Forty-one Thieves

 _A Tale of California_

 ANGELO HALL

Copyright, 1919THE CORNHILL COMPANYBOSTON

DEDICATED TO J. H. K. 

A PARTNER OF WILL CUMMINS AND A NEIGHBOR OF ROBERT PALMER

CONTENTS

 I. Dead Men Tell No Tales

 II. The Graniteville Stage

 III. The Girl or the Gold?

 IV. A Council of War

 V. Old Man Palmer

 VI. Two of a Kind

 VII. An Old Sweetheart

 VIII. "Bed-bug" Brown, Detective

 IX. The Home-Coming of a Dead Man

 X. The Travels of John Keeler

 XI. The Snows of the Sierras

 XII. The Golden Summer Comes Again

 XIII. The End of the Trail

 XIV. Golden Opportunities

 XV. Three Graves by the Middle Yuba

 XVI. When Thieves Fall Out

 XVII. Brought to Justice

 XVIII. The End of J. C. P. Collins

 XIX. The Home-Coming of Another Dead Man

 XX. The Bridal Veil

FORTY-ONE THIEVES

CHAPTER I

Dead Men Tell No Tales

In the cemetery on the hill near the quiet village of Reedsville, Pennsylvania, you may find this inscription:

 WILLIAM F. CUMMINS son of Col. William & Martha Cummins who was killed by highwaymen near Nevada City, California September 1, 1879 aged 45 yrs. And 8 months

 Be ye therefore also ready For the Son of Man cometh At an hour when ye think not. 

It is a beautiful spot, on the road to Milroy. In former times a churchstood in the middle of the grounds, and the stern old Presbyterianforefathers marched to meeting with muskets on their shoulders, for thecountry was infested with Indians. The swift stream at the foot of thehill, now supplying power for a grist-mill, was full of salmon that ranup through the Kishacoquillas from the blue Juniata. The savagesbegrudged the settlers these fish and the game that abounded in therough mountains; but the settlers had come to cultivate the rich landextending for twelve miles between the mountain walls. 

The form of many a Californian now rests in that cemetery on the hill. Afew years after the burial of the murdered Cummins, the body of HenryFrancis was gathered to his fathers, and, near by, lie the bodies offour of his brothers, --all Californians. The staid Amish farmers andtheir subdued women, in outlandish, Puritanical garb, pass along theroad unstirred by the romance and glamour buried in those graves. Deadmen tell no tales! Else there were no need that pen of mine shouldsnatch from oblivion this tale of California. 

More than thirty-five years have passed since my father, returning fromthe scene of Cummins' murder, related the circumstances. With MatBailey, the stage-driver, with whom Cummins had traveled that fatal day, he had ridden over the same road, had passed the large stump which hadconcealed the robbers, and had become almost an eye-witness of the wholeaffair. My father's rehearsal of it fired my youthful imagination. So itwas like a return to the scenes of boyhood when, thirty-six years afterthe event, I, too, traveled the same road that Cummins had traveled andheard from the lips of Pete Sherwood, stage-driver of a latergeneration, the same thrilling story. The stump by the roadside had sofar decayed as to have fallen over; but it needed little imagination topicture the whole tragedy. In Sacramento I looked up the files of the_Daily Record Union_, which on Sept. 3, 1879, two days after the event, gave a brief account of it. There was newspaper enterprise for you! Anatrocious crime reported in a neighboring city two days afterward! Weresuch things too common to excite interest? Or was it felt that therecital of them did not tend to boom the great State of California?

CHAPTER II

The Graniteville Stage

On that fateful first of September, 1879, the stage left Graniteville, as usual, at six o'clock in the morning. Graniteville, in EurekaTownship, Nevada County, is the Eureka South of early days. The stagestill makes the daily trip over the mountains; but the glamour andromance of the gold fields have long since departed. On the morningmentioned traffic was light, for people did not travel the twenty-eightmiles through heat and dust to Nevada City for pleasure. Too often itwas a case of running the gauntlet from the gold fields to the railroadterminus and safety. 

This very morning, Charley Chu, who had thrown up his job as mender ofditches, was making a dash for San Francisco, with five hundred dollarsin dust and a pistol at his belt. The other passengers were Dr. JohnMason and Mamie Slocum, teacher. Mamie, rosy-cheeked, dark-eyed, andpretty, was only seventeen, and ought to have been at home with hermother. She was a romantic girl, however, with several beaux in EurekaTownship; and now that the summer session of school was over, she wasgoing home to Nevada City, where there were other conquests to be made. 

Dr. Mason, a tall, lean Scotchman, lived at North Bloomfield, only ninemiles distant, whence he had been summoned to attend a case of _deliriumtremens_. The sparkling water of the Sierras is pure and cold, but thegold of the Sierras buys stronger drink. With a fee of two double eaglesin his pocket, the doctor could look with charity upon the foibles ofhuman nature. He thoroughly enjoyed the early morning ride among thegiant pines. In the open places manzanita ran riot, its waxy greenleaves contrasting with the dust-laden asters and coarse grasses by theroadside. Across the cañon of the Middle Yuba the yellow earth of oldman Palmer's diggings shone like a trademark in the landscape, proclaiming to the least initiated the leading industry of Sierra andNevada Counties, and marking for the geologist the height of the ancientriver beds, twenty-five hundred feet above the Middle Yuba and nearly atright angles to it. Those ancient river beds were strewn with gold. Looking in the other direction, one caught glimpses here and there ofthe back-bone of the Sierras, jagged dolomites rising ten thousand feetskyward. The morning air was stimulating, for at night the thermometerdrops to the forties even in midsummer. In a ditch by the roadside, andswift as a mill-race, flowed a stream of clear cold water, brought formiles from reservoirs up in the mountains. 

Even Charley Chu, now that he was leaving the gold fields forever, regarded the water-ditch with affection. It brought life--sparkling, abundant life--to these arid hill-tops. Years ago, Charley Chu andnumerous other Chinamen had dug this very ditch. What would Californiahave been without Chinese labor? Industrious Chinamen built the railroadover the Sierras to the East and civilization. Doctor, girl and Chinamanwere too much occupied with their own thoughts to take much notice ofthe stage-driver, who, though he assumed an air of carelessness, was, inreality, on the watch for spies and robbers. For the bankers at Moore'sFlat, a few miles further on, were planning to smuggle several thousanddollars' worth of gold dust to Nevada City that morning. Mat Bailey wasa brave fellow, but he preferred the old days of armed guards and hardfighting to these dubious days when stage-drivers went unarmed to avoidthe suspicion of carrying treasure. Charley Chu with his pistol had theright idea; and yet that very pistol might queer things to-day. 

Over this road for twenty-five years treasure to the amount of manymillions of dollars had been carried out of the mountains; and Mat couldhave told you many thrilling tales of highwaymen. A short distancebeyond Moore's Flat was Bloody Run, a rendezvous of Mexican bandits, back in the fifties. Not many years since, in the cañon of the SouthYuba, Steve Venard, with his repeating rifle, had surprised and killedthree men who had robbed the Wells Fargo Express. Some people hintedthat when Steve hunted up the thieves and shot them in one, two, threeorder, he simply betrayed his own confederates. But the express companygave him a handsome rifle and a generous share of the gold recovered; Iprefer to believe that Steve was an honest man. 

The stage arrived at Moore's Flat, and Mat Bailey hurriedly transferredbaggage and passengers to the gaily painted and picturesque stage-coachwhich, drawn by four strong horses, was to continue the journey. A pairof horses and a mountain wagon had handled the traffic to that point;but at the present time, when Moore's Flat can boast but eleveninhabitants, the transfer to the stage-coach is made at NorthBloomfield, several miles further on. But in 1879, Moore's Flat, EurekaTownship, was a thriving place, employing hundreds of miners. The greatsluices, blasted deep into solid rock, then ran with the wash from highwalls of dirt and gravel played upon by streams of water in the processknown as hydraulic mining. Jack Vizzard, the watchman, threaded thosesluiceways armed with a shot-gun. 

At Moore's Flat, six men and two women boarded the stage; and Mat Baileytook in charge a small leather valise, smuggled out of the back door ofthe bank and handed to him carelessly. Mat received it without theflicker of an eyelash. Nevertheless, he scrutinized the eight newpassengers, with apparent indifference but with unerring judgment. Allexcept two, a man and a woman, were personally known to him. And theseexcited less suspicion than two well-known gamblers, who greeted Matcordially. 

"It hurts business, Mat, to ship so much dust out of the country, " saidone. 

"Damn shame, " said the other. 

Mat paid no attention to these remarks, pretending to be busy with thebaggage. Quite accidentally he lifted an old valise belonging to WillCummins, who, dressed in a long linen duster, had just boarded thestage. Cummins exchanged glances with the driver, and luckily, as Matthought, the gamblers seemed to take no notice. 

Will Cummins had been in the gold regions twenty-five years. He hadalready made and lost one small fortune, and now at the age offorty-five, with all his available worldly goods, some seven thousanddollars in bullion, he was homeward bound to Reedsville, Pennsylvania. In the full vigor of manhood, he was a Californian of the highest type. He had always stood for law and order, and was much beloved by decentpeople. By the other sort it was well understood that Will Cummins was agood shot, and would fight to a finish. He was a man of medium height, possessed of clear gray eyes and an open countenance. The outlines of asix-shooter were clearly discernible under his duster. 

