submerged plinths and 
 partially hidden by reeds, he is seen by a young artist, who 
 sketches the fountain and the supposed statue. A Vision of the 
 Fountain. 
 
 Pottinger, Augusta. Mrs. Pottinger's daughter. A handsome, 
 clever girl, who is very indignant when she discovers the 
 fictitious relationship her mother has assumed towards Prosper ; 
 but recognizing the young man's honest, simple nature, she for- 
 gives and finally marries him. Prosper's " Old Mother." 
 
 pottinger, Mrs. The widow of a whaling captain. As being in 
 delicate health and not having been brought up to work, she 
 declines to search for employment, usually finding some one 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 377 
 
 to help her. She consents to be Prosper's mother, and im- 
 presses his friends by her manner, and surprises them by her 
 intemperate habits, and by cheating at cards. After she has 
 left her adopted son, she marries a second time. Prosper's 
 " Old Mother." 
 
 Preble. See Key. 
 
 Prendergast, Captain. A veteran of the Confederate Army. 
 Hotel-keeper at Kedlands. Sally Down. 
 
 President, the. The head of the united mining companies that 
 discover the great Excelsior Lead and found the town of Ex- 
 celsior. He is peculiarly fascinated by the creations of a great 
 Paris dressmaker which reach the hotel through a mistake, and 
 he discovers in Miss Marsh the only lady who can wear them. 
 The Goddess of Excelsior. 
 
 Fressnitz, Dr. A witness for the defense in the murder trial. 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Preston, Colonel. The colonel of the regiment stationed at 
 Logport, and the father of Cicely Preston. His advice to 
 Lieutenant Calvert is of the best. The Heritage of Dedlow 
 Marsh. 
 
 Preston, Judge. A county official, better known to Battler's 
 Ridge as " the father of Miss Pinkey." A Yellow Dog. 
 
 Preston, Cicely. A pretty little coquette of demure manners 
 and machiavelian mind ; she sets her cap at the unsophisticated 
 Jim Culpepper with fatal effect. The Heritage of Dedlow 
 Marsh. 
 
 Preston, Emily. The sister of Cicely Preston. She remains in 
 the background. The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Preston, Pinkey. A provincial belle, conscious of her sway 
 over the chivalrous hearts of the pioneers. The forlorn yellow 
 dog appeals to her sympathies, and thereafter his lot is an 
 enviable and luxurious one. A Yellow Dog. 
 
 Price, Mrs. Huldy. An attractive and efficient widow, who 
 assists Mr. Spindler at his party, and afterward marries him. 
 Dick Spindler's Family Christmas. 
 
 Price, Lou. The maiden name of " Uncle Ben's " deserted wife. 
 Under this name she conducts a flirtation with Ford, but de- 
 cides not to trust her future to him, and rejoins her husband 
 after he has come into his new fortune. Cressy. 
 
 Prince, Jack. Mrs. Starbottle's agent and protector, who has 
 been cured of his love for her by an assumed coldness on her 
 part. He is still her best friend, however, and he brings about 
 
378 ' INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 
 
 her reunion with her stepdaughter. He falls in love with 
 Kate Van Corlear, who is evidently ready to reciprocate. An 
 Episode of Fiddletovm. 
 
 Prince, James. The capitalist of the valley of San Antonio, 
 and the owner of " Aladdin's palace." Generous, ostentatious, 
 but not overscrupulous, he is checked in his designs by the 
 boldness of Captain Carroll. For some time he figures in the 
 story as the employer of Henry Guest. Maruja. 
 
 Princess Alexandrine Elsbeth Marie Stephanie von West- 
 phalen-Alstadt, the. She becomes interested in a good-look- 
 ing young American named Hoffman, who has stumbled into 
 the ducal family group iu the act of being photographed, so 
 that his own picture appears on the negative beside hers. In 
 a spirit of adventure, she has him invited to visit the dairy 
 of the Schloss, and she herself, in the role of a dairymaid, 
 meets and talks with him, giving her name as Elsbeth and con- 
 cealing her identity, which is revealed to him later, however. 
 The Indiscretion of Elsbeth. 
 
 Princess Bob. A Klamath Indian, brought up from babyhood 
 in a white man's home. She turns out to be an irreclaimably 
 wild young creature, without moral sense. She runs away and 
 lives with a hermit on the seashore, and meets her death in 
 trying to reach him after he deserts her. The Princess Bob 
 and her Friends. 
 
 Prinkwell, Miss. Associated with Miss Tish in the charge of a 
 young ladies' school in Santa Clara. A Ward of Colonel Star- 
 bottle's. 
 
 Profane Bill. Driver of the Slumg^llion stage. T]ie Idyl of 
 Red Gulch. 
 
 Prossy. See RiGGS. 
 
 Pyeoroft, Mr. One of the firm of attorneys who take charge 
 of Colonel Starbottle's office work. A Ward of Colonel Star- 
 bottle's. 
 
 Pyle, Sir Midas. The vulgar editor and proprietor of a vul- 
 gar London newspaper. " Zut-Ski" (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Raby, Mr. Little's guardian. Handsome is as Handsome does 
 
 (Condensed Novels'). 
 Raby, Augustus. Mr. Raby's son, and Little's rival. Hand- 
 
 Sonne is as Handsome does (Condensed Novels). 
 Raby, Mrs. Jael. She pleads for the orphan Faraday Little. 
 
 Handsome is as Handsome does (Condensed Novels). 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 379 
 
 Rafferty, Pat. Proprietor of KafEerty's Ditch, an unprofitable 
 speculation. The Fool of Five Forks. 
 
 Ramierez. The keeper of a fonda, round-whiskered, and San- 
 cho Pauza-like iu build. What Happened at the Fonda. 
 
 Ramierez, Senora. The wife of the innkeeper and the mother 
 of Cota ; a woman of some small coquetries and redundant 
 charms. Whai Happened at the Fonda. 
 
 Ramierez, Cota. A dangerously pretty girl of the fair-skinned, 
 hidalgo type. Her chief delight is in riding a half-broken 
 " pinto " mare. She persuades her admirer, Richards, to mount 
 the mustang, and he soon is thrown and nearly strangled by 
 the animal's seizing liis collar in her teeth. He shoots the un- 
 seen assailant, thus solving the mystery of the assaults near 
 the fonda, and mortally angering Cota. What Happened at the 
 Fonda. 
 
 Ramirez, Colonel. A wealthy Spanish landholder, at whose 
 hacienda Grant and Fletcher meet in the presence of Clemen- 
 tina. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Ramirez, Mrs. The hostess at the Ramirez hacienda. A First 
 Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Ramirez, DoHa Isabel. The alcalde's seductive sister, to whom 
 the presence of men means an opportunity for conquest. She 
 becomes the wife of Richard Keene. The Crusade of the Ex- 
 celsior. 
 
 Ramirez, Juan. A Mexican vaquero, whose fright at the Doc- 
 tor's story of the Cave City ghost brands him as the miner's 
 murderer. A Ghost of the Sierras. 
 
 Ramirez, Dofia Juanita. Younger sister of Dona Isabel. The 
 Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Ramirez, Pepita. A young woman whose beauty and devotion 
 to her faith lead the circuit-rider, Stephen Masterton, to be- 
 come " a convert " to the same belief. A Convert of the Mis- 
 sion. 
 
 Bamirez, Don Ramon. Officially, the alcalde of the Pueblo of 
 Todos Santos ; personally, a simple young Spaniard with whom 
 Mrs. Brimmer amuses herself. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Ramirez, Victor. A Spanish-American of despicable charac- 
 ter ; passionate, but cowardly, and utterly nnscrnpulous. When 
 secretary to the Coniandante Don Jos^ Salvatierra, he gets pos- 
 session of a paper belonging to Grace Conroy, from which he 
 learns of the location of certain mineral properties. He falls 
 in love with Madame Devarges, and the two conspire to obtain 
 
380 INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 
 
 possession of the land. The plot fails, and Victor's love 
 changes to jealousy and a desire for revenge. Before he can 
 work his vengeance, however, he is himself killed in a struggle 
 with Henry Devarges. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Ramon. See Ramirez. 
 
 Ranee, Henry. The jealous and vindictive rejected lover of 
 Jinny M'Closky. He stabs Ridgeway Dent in the back, and, 
 when Jinny confronts him with his villainy, he stabs her also, 
 but before he can do serious harm is shot down by Dent. The 
 Rose of Tuolumne. 
 
 Rand. See Pinkney. 
 
 Randolph. See Trent. 
 
 Randolph. The wounded stranger found by the " Chatelaine of 
 Burnt Ridge." On recovering from the imbecility that follows 
 his accident, he disappoints her interest in him by giving his 
 name as plain John Baxter, and saying that he is nothing more 
 than a common tramp from Maine on his way to the mines. 
 This statement and his abrupt departure are parts of his plan to 
 conceal from Josephine her brother's criminal agency in the 
 accident. He dies in a county hospital before she can confront 
 him with the real story. The Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge. 
 
 Randolph, Major. A retired infantry officer, with a yearning 
 for Arcadian life. " A simple-minded and chivalrous American 
 soldier," so gentle and complacent that he is somewhat over- 
 shadowed and outwitted by his designing wife. Through the 
 Santa Clara Wheat. 
 
 Randolph, Mrs. Josephine. Late of the " de Fontanges 
 I'Hommadieu." She had won the Major's impressionable heart 
 by a lavish display of " piquant foreign accent and dramatic 
 gestures." As a self-appointed critic of minds and morals she 
 is disliked by her neighbors, and is finally frightened into re- 
 treat by Dawson, who knows her Creole career. Through the 
 Santa Clara Wheat. 
 
 Rata, Captain. The guardian of literary proclivities. He 
 writes the letters to the ward, to which all contribute, using 
 the most elaborately elegant newspaper diction, and finally tells 
 her the whole story in the guise of a romantic tale. The Four 
 Guardians of Lagrange. 
 
 Rattler. " The gay, brilliant, and unconquerable ; " a " smart " 
 man; a, spouter of Byron. Having met with reverses he be- 
 comes a barkeeper, but is assisted into better fortune by David 
 Fagg. The Man of No Account. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTEKS 381 
 
 Rawjester, James. A gentleman of gorilla-like appearance 
 and manners. He burns the house in which his three crazy 
 wives are confined, in order to remove all obstacles to his union 
 with Miss Mix. Miss Mix (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Rawjester, Nina. The illegitimate child of James Rawjester; 
 pupil of Miss Mix. Miss Mix (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Rawlett. A storekeeper at Sidon, California. A First Family 
 of Tasajara. 
 
 Ra-wlins, Robert. A philosopher of the frontier, who forms 
 one of the party pursuing the robbers. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Raymond, Mr. A young mining engineer, who smarts under 
 the recollection of a discarded love for Maruja, and who pays 
 his attentions to Doiia Amita Saltonstall. Maruja. 
 
 Raynor, Mr. and Mrs. Tourists from the East, aghast at the 
 wonders of California. Gaoriel Conroy. 
 
 Razorbill, Rupert. The brother of Lord Burleydon. He re- 
 sembles a man of fashion, a wit, a soldier, a sportsman, a hero, 
 above all he resembles the King of Trulyruralania — a resem- 
 blance which leads to certain complications. Rupert the Re- 
 sembler (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Read, Judge. The chairman of a political meeting iu Fineville, 
 Kentucky. Colonel Starbottle's Client. 
 
 Reddy, James. After months of dissipation in San Francisco, 
 this irresolute man finds employment at a rancho. His gloomy 
 abstraction and refined exterior attract the daughter of the 
 superintendent, and Nelly Woodridge becomes the saving in- 
 fluence in his life. The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 Redhill, Jack. An old shipmate and a devoted servant of Sir 
 John Dornton. Trent's Trust. 
 
 Red Pete. A horse-thief hung by the Sawyer's Crossing Vigi- 
 lants. Salomy Jane's Kiss. 
 
 Reed, Major. A hospitable Southerner, magnanimous toward 
 Northern men. A friend of Courtland's. Sally Dows. 
 
 Reed, Mr. A clerk in Carden's bank, in Sacramento. A Waif 
 of the Plains. 
 
 Reed, Mrs. The Major's wife. She " still carried in her small, 
 dark eyes and thin, handsome lips something of the bitterness 
 and antagonism of the typical 'Southern rights' woman." 
 Sally Dows. 
 
 Reed, Augusta. The youngest daughter of the Major. Sally 
 Dows. 
 
 Reed, Octavia. A Southern girl, not at all " reconstructed." 
 The eldest daughter of Major Reed. Sally Dows. 
 
382 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Renshavr, Dick. A light-hepjted young man, wbo engages in a 
 rather unscrupulous scheme to buy the Pontiac of Abner Nott. 
 His better nature, spurred by a growing interest in Rosey Nott, 
 forces liim to abandon the undertaking. He vainly tries to 
 save Nott from the wiles of the speculator. Sleight, but after 
 the sale is made, he is reassured by learning from the old man 
 that the hidden treasure contained in the ship is counterfeit 
 coin. Rosey returns his love, and the two are married. A 
 Ship of '49. 
 
 Hevelstoke, Mr. The president of a bank in San Francisco, 
 whose assistance and confidence starts Randolph Trent on the 
 road to fortune. Trent's Trust. 
 
 Ribaud, Gustave. Caf^ proprietor and Social Democrat. The 
 Strange Experience of Alkali Dick. 
 
 Rice, Dexter. Foreman of the Zip Coon Company. A Buck- 
 eye Hollow Inheritance. 
 
 Rice, Stephen. Grant's assistant in his surveying expedition. 
 Euphemia elopes with the young Lothario, but afterwards 
 secures a divorce and returns to her father. A First Family of 
 Tasajara. 
 
 Richards. The foreman in the printing-office of the Mountain 
 Clarion, good-humored, shrewd, and capable. Ue falls in love 
 with the pretty Cota Ramierez, and is twice almost strangled 
 near the f onda by an unknown assailant, who proves to be the 
 girl's extraordinary "pinto" mare. What Happened at the 
 Fonda. 
 
 Richardson. A San Francisco banker, who appears in Main- 
 waring's recollection as " ostentatiously British and insular." 
 His manner is marked by a self-important patronage to the 
 ladies at The Lookout, and an uneasy deference to Mainwaring, 
 the son of his patron. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Richelieu. See Sharpe. 
 
 Ricketts, Mrs. The guardian of the Lasham children. Jimmy's 
 Big Brother from California. 
 