In a cloud of dust, to the clink of horse-shoes, the stage rolled out ofMoore's Flat, and was soon in the dark woods of Bloody Run. 

"Good morning, Mr. Cummins. "

It was the school-teacher who spoke; and Cummins, susceptible tofeminine charms, bowed graciously. 

"Do you know, Mr. Cummins, it always gives me the shivers to passthrough these woods. So many dreadful things have happened here. "

"Why, yes, " answered Cummins, good-naturedly. "It was along heresomewhere, I think, that the darkey, George Washington, was captured. "

"Tell me about it, " said Mamie. 

"Oh, George was violently opposed to Chinese cheap labor; so he made ithis business to rob Chinamen. But the Chinamen caught him, tied hishands and feet, slung him on a pole like so much pork and started himfor Moore's Flat, taking pains to bump him against every stump andboulder _en route_. "

Charley Chu was grinning in pleasant reverie. Mamie laughed. 

"But the funny thing in this little episode, " continued Cummins, "wasthe defense set up by George Washington's lawyer. There was no doubtthat George was guilty of highway robbery. He had been caughtred-handed, and ten Chinamen were prepared to testify to the fact. Butcounsel argued that by the laws of the State a white man could not beconvicted on the testimony of Chinamen; and that, within the meaning ofthe statute, in view of recent amendments to the Constitution of theUnited States, George was a white man. The judge ruled that the pointwas well taken; and, inasmuch as the prisoner had been thoroughlybumped, he dismissed the case. "

The story is well known in Nevada County; but Mamie laughed gleefully, and turned her saucy eyes upon Charley:

"Did you help to bump George Washington?"

The Celestial was an honest man, and shook his head:

"Me only look on. That cullud niggah he lob me. "

Will Cummins glanced at the Chinaman's pistol and smiled. By this timethe stage had crossed Bloody Run and was ascending the high narrow ridgeknown as the Back-Bone, beyond which lay the village of NorthBloomfield. By the roadside loomed a tall lone rock, placed as if by aperverse Providence especially to shelter highwaymen. For a momentCummins looked grave, and he reached for his six-shooter. Mat Baileycracked his whip and dashed by as if under fire. 

From the Back-Bone the descent to North Bloomfield was very steep, andwas made with grinding of brakes and precipitate speed. Arrived at thepost-office, Dr. Mason and the two gamblers left the coach; and astore-keeper and two surveyors employed by the great Malakoff MiningCompany took passage to Nevada City. In those halcyon days of hydraulicmining, the Malakoff, employing fifty men, was known to clean up$100, 000 in thirty days. It was five hundred feet through dirt andgravel to bed-rock, and a veritable cañon had been washed out of theearth. 

The next stop was Lake City, --a name illustrative of Californianmegalomania; for the lake, long since gone dry, was merely an artificialreservoir to supply a neighboring mine, and the city was a collection ofhalf a dozen buildings including a store and a hotel. Through the opendoor of the store a huge safe was visible, for here was one of thosedepositories for gold dust locally known as a bank. As the stage pulledup, the banker and a lady stepped out to greet Will Cummins, whoalighted and cordially shook hands. Miss Slocum, apparently, wassomewhat piqued because she was not introduced. 

"I was hoping you would accompany us to Nevada City, " Cummins said, addressing the lady, who regarded him with affection, as Mamie thought. 

"You must remember, Will, " said the banker, "that Mary hasn't been up toMoore's Flat yet to see her old flames. "

"Too late!" said Cummins. "The Keystone Club gave a dinner last night, to wish me a pleasant journey. Eighteen of the twenty-one were present. But by this time they have scattered to the four winds. "

"Never fear, " cried the lady; "I shall find some of our boys at Moore'sFlat. You are the only one travelling in this direction; and the fourwinds combined could not blow them over the cañon of the Middle Yuba. "

"I remember you think that cañon deep and terrible, Mary, " Will replied;"but it is not wide, you know. Remember our walk to Chipp's Flat, thelast time you were here? Nothing left there but the old cannon. As theboys say, everything else has been fired. "

"All aboard!" shouted Mat, who felt that he was wasting time in LakeCity. And so Mary Francis, sister of Henry Francis, bade adieu to WillCummins, little knowing that they would never meet again, either inCalifornia or "back home" in Pennsylvania. The stage rolled on, past agrove of live oaks hung with mistletoe. Cummins had passed this way manytimes before. He had even gathered mistletoe here to send to friends inthe East. But to-day for the first time it made his heart yearn for thelove he had missed. Mary Francis was thirty-five now. Twenty-five yearsago he was twenty and she was a little bashful girl. Her father's househad been the rendezvous of Californians on their occasional visits inthe East. His mind traveled back over old scenes; but soon the cañon ofthe South Yuba burst upon his vision, thrilling him with its grandeurand challenging his fighting instincts. For after winding down threemiles to the river, the road climbed three miles up the oppositeside--three toiling miles through the ambushes of highwaymen. There wasthe scene of many a hold-up. And to-day, at his age, he simply must notbe robbed. It would break his heart. In sheer desperation he drew hissix-shooter, examined it carefully, glanced at his fellow-passengers andsat silent, alert and grim. 

Except for the Chinaman, the passengers were feeble folk. At sight ofthe revolver the men began to fidget; and, except for Mamie Slocum, theromantic, the women turned pale. 

Down the coach plunged into the deep cañon! Little likelihood of ahold-up when travelling at such a pace. Down, down, safely down to theriver, running clear and cold among the rocks. And then the slow ascent. Mat Bailey, perched on his high seat as lordly as Ph[oe]bus Apollo, feltcold shivers run down his spine. From every bush, stump and rock heexpected a masked man to step forth. Could he depend upon Cummins andthe Chinaman? How slowly the horses labored up that fatal hill, hauntedby the ghosts of murdered travelers! Why should he, Mat Bailey, getmixed up in other men's affairs? What was there in it for him? Ofcourse, he would try to play a man's part; but he sincerely wished hewere at the top of the hill. 

At last they were safely out of the cañon, and the horses were allowedto rest a few minutes. Cummins replaced his pistol and buttoned up hisduster; and the passengers fell to talking. The store-keeper from NorthBloomfield began to tell a humorous story of a lone highwayman who, witha double-barrelled shot gun waylaid the Wells Fargo Express nearDownieville. As he waited, with gun pointed down the road, he heard awagon approach behind him. Coolly facing about, he levelled his gun atthe approaching travellers, three workmen, and remarked, "Gentlemen, you have surprised me. Please deliver your guns, and standupon that log, " indicating a prostrate pine four feet in diameter. Needless to say, the men mounted the log and held up their hands. Then aload of hay approached, and the driver mounted the log with the others. Then came another wagon, with two men and a ten-year old boy, GeorgeWilliams. The robber ordered these to stand upon the log, whereuponlittle George, in great trepidation, exclaimed, "Good Mr. Robber, don't shoot, and I will do anything you tell me!"

About this time one barrel of the robber's gun was accidentallydischarged into the log, and he remarked:

"That was damned careless, " and immediately reloaded with buckshot. 

At length the stage came along; and promptly holding it up, he tossedthe driver a sack, directing him to put his gold dust therein. Thisdone, he sent each separate vehicle upon its way as cool as a marshal ondress parade. 

With Nevada City only four miles away, the cañon of the South Yubasafely passed, and the stage bowling along over an easy road, it seemeda good story. 

"Halt!"

Two masked men emerged from behind a stump by the roadside, and CharleyChu drew his revolver. The passengers in a panic took it away from him. Mat Bailey pulled up his horses. 

While one robber covered Mat, the other covered the passengers, who athis command lined themselves up by the roadside with hands raised. Cummins got out on the side of the stage opposite the robber; and butfor the duster, buttoned from chin to ankles, he would have had the deadwood on that robber. It was not to be; and Cummins, hands in air, joinedhis helpless companions. The robber then proceeded to rifle the baggage. Charley Chu lost his five hundred dollars. Mat Bailey gave up theleather bag from Moore's Flat. 

"Whose is this?" demanded the robber, laying his hand on Cummins' oldvalise. As if hypnotized, Mamie Slocum answered, "That is Mr. Cummins'. "

The robber seized it. Cummins exclaimed: "It is all I have in the world, and I will defend it with my life. " With that he seized the robber, overpowered him, and went down with him into the dust. If only there hadbeen one brave man among those cowards!

"Is there no one to help me?" shouted Cummins; but no one stirred. 

In the gold regions of California each man is for himself. To preventtrouble his fellow-passengers had disarmed the Chinaman. The otherrobber, seeing his partner overpowered, passed quickly along in front ofthe line of passengers, placed his gun at Cummins' head, and fired. Thestruggle had not lasted fifteen seconds when Will Cummins lay murderedby the roadside. 

CHAPTER III

The Girl or the Gold

Cummins was killed about one o'clock. Two hours later two prospectors, in conventional blue shirts and trousers, each with a pack over hisback, were seen in the neighborhood of Scott's Flat. They excited nosuspicion, as no one at Scott's Flat had heard anything about thehold-up; and even if news had come, there was nothing suspicious in theappearance of these men. They had looked out for that. As a matter ofprecaution they had provided themselves a change of clothing and theirprospectors' outfit. By common consent they had very little to say toeach other; for they knew that a careless word might betray them. Theywere in a desperate hurry to reach Gold Run or Dutch Flat to catch theevening train East; but from their motions you would not have suspectedthis. They followed the trails across country at the usual swinging gaitof honest men, and they knew they had six hours to make fifteen milesover the hills. They passed near Quaker Hill, Red Dog, and You Bet, keeping away from people as much as they dared to, but not obviouslyavoiding anyone. 

At You Bet, Gold Run and Dutch Flat they had taken the precaution toshow themselves for several days past; so that no one should noticetheir reappearance. They were not unknown in this region, and there weremen at You Bet who could have identified them as Nevada City jail-birds. There was O'Leary, for example, who had been in jail with them. But in acountry filled with gamblers and sporting men, where the chief end ofman is to get gold and to enjoy it forever, it is not deemed polite toenquire too closely into people's antecedents. These men, evidentlynative-born Americans, bore the good Anglo-Saxon names of Collins andDarcy. What more could you ask? They perspired freely, and their packswere evidently heavy; but men who collect specimens of quartz are likelyto carry heavy packs, and the day was hot. 

At You Bet the men separated, Darcy striking out for Gold Run with allthe gold, and Collins making for Dutch Flat, which is farther up therailroad. This was to throw the railroad men off the scent, for news ofthe murder had probably been telegraphed to all railroad stations in thevicinity. 

Incidentally, and unknown to his partner, this arrangement necessitateda momentous decision in the mind of Collins. As he formulated thequestion, it was, "The girl or the gold?" Like many young criminals, Collins was very much of a ladies' man. He associated with girls of thedance-hall class, but he aspired to shine in the eyes of those foolishwomen who admire a gay, bad man. He would have preferred to have hisshare of the plunder then and there in order to stay in California towin the hand of Mamie Slocum. But Darcy was determined to get out of thecountry as quickly as possible, and when they separated insisted upontaking all the gold. It would not do to quarrel with him, for both wouldbe lost if either was suspected. To share in the plunder he would haveto go East with Darcy, who was to board the same train at Gold Run thatCollins would take at Dutch Flat. 

The girl or the gold? Because of his infatuation for the girl he hadbecome a highwayman. He had not expected her to come down fromGraniteville that day. He had not counted on being nearly killed byCummins, for it was he whom Cummins had overpowered. He had not supposedthat anyone would be killed. Things had turned out in a strange andterrible way. To gain a few thousand dollars by highway robbery was noworse than to win it by a dozen other methods counted respectable. Amongthe youth of Nevada City with whom he had associated, it was commonlybelieved that every successful man in town had done something crooked atsome time in his career--that life was nothing but a gamble anyhow, andthat a little cheating might sometimes help a fellow. 

When he had learned, some months before, how greatly Mamie admired WillCummins, he had thought it good policy to pretend a like admiration. While the girl was in Graniteville, away from her parents, he had seenher as often as he could, and had, he was sure, acted the part of achivalrous gentleman. He had referred to his jail record in such amagnanimous way as to win her admiration and sympathy. And he had beenmagnanimous toward Cummins. He had stoutly maintained that evengentlemen of the road are men of honor, incapable of petty meanness, merely taking by force from some money-shark what was rightfully theirsby virtue of their being gentlemen. Therefore, he argued, noself-respecting highwayman would rob a man like Will Cummins--the meresthint that property belonged to him would be sufficient to protect it. Hehad waxed eloquent over the matter. 

He was now appalled to think how his argument, though insincere, hadbeen refuted. That Mamie had spoken those fatal words was not a ruse ofhis but an inexplicable accident. How could he ever see the girl again?And yet, in this one respect he was innocent, and he wished she mightknow it. Besides, he was man enough to sympathize with her in her awfulpredicament. With what horror she must be thinking of her part in thetragedy! There was considerable generosity in his nature, and heactually debated, criminal though he was, whether he might not betterlet Darcy keep the loot and stand by Mamie. 

The girl or the gold? Is it surprising that the decision of J. C. P. Collins was similar to that of other Californians? Similar to Cummins', for example? He decided to make sure of the gold first and to thinkabout the girl later. With six or eight thousand dollars in the bank hewould be a more valuable friend than a poor man could be. After thisaffair had blown over, and he recalled the fact that Doc Mason hadperformed eleven autopsies on murdered men in the last ten years, andnot one murderer had been hanged so far, --he would rescue Mamie from thedemoralization of the gold fields and take her to live in St. Louis orNew Orleans. And now he saw with some satisfaction that her apparentcomplicity in the crime would make life hard for her in Nevada City andimpel her to accept such a proposal. 

It might have been just as well if the rattlesnake coiled in his path atthat moment had ended his existence, but the snake was indeed anhonorable highwayman, and sounded a gentlemanly warning in the nick oftime. Collins would have killed it for its pains, but killing had upsethis nerves that day. So he left the reptile to try its fangs on a betterman. Besides, he reflected that he could not consistently advocatecapital punishment, and he sincerely hoped that his humane sentimentswould spread in California. He recalled the fact that there was a strongparty among the good people of the State, represented by several ladieswho had brought him bouquets and jellies when he was in jail, who weretrying to abolish capital punishment. Judging from Doc Mason'sexperience in murder cases, the efforts of these good people were notcalled for. And yet the law as it stood had unpleasant possibilities forCollins. 

He was really sorry about Cummins. Of course, Cummins was a fool. A manof such character would not miss a few thousand dollars in the long run. What a fool he had been to risk his life! Of course, he, Collins, hadrisked his life, too. But how different were the two cases! Cummins hadrich friends who would help him; Collins had no friends, barring a fewsilly women. His long suit was women. He really regretted Cummins' deathmore on Mamie's account than for any other reason. 

Poor Mamie! But it must be the gold and not the girl this trip. When hehad invested his capital and made his pile, he would play the prince tohis Cinderella. They would both be glad to flee this country. Bah! thevery soil was red! Golden blossoms sprung from it, but the roots werefed with blood. Collins was a young fellow, by no means a hardenedcriminal, and the excitement of the day stimulated intellect and emotionlike the drug of a Chinaman. 

He reached Dutch Flat in due season, and found several old cronies atthe railroad station, where people were discussing the death of Cummins. He succeeded in showing the due amount of interest and no more, and wasdiplomatic enough not to suggest that the murderers were now on theirway to San Francisco. He took the train going East according toschedule, and found Darcy playing poker in the smoking car. Collinsbetook himself to his pipe at the other end of the car, glad that nighthad come, and that he would soon bid farewell to the Sierras. He feltthe train swing round the horse-shoe curve through Blue Cañon, andshortly afterward he noticed that they had entered the snow sheds, whichfor forty-five miles tunnel the snow drifts of winter, and which insummer lie like a huge serpent across the summit of the mountains. Onceout of the sheds they would speed down the valley from Truckee intoNevada. 

The fugitives were well over the line before they took any notice ofeach other. Except for themselves the smoker was now empty, and they hadprepared to spend the night there like honest miners who were down ontheir luck. 

Collins remarked in an undertone:

"Darcy, we have given them the royal sneak. "

"Know what I've been thinking?" replied Darcy. "I've been thinking ofthat wise remark of Ben Franklin's when he signed the Declaration ofIndependence. "

"What was that?"

"We've got to hang together or we'll hang separately. "

"That's no joke. "

"You bet your soul it's no joke. And you'd better shut up and go tosleep. "

Silence for ten minutes. Then Collins said, "You're a tough nut to talk about sleep when you've killed the best manin Nevada County. "

"Where would you be, J. C. P. Collins, if I hadn't killed him? You'd bein hell this minute. "

"Thanks, awfully. But I wish the man wasn't dead. "

"What did the fool put up a fight for? He could see we had him. "

"That's what I say. He was a fool to risk his life. He could see therewas no help coming from those sports. "

"Well, Collins, there was one of them that made me feel nervous--thatChinaman. But the rest of them had him corralled. Mat Bailey couldn't donothing up there in the air. Cummins was a fool, that's all. "

"Must have wanted his gold pretty bad. And I wish to God he had it rightnow. "

"Here, take a nip of brandy. Your health's getting delicate. "

"Well, partner, no harm meant. But I must say I sympathize with Cummins. He and I have made the same choice to-day. "

"How's that?"