 Ricketts, Mary. A schoolmate of Fanny Meritoe. TTie Three 
 Guardians of Lagrange. 
 
 Rider, Jim. A Southern banker and speculator living in San 
 Francisco. The Conspiracy of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
 Ridgew^ay. See Dent. 
 
 Ridley, Bob. See Fairlky, Bob. 
 
 Riggs, Alice. An innocent young girl. Sister to Jack Riggs 
 and placed by him in a Catholic convent, where she is known 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 383 
 
 as Alice Rivers. The voice of Preble Key exercises a strange 
 influence over lier, and she contrives to meet him. In a Hol- 
 low of the Hills. 
 
 Riggs, Jack. Brother to Alice. " Gloomy and discontented in 
 expression." Riggs and Chivers are the natural and professed 
 leaders of an ill-assorted band of road-agents. They regard 
 each other with mutual distrust and even enmity, Riggs seeing 
 in Chivers an object of contempt and loathing, Chivers regard- 
 ing Riggs with the small jealousy of an inferior intelligence. 
 He dreads the influence of Sadie Collinson over his innocent 
 sister. In a HoUow of the Hills. 
 
 Riggs, Prosper. An amiable, modest, not overwise young 
 miner, alternately the butt and favorite of the camp. He has 
 made a " big strike," has built a house, and some talk of his 
 comrades persuades him that he should have a mother in it. 
 Having been a foundling, he sets out to adopt such a relative, 
 and engages Mrs. Pottinger to enact the part, which she does in 
 hardly a satisfactory manner. She introduces her daughter to 
 the house, but Prosper insists that the girl shall be his cousin, 
 not sister. Fortunately so, for later he loves and marries her. 
 Prosper's " Old Mother." 
 
 Riggs, Hon. Stanley. A California orator. A First Family of 
 Tasajara. 
 
 Rightbody, Adams. A wealthy Boston citizen. The telegram 
 from Silsbee reminding him of the " compact " so shocks him 
 that death results. The Great Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Rightbody, Mrs. Adams. A student of household hygiene 
 during her husband's lifetime. After his death, a student of 
 his past. Convinced that there is a woman in the case of his 
 mysterious compact with Joshua Silsbee, she visits California to 
 investigate. The Great Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Rightbody, Alice. A Boston maiden. The daughter of Adams 
 Rightbody. She accompanies her mother to California and 
 succeeds, witli the help of Joe Silsbee, in explaining the nature 
 of the "compact." The Great Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Riley, " Uncle Billy." For a time " the camp drimkard " at 
 Rattler's Ridge. Bones, "the yellow dog," attaches himself to 
 the uncertain steps of this notable, and forsakes him only upon 
 unmistakable evidence of the drunkard's reformation. A 
 Yellow Dog. 
 
 Ringround, Miss Rosey. An audacious coquette, who, at Mr. 
 Rollingstone's dinner-party, defends the character of her hero, 
 Gabriel Conroy. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
384 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Ringstone. A generous millionaire ; owner of the Hacienda de 
 los Osos. The Mystery of the Hacienda. 
 
 Rivers, Alice. See Kiggs, Alice. 
 
 Rivers, Jack. See RiGGS, Jack. 
 
 Rivers, John Wesley. The little son of Setli Rivers who 
 speedily follows his sister in succumbing to the charm of Jack 
 Hamlin. The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Rivers, Mary Enuneline. The small sister of John, who intro- 
 duces herself and her doll to Jack Hamlin, on his first waking 
 at Windy Hill. The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Rivers, Seth. The quiet, ascetic master of Windy Hill rancho. 
 The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Rivers, Mrs. Seth. A soulful but fragile woman, with an ex- 
 pression of slightly fatigued self-righteousness. Neither she 
 nor her husband is unaffected by the attractions of the guest 
 Dr. Duchesne sends to them. The Convalescence of Jack 
 Hamlin. 
 
 Robert. See Gray and Rushbrook. See also Bob. 
 
 Roberto. See Bob the Bitcker. 
 
 Roberts . The night watchman of a large business building in 
 San Francisco. His wife had been a servant in Mrs. Bodine's 
 family, so he secretly shelters that unhappy woman and her 
 children, and sometimes her husband, in two of its vacant 
 rooms. Under the Eaves. 
 
 Robins, Miss Nellie. Loved by David Fagg, who resigns her 
 to Rattler. The Man of No Account. 
 
 Robinson. A member of Congress from Vermont. The Story 
 of a Mine. 
 
 Robinson, Miss Bessy. Daughter of Trinidad Joe ; a buxom 
 young woman of twenty-five, with frank blue eyes and beauty 
 of a rustic sort. She takes care of the baby which the storm 
 leaves at James North's door, and finally marries him when 
 the child's parentage is discovered The Man on the Beach. 
 
 Robinson, Joe. A citizen of Rough-and-Ready. Two Saints of 
 the Foot-Hiils. 
 
 Robinson, Don Juan. The bookish recluse of El Refugio, in 
 whose care Hamilton Brant places his son Clarence. He is 
 known to the boy as his cousin Jackson Brant, who prefers to 
 be called by another name. Long residence in Spanish America 
 and marriage with a rich Mexican widow have made him more 
 Spanish than American. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Robinson, Trinidad Joe. James North's nearest neighbor. 
 The Man on the Beach. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 385 
 
 Robles, Francisco. Superintendent of the Sisters' Title. 
 The leader of the movement to dispossess Peyton of his claim. 
 Susy : A Story of the Plains. 
 
 Roger. See Catron. 
 
 Rogers, Mary. A confidante of Susy Peyton during her con- 
 vent life. Later she visits Susy at the Robles Raucho. A 
 Waif of the Plains ; Susy: A Story of the Plains. 
 
 Roker, Annie. A pupil at the Hemlock Hill school. A Tale 
 of Three Truants. 
 
 Rollingstone, Mr. An able financier ; a dealer of extravagant 
 and picturesque hospitality, and owuer of a fine " turnout." 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Rollins. One of the military wags among the officers stationed 
 at Fort Redwood. The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Rollins, Tom. A citizen of Rattlesnake Camp, desirous of the 
 good opinion of " the two Baker girls." Bulger's Reputation. 
 
 Roper, Jack. A blacksmith, wlio repairs one of Mary's dolls 
 and becomes its adoptive father. A Mother of Five. 
 
 Roscommon, Mrs. Maggie. The Amazon who presides over 
 the grocery counter at Tres Pinos. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Roscommon, Mike. A saloon-keeper at Tres Pinos. His life 
 is monotonous until the title to a Spanish grant comes into his 
 hands. With wealth in prospect, he organizes a movement 
 to lobby at Washington for its possession. In this struggle 
 he neglects his business, and from it he emerges a ruined man. 
 The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Rose. See Mallory 
 
 " Rose, The." See M'Closky, Miss Jinny. 
 
 Rosey. See Nott. 
 
 Rosita. See Pico. 
 
 Ro-wley. A member of the ill-starred Mining Ditch Company, 
 who, feeling himself abused by the ignorant advice of Captain 
 Jim's friend, speaks out his mind in the captain's presence and 
 so alienates liim forever. Captain Jim's Friend. 
 
 Roy, Tommy. A practical joker of Monte Flat. A Monte Flat 
 Pastoral. 
 
 Royal. See Thatcher. 
 
 Ruiz;, SeHor. A Mexican disciple of Tom Paine. One of the 
 revolutionists at Todos Santos. The Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Ruiz, Don Pedro. A dealer in forged land-grants and false 
 testimony. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Runnybroke, Lord. Lady Elfrida's uncle, wrho, with his wifev 
 
386 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 is with the English party at Fort Biggs. The Ancestors of 
 Peter Atherly. 
 
 Runnybroke, Lady Slfrida. A charming girl whom Peter 
 Atherly meets at Ashley Grauge, and who shows him the 
 Athei'ly monuments in the church. Later, on the plains, both 
 are captured by Indians, and Peter makes rescue for himself 
 impossible, to save Lady Elfrida, who ever after remains faith- 
 ful to his memory. The Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 Runnybroke, Lord Reginald. A brother of Lady Elfrida. 
 The Ancestors of Peter Atherly. 
 
 ■Rupert. A precocious, studious, imaginative little boy, the son of 
 a practical man, who has little s}'mpathy with the boy's tastes. 
 He finds on the Christmas-tree a drum marked for him. This 
 drum, at first a, source of mortification to his sensitive spirit, 
 finally calls him to the war, and with it he saves the honor of 
 his regiment. It then beats the reveille which wakes him into 
 auother world. The Christmas Gift that came to Rupert. 
 
 Rupert, King. Of Trulyruralania. A well-bred, but convivial 
 prince, who suffers from having his personal appearance dupli- 
 cated. Rupert the Resembler (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Rupert of Glasgow. A Scotchman, who closely resembles the 
 King of Trulyruralania. Rupert the Resembler (Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Rupert. See Filgee, Razorbill, and Sedilia. 
 
 Rushbrook, Robert. The "Maecenas of the Pacific Slope." 
 He is the " successful " American, who amasses a, fortune and 
 becomes the liberal though indiscrimiuating patron of the arts. 
 A strong and simple mau in artificial surroundings. A Mcecenas 
 of the Pacific Slope. 
 
 Ruth. See Pinkney, Rutherford. 
 
 Rutli, Gottlieb. The proprietor of a market garden on the 
 outskirts of a Californian town. He pro.spers, and, when a rich 
 man, goes back to his native village in Switzerland for his 
 " revenge." He bad been misunderstood and treated unkindly 
 as a boy, and he intends to buy the whole place, rebuild and 
 beautify it ; but he finds that soon after his departure, the lit- 
 tle village had been completely destroyed by a landslip, not 
 one of its inhabitants escaping. The Man and the Mountain. 
 
 Ruysdael, Dr. A physician of large practice in San Jos^, and 
 the owner of some wild forest laud in the Santa Cruz range. 
 He becomes the employer of Liberty Jones, and later her hus- 
 band. Liberty Jones's Discovery. 
 
INDEX TO CHARAOTEKS 387 
 
 Ryder, Mr. The escort of Mrs. Rightbody in her search for 
 " Seventy-four " and " Seventy-five." A wealthy Californian, 
 and second husband of Mrs. Rightbody. The Great Deadwood 
 Mystery. 
 
 Ryder, Jack. Of the Lone Star Lead. He is one of Peggy 
 Baker's friends, and presents a wolf cub to her menagerie. 
 Miss Peggy's Proteges. 
 
 Ryder, Tom. A miner of Roaring Camp. The Luck of Roaring 
 Camp. 
 
 Rylands, Joshua. A man with a somewhat original character. 
 He had been converted at a camp-meeting in his boyhood, and 
 remains sincerely if narrowly religious. He marries a va- 
 riety actress, whom he hopes to help to better things, and deals 
 with her kindly, but unwisely. Hearing that Mr. Hamlin had 
 called at his bouse in his absence, he seeks him out, and Jack 
 makes some plain-spoken comments on his visitor's shortcom- 
 ings towards his wife, a mediation that has the happiest results. 
 Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation. 
 
 Rylands, Mrs. Joshua. Formerly Nell Montgomery, " the 
 Pearl of the Variety Stage." An accident causes Jack Ham- 
 lin to call at her house, not knowing it to be hers, and she tells 
 him of her marriage, her love for her husband, her failure to 
 make him happy, and he quickly grasps the situation and bet- 
 ters it. Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation. 
 
 Sackville, the Hon. Blanche Fitzroy. Youngest daughter of 
 
 the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. Beloved by Terence, who 
 
 finally wins her as his bride. Terence Denville (^Condensfd 
 
 Noi'els) . 
 Sacramento Pet, The. A pretty actress. An Esmeralda of 
 
 Rocky Canon. 
 Sadie. See Collinson. 
 SaJie. See McGbb. 
 St. Addlegourd. A radical, with a rent-roll of £15,000,000, 
 
 and belonging to one of the oldest families in Britain. Lothaw 
 
 (^Condensed Novels'). 
 Sal. See Cherokee Sal and Clark. 
 Salisbury Joan. See Blandford, Mrs. Joan. 
 Sally. See Briggs and Dows. 
 Salomy Jane. See Clay. 
 Saltello, Consuelo. The pretty and romantic young sister of 
 
 Enriquez. The youthful Don Francisco is deeply in love with 
 
888 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 her, and gives her his beautiful but wild young filly, Chu Cha 
 After one or two escapades, in which Chu Chu plays an impor- 
 tant part, the young girl is sent away to the safe seclusion of 
 a convent in southern California, and the romance is ended. 
 Chu Chu. 
 
 Saltello, Enriquez. Friend of Mr. Grey, the Editor, and bro- 
 ther of the fair Consuelo. A loquacious young Calif orniau of 
 varied accomplishments. His conversation is famous for a 
 "marvelous combination of Spanish precision and California 
 slang." He assists in the breaking of the mustang Chu Chu. 
 He tells his friend a family legend to account for the assaults 
 near the Ramierez fonda. At first a cynic on the subject of 
 womankind, he falls desperately in love with Miss Urania 
 Mannersley, and wins her hand after a somewhat fantastic 
 wooing. Two years later he returns from the visit, made after 
 the marriage, to Mexico. To please his wife he pretends to 
 study geology, and is actually president of the El Bolero 
 mining company, an enterprise which has a remarkable success, 
 till Enriquez, indignant that Professor Dobbs has been bribed 
 to leave damaging matter out of a report, quits the board, re- 
 fusing to sell his stock while he may, because he believes the 
 mine will become valueless. Riding over his rancho with his 
 baby son, horse and riders are swallowed up by an earthquake. 
 Chu Chu ; What Happened at the Fonda ; The Devotion of En- 
 riquez ; The Passing of Enriquez. 
 
 Saltello, Mrs. Enriquez. See Mannkksley. 
 
 Baltonstall, Amita. "A taller copy" of her elder sister 
 Maruja and more regularly beautiful, but without individu- 
 ality. She serves as a foil for the strange attraction of her 
 sister, and is courted for a time by Captain Carroll, before he 
 falls under the spell of Maruja's fascination. Maruja. 
 
 Saltonstall, Dorotea. A grave girl ; a sister of Maruja. 
 Maruja. 
 
 Saltonstall, Dona Maria. A Guitierrez, who, against the pro- 
 test of her family, marries strangely enough a Yankee sea cap- 
 tain. Later, she comes wholly under the influence of Dr. 
 West. It is as the mother of Maruja that she lends an interest 
 to the narrative. Maruja. 
 