"The girl or the gold--and we both chose the gold. And I'll be hanged ifI don't think we were both right. "

CHAPTER IV

A Council of War

Six days had elapsed. It was evening, and in the large room overHaggerty's store at Moore's Flat the lamps had been lighted. Here tenmembers of the Keystone Club had gathered to see if something might notbe done to avenge the death of Cummins. Henry Francis presided; but themeeting was informal. These men had not met to pass resolutions, but todecide upon some line of action. So far not a trace of the murderers hadbeen found, except for their discarded clothing. Sheriff Carter'sblood-hounds had followed a hot scent to Deer Creek, several miles aboveNevada City, and the posse who followed the dogs were led to a pool, inthe bottom of which, weighted with stones, was the clothing. Furtherthan this the dogs could not go. They were soon sneezing as the resultof inhaling red pepper, scattered on the rocks. And the robbers hadprobably waded up or down stream to insure complete safety. 

Several suspicious characters had passed over the railroad to Sacramentoand San Francisco; but this was an every-day occurrence, and the policehad learned the futility of arresting men who were probably innocentminers pursuing the gay life. 

Nothing thus far had been accomplished. Hence the meeting overHaggerty's store. Dr. Mason and Mat Bailey were present. The doctor camebecause of a sense of civic duty. His British sense of justice had beenoutraged beyond endurance. 

"You know, Mr. Francis, " he said, "I have performed autopsies uponeleven murdered men within the last ten years; and in no case has one ofthe murderers been brought to justice. It is outrageous, scandalous. Decent men cannot afford to live in a community where people are moreinterested in making money than in enforcing the law. Decent men becomemarked men--marked for slaughter as Cummins was. We must do something, if only to protect ourselves. "

"You are quite right, Doctor, " replied Francis, "and we propose toinvestigate for ourselves. Did you notice any suspicious circumstancewhen you rode down from Eureka South the other day?"

The doctor could not think of anything important unless it was theremarks of the gamblers at Moore's Flat about shipping gold dust out ofthe country. But if they were accomplices they would hardly have spokenso carelessly. And why did they leave the stage at North Bloomfield?They were still there; but no one had observed anything remarkable intheir behavior. 

That Cummins was leaving California, probably with gold, was awell-known fact. That he would go armed, considering the character ofthe man, was almost certain. And this was a good reason why bankers atMoore's Flat or Lake City might ship bullion that fatal day. Mat Baileynodded solemn assent, for he knew that this was sound logic. 

It was now his turn to offer suggestions. A stage-driver is always aperson of importance, especially in California. For the past six daysMat had found his public importance rather embarrassing. Every trip pastthe robbers' hiding-place had brought an avalanche of questions fromcurious passengers. Probably Mat Bailey had been forced to think of thetragedy more constantly than had any other person. His opinion ought tobe valuable. 

He hesitated, and seemed loath to speak his mind. 

"Out with it, Mat, " said Francis. "This hearing is among friends, notofficial. Tell us just what you think. "

"Well, " replied Mat, "there is one circumstance you gentlemen ought toknow. Up to this time nobody has mentioned it; and I hate to be thefirst to speak of it. "

Everybody's interest was aroused. After a pause Mat continued:

"When the robber was going over the baggage he came to Mr. Cummins'valise, and asked, 'Whose is this?' One of the passengers spoke up andsaid, 'That belongs to Mr. Cummins. ' Then the row began. "

"Who is the guilty man?" cried Francis. 

Mat looked embarrassed: "It wasn't a man. It was Miss Slocum. "

There was a moment of silence. Everybody was shocked, and trying to workout in his own mind some logical connection between the school-teacherand the crime. 

"That's where you've got us guessing, Mat, " said one. "What can a crowdof bachelors do if you drag a woman into the case?"

"And yet, " said another, "what else ought we to expect? A woman's at thebottom of everything, you know. "

"Yes, we would none of us be here in this wicked world except for ourmothers, " remarked the doctor sarcastically. "How has Miss Slocum beenacting since the tragedy, Mat? I must confess I can't think ill of thatgirl. "

"Well, Doctor, " replied Mat, "she has acted just as you would expect aninnocent girl to act. She's been all broken up--down sick a good part ofthe time. And I don't believe there's a man, woman, or child in NevadaCity who mourns Will Cummins more than she does. That's why I hate tomention her name. And that's why I haven't said anything up to thistime. But some of those cowards who looked on while Cummins was murderedhave begun to talk; so you would have heard the story sooner or lateranyhow. Still, I hate to mention the girl's name. "

"You have done right, " said Francis. "The girl might have helped therobbers without intending to. Frightened out of her wits, perhaps. Somebody might question her kindly, and see what's back of this. And, gentlemen, as Bailey spends a good deal of his time at Nevada City, itseems to me he is the man to follow up this clue. Call on the girl, Mat, and see what you can find out. "

So out of a sordid tragedy there was spun a thread of romance. Theschool-teacher and the stage-driver are about the only characters who donot require the "gold cure. " Mat had ridden over the mountains at allseasons until he loved them. His chief delights were the companionshipof his stout horses and his even more intimate companionship withnature. To scare up a partridge, to scent the pines, to listen to thehermit thrush were meat and drink to him. That there was gold in thesenoble mountains moved him very little, though this fact provided himwith a livelihood for which he was duly grateful. The school-teacher wasfortunate to be brought up with a sharp turn so early in life, and tofind so true a friend as Mat Bailey. 

But this was only the beginning of the council at Moore's Flat. It wassuggested that John Keeler, Cummins' old partner, be employed to scourthe country in search of the assassins. There was no more trustworthyman in Eureka Township than Keeler. His affection for Cummins was wellknown. But his peculiarities might unfit him for the proposed mission. His Southern sense of chivalry unfitted him for detective work thatmight involve deceit and downright lying. He cared more for his honorthan he did for money, and had been known to refuse very temptingoffers. Finally, he was opposed to violence. He had refused to act as awatchman for a ditch company on the ground that he might be expected toshoot some one. It was a question whether Keeler could be induced tobring a man to the gallows. 

Presently, Dr. Mason spoke up:

"You couldn't employ a better man than Keeler. He is the soul of honor, as you all admit. For several years he was Cummins' partner. As sheriffof Nevada County he would free it of thugs and murderers as he freesevery claim that he works of rattlesnakes. He is death on rattlers. Killed more than a hundred of them last summer. But the lawless elementof this county take mighty good care that Keeler is not elected sheriff. So much the better for us, for he is free to manage this business. "

The doctor's speech made an impression. But these Californians had notyet learned the value of honor. They seemed to think that they couldcatch the murderers if they put up enough money. They themselves weretoo busy making money to hunt down the outlaws; but they assumed thatmoney would do it; and they were willing to put up thousands of dollars. But numerous rewards for the apprehension of desperadoes wereoutstanding at that very hour; and the desperadoes were still at large. As a money-making proposition, mining with all its uncertainties wasmore attractive than professional detective work. Then again, theseCalifornians could not trust a man actuated by motives higher than theirown. Indeed, their chairman, Henry Francis himself, for some subtlereason which it would have been well for him to analyze, was opposed toemploying honest John Keeler. It would have been well for Francis, before it was too late, to realize to what an extent money standardswere replacing honor in his own life. It takes determination, loyalty, devotion, to accomplish a difficult task; and such qualities cannot bebought. 

When Captain Jack and his Modocks held a council of war in their lavabeds, they accomplished things which it was beyond the power of thesefortune-hunters to accomplish. Captain Jack had no gold, but the skill, loyalty, and devotion of every Indian of his band were at his command. And yet Francis would have imagined himself the superior of CaptainJack. 

As time was passing, with little accomplished, Francis suggested thatthey might first decide upon the amount to be offered as a reward forthe apprehension of the murderers. It was voted to offer a reward of$10, 000, or $5, 000 for either of the two men. 

"Now, gentlemen, " said Francis, "I shall have to go over to FillmoreHill to-morrow to see Mr. Palmer, who holds a note against Will Cummins. You know I am settling the estate. Keeler will be over there, they say, and I will talk with him. But on the way over, I shall look up a manworth two of John Keeler in a business like this. "

"Who is that?" asked the doctor. 

"Mr. William Brown. "

No one seemed to know William Brown. 

"He lives a mile up the cañon, " continued Francis. 

"Oh, you mean Bed-bug Brown, " said Mat Bailey. 

"Yes, " replied Francis, "that's the name he commonly goes by. "

"I know the man, " said the doctor. "Says he came here in '54 and that hehas had a picnic ever since. Though he couldn't have had much of apicnic that first winter, when he camped out by the big log; and only afew winters ago Palmer had to send him a quarter of beef. "

"Well, Brown is a born detective, " said Francis. "He worked up theCaffey case like a professional. "

Ben Caffey's brother had been hanged in Wisconsin, in the region of thelead mines, ten years before. He was innocent of the crime charged, andBen had vowed vengeance on the jury. All twelve of the jurors, thoughscattered over the country from New Orleans to the cañon of the MiddleYuba, had met violent deaths. The last man had been a neighbor ofBrown's. Just before his death a stranger with a limp left arm hadappeared at Moore's Flat; and Brown had proved to his own satisfactionthat the same man with a limp arm had appeared at New Orleans justbefore the death of the eleventh juror in that city. The man with thelimp arm was Ben Caffey. Such was Brown's story. People had not paidmuch attention to it, nor to the murdered man's lonely grave by theriver. Henry Francis, evidently, gave Brown full credence, but otherspresent regarded "Bed-bug Brown" as a joke. True, he was an intelligentlittle man. He had taught school at Graniteville several winters, andhad succeeded better at this business than at placer mining on the barsof the Middle Yuba. But "Bed-bug Brown, " perennial picnicker, was not ascientific sleuth. 