 Saltonstall, Maruja. A willful heroine ; conscious of her powers 
 of fascination, she loves to exercise them under the cloak of 
 her girlish manners. She is struck by the noble nature of 
 Captain Carroll, but it is in Henry Guest that for tlie first time 
 
INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 389 
 
 she meets a man whose will is stronger than her own, and his 
 strange nature exercises a potent influence over her imagina- 
 tion. His suit is rapid and his conquest complete. Maruja. 
 
 Salvatierra, DoSa Dolores. See Conroy, Geace. 
 
 Salvatierra, Hermenegildo. The one-eyed coniandante of 
 the Presidio of San Carlos. Peleg Scudder, a master of a 
 Yankee trading-schooner, touches at San Carlos and spends a 
 night with the commander. From that time Salvatierra's right 
 eye again adorns his face. But its fixed, unwinking stare sends 
 terror and distrust into the hearts of all his people, and those 
 who formerly loved and trusted him now only fear him. His 
 own character changes with the change of those about him. 
 Things are restored to their former happy condition on the de- 
 struction of the glass eye in a fight with mutinous Indians. 
 The Right Eye of the Commander. 
 
 Salvatierra, Don Jos^. Commander of the Presidio of San 
 Geronimo. Tall, gaunt, and gentlemanly in bearing, with 
 serious but kindly eyes, and iron-gray mustaches. He adopts 
 Grace Conroy as his daughter with the name of Dolores, and, 
 dying, leaves her a share of his wealth. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Salvatierra, Don Juan. A relative of Don Jos^. He lives 
 with Dona Dolores at the Rancho of the Blessed Trinity. 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Sam. See Barstow. 
 
 Sanchez. A servant attached to the Saltonstall stables. Maruja- 
 
 Sanchez, Manuel Ruy. Secretary to the comandante. The 
 Crusade of the Excehior. 
 
 Sauchicha. " The Indian centenarian of the Mission San Car- 
 mel. Only her eyes lived. Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, 
 old age had overtaken her with a mild form of deliques- 
 cence." She is in possession of the padre's secret, and is in- 
 fluenced by Cranoh to reveal it. At the Mission of San Carmel. 
 
 Sanchicha. The peon servant attached to Jovita Mendez. The 
 Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Sanderson, Deacon. A member of the rigorous faith from 
 which Masterton becomes a "backslider." He tells the un- 
 sympathetic doctor of the exhorter's " fall from grace." A 
 Convert of the Mission. 
 
 Sanderman, Herr. The Ober-Inspector of Police. The Indis- 
 cretion of Elsbeth. 
 
 Sanderson, Mr. The lawyer in charge of Mrs. Peyton's in- 
 terests. Susy: A Story of the Plains. 
 
390 INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 
 
 Sandy. See Morton, Alexander. 
 
 Santierra, Dona Clara. Sister of Don Jos^ ; a typical SpanisL 
 woman. A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 Santierra, Don Jos^. One of " Penelope's suitors." A native 
 Califoiniau, with the old hereditary Spanish traits, — grave 
 simplicity of character and sedate courtesy. He is the real 
 owner of the Rancho de los Cuervos, and lives on the neighbor- 
 ing ranch, Los Gatos. He permits Mrs. Tucker to remain at 
 Los Cuervos under the impression that the estate is her own. 
 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 Sarah. . See Walker. See also Sal and Sallt. 
 
 Saunders. A recent arrival at Buckeye Camp. A shrewd 
 frontiersman, with a knowledge of whiskey and hnman nature. 
 But he underestimates the character of the Mexican girl, and 
 is shot in her saloon. On the night of the proposed attack upon 
 the saloon, he seconds the story told by Shuttleworth. The 
 Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Saunders. The proprietor of The Valley Emporium at Santa 
 Ana. A Widow of Santa Ana Valley. 
 
 Saunders, Mrs. Rosy. The wife of the actor. She is " re- 
 served and indistinctive, with that appearance of being an 
 uneuthusiastic family servant peculiar to some men's wives." 
 The Twins of Table Mountain. 
 
 Saunders, Sol. An actor by instinct. Looks upon life and 
 nature from a professional point of view, and detects dramatic 
 possibilities in all things. The Twins of Table Mountain. 
 
 Saunderson. Steward on board Gray's yacht. Young Robin 
 Gray. 
 
 Schmidt. A German recruit, of some intelligence, detailed 
 under the command of Lieutenant Calvert. The Heritage of 
 Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Schroeder, Frau. The wife of Peter Schroeder. She is cap- 
 tivated by the grace of Mrs. Johnson and the assurance of 
 T. Barker Johnson. Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Schroeder, Peter. An American by adoption, though German 
 by birth. He is induced by T. Barker Johnson to embark 
 upon a filibustering expedition, and loses his life through his 
 ardent love of liberty. Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Schuyler, Mistress. A guest at Washington's headquarters on 
 the night of Thankful Blossom's " appeal to Caesar." Slie 
 treats the wayward beauty with sisterly affection. Thankful 
 Blossom. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 391 
 
 Sch'OT'aTtz, Karl. The assumed name and identity of the clever 
 Captain Christian of the French Intelligence Bureau. He pro- 
 fesses to be an American citizen, but purposely supports his 
 claim so poorly that he is turned over to the military authorities 
 at Schlachtstadt to serve his time. His apparent childlike 
 simplicity, amusing stupidity, and invincible good-humor, make 
 him a general favorite ; he is much employed by the officers, 
 and is finally transferred to the personal service of the governor 
 of an important fortress. He falls into the Rhine, is swept 
 away by a rapid current, and is reported drowned, — to re- 
 appear in Paris very speedily. Unser Karl. 
 
 Scott, Mrs. The mother of Mrs. John Hale and of Kate Scott. 
 She is pictured as an austere woman, whose compassion is unac- 
 countably stirred by the suffering of George Lee. Snow-Bound 
 at Eagle's. 
 
 Scott, Kate. A young woman who despises the conventionalities 
 of life. She ensnares Ned Falkner's affections during his stay 
 at Eagle's Court, and finds his attractions heightened when his 
 true colors are made known. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Scott, Capt. Mat. A partner of Amity Claim. He and his 
 partner, Henry York, men of " amiability and grave tact," called 
 by their neighbor " The Peacemakers," quarrel privately over 
 a trifling matter, and become bitter enemies. Contrary to the 
 custom of the place and times, they refuse to settle their differ- 
 ences by force of arms, but they fight each other for years in 
 every other conceivable way, and many local improvements are 
 due to their spite and rivalry. Scott takes to drink, and is in 
 a very bad way, when York returns from abroad, finds him in 
 the old cabin, and takes care of him. Scott dies soon after the 
 reconciliation. TTie Iliad of Sandy Bar. 
 
 Scotty. Barkeeper of the Greyport Hotel. He saves Sarah's 
 life by administering a cocktail. Sarah Walker. 
 
 Scranton, Joshua. The partner on a mining claim of the 
 treacherous James Smith alias Farendell. He knows all the 
 man's misdeeds, and on the night of a great fire in Sacramento, 
 he follows him to his counting-house, and threatens exposure if 
 Farendell does not leave the city. Scranton, left in the office, 
 perishes in the fire, his body being supposed to be that of the 
 escaped Farendell. The Reincarnation of Smith. 
 
 Scudder, Peleg. Master of the schooner General Court, of 
 Salem, Mass. A fluent talker and shrewd trader. He rides out 
 a storm in San Carlos harbor, and spends a roisterous night 
 
392 INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 
 
 with the commander, Hermenegildo Salvatierra. The next 
 morning the commander finds a new eye in the socket which 
 has long been sightless. The Right Eye of the Commander. 
 
 Seabright, James. An "exhorter" with nautical metaphors 
 and manners. As a member of the Tamalpais crew he remem- 
 bers Elisha Braggs, then known as Barker, and is prepared to 
 outwit the covetous music-teacher. An Episode of West Wood- 
 lands. 
 
 Sedilia, Alice. Youngest daughter of Lady Selina. Her inno- 
 cent lighting of a slow-match results in the destruction of the 
 rest of the family by an explosion which also discloses the evi- 
 dence which puts Rupert in possession of Sloperton Grange. 
 She then marries Sir Rupert. Selina Sedilia (^Condensed 
 Novels'). 
 
 Sedilia, the Ghost of Sir Guy. Anxious to keep his haunts 
 • free from other ghosts. Selina Sedilia (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Sedilia, Rupert. He returns to Sloperton Grange just in time 
 to establish his claim to his ancestral halls. He marries his 
 cousin Alice. Selina Sedilia (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Sedilia, Lady Selina. A woman with a history. When about 
 to be married to her lover, Edgardo, she is killed, with the rest 
 of the wedding party, by the blowing up of the parish church. 
 Selina Sedilia (Condensed Novels). 
 
 See Yup. An ingenious Chinese laundryman. He sells Chinese 
 remedies to the dyspeptic miners, and " picks over " the " tail- 
 ings " of an abandoned claim, greatly to his own advantage. 
 See Yup. 
 
 Senator, the great New England. A connoisseur in art, in- 
 corruptible in his public life. Carmen interests him by her 
 interest in his collections, and he rewards her skillful flattery 
 by making a seven hours' political speech, which causes the 
 Mine Claim to become " Unfinished Business." The Story of a 
 Mine. 
 
 Sepulvida, Dona Jos^. A modern Don Quixote of melancholy 
 address and imperturbable gravity. Regarded with some reason 
 by his family as a " lunatico," he flees to the protection of the 
 Americans, of whose enlightenment and liberty he is an ardent 
 admirer. After many adventures he returns to the bosom of 
 his family with an American wife. A Knight-Errant of the 
 Foot- Hills. 
 
 Sepulvida, DoSa Maria. A charming young American widow, 
 with whom Poinsett conducts a flirtation. Gabriel Conroy. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 393 
 
 Sepulvida, Don Victor. Attends the family conclave over the 
 behavior of Don Jose. A Knight-Errant of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Sepulvida, Don Vincente. Takes part in the family council 
 relative to the flight of Don Jos^. A Knight-Errant of the 
 Foot-Hills. 
 
 Seth. See Collinson ; Davis ; Hall and Rivers. 
 
 Sharpe, Demander. The blacksmith at the cross-roads. Though 
 embittered by poverty, his heart remains tender toward his 
 daughter, and he seeks consolation in foreordination for all the 
 vagaries of fortune. His faith is equally firm in the potency of 
 patent medicines. In Europe and with a fortune, he gives 
 the nobility a taste of Western manners. A Phyllis of the 
 Sierras. 
 
 Sharpe, Minty. The blacksmith's daughter. An untutored 
 child of the Sierras, who longs to " be somebody." Main- 
 waring appears to her as the Prince Charming who is to rescue 
 her, but she will lay no traps for him and he capitulates to the 
 finer skill of Louise Macy. In her father's arms this complex 
 girl becomes a child ; at her brother's bedside she rises to a 
 mother's place ; in all, the " eternal womanly." A Phyllis of 
 the Sierras. 
 
 Siharpe, Richelieu. The blacksmith's son. An amateur metal- 
 lurgist, who fulfills his prophecy to Minty, " Some day ye '11 be 
 beholden to me for a lot o' real jewelry." When not discussing 
 ores with Bradley, he figures as a " precocious and gallant 
 Lovelace of ten." A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Shear, Tony. A young man who knew Hathaway in his obscure 
 beginnings, and who brings his Marysville friends with him to 
 greet the young State senator in San Francisco. A Ward of 
 the Golden Gate. 
 
 Shelby. See Fowler. 
 
 Shipley, Dick. Josephine Forsyth's mill foreman. The Chate- 
 laine of Burnt Ridge. 
 
 Shipley, Jack. A Boston brother of Mrs. Ashwood. Clemen- 
 tina Harcourt's fortune leads him to propose after a few 
 weeks' acquaintance. He loses interest in his pursuit when the 
 Harcourt millions are in jeopardy. A First Family of Tasa- 
 jara. 
 
 Shuckster, Abe. A fatuously devoted friend of the outlaw, 
 Jim Bodine. A rich man, in a, single year he has sacrificed 
 almost all his fortune in saving that worthless reprobate from 
 the results of his crimes, and all that is left is spent in paying 
 
394 INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 
 
 the passage of Bodine's deserted wife and children to the 
 States. Under the Eaves. 
 
 Shuttle'worth. Oue of the first customers at Jovita's saloon. 
 He becomes injudicious in his remarks, and is shot by the 
 young woman. When her enemies organize, he confesses his 
 share in the " disorderliness " so effectively that the Vigilants 
 give up their designs. The Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Shuttleiworth, Mrs. ITan. With Mrs. Carpenter this matron 
 is stimulated into a regard for fashion by the advent of Jovita 
 Mendez. The Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Sibblee, Josh. Resident in Fresno and Member of Congress 
 from the 4th Congressional District of California. Incorrupti- 
 ble and true to his constituency. His honesty affords Wiles a, 
 unique experience. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Silas. The future husband of Meliuda Bird. The Convalescence 
 of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Silsbee, Jake. The leader of an emigrant train en route to 
 California. A calloused and discontented fortune-hunter. He 
 loses his life in the massacre of his party by the Indians. A 
 Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Silsbee, Mrs. Jake. The mother of Susy. " Prematurely old, 
 of ill health, and harassed with cares." A querulous farmer's 
 wife, to whom maternity is a burden and not a privilege. 
 Death comes with the attack of the Indians upon the Silsbee 
 train. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Silsbee, Joe. The son of Joshua Silsbee. He assumes an alias 
 in shame over the manner of his father's death, and is called 
 Joe Stanislaus or Stanislaus Joe. While acting as guide, he 
 meets Alice Kightbody on her visit to California. Alice is 
 stirred with pity over his disgrace, soon loves him, and, a year 
 later, marries him in obedience to the mysterious compact 
 made thirty years before between the fathers of the lovers. 
 The Great Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Silsbee, Joshua. In early manhood an intimate friend of 
 Adams Rightbody. The father of Stanislaus Joe. As an old 
 man he is lynched for horse-stealing by the Vigilants at Dead- 
 wood. The Great Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Silsbee, Susy. See Peyton, Susette Alexandra. 
 
 Simmons. A Cockney miner at Roaring Camp. The Luck of 
 Roaring Camp. 
 
 Simmons, Captain. A seafaring man in the employ of Rider. 
 The Conspiracy of Mrs. Bunker. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 395 
 
 Simmons, Joe. A lounger at the Laurel Run post-office. The 
 Postmistress of Laurel Sun, 
 
 Simpson. A desperate citizen of Wynyard's Bar. The Sheriff 
 of Siskiyou. 
 