So when the council of war broke up, a feeling of skepticism prevailed. Mat Bailey saw more possibilities in his own suggestion than in the$10, 000 reward. Dr. Mason saw more possibilities, however slight, in thereward than in the proposed detective. And Henry Francis, though he hadknown Cummins from boyhood, and was even now settling up his estate, pretended to see more possibilities in a stranger than in honest JohnKeeler--or himself. 

CHAPTER V

Old Man Palmer

Robert Palmer, tall, thin, bent with toil, had lived in Californiathirty years. In May, 1849, when the snow drifts were still deep in thecañons of the Sierras, he had crossed the mountains, past Donner Lakeand the graves of the Donner party, through Emigrant's Gap, to thevalley of the Sacramento. He was thirty-two years old at that time, --nomere youth, seeking treasure at the end of a rainbow. He was already aman of experience and settled habits, inured to hardship and adversefortune. As a youth he had left his native hills of Connecticut, to sellclocks, first in the South and then in the lumber camps of Michigan. There, the business of Yankee pedlar having failed, he found himselfstranded. His father was a prosperous farmer; but a stepmother ruled thehousehold. So young Palmer hired out to a Michigan farmer, for he wasone of those hardy New Englanders who ask no favors of fortune. Imagining a pretty frontier girl to be a sylvan goddess, with aPuritan's devotion he made love to her, only to be scorned for hismodesty. But failure and disappointment served but to strengthen him, and he struck out for California. 

He nearly perished on the way there, while crossing the deserts ofNevada. In Wyoming he had fallen into the hands of that brave true man, John Enos, then in his prime, who had guided Bonneville, Fremont and theMormon pilgrims, and who, --living to the age of a hundred and fouryears, --saw the wilderness he had loved and explored for eighty yearstransformed to a proud empire. Enos had guided Fremont through Wyoming. It is rather too bad that Palmer could not have accompanied Fremont andKit Carson when, in February, 1844, they crossed the snowy summit of theSierras and descended through the deep drifts to Sutter's Fort andsafety. That was four years before the discovery of gold in El DoradoCounty. 

Palmer was not crazy for gold. Arrived in the Sacramento Valley, hespent three or four years at farming. Perhaps his Yankee shrewdness sawlarger profits in hay and cattle than in washing gravel. But certainlyhis New England integrity and soberness of character were more inkeeping with the spirit of the pioneer than with the spirit of theadventurer. 

While reckless young men were swarming up the valleys of South, Middleand North Yuba, finding fabulous quantities of gold and squandering thesame upon the Chinese harlots of Downieville, Robert Palmer was makinghay while the sun shone, which was every day in the Sacramento Valley. But land titles were so uncertain that in 1853 he turned to mining, --atJefferson, on the South Yuba. He prospered to such an extent that by1859 he had sent $8, 000 back to Connecticut to pay his debts; and he hadlaid by as much more. Frozen out of his claim by a water company--forwithout water a miner can do nothing--he sold out to the company in1860, and went over to the Middle Yuba, where he bought a claim onFillmore Hill, with a water ditch of its own. 

Here Palmer lived and toiled for twenty years, washing the dirt andgravel of an ancient river-bed high up on the hill-top between WolfCreek and the Middle Yuba. He rented water from his ditch, sometimes atthe rate of two hundred and fifty dollars a month, to other miners. Fromthe grass roots on the hillside some lucky fellows cleaned up $10, 000 ina few days. For several years John Keeler and Will Cummins rented waterfrom Palmer and helped the "old man" keep his ditch in repair. 

The old man lived alone, industrious, and so economical as to excite themirth or the pity of his rough neighbors. Some who heard that he hadloaned $60, 000 to a water company at 12 per cent. Interest, regarded himcontemptuously as a miser. How else explain his shabby clothes, his oldrubber boots, that were out at the toes, his life of toil andself-denial? Palmer never gambled, nor caroused, nor spent money onwomen. He attended strictly to business, bringing to the bank at Moore'sFlat from time to time gold dust of high grade, worth from $19 to $20 anounce. And those who bought his gold marked how rough and torn were theold man's fingers, the nails broken and blackened and forced away fromthe flesh. 

But Keeler and Cummins had seen through the rough exterior. They knewsomething of his charities. They had tasted his good cheer; for he kepta well-stocked larder. They had seen with amusement his family of petcats seated at table with him, and each receiving its rations in dueorder, like so many children. Keeler told with glee about the old man'shorse and mule, idly eating their heads off on the hillside. They hadcome to Palmer in payment of a debt, and although he had had a fairoffer for the mule he had refused to sell, on the ground that withoutthe mule the horse would be lonesome. 

Robert Palmer knew what it was to be lonesome. True, he employed a hiredman or two occasionally, and when he cleaned up his sluices he employedseveral--and, let it be said, he paid good wages. There were neighbors, but with most of them he had little in common. The Woolsey boys, at theranch in the bottom of the cañon, whose widowed mother had come from St. Louis to marry old Sherwood, had grown up under his kindly eye. In earlyboyhood their active limbs had scaled the forbidding ledges of FillmoreHill, and Robert Palmer had granted them permission to hunt on hisclaim. 

One night in his cabin on the mountain top, when the gold dust from thelast clean-up had not yet been disposed of, he was startled by a noiseoutside. He blew out the light and hid his little bag of treasure in theashes of his forge. None too soon, for there was a summons at the door, and when he opened it he was confronted by three masked men. With drawnpistols they demanded his money. He said he had none. It was useless toresist, so he let them bind him hand and foot. Again they demanded hismoney. Again he said he had none. They knew better, and they threatenedto burn him alive in his cabin. But Palmer was firm. Then they burnt hislegs with a hot poker, and threatened to shoot him, as they might havedone with impunity in that lonesome place. Still he was firm, so theyset him on the hot stove and tortured him in that way. One of the party, more humane than the rest, protested against more extreme measures; sothat, after searching the cabin, they gave up their enterprise, baffledby that indomitable man. Before leaving him one of the men asked:

"Mr. Palmer, do you know us?"

Realizing that such knowledge meant death, he replied:

"No, I don't know any of you. "

And so they left him. The lone miner no doubt had suspicions concerningseveral of his worthless neighbors; but to the day of his death he keptsuch suspicions to himself. 

Is it any wonder, living in that lawless country, that Robert Palmerbecame almost a recluse? But why should he work so? He was workingunselfishly for others, as you will see when you read his will, for histwenty-nine nephews and nieces. As if a heap of double eagles would beof any particular use to relatives who had well-nigh forgotten him! No, they had not forgotten. For one nephew borrowed money, which was, however, repaid, and one niece secured five hundred dollars by sharppractice worse than robbery. Robert Palmer made the mistake that many anunselfish man has made, the mistake that insurance companies insist iswisdom: he labored to provide others with gold, as though gold were asubstitute for thrift, prudence, and self-reliance. Never mind, the oldfellow did nephews and nieces no harm, though he disappointed severalwho had depended upon him to lift them from poverty; for in the end hishard-earned money was lost. His only legacy was his example of thrift, unselfishness, and integrity. When men go about gathering riches forothers, let them gather things of the spirit. The answer to this, perhaps, is that even such riches cannot be transmitted, that every soulmust enrich itself. That is true; but a noble character is at leastinspiring, and leaves the whole world richer. 

In the case of one nephew, Robert Palmer found a man who loved him butneeded none of his gold. This man was an astronomer, who, returning froma scientific expedition to Behring Strait in 1869, paid his uncle avisit. At that time this meant a trip of forty miles into the mountainsby stage and on horseback from the line of the newly constructedrailroad; for the narrow gauge from Colfax to Nevada City was not builtuntil 1876. It was a happy day for Robert Palmer when his sister'sson, --covered with dust, --scaled Fillmore Hill. Here was a meeting oftwo strong men, blue-eyed Anglo-Saxons, large of frame, spare, rugged, their fair skin tanned by the blazing sun of California. 

What a glorious visit they had! And how they revelled in a thousandrecollections of their New England home! For nine days the astronomershared his uncle's cabin, a new one, built of sawn timbers and boards, and quite comfortable. Several days they worked together in the mine;and when at last the hour of parting came, Robert Palmer sent by hisnephew a present to his grandnephews in Washington, the astronomer'sthree small sons. It was the gold mined in those nine days, some onehundred and thirty dollars in value. Thereafter the boys played minersand stage-robbers and wild West generally, with sheet gold in the guiseof yellow envelopes hidden away between the leaves of books to representgold mines. 

CHAPTER VI

Two of a Kind

The day after the council of war at Moore's Flat, John Keeler crossedthe cañon of the Middle Yuba to talk over the death of his old partnerwith Robert Palmer. As he clambered up the steep side of Fillmore Hillto the claim he had worked with Cummins fifteen years before, all thepoetry and all the sadness of life in California came over him. Howvividly he remembered his arrival, at the age of eighteen, in this landof romance and adventure! He had reached Moore's Flat on the Fourth ofJuly, 1860, when bronzed miners were celebrating in reckless fashion. The saloons were crowded, and card games were in progress, with goldcoins stacked at the corners of the tables. Out of doors some red-facedfellows were running races in the streets and shouting like wildIndians. Over the door of a restaurant was the sign "Eat, Drink, and BeMerry, " and the youth pondered the words of Scripture following thesefestive words, but not quoted by the enterprising proprietor. 

He remembered now, after nineteen years, the strange aspect of nature inthis strange land. What great mountains! What deep cañons! What hugepines, with cones as large as a rolling-pin! The strange manzanitabushes, the chaparral, the buck-eye with its plumes, the fragrantmountain lily, like an Easter lily, growing wild. It had seemed good tohim, a stranger in this strange land, to see old friends in thesquirrels that scampered through the woods and crossed his path, to findalders, and blossoming dog-wood, the mountain brake, and his childhood'sfriend the mullen stalk. Even to this day when he came upon an orchid, or a wild rose, with its small pink petals (smaller in this red sterilesoil than in his native country), or when a humming bird in its shiningplumage came to sip honey from the flowers, or when in the still woodshe heard the liquid notes of a hermit thrush, the romance and thereverence of youth thrilled him. 

John Keeler was something of a poet, though the needs of his family atEureka South kept the bread and butter question in the foreground. Hemust see "old man Palmer" to talk over the death of Cummins. He wascomforted a little when the old man's small black dog, Bruce, camefrisking down the trail to meet him; and when Sammy, the cat, tail inair and purring a thousand welcomes, rubbed his sleek fur against thevisitor's boots, Keeler fore-tasted sweet solace for sorrow. 

"Why, hello, Keeler! Mighty glad to see you!" And then in a changedvoice, "You're fagged out. It's an all-fired steep trail. Come in. "

"No, thank you, " replied Keeler, and he seated himself upon a chair inthe door-yard. "It's pleasant out here under the pines. I want to talk. "

"I've been expecting you, " said Palmer, "ever since the news came aboutCummins. "

"Well, if it wasn't for my wife and boy, I'd pull up stakes, and get outof California. "

"Don't blame you. This thieving and promiscuous killing are enough todiscourage anybody. Too bad they can't get the robbers, just this once, and string 'em up. "

"I'm a peaceable man, as you know, Mr. Palmer. But I'd be willing tohang those fellows with my own hands. It wouldn't help Will Cummins any, but it would give me solid satisfaction. "

"Well, Keeler, I'm glad of one thing, Cummins was a bachelor, like me, and not a married man. "

"I've thought about that, but it don't give me any comfort. Will oughtto have married years ago. His life might have counted for somethingthen; but now it seems as if it had been wasted. "

"Maybe you think my life's been wasted, too?"

"No, Mr. Palmer, you know I could never think that, after your kindnessto Will and me. "

"Well, Will Cummins was more generous than I ever was, " answered Palmer. "Main trouble with Will was his temper, which was no better than mine. Every bad man in these mountains knew that Will Cummins was ready totreat him to his own medicine. "

"Yes, I wish he hadn't said so much about defending yourself. I wish hehadn't carried a pistol that day. He wouldn't have been so ready tofight, perhaps. "

"One thing certain, " observed Palmer, "if he was going to carry a pistolat all, he ought to have had it handy, not under his duster. "

"Well, it was natural to think the danger past when they had got safelyaway from the South Yuba. The robbers knew their man, and they played ashrewd game. "

"It's easy enough to win when you play with loaded dice. I get boilingmad when I think of these low-down, worthless rascals who don't stop atany meanness, ready to commit murder for fifteen cents. They ought to betreated worse than rattlesnakes. But, as you said just now, all thisdon't help Will Cummins. But Will is all right, John. You know that aswell as I do. "

"I came up here to hear you say so. I've pretty near lost faith in Godand man, I reckon. "

"I lost faith in man long ago, " answered Palmer, smiling sardonically. "If the fall of Adam and the curse of Cain are fables, --as they are, ofcourse, --they are just as true as Æsop's fables, for all that. They hitoff human nature. But man isn't all. I've never belonged to any church, as I've often told you. But the longer I live the more I trust inProvidence. Will Cummins was a good man, and he's all right, I tellyou. "

"I feel that way myself. But I know my feeling in the matter don't alterthe facts any. How do you figure it out?"

"Well, my creed's about this: in spite of all the wickedness, this is abeautiful old world. How gloriously the stars shine down every nightupon these mountains! Or, take Bruce and Sammy here"--and the old mancaressed his pets--"why, they love me to distraction. And I love boththe scamps, I certainly do. But what is that to your affection for yourpartner, John Keeler? It is a good old world, I say. Then the Powerthat's in it and back of it, 'in whom we live and move and have ourbeing, ' is a good Power. Well, then, God is good. And that's all we needto know. If God is good, we can depend upon Him in life and death. Wedon't know what death means. But it's only a natural thing. It can'tmatter much. I will know more about it, I guess, when I am dead. "

"I don't doubt you're right, Mr. Palmer. Once, back in Maryland, I hearda minister say that grief comes to open our hearts to God. It was at mymother's funeral. I reckon he was right, too. But my heart bleeds forWill Cummins. "

Palmer looked at him critically a moment, as if weighing him in thebalance. Then, as if completely satisfied with his friend, he spoke:

"John Keeler, I want to talk business. I want you to hunt those rascalsdown. I'll back you for any amount. I'm past sixty, or I might attend tothe business myself. You're still a young man. I'll see that Mrs. Keelerand the boy lack for nothing while you are gone. And I don't expect youto take any risks. I simply want you to get the facts, then turn themover to the authorities. Will you do it?"

Keeler hesitated. "There's very little to go on. The robbers havecleared out, and nobody knows who they were or where they went. "

"Don't you believe it, " said Palmer. "If decent people don't know, thereare the other kind. "

"I reckon you and I would be about as helpless as babes with 'the otherkind. ' We've always despised them and kept away from them. "

"But they're human, like the rest of us. You and I understand humannature pretty well. We won't breathe a word to any one. You tell Mrs. Keeler you're attending to important business for me, that I'mgrub-staking you, and that there's something in it for you and thefamily. If the neighbors get wind of it, they'll think, perhaps, you areattending to money matters for me. They seem to be mighty curious aboutmy money. "

"Well, I might do it, if I only knew how to go about it. "

"Well, Keeler, I think I can give you a start. And while we eat somedinner I'll tell you a story that will surprise you. "

These Californians were certainly two of a kind; but then, two of akind, though both be kings, is not a strong hand. 

CHAPTER VII

An Old Sweetheart

When his guest had been abundantly supplied with the best the larderafforded, not forgetting condensed milk for the coffee, Palmer began hisstory. 

"Since you were here last, Keeler, " he began, "I've been to SanFrancisco. Nothing remarkable about that, of course. Any man might havebusiness at the Hibernia Bank. Then again, it's worth the trip fromMoore's Flat just to stand on the seashore an hour. "

"Yes, " said Keeler with enthusiasm, "there's a noble sight. "

"But, " continued Palmer, "I'm too old a man for pleasure trips. And forthat matter, I'm about through with business, too. I went to SanFrancisco for a special reason. "

Keeler looked up from his coffee inquiringly. 

"I went to see an old sweetheart. "

Here Keeler smiled. It seemed odd to think of old man Palmer going uponsuch a mission. 

"I suppose I ought to say that the woman snubbed me when I was young, and later cared more for my money than she did for me. But I loved thatwoman thirty years ago, and was fool enough to think I might win her ifI could strike it rich here in California. I'm older now, and wiser, Ihope. If a woman won't marry a man 'for richer or poorer'--especiallypoorer--she oughtn't to marry him at all. There's my nephew who was outhere ten years ago. Married without a dollar and got the best wife inthe world. No, Keeler; I may be a fool; but I'm not the kind of fool tomarry an old woman because she hankers after my money. 

"I went to San Francisco because I pity the woman, and because I thoughtI might help her to become more decent and self-respecting. "

Here the old man paused. Keeler noticed that he was much embarrassed. 

"I would have kept this affair to myself, Keeler; but we must get therascals who shot Cummins, so you ought to know the whole story. 

"Harriet Chesney was a pretty girl thirty years ago. Rather too proud ofher good looks, and a selfish minx. But a young man who has had a goodmother thinks all women are good, I guess. I was terribly cut up whenshe refused me; but I hate to think now what might have happened if shehad accepted me!"

"Why, here ten years back, a brother of mine in Michigan wrote to warnme that Harriet Chesney was coming to California to murder me. He saidshe had burned two houses for the insurance; had got mixed up withseveral men and had robbed them. "

"A regular she-devil, " remarked Keeler. 

"Well, sure enough, she turned up here in California, nearly ten yearsago. And very likely she would have killed me if she could have got holdof my property. And if all the gold I ever mined could have saved herfrom the sin and misery of these past ten years, she would have beenwelcome to it. But I couldn't buy her a clear conscience, could I?