 Simpson, Jack. A highway robber. How Santa Clans came to 
 Simpson's Bar. 
 
 Simson, Tom. Of Sandy Bar; otherwise known as " The Inno- 
 cent." Eloping with Piney Woods, he comes upon the camp of 
 the outcasts and insists on spending tlie night and sharing his 
 provisions with them. The party is overtaken by a severe snow- 
 storm, and Simson is sent by Oakhurst for help, but the help 
 arrives too late to save the others. The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
 Sir Ediward. A philosopher, who begins the virtues with a 
 capital letter. The Dweller of the Threshold (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Skaggs. A man whose wife has deserted him, together with 
 their only child, for another man. Misfortune and drink have 
 driven him crazy. He takes the name of Johnson, and is 
 known in Angel's as a worthless bummer. After a period in 
 whicli he is supposed to be dead, he turns up again as a mono- 
 maniac in search of the man who ruined him, but dies while on 
 the point of achieving his revenge. Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands. 
 
 Skaggs, Mrs. This " she-devil " remains behind the scenes 
 throughout the story. Yuba Bill, her fourth husband, de- 
 scribes her as " very tall, with a lot o' light hair meandering 
 down the back of her head, as long as a deerskin whiplash, 
 and about the color. She hed eyes that 'd bore ye through at 
 fifty yards, and pooty hands and feet. And . . . she was 
 handsome, —she was that ! " The story leaves her in jail for 
 murder. Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands. 
 
 Skinner, Bob. A boy of twelve who invades the island where 
 Li Tee and Jim have taken refuge. The Indian saves him 
 from drowning, and both make much of him, and the lad, de- 
 lighted with the wild life, leaves his gun with them, promising 
 to return. Later, on being questioned by his father, he lies, 
 and says that the fugitives stole it and ill-used him. Three 
 Vagabonds of Trinidad. 
 
 Skinner, Parkin. The father of Bob. A prominent citizen of 
 Trinidad who believes that this is a white man's country, and 
 that every " nigger," yellow, brown, or black, has got to be 
 cleared out. Three Vagabonds of Trinidad. 
 
 Slate, Joe. Of the " Union Press," and one of Hathaway's po- 
 litical constituency. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
396 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 Sledge, Mr. Stage -driver of Pineville, Kentucky. Colonel 
 StarboUle's Client. 
 
 Sleight. An unscrapulous San Francisco speculator, who buys 
 the Pontiac in order to secure the treasure which is supposed 
 to be concealed in her hold. The coin proves to be counter- 
 feit. A Ship of '49. 
 
 Slinn, Esther. The elder of H. J. Slinn's two daughters. Ut- 
 terly indifferent to the suffering of her father, she is drawn 
 as the slight sketch of the modern Goneril. A Millionaire of 
 Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Slinn, Harry. The selfish and ready-witted son of H. J. Slinn. 
 He becomes the successful editor of the Rough-and-Ready 
 " Record," and pays transient court to Mamie Mulrady. A 
 Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Slinn, H. J. A poor miner, stricken down with paralysis in the 
 moment of overpowering success. Unable to reclaim his trea^ 
 sure, he leads a life of helpless wretchedness, nncared for by 
 his selfish children. He is helped by the kindness of Mulrady 
 to the rediscovery of his fortune, and his death in the moment 
 of intense exaltation marks the climax of the story. A Mil- 
 lionaire of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Slinn, Vashti. H. J. Slinn's younger daughter, who, drawn in 
 the background of the story, plays Regan to her sister's Goneril. 
 A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 Slit-the-'Weazand. The cadaverous ghost of an English sailor 
 of Queen Elizabeth's time. The Legend of Devil's Point. 
 
 Slocum, Jim. A guest at the Laurel Spring Hotel. Mr. Mac- 
 Glowrie's Widow. 
 
 Slocumb, Senator. The embodiment of "government," in the 
 mind of Mrs. Baker. The Postmistress of Laurel Run. 
 
 Sluysdael, Johnnyboy. A delicate little boy of resolute charac- 
 ter, who resists all attempts to improve his physical condition 
 in accordance with approved theories. Later, responsibility 
 laid upon him by misfortune brings out the best in him. 
 Johnnyboy. 
 
 Smith. A small ranchman, the indifferent father of Providence. 
 A Tale of Three Truants. 
 
 Smith. The man who discovered the pocket of gold which gave 
 the settlement of Smith's Pocket its name. That discovery is 
 his only one, however, and his bad luck has made him a drunk- 
 ard. He at last shoots himself in despair, or, at least, such is 
 the general supposition, but it is found that he has been work- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 397 
 
 ing successfully in the pocket on the very day of his death, 
 and Mr. Gray and Dr. Duchesne believe him to have been 
 murdered, probably by Waters. He is the father of M'liss. 
 M'Uss. 
 
 Smith. The Minnesota congressman, with whose coming affairs 
 begin to move. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Smith, Doc. A friend of Dan'l Borem. Dan'l Borem (Con- 
 densed Novels). 
 
 Smith, Miss. A village belle " of flirtatious reputation." She 
 maliciously arouses the jealousy of Consuelo Saltello. Chu 
 Chu. 
 
 Smith, Mrs. M'liss's mother. A handsome brunette, with a 
 dramatic manner. " Her eyes, which were dark and singularly 
 brilliant, were half closed, either from some peculiar conforma- 
 tion of the lids, or an habitual effort to conceal expression." 
 She has been separated from her husband for some years, but 
 reappears after his death and claims his property and the 
 guardianship of M'liss, ^ho, under her care, seems in fair way 
 to become a little more conventional. The reader is permitted 
 to suspect that she has had relations of some kind with Waters, 
 and may, perhaps, have been implicated in the murder of her 
 husband. M'liss. 
 
 Smith, James. He had deserted his wife in Missouri, and had 
 come to California, taking the papers and name, Farendell, of 
 a friend who had died on the passage. He had sold a mining- 
 claim, regardless of the rights of his partners, run away with 
 the proceeds and gone into business in Sacramento, and when 
 this history opens is on the eve of his marriage to Mrs. Cutler. 
 But he is really a bankrupt, and that night, in the midst of a 
 great fire, he disappears, and is supposed to have been burned. 
 Four years later he reappears, changed by a beard and called 
 by his true name. He had prospered in South America, and 
 his thoughts return to his deserted wife. He finds her in Sacra- 
 mento and watches her from a distance. On the night of a 
 great flood he follows her in a boat, and is drowned before 
 her eyes. The Reincarnation of Smith. 
 
 Smith, Mrs. James. The deserted wife of Smith, alias Faren- 
 dell. She is faithfully loved by her husband's former partner, 
 Duffy, and promises to marry him when she has seen her hus- 
 band's dead face — which she does on the night of the great 
 flood. The Reincarnation of Smith. 
 
 Smith, Melissa. A wild and wayward child, daughter of " Old, 
 
898 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Bummer " Smith. She enters Mr. Gray's school, and under his 
 influence and teaching improves in many respects, but does not 
 quite give up her wild ways. When the mob is preparing to 
 lynch Waters for the murder of McSnagley, she gains access to 
 the prisoner and sets him free by setting fire to his guard and 
 causing a conflagration, during which the prisoner escapes with 
 her. From Waters, whose mind has been unseated by terror, 
 she learns that she is " an heiress," her father's old claim still 
 containing a large quantity of gold. On her mother's reap- 
 pearance, she goes to live with her, and the civilizing process 
 is transferred to her hands. M'liss. 
 
 Smith, Providence. A pupil of the Hemlock Hill school, who 
 with two other boys, Tribbs and Fleming, is caught in a snow 
 storm on Table Ridge, and has various alarming adventures. 
 A Tale of Three Truants. 
 
 Smithsye. A schoolmate of Heavystone. Guy Heavystone 
 (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Saa&Ie, Tom. A schoolmate of young Breezy under Grubbins. 
 Mr. Midshipman Breezy (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Snapshot-Harry. See Dimwood. 
 
 Sniffen, Eliza Jane. Beloved by Chitterlings. Being captured 
 by Indians, she saves her life by staining her face and mingling 
 with the Indian maidens. She becomes Mushymush, the favor- 
 ite handmaid of Jenkins, the Boy Chief, and is reunited to 
 Chitterlings in the end. The Hoodlum Band (^Condensed 
 Novels). 
 
 Snyder, Jimmy. A pupil of the Indian Spring school. Cressy. 
 
 Snyder, Jimmy. One of the pupils at Chestnut Ridge. A 
 Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Sobriente. See Father Sobriente. 
 
 Soho, The Do'wager Duchess of. An elderly woman of much 
 strength of character and tenderness of heart. She proves a 
 friend in need to Helen Maynard. Two Americans. 
 
 Sol. See Catlins and Saunders. 
 
 Somers, Jack. A facile society man, who is Rushbrook's ad- 
 viser in social and artistic matters. In love with Grace Nevil, 
 he makes to her the unwarranted statement that Rushbrook 
 has provided for his future. This is afterwards the cause of 
 his break with her and of his rupture with Rushbrook, whom 
 he deserts to fight him financially in a hostile ring. The ring 
 is defeated. A Mcecenas of the Pacific Slope. 
 
 Somers, Kate. A characterless woman, mistress of the dying 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 399 
 
 gambler, to whom Gideon Deane marries her. An Apostle of 
 the Tules. 
 
 Somerset, Grace. A danciug-girl in a variety-show. Two 
 Saints of the Foot- Hilts. 
 
 Somerset, Lord Henry. Aid-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant. 
 He insults Terence, who challenges him to a duel, but spares 
 his life in obedience to Blanche Saekville's request. Terence 
 Denville {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Sophonisba. See Brown. 
 
 Sou&Iet, Tom. A convivial Washington friend of Dobbs. He 
 superintends a dinner from which the of6ce-seeker hopes to 
 secure an appointment. The Office-Seeker. 
 
 Southampton, Lord. The most noble Earl, served by John 
 Longbowe. The Adventures of John Longbowe, Yeoman {Con- 
 densed Novels'). 
 
 Sparkley. A high official in the Civil Department. He dis- 
 appears from Simla, when he has learnt to converse with inani- 
 mate objects. For Sim'la Reasons {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Sparlow, Dr. A medical man as well as a druggist. He 
 humorously animadverts upon his young partner, Kane's 
 " sincere " treatment of Madame le Blanc's injuries. He 
 correctly diagnoses the case of Reuben Allen. How Reuben 
 Allen " Saw Life " in San Francisco. 
 
 Sparrell, Thomas. A red-haired, lame yonth, clerk in a general 
 store at the Cross Roads, Red Gulch. Though thought lightly 
 of by the miners, he is shrewd, competent, and studious. He 
 foresees the catastrophe at Reservoir Canon, and by his efforts 
 rescues the picnickers from their dangerous predicament. He 
 wins the hand of the youngest Miss Piper, and later proves far 
 the most prosperous of the Judge's sons-in-law. The Youngest 
 Miss Piper. 
 
 Spanish Fete. A noted desperado and sluice robber, who is 
 buried alive in his cave, when the entrance is closed by Johnny 
 Starleigh. An Ali Baba of the Sierras. 
 
 Spencer. See Tucker. 
 
 Sperry, Abner. One of the three trustees of the school. The 
 New Assistant at Pine Clearing School. 
 
 Spindler, Dick. A miner who has made a " strike " at Rough 
 and Ready, and wishes to celebrate it by giving a Christmas 
 party to his relatives, of whom he knows little, except that 
 nearly all of theni have written to him for money after hearing 
 of his good fortune. He begs Mrs. Price, a sensible and prao- 
 
400 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 tical widow, to act as his hostess. Some of his relations prove 
 to be drunken and worthless, but two children of a cousin are 
 forwarded to him by express, their mother being dead, and their 
 father in a hospital. This interests the miners who had intended 
 making a disturbance at the reception following the feast, and 
 they are further mollified by the arrival of a beautiful, richly, 
 dressed girl, professing to be Spindler's niece. She is really a 
 niece of Mrs. Price, and she makes the party a success. Dick 
 Spindler's Family Christmas. 
 
 Spitz. A simple colonel, yet the one man who runs the whole 
 dynasty of Truly ruralania. Rupert the Resembler {Condensed 
 Novels'). 
 
 Stacey, Mr. Agent for " Uncle Ben's " bankers in San Fran- 
 cisco. He is discouraged in his attempts to take up McKinstry's 
 boundary quarrels and to make love to Cressy. Cressy. 
 
 Stacy, James. A college-bred man of cheerful temper. Partner 
 of Barker in the prospecting of unpromising claims. When the 
 ■ three partners meet with good fortune, Stacy becomes a banker 
 in San Francisco, and a power in the financial world. Partially 
 ruined through the rascality of Van Loo, he is left at the end in 
 possession, with his partners, of Marshall's claim. Barker's 
 Luck; Three Partners. 
 
 Stalkies, The. An irregular mob of strange creatures, whose 
 talk is a gibberish, and who accept study only as a punishment. 
 Jungle Folk (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Stanislaus, Joe ; or Stanislaus Joe. See Silsbee, Joe. 
 
 Stannard, Pansy. A lively, quick-witted, voluble child, for a 
 brief period the ward of Colonel Starbottle. A Ward of 
 Colonel Starbottle's. 
 
 Stanner, Jackson N. An overbearing bully ; the Express Com- 
 pany's special agent, who is disconcerted and finally checkmated 
 by Colonel Clinch. Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Staples. Assists Bullen in his adventure. How Santa Claus 
 came to Simpson's Bar. 
 
 Staples, Mr. The minister at Burnt Spring, who by every 
 method, fair and unfair, endeavors to discover Johnny Med- 
 liker's secret. The Youngest Prospector in Calaveras. 
 
 Starbottle, Mrs. Clara. See Tretherick, Mrs. Clara. 
 
 Starbottle, Culpepper. Nephew of the gallant Colonel. A 
 chivalrous young man, with " a serious, even Quixotic face, . . • 
 at times . . . relieved by a rare smile of . . . tender and even 
 pathetic sweetness." Soon after his acceptance by Miss Jo 
 
INDEX rO CHARACTERS 401 
 
 Folinsbee, he is forced to take up his uncle's quarrel and fight 
 a duel with her brother, in which he is killed, having fired his 
 own pistol into the air. The Romance of Madrono Hollow. 
 Starbottle, Colonel Culpepper. A Kentucky colonel, trans- 
 planted into California soil and flourishing in that congenial 
 climate. He has imported the " full- breasted " chivalry of the 
 South into the new country. He conducts a political campaign 
 or a trial by jury with " the same fiery-tongued eloquence," — \ 
 an eloquence which is often helped, though sometimes hindered, 
 by his frequent potations. One of his chief characteristics is 
 his devotion to " the sex." He is pompous and jaunty, and is 
 in the habit of giving an added dignity to his form and carriage 
 by inflating his chest. The honor of a Southern gentleman is 
 very dear to him, and he is always ready — nay, eager — to 
 defend it according to the code. He is a lawyer by profession 
 and, having enjoyed political honors, is known as a " war-horse." 
 Siskiyou County is his port of entry, but all California is his 
 home. We first hear of him as one of Mrs. Brown's admirers 
 in "Brown of Calaveras." In "The Iliad of Sandy Bar," he 
 appears as a partisan of York. In " The Romance of Madrono 
 Hollow," he is ejected from a dancing-party with his female 
 companion. The insult is resented, and results in a duel ou the 
 part of his nephew and Jack Folinsbee, and finally in a duel with 
 Folinsbee on his own part, in which he kills his opponent. He 
 is introduced to the Poet of Sierra Flat. He accepts the 
 guardianship of the little daughter of his friend, Dick Stannard, 
 visits the child at her school, overawes her teaeliers by his 
 manner, and before leaving, addresses the pupils. The affec- 
 tion he quickly feels for liis ward is increased by a. second 
 visit, but he finds there have been many inquiries in the school 
 in regard to his occupation, habits, and acquaintances. Four 
 months later, while he is having a supper with certain friends 
 in the Magnolia Restaurant, Pansy appears, having run away 
 from school because they told lies about her guardian and said 
 slie was his daughter, a statement received with uproarious 
 mirth by the guests, whereupon the Colonel promptly challenges 
 two of the men. The third, Jack Hamlin, when left alone with 
 his host, earnestly a:nd severely protests, in the interests of the 
 child, against the Colonel's guardianship, and so works upon 
 him, that with much pain he relinquishes it. While living at 
 Fiddletown, he becomes one of Mrs. Tretherick's many admirers. 
 He plans an elopement with her, which is prevented by an un- 
 
402 INDEX TO CHAEACTEKS 
 
 foreseen incident, but on the death of Mr. Tretheriek he marries 
 the widow. The fact of his death a few years later is recorded 
 here. He is Jack Oakhurst's second in the duel with Hamilton. 
 In " Wan Lee, the Pagan," he makes indignant complaint of 
 the garbling of one of his political speeches as printed in the 
 " Northern Star." At another time, the flow of his forensic 
 eloquence is interrupted by the braying of Jinny, Dan the 
 Quartz Crusher's donkey. He is the second of Calhoun Buug- 
 starter for the duel with Captain McFadden, which is prevented 
 by the Fool of Five Forks. In " Captain Jim's Friend," he 
 appears as the writer of an editorial in the " Simpson's Bar 
 Clarion." In " Colonel Starbottle's Client," he is the faithful 
 and astute counsel of Jo Corbiu, and he effects a reconciliation 
 between him and the outraged JefFcourts by a diplomatic appeal 
 to the Southern sentiment. In " A First Family of Tasajara," 
 he is second for the editor of the " Pioneer " in his projected 
 duel with John Milton Harcourt, but appears at the appointed 
 place with an apology instead of his principal. In " The Bell- 
 Kinger of Angel's," he converses pompously with Arthur Wayne. 
 In " Clarence," he is one of the conspirators who assemble at 
 the Peyton rancho, and he occupies " a characteristically cen- 
 tral position " in the conclave Employed by Father Felipe in 
 the interest of Grace Conroy's claim on the property at One 
 Horse Gulch, he braves the brusque and insolent Dumphy. He 
 is also prosecuting attorney in Gabriel's case. While paying 
 his respects to the Sacramento Pet, he is ignominiously butted 
 by Billy. After a visit to the fonda of the Seuora Ramierez, 
 she offers to lend him her daughter's mustang if he will ride 
 it home. The mare throws and half strangles him. Falling 
 under the spell of the girl's compelling eyes, he consents to 
 become the counsel for the plaintiff in the breach of promise 
 suit of Hooker versus Hotohkiss, though the defendant had been 
 his client in the Eureka Ditch Company case, in which the 
 Colonel has just achieved one of his greatest forensic triumphs 
 His plea in behalf of the fair Zaidee is a good example of Star- 
 bottle's oratory, and also of his entire lack of liumor. His joy 
 in this success is turned to chagrin, on finding that the girl had 
 brought the suit as a means of raising money to enable her to 
 marry a rustic admirer. He is a guest at the Laurel Spriug 
 House, and has his usual chivalrous admiration for the fair 
 mistress thereof, but he cannot understand her supposed re- 
 lationship to the desperado, MaoGlowrie. Later he recognizes 
 
INBEX TO CIIAKACTEES 403 
 
 a popular revivalist preacher who is visiting the place as an 
 escaped criminal from Arkansas, and publicly denounces him, 
 but does not divulge his name, MacGlowrie, presuming him to 
 be a connection of the widow. Brown of Calaveras ; The Iliad 
 of Sandy Bar ; The Bomance of Madrono Hollow ; The Poet of 
 Sierra Flat ; A Ward, of Colonel Starboitle's ; An Episode of 
 Fiddletown ; A Passage in the Life of Mr. John Oakhurst ; Wan 
 Lee, the Pagan ; " Jinny ; " The Fool of Five Forks ; Captain 
 Jim's Friend ; Colonel Starbottle's Client ; A First Family of 
 Tasajara ; The Bell-Ringer of Angel's ; Clarence; Gabriel Con- 
 roy ; An Esmeralda of Rocky Canon ; What Happened at the 
 Fonda ; Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff; Mr. MacGlowrie's 
 Widow. 
 
 Starbuck. An Hawaiian half-breed, who knows of the rich gold 
 ledge concealed in Sobriente's well and comes as a boarder to 
 the Buena Vista hotel, watching for an opportunity to steal 
 the treasure. The Secret of Sobriente's Well. 
 
 Starleigh, Johnny. A boy of ten, who accidentally discovers 
 the cave of a gang of sluice robbers, the entrance to which is 
 closed by a mass of rock in which the root of a fallen tree 
 is imbedded. Hidden and trembling he watches two of the 
 men as they enter the cavern, and later he sees them come out 
 with a youth whom he recognizes as his own reprobate brother. 
 The two men return to the cave, and the child, filled with 
 anger at the thought that they had made his brother a thief, 
 manages to close the entrance, though he does not doubt their 
 ultimate escape. Ten years later, the excavators of a tunnel 
 discover their skeletons. An Ali Baba of the Sierras. 
 
 Starleigh, Sam. The worthless brother of Johnny. An Ali 
 Baha of the Sierras. 
 
 Starling, Mr. A dy.'peptio passenger on the "liner." Ban'l 
 Borem (^Condensed Novels). 
 
 Stephen. See Forsyth; Masterton; Rice. 
 
 Steptoe. A desperado who venomously hates the three part- 
 ners, and uses his utmost endeavor to injure them. He is shot 
 while, with n gang of followers, he is trying to seize Marshall's 
 claim. His true name is Homcastle. Three Partners. 
 
 Stevens, Captain. A wealthy California merchant, formerly a 
 seafaring man. One of Clarence's fellow pRSsengers on the 
 stage between Stockton and Sacramento. He confirms tbe 
 boy's story to the banker. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 Stidger, Captain. Chairman of the Marysville Central Com. 
 
404 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 uiittee, and one of the political allies whom Shear presents to 
 Hathaway. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Stidger, Mrs. Abner. A blacksmith's wife ; Miss Mary's host- 
 ess. The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 Stidger, Johnny. One of Miss Mary's pupils. The Idyl of Red 
 Gulch. 
 
 Stidger, Johnny. A pupil at Chestnut Kidge school, and the 
 owner of a pocket accordion. A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Stielitzer, Jake. A miner at Burnt Spring, who protects 
 Johnny Medliker from the curiosity of his neighbors. The 
 Youngest Prospector in Calaveras. 
 
 Stiver, Mrs. An officious but disappointed friend of the heir- 
 ess. An Heiress of Red Dog. 
 
 Stokes, Deborah. An active worker in Masterton's revivals. 
 She understands the cause and nature of the exhorter's col- 
 lapse, and ministers to him in a motherly way. A Convert of 
 the Mission. 
 
 Straitways, Marian. The wife of John Longbowe. The Ad- 
 ventures of John Longbowe, Yeoman {Condensed Novels}. 
 
 Strangevirays, Colonel. A member of General Brant's staff. 
 Clarence. 
 
 Stratton, Ned. A gambler, and a man of dissipated habits. 
 He deserts the young girl whom he lures from home. A 
 Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 
 
 Stryker, Major. The late law partner of Colonel Starbottle, 
 who had been killed in a duel. Colonel Starbottle for the Plain- 
 tif. 
 
 Stryker, Amelia. Called Meely, the child friend of Johnny 
 Starleigh, to whom he half-confides the secret of the cave. An 
 Ali Baha of the Sierras. 
 
 Stubbs, Deacon. A leading member of the Hightown Church. 
 He would like to have Mr. Hamlin banished from Windy Hill. 
 The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Stubbs, Mrs. The wife of the Deacon, who differs from him 
 on the question of the Windy Hill guest. The Convalescence 
 of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Stumpy. Extempore surgeon and midwife to Cherokee Sal. 
 He becomes the baby's nurse and godfather, and is faithful to 
 his trust. The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 
 Sue. See Bkasley ; Brown and Markle. See also Susan 
 and Stjsy. 
 
 Summerton, Master Charles. A five-year-old boy, who runs 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEKS 405 
 
 away for a day. Surprising Adventures of Master Charles Sumr 
 
 merton. 
 Superior, The. The amiable, easy-going head of the Bi.shops- 
 
 gate Street monastery. Golly and the Christian (Condensed 
 
 Novels) . 
 Susan. See Markham and Markle. 
 Susy. See Peyton. See also Sue. 
 Sweeny, Mrs. " A profusely ornameuted but reputationless 
 
 widow," whose flirtations with Lacy Bassett are notorious. 
 
 Captain Jim's Friend. 
 Swinger, Colonel. The proprietor of the hotel at Buena Vista, 
 
 a "played-out" mining camp. He is a Virgiuian, who had 
 
 emigrated from his decaying plantation on the James. The 
 
 Secret of Sobriente's Well. 
 Swinger, Polly. Daughter of the Colonel, who discovers Star- 
 buck in the well, and so prevents the robbery he has artfully 
 
 planned. The Secret of Sobriente's Well. 
 Swizzle, Mr. A midshipman on the Belcher. Mr. Midshipman 
 
 Breezy (Condensed Novels). 
 Sykes, Captain. A friend of Tinky Clifford. Mr. Jack Ham- 
 lin's Mediation. 
 Sylvester. The unsuspecting and fascinated host of Cherokee 
 
 Jack. " Who was my Quiet Friend ? " 
 Sylvester. See Lane. 
 
 Sylvester, Baby. A young grizzly, whose owner leaves him in 
 , charge of a friend during an absence in the East. Baby 
 
 proves a troublesome pet, and finally escapes. Baby Sylvester. 
 Sylvester, Dick. The owner and foster-father of Baby. Baby 
 
 Sylvester. 
 Sylvester, Miss Kate. May's cousin; an arrant flirt. " Who 
 
 was my Quiet Friend ? " 
 Sylvester, Louis. A candidate for reform at the hands of 
 
 Nellj' Woodridge. Mrs. Merrydew marries him to save James 
 
 Reddy from a second misfortune. The Reformation of James 
 
 Reddy. 
 Sylvester, Miss May. The gentle "Lily of Lone Valley;'' 
 
 interested in the mysterious Kearney. " Who was my Quiet 
 
 Friend?" 
 Symes, Mr. The Episcopalian rector of Redlands. Sally Daws, 
 
 Tallant, Joe. A mining secretary, and a member of " Pocc 
 Md,s 6 Menos " Club. In a Pioneer Restaurant. 
 
406 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Tappington. See Brooks. 
 
 Tarbox, Hiram. A cousin of Snapshot Harry, and somewliat 
 under suspicion in consequence. He, however, breaks with his 
 old associations, and becomes a land and timber agent in San 
 Francisco. A Niece of Snapshot Harry's. 
 
 Tarboz, Mrs. Hiram. She objects to being persecuted because 
 she is related " to folks in another line o' business ; " but she 
 kindly protects the highwayman's niece. A Niece of Snapshot 
 Harry's. 
 
 Tenbrook, Jack. A miner to whom Higgles gave her bear 
 when she accompanied her paralytic lover to San Francisco. 
 Jack, to his sorrow, shoots his pet, when a young lady belong- 
 ing to a party snowed up near his cabin is frightened by the 
 animal. A Night on the Divide. 
 
 Tennessee. A reckless drunkard, gambler, and highway robber, 
 who is hanged by Judge Lynch. Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 Tennessee's Partner. " Short and stout, with a square face, 
 sunburned into a preternatural redness." Faithful to his part- 
 ner Tennessee through everything, he even forgives him for 
 running away with his wife. When Tennessee is tried for 
 highway robbery, he endeavors, in a frank and simple manner, 
 to bribe the court, and, failing in that, gets permission to bury 
 his old partner after the hanging. He conducts the funeral 
 himself after an original fashion. He does not long outlive 
 Tennessee. Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 Terence. See Denville. 
 
 Teresa. A Spanish dancing-girl, formerly mistress of Dick Cur- 
 son, whom she has stabbed in a fit of jealous rage, — "dancing, 
 flirting, fencing, shooting, swearing, drinking, smoking, fight- 
 ing Teresa." Finding refuge in the forest camp of Low Dor- 
 man, she throws off her manner of reckless bravado, and under 
 the influence of daily contact with his refined and sensitive na- 
 ture, her own softens, and all her womanliness comes to the 
 surface. She soon finds herself in love with him, and, although 
 he loves another woman, she risks her life and her reputation 
 to save his life. She perishes with him in a forest fire, after 
 Nellie Wynn has jilted him, and when happiness seems to be 
 within her reach. She is quick-witted and sympathetic, brave 
 and true. In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Thankful. See Blossom. 
 
 Thatcher, Royal. An adventurer and soldier of fortune. He 
 answers the Macedonian cry of Biggs, and enters into the fight 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 407 
 
 for the possession of the mine. He is a man of culture and 
 takes unkindly to hardship. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Th^rfese. Lady Caroline Coventry's French maid, who, out of 
 jealousy, cuts loose the balloon while her mistress is in it. 
 Handxovie. is as Handsome does (Condensed Novels). 
 