"She got as far as Moore's Flat. Hung around there several days till shesaw me at Haggerty's store. My old clothes must have disappointed her. It would certainly humiliate any woman, good or bad, to associate withsuch a scarecrow. So she cleared out, and went to San Francisco. I guessshe found out she was only a novice compared with the women down there. And I guess in a year or two she was like all the rest. I tell you, itwas an awful thing to think of. It's bad enough to see a man gowrong--but a woman!--and a woman you once loved--and still love, as Godstill loves her!"

The old man had to pause here; and he arose abruptly, as if to put asidehis dishes; and Keeler, respecting his emotion, looked out of thewindow. 

"Well, last March, Harriet wrote me a letter. Gave me her address. Saidshe was dying, and would like to see me. It was a week or more beforethe letter reached me, for the trails were badly drifted and I had beenshut up here some time. John Woolsey brought the letter, and stayeduntil I read it, to see if anything was wanted. Said he would look outfor Bruce and Sammy, so I got on my snow-shoes and started. 

"I reached San Francisco next day. I almost wished the woman was dead, as she had a right to be by that time. If she was dead, I wouldn't haveto say anything to hurt her. Well, I called at the address she gave, which was in the edge of Chinatown. I tell you it was disgusting to runthe gauntlet there, among those creatures. --I found the woman had beentaken to the city hospital several days before and whether she was deador alive the head she-devil of the place didn't seem to know or care. 

"I found her at the hospital, sure enough. The doctor said she wasgetting better, and would probably live. I didn't know whether to beglad or sorry; and I was tempted to go home and write her a letter. Shemight not care to see me now, anyway. 

"But I stayed and had a talk with her; and I am glad I did, though Icouldn't help remembering the old rhyme, "When the Devil was sick, the Devil a saint would be: When the Devil got well, the devil a saint was he. "

"Harriet Chesney needed a friend, and she was glad to see me. She wasmore than glad to know that I had come as soon as I could. Said she hadtold herself I would not fail her--that it was the snow and the cañonand not some other reason that kept me away. Said she thought she wasgoing to die; and that she wanted me to know she was sorry she had donewrong. The doctor had told her she would get well, so she was going tobe an honest woman if I would help her. And what do you suppose shewanted me to do?"

"Lend her some money, most likely, " said Keeler. 

"No, sir. She didn't want any money. Said she wanted to write to meevery Sunday, and to see me whenever I came to San Francisco. Of course, I agreed, though I told her I don't go down to the city once a year, asa usual thing. I told her if she thought she needed me to write and Iwould try to get down. That seemed to satisfy her. 

"Well, she has written to me every week since then. By the first of Juneshe was able to work. And since then she has earned an honest living, scrubbing floors. Here is her last letter. "

Keeler took the proffered sheet and read:

 "San Francisco, Sept. 5, 1879. Mr. Robert Palmer. 

 Dear Sir:

 I have just read about the murder of Mr. Cummins. The papers say he lived at Moore's Flat, and worked a claim once on Fillmore Hill. So he must have been a friend of yours. It is too bad. I might help you find the murderers, as all the bad men of Nevada County are known down here. If you will come down here or send somebody, I will help you all I can. 

 I am getting along all right. 

 Very respectfully, Harriet Somers. "

"I thought you said her name was Chesney, " remarked Keeler, as hereturned the letter. 

"Oh well, she claims to have been married to two or three different men. Calling herself Mrs. Somers seems to help her keep her self-respect. Shesays Somers is dead. For my part, I never enquired whether there everwas a sure-enough Mr. Somers or not. But I am sure she can help us inthis business. I wish you would have a talk with the woman. "

"There is no harm in that. I'll do it. And if I can find anything to goon, I'll undertake to follow up those fellows. Perhaps I can find outsomething at Nevada City. I reckon I'll have to let you look out forMrs. Keeler and the boy, as you say. "

"I'm mighty glad to hear you say that. And I'll make out a check rightnow. Smith, the livery man at Eureka South, will cash it; and you cantake the stage out to-morrow morning. "

"All right. I reckon we'd better not lose any time. "

Palmer had already got out pen and ink. It was something of a "chore"for the old man to draw a check. Miners' paralysis was creeping on, andtwo years later the best he could do was to make his mark. But to-day heprolonged his labors, making out a second check, to be cashed whenKeeler reached San Francisco. 

The business was hardly transacted when Henry Francis walked in. 

"Glad to see you, Francis!" exclaimed the old man. "What news fromMoore's Flat?" He exchanged glances with Keeler which seemed to meanthat their business should be regarded as strictly private, althoughHenry Francis was the friend of both, and had won the confidence andaffection of old man Palmer. Francis and Palmer held the same politicalfaith. The former came of a distinguished Democratic family, so that theold man's protection and loyalty had been bestowed upon him upon hisarrival in the gold fields twenty years before. Furthermore, the old manhad proved the unfailing honesty of the younger man. Jew bankers, inblowing dirt and impurities from gold dust offered for sale, were notover-careful about blowing away gold dust, too, which would be caught onbuckskin placed out of sight behind the counter. Palmer's dust was veryfine, and more than once he had suffered through such sharp practice, only to vow he never would suffer so again. In Francis he had found astrictly honest banker, whose virtue he was inclined to attribute tocorrect political principles, overlooking the moral delinquencies ofother Democratic neighbors. But the old man, through long years ofexperience with human nature in California, had grown extremely cautiousand secretive. Probably no one would ever have been the wiser in regardto his old sweetheart and her sad history except for the escape ofCummins' murderers. And now it was not necessary that any man other thanKeeler should know. 

"Glad to see you, Francis. What news from Moore's Flat?"

Francis looked grave. "I suppose Keeler has told you all I know. Sevendays gone and nothing heard of the robbers. I shall expect a telegramto-morrow or next day, telling of Will Cummins' burial in the villagecemetery at home. And his old father and mother are going to be deniedthe small comfort of knowing that the murderers have been caught. 

"Keeler, you were Cummins' partner once. Do you have any idea who therobbers were?"

"I am sorry to say, I don't. This country is full of bad men. I havethought of the blacklegs along Kanaka Creek. A robbery in Jackass Ravinewas traced to that gang. But the rascals stand together, and are readyto defend a partner with alibis or pistols. "

If Keeler felt constrained to withhold information about his intendedvisit to San Francisco in the capacity of detective, Francis on his partsaw no reason to state that he had just employed Bed-bug Brown in asimilar capacity. For in descending the cañon of the Middle Yuba, he hadgone a mile out of his way up the river to the cabin of this worthygentleman, and finding him at home had promptly engaged his services. Brown, like Keeler, was to take the stage to Nevada City on the morrow, provided with a fee for current expenses. 

"Well, " said Palmer, "I am glad for my part that the California goldcraze is coming to an end. When the farmers down in the SacramentoValley get the upper hand, they will stop hydraulic mining, for it keepscovering their good soil with sand and clay. The Government authoritiessay we are filling up San Francisco Bay, too; so Uncle Sam is going tostep in and do something. Then those rowdies along Kanaka Creek and allthe other bad men in this country will have to move on. "

"And so will the rest of us, " smiled Francis. "A man who has made hispile can afford to retire. But what about Keeler here, and me?"

"Well, " persisted Palmer, "I think Will Cummins was right in wanting toleave the gold fields. Gold makes people crazy. Half our gamblers andthieves would be decent men in a decent community. "

"Mr. Palmer means, " said Keeler, "that Pat Flynn, who is a goodDemocrat, but who doesn't pay back the fifty dollars he borrowed fromMr. Palmer last winter, would be a better Democrat back in Connecticut, making wooden hams and nutmegs. " With this he shook hands with hisfriends and departed, for it was evident Francis had some privatebusiness with the old man. 

When they were alone, Francis said:

"You know, Mr. Palmer, that we Pennsylvanians stand together. I haveundertaken to settle up Cummins' affairs. I find you hold his note for athousand dollars. "

"I do. Lent him the money when he made a fresh start a few years back. But I supposed I stood to lose it when the robbers took Cummins' goldthe other day. I certainly could afford to lose it. "

"Well, you don't have to lose it, Mr. Palmer. Cummins left mining stockat the bank in my care that will more than cover the debt. The fact is, I borrowed the value of the stock from him. Strictly speaking, I got himto put a couple of thousand into a paying proposition; and he lefteverything in my hands. So I am going to get you to cancel Cummins' noteand to take mine instead. "

"Francis, you are an honest man. The money is no great object with me. But because I have found out that honesty is a thing that ought to beencouraged, especially among friends, I will take your note and cancelthe other. "

So this business was settled. Robert Palmer, governed by kindly feelingrather than hard sense, overlooked his friend's weakness forspeculation, rather counting it as honesty. 

CHAPTER VIII

"Bed-Bug Brown, " Detective

When Mat Bailey drove the stage out of Graniteville the next morning, John Keeler and "Bed-bug Brown" were the only passengers. Brown hadspent the previous evening learning all that he could about Mamie Slocumand her young admirers. He had actually learned that a young man fromNevada City who signed himself J. C. P. Collins had paid her attentions. He had also discovered that the young school-teacher had more than onceexpressed much admiration for Mat Bailey. In view of what Henry Francishad told him of Mat's reflections on the school-teacher, Brown resolved, quietly and of his own accord, to keep an eye upon Mat as well as uponMamie. 