 Thompson. The blacksmith of Madrono Hollow, and one of the 
 village gossips. The Romance of Madrono Hollow. 
 
 Thompson. Of Thompson's Pass. The first person to inform 
 the Hales of the true character of their guest. Snow-Bound at 
 Eagle's. 
 
 Thompson. A resident of Dry Creek, who has no patience 
 ■with civic " virtoo." T}ie Transformation of Buckeye Camp. 
 
 Thompson. A miner whom Flint uses in the disposal of the 
 louis-d'or. He confesses to Sylvester that he had been bribed 
 by Flint to act as an accessory. Their Uncle from California. 
 
 Thompson, Chief. The San Francisco Chief of Police. He 
 breaks in upon the meeting at the Rancho, but finds his war- 
 rants unavailable, until Beeswinger creates him a United States 
 deputy-marshal. Clarence. 
 
 Thompson, Judge. A pompous authority upon ethics and the 
 laws. A passenger in the stage, he is drawn into the friendly 
 conspiracy to make Polly a wife, and performs the ceremony 
 himself. An Ingenue of the Sierras. 
 
 Thompson, Mr. A practical man who has suddenly experienced 
 religion, and who searches for his sou, whom his cruelty had 
 driven away from home a dozen or more years before. He is 
 attacked one night by a highway robber, who, on being cap- 
 tured by the old man, gives his name as Thompson, and later 
 is taken into the father's household as his long-lost son. Mr- 
 Thompson's Prodigal. 
 
 Thompson, Charles (the false). To get a new start in life he 
 assumes the name of an old companion in sin, whom he believes 
 to be dead, and is taken into Mr. Thompson's house as his son. 
 Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 
 
 Thompson, Charles (the true). At a festival given by Mr. 
 Thompson in honor of the supposed returned prodigal, and 
 representing the feast of the fatted calf, the real Charles 
 Thompson appears, in a drunken condition, not knowing where 
 he is. The revelation comes the next morning, and the half- 
 innocent impostor disappears. Mr. Thompson's Prodigal. 
 
 Thomson, Aunt Dinah. George's wife ; a washerwoman. A 
 Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
408 INDEX TO CHAKACTEES 
 
 Thomson, George Washington. A darkey with the florid 
 talents of his race, who tries to support his master, Colonel 
 Pendleton, in his proper character as an old-time Southern 
 gentleman. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Thomson, Scipio. George's son ; a hoothlack. A Ward of the 
 Golden Gate. 
 
 Three-Fingered Dick. A " road agent," and an accomplice of 
 Miss Mortimer. Found at Blazing Star. 
 
 Tibbets, Braoy. Proposes to form a joint-stock company to 
 " prospect " for the missing Charles Thompson. He is ejected 
 from Mr. Thompson's party on account of riotous behavior. 
 In " Snow-Bound at Eagle's^" he turns up as an express mes- 
 senger. Mr. Thompson's Prodigal ; Snow-Bound at Eagle's. 
 
 Tibbetts, Rosey. An American girl speuding her father's 
 money in Germany. With her sisters and Mrs. Johnson, she 
 passes judgment upon Peter Schroeder's American innovations. 
 Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Tibbitts, Sergeant. One of the troopers in Van Zaudt's com- 
 mand. Thankful Blossom. 
 
 Tibbs, Piney. Cissy Trixit's admiring friend. A Belle of 
 Canada City. 
 
 Tiburcio. A vaquero on the Pico rancho. TTie Argonauts of 
 North Liberty. 
 
 Tipton, Sandy. A miner of Roaring Camp. The Luck of 
 Roaring Camp. 
 
 Tish, Miss Hudozia. The principal of the school in Santa. 
 Clara, in which Pansy Stannard is a pupil. A Ward of Colonel 
 Starbottle's. 
 
 Tom. A Western waiter in the Pioneer Restaurant, whose wife, 
 some months before, has run away with TournelH. By his im- 
 passive exterior, however, on the night of her appearance at 
 the restaurant, and by his general indifference to Tournelli, the 
 guests cannot discover whether he recognizes her or knows 
 anything of the general situation. In a Pioneer Restaurant. 
 
 Tom. The new sheriff of Siskiyou. He captures Overstone by 
 strategy, and his chief source of regret is that the criminal 
 makes no resistance. He is shot by a company of regulars 
 while watching the sleeping Overstone. The Sheriff of Sis- 
 kiyou. 
 
 Tom. See Bent ; Flynn ; Higbee ; Islington ; Simson. 
 
 Tommy. Sandy's illegitimate child. The Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 Tommy. Young scion of a wealthy house ; sometime playmate 
 of Melons. Melons. 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 409 
 
 Tommy. See Islington. 
 
 Tompkins, Judge. A California pioneer, whose house is the 
 abode of culture and the arts. Muck-a- Muck {Condensed 
 Novels ) . 
 
 Tompkins, Miss Genevra Octavia. The judge's only child, a 
 peerless beauty, loving and loved by the romantic Natty Bnmpo. 
 Jilted by him for wearing a waterfall, she dies twenty years 
 after, of a broken heart. Muck-a-Muck {Condensed Novels). 
 
 Tournelli. An Italian waiter in the " Pioneer " restaurant. 
 He proves to have been the man who ran away with Tom's 
 divorced wife. The property which she brings to him, aud 
 which Tournelli invests in Sau Francisco, is a source of mysti- 
 fication to the club. Tlie woman, who is again a runaway, 
 appears unexpectedly as a diner at the restaurant. Tournelli's 
 quick vengeance is then happily contrasted with the Western 
 waiter's stolidity. In a Pioneer Restaurant. 
 
 Trent, Randolpb. An unsuccessful young miner, he arrives in 
 San Francisco, friendless, penniless, and hungry. He is aided 
 hy a seafaring man whom he chances to meet, and given a 
 portmanteau to carry to his benefactor's room in a hotel. But 
 the man does not reappear, and Kandolph regards the bag and 
 its contents as a trust to be carefully guarded. He makes 
 inquiries at a bank, a memorandum of whose address was in 
 the portmanteau, learns nothing, but obtains a situation which 
 proves the beginning of a prosperous career. A somewhat sen- 
 timental acquaintanceship with Miss Avondale is forgotten when 
 Sibyl Eversleigh appears. The owner of the bag, Sir John 
 Dorntou, returns, doubtful whether to deny the story of his 
 death, and claim his inheritance. Randolph accompanies him to 
 England and meets Sibyl again. Sir John disappears a second 
 time, and Sibyl his heiress comes to San Francisco in an unsuc- 
 cessful search for him, and marries Randolph. Trent's Trust. 
 
 Tretherick, Carry. Daughter of Mr. Tretherick by a former 
 divorced wife. She comes to live with her father again at the 
 age of six or seven, — a little girl, with hair of a " violent red," 
 — and she so captures the heart of her stepmother that the 
 latter gives up her plan of eloping with Colonel Starbottle 
 and runs away with her instead. While at school in the East 
 she forgets Mrs. Tretherick's kindness and love, and becomes 
 estranged from her, but is brought to a proper state of mind 
 aud heart on being reunited to her through the agency of Mr. 
 Jack Prince. An Episode of Fiddletown. 
 
410 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 Tretheriok, Mrs. Clara. A pretty, coquettish woman, with a 
 dazzling coniplexiou and velvety eyes, who writes sentimental 
 poetry, and is loved by most of the male population of Fiddle- 
 town. She is lifted out of her selfish life by a growing love 
 for her little stepdaughter, who appears on the scene just in 
 time to save her from an elopement with Colonel Starbottle, 
 and to whom the remainder of her life is devoted. After her 
 husband's death she marries Colonel Starbottle in order to give 
 the little girl a home. An Episode of Fiddletown. 
 
 Tretberick, Mr. James. A citizen of Fiddletown, who is in the 
 habit of beating his wife. He dies of delirium tremens. An 
 Episode of Fiddletown. 
 
 Tribbs. Of Tribbs Run, the father of Jackson. A Tale of 
 Three Truants. 
 
 Tribbs, Jackson. One of the three boys of the Hemlock Hill 
 school, who are caught in a storm on Table Ridge, and go 
 through various alarming experiences, before finding their way 
 back to school, two days later. A Tale of Three Truants. 
 
 Trigg, 'Washington. A Western member of the Excelsior Com- 
 pany, who becomes fascinated by a statue of California which 
 he sees in San Francisco, and orders a replica in bronze for the 
 hall of the new hotel of the settlement. It is long in reaching 
 its destination, but there arrives at the house a missent box from 
 a Parisian modiste, containing a dressmaker's dummy, and two 
 exquisite gowns, which when placed upon the figure, so enchant 
 the members of the committee, that they keep the box in their 
 private room and occasionally feast their eyes on its contents, 
 and when the statue really comes, receive it somewhat coldly. 
 The Goddess of Excelsior. 
 
 Trinidad Joe. See Robinson. 
 
 Tripp, Mrs. Wife of the proprietor of the Indian Spring hotel 
 and adored of Rupert Filgee. Cressy. 
 
 Triz, Abner and Abigail. An aged couple. Rivals of Daddy 
 and Mammy Downey in popular favor. Two SainLi of the 
 Foot-Hills. 
 
 Trixit, Cissy. The very pretty daughter of the banker of 
 CaiSada City. Apparently frivolous, her father's misfortunes 
 make evident her strength of character, and she follows him to 
 the mountains, disguised as a Chinaman. While there she 
 renders signal service to Masterton, and wins his heart. A 
 Belle of Canada City. 
 
 Trisit, Montagu. A banker of whom it was said, " Caiiada City 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 411 
 
 was the bank, and the bank was Trixit." Naturally his failure 
 causes a great commotion in that town, and the banker goes into 
 hiding for a brief time. But others are too much concerned in 
 his affairs, and proceedings against him are soon dropped. A 
 Belle of Canada City. 
 
 Trotter, Miss Euphemia. A iniddle-aged New England woman, 
 good-looking, well-bred, and iu all ways exceedingly competent. 
 Having been a teacher and a nurse, she finally becomes the 
 efficient housekeeper of the Summit House, Buckeye Hill, and 
 in that capacity assists in caring for the injured Chris Calton. 
 That susceptible young man falls in love with her, and though 
 her own feelings are touched, she sensibly refuses him. Three 
 years later she hears of Calton at a foreign Spa, much admired 
 by women, and the indifferent husband of a pretty ex-chamber- 
 maid of the Summit House. Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper. 
 ■ Tryan, George. A son of Joseph Tryan. A strong, well-knit 
 young man, with frank and handsome blue eyes ; honest and 
 brave. He loves and is loved by Pepita Altascar. When the 
 flood comes, he occupies himself iu saving the lives of women 
 and children, and he himself dies of exhaustion and exposure. 
 Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 Tryan, Joe. One of Joseph Tryan's sons. Kotes by Flood and 
 Field. 
 
 Tryan, Joseph. A hard-faced and hard-hearted old man, owner 
 of a cattle-ranch, who despises the " greasers," as he calls his 
 native Califoruian neighbors. A flood destroys his cattle and 
 drives him crazy. Notes by Flood and Field. 
 
 Tryan, Kerg. ) Sons of Joseph Tryan. Notes by Flood and 
 
 Tryan, Tom. > Field. 
 
 Tryan, Wise. The privileged wit of the family. Notes by 
 Flood and Field. 
 
 Tucker, Mrs. Belle. Wife of Spencer Tucker ; a pretty young 
 woman of twenty-three, brave, reserved, and self-possessed. 
 With an "unsophisticated singleness of nature," she remains 
 true to her husband even after his selfish unfaithfulness and 
 dishonesty are disclosed to her. She is befriended by Captain 
 Poindexter. On learning the full extent of her husband's 
 wrong-doing, and that the house she is living in is not her own, 
 she at once braves everything and goes back to her old home 
 in Kentucky, wliere, a few years later, the wounded General 
 Poindexter is lirought to her door after a battle, and she has an 
 opportiniity to repay his kindness. The resulting romance is 
 
412 INDEX TO CHAEACTERS 
 
 left to the reader's sense of the fitness of things. A Blue Grass 
 Penelope. 
 
 Tucker, Spencer. A San Francisco lawyer and capitalist, 
 formerly a Kentucky schoolmaster ; shallow, selfish, and hand- 
 some. His speculations fail ; he forges, embezzles, and deserts 
 his wife for a notorious woman. An accident interferes with 
 his plans of escape, however, and the next day finds him a, 
 fugitive in hiding on his own ranch, fifty miles from San Fran- 
 cisco. Another plan fails, or is abandoned, and liis whereabouts 
 is unknown until after the lagoon has been drained and the 
 crows have done their work as scavengers, when his whitened 
 bones are found scattered on the surface of the drying ground 
 A Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 Turner, Deacon. One of the guests at Windy Hill Rancho, a 
 mean-natured man, who is rebuked and overawed by Mr. 
 Hamlin. The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 Tw^iggs. The Sacramento attorney who brings to Jackson Wells 
 the news of his inheritance. A Buckeye Hollow Inheritance. 
 
 Uncle Ben. See Dabney, Ben. 
 
 Uncle Billy. " A suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunk- 
 ard." One of the outcasts ejdled from Poker Flat. He steals 
 the horses and mules and deserts bis companions. The Out- 
 casts of Poker Flat. 
 
 Uncle Billy. See Fall and Rilet. 
 
 Uncle Jim. See Foster. 
 
 Uncle Joshua. So called by the other passengers on the S. S. 
 Unser Fritz. He is a quite unpolished machinist from Indiana, 
 who has a faculty of getting just what he wants, entirely re- 
 gardless of conventionalities. He makes a European tour with 
 his daughter Louise, on a somewhat novel plan. " A Tourist 
 from Injianny." 
 
 Undervrood, Dick. A miner, who exchanges " his long-handled 
 Californian shovel for the sword." To Peter Sohroeder he is 
 the embodiment of patriotism. Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Union. See Mills. 
 
 Unser Karl. See Schwartz. 
 
 Urania. See Mannersly. 
 
 Ursula. See Dona Ursula. 
 
 Valdez, Pedro. A proud-spirited Spaniard of Hidalgo descent. 
 He is humiliated by his menial position at Robles Bancho, a 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 413 
 
 portion of which he claims. He becomes enamored of Susy, 
 and after the death of Peyton, presumably eansed by him, visits 
 the young girl, whose romantic fancy is touched by his devo- 
 tion. During this clandestine meeting, the lover is startled by 
 the approach of Clarence, and the sudden leap of his horse 
 causes his death. Susy: A Story of the Plains. 
 
 Van Corlear, Miss Kate. A schoolgirl at the Crammer Insti- 
 tute for Young Ladies. A good-hearted and clear-headed girl, 
 frank and fearless, who is the friend of Carry Tretherick, and 
 who, as the reader is led to suppose, eventually marries Mr. 
 Jack Prince. An Episode of Fiddletown. 
 
 Van Loo, Mrs. The mother of Paul. Three Partners. 
 
 Van Loo, Paul. A smooth, plausible Fleming, who speaks sev- 
 eral languages and has much surface polish. He is a clever 
 forger, and by his skill in this respect causes Demorest to lose 
 love and fortune, and brings heavy loss to Stacy. He serves as 
 Mrs. Barker's broker, secures all her money, and nearly suc- 
 ceeds in eloping with her. He purchases his own safety by 
 divulging to Stacy Steptoe's plot against the bank and Mar- 
 shall's claim. Three Partners. 
 
 Van Zandt, Major Guert. A handsome and gallant officer in 
 the Continental army. He is dispatched to arrest Abner Blos- 
 som for the harboring of spies, and to remain in command of 
 Blossom Farm. He learns to love its mistress, but does not 
 allow his affection to lure him from duty. He pursues the 
 traitor, Allan Brewster, but is himself overcome by the small- 
 pox. At Blossom Farm, whither he is removed, he is nursed 
 back to health and happiness by Mistress Thankful. Thankful 
 Blossom. 
 
 Vashti. See White. 
 
 Vicentio. See Padre Vicentio. 
 
 Victor. See Garcia and Ramirez. 
 
 Vincente. A Mexican acquaintance of Ramirez. Gabriel Con- 
 roy. 
 
 Viney. See Aunt Viney. 
 
 Von Hummel, General. Father of Fran Schroeder. He is 
 led with his family to trust fortune and person to the schemes 
 of T. Barker Johnson. Peter Schroeder. 
 
 Wachita. The child wife assigned to the new chief of the Min- 
 yos. Serving him like a faithful dog, she murders an Indian 
 agent in order to remove an obstacle from the path of her 
 
414 INDEX TO CHARACTERS 
 
 lord's passion for the murdered man's wife. A Drift from Red- 
 wood Camp. 
 
 'Wade, Mrs. A gentle, charming, but weak woman, who in her 
 widowhood comes to live in the Santa Ana Valley, the home of 
 a prosperous, but lugubrious and over serious-minded people. 
 She is received sympathetically and falls into the habits of the 
 place, though she consents to go to a. ball given by a new- 
 comer, Mr. Brooks. Soon after a man calls upon her, and tells 
 her that her late husband, supposed to have been murdered by 
 robbers, was himself one of the highwaymen, and the widow, 
 knowing how worthless a man Wade was, instinctively believes 
 him. The man, professing to have been one of the victims of 
 the robbers, endeavors to extort money from the widow, but Mr. 
 Brooks comes to her rescue. A Widow of the Santa Ana Valley. 
 
 Wainwright, Lieutenant. A Union soldier of Southern birth, 
 and a traitor to his colors. Death cuts short his treachery, and 
 the evidence of his guilt is brought to Brant. Among these 
 papers, Clarence finds a portrait of his own wife, Alice. Clar- 
 ence. 
 
 Walker, Bob. Rescues the infant daughter of an Indian chief 
 from death and takes her into his family. The Princess Bob 
 and her Friends. 
 
 Walker, Demosthenes. One of the youngest pupils at Chest- 
 nut Ridge. A Pupil of Chestnut Ridge. 
 
 Walker, Jack. See Jeffcodrt, Tom. 
 
 Walker, Joe. A member of the Eureka Mining Company. 
 Somewhat skeptical of the attainments and wisdom of Lacy 
 Bassett. Captain Jim's Friend. 
 
 Walker, Johnny. Mrs. Martin's versatile assistant, formerly 
 a variety actor. In his new role of disciplinarian he is known 
 as Charles Twing. Aware of the power of ridicule, he uses his 
 skill in sleight-of-hand to that end, and thus maintains order in 
 a hitherto boisterous schoolroom. A friend of his former days 
 interrupts the quiet of his regenerate life, and the " new assist- 
 ant " reveals to his superior the nature of his preparation. The 
 New Assistant at Pine Clearing School. 
 
 ■Walker, Sarah. An enfant terrible, hated by the grown people 
 and admired and feared by the children of the Greyport Hotel. 
 The story leaves her married to the Prince of Monte Castello, 
 and the mother of another Sarah Walker, who is the image of 
 her in everything except her audacity and originality. Sarah 
 Walker. 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTKRS 415 
 
 TVang. A Chinese ooiirt-jiiggler, the adoptive father of Wan 
 Lee. Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 ■Wan Lee. A little Chinese boy, bronght up by Wang, the 
 juggler, and sent to a newspaper office to serve as printer's 
 devil. He is bright and engaging, and in spite of an impish 
 propensity for mischief he endears himself to all. He is stoned 
 to death in the streets of San Francisco during the riots of 
 1869. Wan Lee, the Pagan. 
 
 Wan Lee. Chinese page to Polly and Hickory Hunt. He pro- 
 poses the outdoor pirate play. The Queen of the Pirate Isle. 
 
 Warts. A mild, inoffensive boy of twelve, who admires Sarah 
 Walker. Sarah Walker. 
 
 Watergates, Hiram W. The second husband of Mrs. Pottinger. 
 Prosper'.i " Old Mother." 
 
 Waters. A mysterious stranger, who works secretly in Smith's 
 claim. He shoots MoSnagley and is arrested, but is saved from 
 lynching by M'liss. He becomes insane, and discloses to M'liss 
 the wealth which belonged to her dead father. He is suspected 
 by Gray of having murdered Smith, who is generally supposed 
 to have been a suicide. M'liss. 
 
 Waters. Footman in the Rightbody household. The Great 
 Deadwood Mystery. 
 
 Waya. An Indian woman, servant of Dr. Ruysdael. Liberty 
 Jones's Discovery. 
 
 Wayne, Arthur. A young miner, who revolts from his brother's 
 control and joins the revelers at Angel's. During the absence 
 of McGee he meets the young wife clandestinely, and is shot by 
 his brother while escaping from the house. The Bell-Ringer of 
 Angel's. 
 
 Wayne, Madison. A frontier St. Anthony. Unrelenting in 
 his Puritanism. The husband of the woman he loves chooses 
 him for a companion, and innocently subjects him to great 
 suffering by making him the guardian of his wife. Madison 
 discovers the infidelity of Mrs. McGee, and shoots her escaping 
 lover, who, to his horror, proves to be bis own brother. The 
 Bell-Ringer of Angel's. 
 
 Weaver, Calhoun. A thoroughly vulgar rustic from Kentucky ; 
 a former neighbor of Mrs. Tucker. He visits her in San 
 Francisco, and later becomes one of " Penelope's suitors." A 
 Blue Grass Penelope. 
 
 Wells, Jackson. One of » company of young miners on Zip 
 Coon Ledge, who inherits a small property of which he takes 
 
416 INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 
 
 possession, to the delight of his partners, but with some mis- 
 givings of his own regarding his cousin's superior rights. But 
 all difficulties between the two soon settle themselves in an 
 eminently satisfactory manner. A Buckeye Hollow Inheritance. 
 Wells, Joscelinda. The daughter of Quincy Wells, who makes 
 her home so unpleasant that she takes refuge with her uncle, 
 Morley Brown. Consequently Mr. Wells leaves his property 
 to his nephew. The cousins, remembering the quarrels of their 
 childhood, at first meet iu the same contentious spirit, but 
 gradually the girl softens, and when her uncle diverts the water 
 from Jackson's garden, she secretly prospects on the bank of 
 the stream, finding gold, so that he has a mining claim, in 
 which the two become partners for life. A Buckeye Hollow 
 Inheritance. 
 
 West, Dr. The name assumed by Henry Guest, senior. Through 
 cleverness unhampered by scruples. Dr. West secures a goodly 
 slice of the Saltonstall estate, and develops it with all the re- 
 sources of modern improvements. Soon after the accidental 
 discovery of his son. Dr. West is murdered by Pedro, who sus- 
 pects his intentions toward Doua Maria Saltonstall. Maruj'a. 
 
 West, Miss. Shelby Fowler's sister, who assumes her mother's 
 maiden name, and leaves her Virginia home to escape the ven- 
 geance of Australian Pete. In England she meets Flint, alias 
 Fowler, and consents to share the family name with him. Out 
 of a Pioneer's Trunk. 
 
 Wetherby, Captain Lance. Assistant Chief of Police of San 
 Francisco, Deputy Sheriff, and ex-United States scout. He cap- 
 tures the Mexican bandit, Murietta, mingling with the gang in 
 disguise, and confides the outlaw's dagger to Lanty Foster, who 
 with it sets free the robber, thinking him the man she had 
 twice seen. Murietta lingers about Foster's Kanch and is re- 
 taken by Wetherby, to whom Lanty confesses her mistake and 
 is forgiven. Lanty Foster's Mistake. 
 
 Wethersbee, Bill. A citizen of Red Dog. An Heiress of Red 
 Dog. 
 
 Wheeler, Jim. A citizen of Poker Flat. The Outcasts of Poker 
 Flat. 
 
 Whiskey Dick. A friend to Daddy and Mammy Downey ; 
 nddicted to whiskey. Two Saints of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Whiskey Dick. See Hall, Dick. 
 
 White, Vashti. The querulous and sanctimonious aunt of Cissy 
 Appleby. She knows of the circumstances attending the wreck- 
 
INDEX TO CHARACTEKS 417 
 
 iiig of the Tamalpais, in which she is an accessory after the 
 fact. An Episode of West Woodlands. 
 
 White Violet. See Delatour, Mrs. 
 
 Wiles, Joseph. " Don Jos^ " to his confederates. " A vagabond 
 by birth and education, a swindler by profession, an outcast by 
 reputation, without absolutely turning his back >ipon respecta- 
 bility, he had trembled on the perilous edge of crimiuality 
 ever since his boyhood." As an amateur metallurgist he de- 
 ceives the four prospectors, and iu so doing discovers a vein ot 
 quicksilver. He spends the next year in Washington lighting 
 for the possession of the mine. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 Wilkes. The unnatural but consistent father of the prodigal. 
 He is saved from drowning by his repentant boy, who does not 
 wait to be formally thanked. The Home-Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 Wilkes, Jim. The recalcitrant son ot Farmer Wilkes. He 
 adroitly avails himself of the insinuating manner of Editor 
 Grey, and approaches his ancestral castle behind this shield. 
 The Home-Coming of Jim Wilkes. 
 
 William Henry. A rattlesnake that Leonidas Boone has trained, 
 and whose tricks he exhibits to Mrs. Burroughs, who plans to 
 make use of the snake to the injury of her husband. A Mer- 
 cury of the Foot-Hills. 
 
 Wilson, Judge. A Secessionist, who holds a Federal judgeship 
 in California. Clarence. 
 
 Wilson, the Misses. Two young ladies, friends of Miss Amita 
 Saltonstall. Maruja. 
 
 Windibrook, The Reverend Mr. Selected by his ecclesiasti- 
 cal superiors to minister to Canada City, because he was a 
 "hearty" man. "Certainly, if considerable lung capacity, ab- 
 sence of reserve, and power of handshaking and back slapping 
 were necessary to that town's redemption, Mr. Windibrook's 
 ministrations would have been successful." A Belle of Canada 
 City. 
 
 Windibrook, Mrs. The minister's wife, who suffers from con- 
 stitutional depression, "partly the result of nervous dyspepsia, 
 and her husband's boisterous cordiality." A Belle of Canada 
 City. 
 
 Wingate, Joe. One of the pioneers in Sidon, who profits by its 
 development into Tasajara City. A lounger at the Harkutt 
 store. A First Family of Tasajara. 
 
 Wingate, Tom. A citizen of Five Forks. The Fool of Five 
 Forks. 
 
418 INDEX TO CHARAOTEES 
 
 ■WinsloTW, Mr. A passenger on the Excelsior, who finds m 
 Todos Santos an opportunity for the display of his talents as 
 a petty politician. He stirs up a miniature revolution in the 
 peaceful pueblo. He has a " long, thin, dyspeptic face." The 
 Crusade of the Excelsior. 
 
 Wood, Saponaceous. A member of the California bar. In 
 the capacity of United States District Attorney, he loses the 
 suit over the Blue Mass Mine; as an individual, he wins the 
 property. The Story of a Mine. 
 
 ■Woodridge, Mr. Superintendent of the Union Company's 
 rancho, where James Reddy is employed. A practical man. 
 The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 ■Woodridge, Mrs. The superintendent's wife; "a large-boned, 
 angular woman of fifty." The Reformation of James Reddy. 
 
 ■Woodridge, Nelly. The superintendent's daughter; a frank 
 and pretty girl, with clear blue eyes and a boyish contralto 
 voice; devoted to the reformation of dissipated men. Her 
 influence saves Reddy from his gloomy despair, and they be- 
 come engaged. Another subject for reform in the person of 
 Louis Sylvester engages her attention and threatens to cause 
 trouble, but Mrs. Merrydew promptly interferes, and takes 
 Sylvester out of the way by marrying him. The Reformation 
 of James Reddy. 
 
 Woods, Mr. Milly's uncle. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Woods, Mrs. Milly's aunt. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Woods, Milly. One of Yerba's school friends, at whose home 
 Hathaway first meets his ward. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Woods, Piney. " A stout, comely damsel of fifteen," who 
 elopes from Sandy Bar with her lover, Tom Simson. They 
 encamp with the outcasts, not knowing the character of their 
 hosts. The party is snow-bound, and she and the " Duchess" 
 die of hunger and cold in each other's arms. The Outcasts of 
 Poker Flat. 
 
 Wragg, Mr. One of Mr. Spindler's relatives, a vulgar, ostenta- 
 tious man, who is angry at being invited to the Christmas 
 party. Dick Spindler's Family Christmas. 
 
 Writer of Stories, The. He tails asleep in a railway carriage 
 and has a dream, wherein snatches of a tale, after the manner 
 of various writers, are fantastically mingled. A Romance of the 
 Line. 
 
 Wyck, Mr. A stockholder in the Conroy mine. Gairiel Conroy. 
 
 Wynbrook, Joe. A miner of the Wild Cat canip, whose half- 
 
IKDEX TO CHARACTERS 419 
 
 serious talk about the blessing of a mother in a home, induces 
 the simple-minded Prosper Riggs to adopt such a relative for 
 the benefit of the camp. Prosper's " Old Mother." 
 
 ■Wynford, Abe. A dyspeptic miner, a patron of See Yup's 
 remedies. See Yup. 
 
 ■Wyngate, Ned. A partner in the Zip Coon Company. A 
 Buckeye Hollow Inheritance. 
 
 "Wynn, Miss Nellie. Daughter of the Rev. Winslow Wynn, 
 and " as inaccessible and cold as her father was impulsive and 
 familiar." A girl of eighteen, with " clear amber eyes," " im- 
 perious red lips," and " sensitive nostrils." She has a faultless 
 taste in dress, and exhales " an atmosphere of chaste and 
 proud virginity." She conducts a secret but passionate flirta- 
 tion with Low Dorman, and then coolly throws him over, when 
 a more " eligible " suitor is pressing for his answer. On the 
 death of Dunn and Low, she readily makes the best of it and 
 marries number three. In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Wynn, Rev. Winslow. A Baptist clergyman of Excelsior, 
 known among the miners as Father Wynn, and popular with 
 them on account of his frank and hearty manner and the socia- 
 ble way in which he drinks with them. He confesses (boast- 
 fully) to an occasional use of the word "damn," and his 
 familiarities with sacred names are blasphemous and disgust- 
 ing. His frankness is only on the surface, for at heart he is 
 vulgar and insincere. In the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 Wynyard, Joe. One of Colonel Starbottle's boon companions. 
 A Ward of Colonel Starhottle. 
 
 X., Baroness. A friend who meets Miss Trotter at a German 
 Spa. Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper. 
 
 Yellovr Bob. A Digger "buck," who owes his nickname to 
 the ochre marks on his cheeks. He is a retainer of the Cul- 
 peppers. The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Yerba Buena. The daughter of Kate Howard. Her name is 
 given her by the young secretary, Hathaway, from some fanci- 
 ful association with the Spanish name of the first San Francisco 
 settlement. She grows up to be a young heiress of consider- 
 able attractions, to which she joins the romantic charm of her 
 unknown origin. She herself connects her name with the old 
 Spanish family of Arguello, who owned the island of Yerba 
 Buena, and when she becomes of age, she calls herself Miss 
 
420 INDEX TO CHARACTEES 
 
 Arguello de la Yerba Buena. Her real right to that name 
 appears only after she has heard of her mother's shame and has 
 renounced her pretensions. A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 
 Tork, Henry J. A solid citizen of California, honest and frank. 
 At one period he is a partner of Amity Claim at Sandy Bar. 
 For an account of his life there, see Scott, Capt. Mat. In 
 " The Poet of Sierra Flat," he makes his presence felt on the 
 side of law and order. In " A Monte Flat Pastoral," he be- 
 friends old man Plunkett and brings the wife and daughter 
 home with him from the East, but too late to save the old 
 toper's wavering reason. The Iliad of Sandy Bar; The Poet 
 of Sierra Flat; A Monte Flat Pastoral. 
 
 Toto. The vicious Peruvian sailor on the Excelsior, killed by 
 Perkins as a warning to his disaffected crew. The Crusade of 
 the Excelsior. 
 
 Vuba Bill. A California stage-driver ; autocrat of the box-seat 
 and the bar-room ; an expert in profanity, with a picturesque 
 vocabulary and an abundance of withering sarcasm at his com- 
 mand. A man of forceful presence, and so domineering that 
 none but the tenderfoot ventures to dispute his slightest 
 remark, yet g^od-hearted withal and uniformly chivalrous 
 towards pretty women. This chivalry asserts itself in his con- 
 duct towards Miggles, in whose cabin he and his passengers 
 spend a rainy night. In " Brown of Calaveras " and "M'liss," 
 we find him driving the Wingdam Coach, He assists Henry 
 York and John Oakhiirst in preventing an attack upon the 
 Poet of Sierra Flat. He becomes the fourth and last husband 
 of Mrs. Skaggs, and while visiting his ward, Tom Islington, in 
 the East, he saves his life from the murderous assault of 
 Skaggs, who, mistaking Islington for Kenwyck Masterton, is 
 attempting to wreak vengeance on his enemy. He then in- 
 forms Skaggs that their mutual wife is in jail for murder. In 
 " The Story of a Mine," he takes a violent dislike to the scoun- 
 drel Wiles, and renders Thatcher valuable assistance by " sor- 
 ter lifting" Wiles's bag out of the tail-board of his sleigh and 
 handing it, with its interesting contents, to Thatcher. He is 
 the firm friend and mentor of Jeff Briggs, whom he tries to 
 help to a profitable occupation, and whom he protects from in- 
 jury and perhaps death by offering his own body as a target to 
 the road-agents. In " In the Carquinez Woods," he has the 
 pleasure of Miss Nellie Wynn's company for a few hours, and 
 honors her with the box-seat. In "Snow-Bound at Eagle's," 
 
INDEX TO CHAEACTEES 421 
 
 he drives the stage which is robbed by George Lee and his 
 companions. Offended by a newspaper editorial written by 
 Captain Jim's friend, he raids the office, venting his rage on 
 Captain Jim, and subsequently puts a temporary cheek on 
 Lacy Bassett's political career. In " Cressy," he is quoted by 
 Kupert Filgee as an authority on the young man in business. 
 In " An Ingenue of the Sierras," he and his passengers are im- 
 posed upon by the simple and artless Polly. He brings Dick 
 Spindler's child-cousins to Rough-and-Ready, and introduces 
 them to the company assembled in the saloon. From his box 
 he sees the Sacramento Pet dancing with Billy the Goat. His 
 coach is " held up " by .Snapshot Harry, and the express box 
 taken, which has before been rifled by two treacherous mem- 
 bers of that outlaw's gang; the thought of Harry's discomfiture 
 thereat affording Bill huge enjoyment. In " Gabriel Conroy," 
 we have an account of his hobnobbing with Jack Hamlin in the 
 Wingdam Hotel. " The crowd hung breathless over the two 
 men — awestruck and respectful. It was a meeting of the 
 gods — Jack Hamlin and Yuba Bill. None dared speak." 
 Miggles; Brown of Calaveras j M 'liss; The Poet of Sierra Flat; 
 Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands; The Story of a Mine; Jeff Briggs's 
 Love Story; In the Carquinez Woods; Snow-Bound at Eagle's; 
 Captain Jim's Friend; Cressy; An Ingenue of the Sierras; Dick 
 Spindler's Family Christmas; An Esmeralda of Rocky Camm; 
 A Niece of Snapshot Harry's; Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Zenobia. See Hennicker. 
 Zephas. See Bunker. 
 Zuleika. See Hays. 
 
 Zut-Ski. A music-hall artist, who imagines herself a princess 
 of aneient Egypt. " Zut-Ski " (Condensed Novels.) 
 
GENERAL INDEX 
 
GENERAL INDEX 
 
 TO THE PROSE WRITINGS OP BRET HARTE AS CON- 
 TAINED m THIS EDITION 
 
 Non. — Titles of groups of stories and sketches are set in small capitals. 
 
 Adventures of John Longbowe, Teoman, 
 The, iviii. 307. 
 
 Adventure of Padre Yicentio, The : a Le- 
 gend of San Francisco, i. 417.' 
 
 All Baba of the Sierras, An^ xvli. 329, 
 
 Ancestors of Peter Atherly, The, ivi. 1. 
 
 Apostle of the Tules, An, iv.'SOS. 
 
 Argonauts of North Liberty, The, xi. 162. 
 
 At the Mission of San Carmel, ill. 388. 
 
 Baby Sylvester, ii. 244. 
 
 Barker's Luck, x. 401. 
 
 Belle of Canada City, A, xviii. 24. 
 
 Bell-Binger of Angel's, The, viii. 289. 
 
 Blue Grass Penelope, A, iv. 126. - 
 
 Bohemian Days in San Francisco, xviii. 
 
 134. 
 BOHBMIAIT Pafbbs, xiv. 187. 
 Boom in the " Calaveras Clarion," The, 
 
 xvi. 161. 
 Boonder, xiv. 211. 
 Boys' Dog, A, xiv. 199. 
 Brown of Calaveras, i. 65.. 
 Buckeye Hollow Inheritance, A, xviii. 
 
 193 
 Bulger's Reputation, x. 363. 
 
 Captain Jim's Friend, v. 365. 
 Charitable Reminiscences', xiV. 237. 
 Chatelaine of Burnt Ridge, The, vii. 334. 
 Christmas Gift that came to Rupert, The : 
 
 A Story for Little Soldiers, i. 437. 
 Chu Chu, X. 306. 
 Clarence, ix. 284. 
 
 Colonel Starbottle's, A Ward of, xix. 121. 
 Colonel Starbottle'6 CDenl, vii. 408. 
 Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff, xvii. 
 
 230. 
 
 Condensed Noviels, i. 78. 
 
 Condensed Novels: New Buelesqubb, 
 
 xviii. 263. • 
 
 Conspiracy of Mrs. Bunker, The, viii. 417. 
 Convert of the Mission, A, x. 281. 
 Cressy, vii. 1. 
 Crusade of the Excelsior, The, vi. 1. 
 
 Dan'l Borem, xviii, 316. 
 
 Desborough Connections, The, xvi. 267. 
 Devil and the Broker, The : A MediiBval 
 
 Legend, i. 426. 
 Devil's Ford, iv. 336. 
 Devotion of Enriquez, The, x. 332. 
 Dick Boyle's Business Card, xix. 231. 
 Dick Spindler's Family Christmas, XT. 
 
 341. 
 Drift from Redwood Camp, A, v. 342. 
 Dweller of the Threshold, The, i. 147. 
 
 Earlier Seetoheb, i. 234. 
 Eastern Sketches, xi. 70. 
 Episode of Fiddletown, An, ii. 121. 
 Episode of West Woodlands, An, x, 166. 
 Esmeralda of Rocky Ca&on, An, xvi. 
 108. 
 
 Fantine. After the French of Yictor 
 
 Hugo, 1. 136. 
 First Family of Tasajara, A, viii. 1. 
 Flip : A California Romance, iii, 295. 
 Fool of Five Forks, The, ii. 397. 
 For Simla Reasous, xviii. 333. 
 Found at Blazing Star, iii. 348. 
 Four Guardians of Lagrange, The, xvil, 
 
 340. 
 From a Back Window, xiv. 227. 
 From a Balcony, xiv. 214. 
 
 Gabriel Conroy, xiii. 1. 
 
 Ghost of the Sierras, A, ii. 432. 
 
 Ghosts of Stukeley Castle, The, xi. 289. 
 
 Goddess of Excelsior, The, xviii. 232. 
 
 GoUy and the Christian, or. The Minx and 
 the Manxman, xviii. 290. 
 
 Great Deadwood Mystery, The, iii. 265. 
 
 Guy.Heavystone ; or, ** Entire : " a Mus- 
 cular Novel, i. 122. 
 
 Handsome is as Handsome does, i. 167. 
 Haunted Man, The : A Christmas Stoiy, 
 
 i. 188. 
 Heiress of Red Dog, An, ii. 280. 
 Heir of the McHulishes, The, xi. 323. 
 Heritage of Dedlow Marsh, The, v. 397. 
 High Water Mark, i, 322. 
 
426 A LIST OF AETISTS 
 
 Cresst 
 
 J peeped inter the winder VII. 36 
 
 How much is a true story , YII, 90 
 
 Dan'l Borem 
 
 This paper . . . was drored up by you ,...,... XVIII. 330 
 First Family of TasajAra, A 
 
 Come, Harkutt, bay my place .• . . VIII. 10 
 
 He led the way VIII. 116 
 
 How Reuben Allen " Saw Life " in San Francisco 
 
 Merd, M'sieur, good a'night XVIH. 120 
 
 How Santa Glaus came to Simpson's Bar 
 
 Tell him, Sandy Claus has come ••• H. 82 
 
 Left Out on Lone Star Mountain 
 
 He looked curiously at his reflection ..• IV. 204 
 
 Mission of San Carmel, At the 
 
 Va Usted Con Dios HI. 428 
 
 Sappho of Gbeen Springs, A 
 
 Like the real minstrel ...•.■••.•i«> VI. 420 
 Ward of the Golden Gate, A 
 
 The returning Pendleton . ....,,,...., Vil. 264 
 STEPHENS, ALICE BARBER 
 Ancestors of Peter Atherlt, The 
 
 Lady Elfrida standing before him XVI. 48 
 
 Carquinez Woods, In the 
 
 The woman . . . stood before him .•■... IV. Frontispiece 
 
 She caught him by the knees IV. 120 
 
 Luke 
 
 You *ve always been kind to us, Luke •••••••• XH. 136 
 
 Mermaid op Lighthouse Point, The 
 
 Gazing fccedly at the growing light XVll. 176 
 
 New Assistant, The 
 
 She glided across the floor ..••....••• VIII. 25S 
 STONE, SEYMOUR M. 
 Trent's Trust 
 
 A thickset figure lurched toward him . . • • XIX. Fronti^ece 
 
 Vignette on Engraved Title-Page XIX. 
 
 Ward of Colonel Starbottle's, A 
 
 A buggy was seen driving furiously up the grade • • < XIX. 150 
 TAYLOR, W. L. 
 
 CONCEPCION DE AkGUELLO 
 
 He will come ■>.••••• XH. 78 
 
 Devil's Ford 
 
 Devil's Ford IV. 392 
 
 Flip: A California Romance 
 
 She picked up a broken hazel branch t •»•#•••■ III. 304 
 Mystery of the Hacienda, The 
 
 She was like apicture •••••••• X. 138 
 
 rOWNSEND, H. E. 
 Mr. Bilson's Housekeeper 
 
 Please don't ask me why XVII. 92 
 
A LIST OF AKTISTS 427 
 
 WOODBUBT, CHARLES H. 
 Devil's Ford 
 
 Vignette on Engraved Title-Page , • IV. 
 
 Iliad of Sahdy Bar, The 
 
 Vignette on Engraved Title-Page !!• 
 
 Luck of Koaring Camp, The 
 
 Vignette on Engraved Title-Page •• !• 
 
 Mission Chokch, A 
 
 Vignette on Engraved Title-Page ••••••••• ^S^- 
 
'^^-:-:,fry'^r}^:^^i'^. 
 
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