The little man was unusually quiet, revolving various theories in hishead, and contemplating the magnificence of the ten thousand dollarreward. But the presence of John Keeler, Cummins' old partner, suggestedthe wisdom of gleaning information from this source. So, in order toimpress Keeler with his seniority and larger experience, he began:

"You don't remember, I suppose, Mr. Keeler, when camels were introducedhere in the gold fields?"

"No, that was before my time. "

"It was back in fifty-six, before the water-ditch companies had fairlygot started. It was as dry as Sahara on these mountains then, and it isno wonder somebody thought of camels. "

"Well, when you think of our ostrich farms, camels don't seem out ofplace in California. Did you ever think, Mr. Brown, what extremes ofclimate we have right here in Nevada County? Along about the tenth ofDecember they are cutting ice up in the Sierras while they are pickingoranges in the western end of the county. "

"That is pretty good for the banner gold county of the State. Most of usforget everything but the gold, " replied Brown, smiling inwardly, tothink how easily this remark would lead up to the desired topic. 

"I'm getting sick of the gold, " replied honest John Keeler. "All thatwas handy to get at has been carried away. No chance left for a poorman. It takes a big company with capital to run the business ofhydraulic mining as they do at Moore's Flat and North Bloomfield. Quartzmining is still worse. By the time you've sunk a shaft and put up astamping-mill, you've mortgaged your quartz for more than it is worth, perhaps. It takes capital to run a quartz mine. "

"Yes, " assented Brown, "this country has seen its best days. "

"That's what old man Palmer says, " remarked Keeler, looking across thecañon at Palmer's Diggings. 

"You and Cummins did pretty well over there fifteen years ago, " and thelittle detective's eyes twinkled at his own cleverness. 

"We made a living; that's about all. "

"But Cummins was a wealthy man some years back. "

"Well, his partner never was, " laughed Keeler. "If I could scrapetogether the dust, I'd leave these mountains as he tried to. "

"Who do you suppose the robbers were?"

"If I could make a good guess, I'd go after that ten thousand dollarreward, " replied Keeler. 

"There's an awful tough gang over in Jim Crow Cañon, " said Brown, throwing out another feeler. 

"Can you tell me of a place in these gold fields where you won't find atough gang? I was in Forest City the other day. I took the trail overthe mountains through Alleghany. Both of those places are live townswith cemeteries, --well settled places, you know. But a tougher lot ofcitizens you never saw. Gambling, drinking, and fighting, and Sunday theworst day of the seven. "

"What impresses me most about Alleghany, " said Brown, "is the vastnumber of tin cans on the city dump. It makes a man hungry for the grubhis mother used to cook. "

"You're right there, " said Keeler, and lapsed into silence. 

They were at Moore's Flat presently, where they changed to thefour-horse stage-coach; and the little detective's attention wasabsorbed by the actions of Mat Bailey, who seemed strangely quiet. Aguilty conscience, perhaps?

Several people were going down to Nevada City. So Keeler and Brown didnot resume their conversation, but journeyed on, each absorbed in hisown thoughts. To Keeler the trip was a sad one. In the dark woods alongBloody Run, and as they passed the tall rock by the roadside beyond, hethought of robbers and his murdered partner. At the store in NorthBloomfield he could hardly resist the impulse to insult the cowardlystore-keeper who had stood by and allowed Cummins to be shot. As theydove down into the cañon of the South Yuba, he groaned to think of themurders for gold committed therein. Could not a protecting Providencehave saved his friend? Was it the decree of fate that one who hadmanfully defended the right for twenty-five years in that lawlesscountry should be cut off just when he was quitting it forever? Perhaps, he thought, this very hour his partner was being laid at rest in his"ain countree. "--And his soul? Well, he believed as Palmer did, that allis well with the soul of a brave man. Was he, Keeler, on a fool's errandto San Francisco? Well, he had determined on his own account to do alittle investigating in Nevada City that very day. So had Mat Bailey. Hence his unusual taciturnity. So had "Bed-bug Brown, " and he kept thesecret to himself. 

Arrived at Nevada City, with its steep streets, compactly built up atthe centre of the town, church and county court-house on the hillside, the traveler finds himself fairly out of the mountains, the luring fatalmountains, whose very soil has now the color of gold and now the colorof blood. Mat Bailey's first concern was the care of his horses. Keelerwent to look up his friend Sheriff Carter. And "Bed-bug Brown" partookof a frugal dinner at the moderate cost of two bits. He sat where hecould observe the movements of Mat, and lingered in the neighborhooduntil the stage-driver had disposed of his own dinner and set out tocall upon Mamie Slocum. 

This young lady now spent most of her time at home. She had hardlyrecovered from the shock of the tragedy; and her imagination hadconjured up a visit from the sheriff for her part therein. Instead itwas only that splendid Mat Bailey, flicking the dust from his boots withhis handkerchief, and mustering up courage to knock at the door! Howglad she was to see him! And Mat thought that she looked very sad andpretty! She conducted him to the parlor, and proffered the seat ofhonor, a hair-cloth rocking-chair. 

"Let me call Mother. She will be so glad to hear about her friends inGraniteville. "

"I'd rather see you alone, if you don't mind. " And Mat blushed throughhis tan, but assured himself that duty prompted, if pleasure didconsent. It was the best arrangement all round, as "Bed-bug Brown"himself thought, --for this worthy gentleman was eaves-dropping in thecellar, with only a floor of thin boards between himself and theseinteresting young people. 

Under other circumstances Miss Slocum would have been fascinated at theidea of a _tête-à-tête_ with this interesting, stalwart man of themountains. But something in his manner, and her own overwrought nerves, told her there was trouble ahead. Should she run away, should she use awoman's wiles in self-defense, or should she confide in this handsomeman? Distracted by these conflicting thoughts, she presented a charmingpicture of alarmed innocence, as Bailey thought; and his heart yearnedto offer protection. 

"Miss Slocum, I don't know how to put it, and I don't know what meanthings you are going to think of me"--

And now Mamie began to sympathize with the big stage-driver, who seemedas much embarrassed as she. 

"The fact is, Mr. Francis asked me to see you. "

"Mr. Francis is a good friend of mine. He secured the school atGraniteville for me. "

Bailey, grateful for this help, continued:

"He thought I might inquire about a matter"--

"Heavens!" thought Mamie, "does Mr. Francis know about my trouble? MatBailey must have told him!" If her intuition guided her truly in thismatter, it no less truly recognized a friend in Mat. 

"The fact is"--he began, and then he hesitated. "Damn it!" he thought, "how could he say things that would hurt this lovely creature?"

"Mr. Bailey, I think I know what you mean. You want to know why I toldthat robber about Mr. Cummins's valise. It has nearly worried me todeath; and I don't wonder you all demand an explanation. "

"Don't put it that way, I beg of you, Miss Slocum!" exclaimed Mat, greatly relieved that she had come to his rescue, but no less greatlyconcerned that he should appear in the hateful character of accuser andinformer. "We don't demand anything. We know you didn't have anything todo with those robbers. Mr. Cummins was a friend of yours; and youwouldn't do nothing to injure an enemy!"

Mat could use negatives properly when not excited. 

The conversation was becoming less and less interesting to the littleman in the cellar. But it was not easy to beat a retreat. 

Mamie began to weep softly, but more from joy than otherwise. After thestrain of the past week these honest words of Mat were balm to her. 

"I--I will tell you everything, Mr. Bailey. Oh, how I have wanted totalk to some friend about it! But it was so dreadful! I couldn't breathea word of it even to Mother. "

Mat was all tenderness now; and the man under the floor began to prickup his ears. 

"I was talking with a young man only a week before that dreadful day, and he said highwaymen are too generous to steal money from people likeMr. Cummins. And that the best thing anyone could do when a stage isrobbed would be to tell the robbers about the property of passengerslike him. I didn't believe it at first, and now I know how frightfullyfoolish I was. But the young man, who had been in jail once himself, wasso positive, that I really believed a criminal has a sense of honor. Andwhen the robber asked whose valise that was, I was so frightened thewords came right out before I realized what I had done. "

"Every word you say is God's truth, Miss Slocum, and I hope you willforgive me for bothering you this way. " It did occur to Mat that hemight inquire who that young jail-bird might be. And "Bed-bug Brown" washoping that his name would be mentioned. But Mat reflected that this wasnone of his business; and that it did not matter anyhow. If Miss Slocumdid not care to mention the man's name he would not ask for it. She hadbehaved nobly, and he admired her from the bottom of his heart. 

"Really, Mr. Bailey, I am glad you gave me this chance to explain. Youdon't know what I have suffered. And then to think that I deserved tosuffer it, and more, too, for causing the death of my own friend!" Andhere the tears came again, honest tears, as Mat knew full well. Herather envied Cummins that so beautiful a creature should grieve forhim. 

"Now look here, Mamie, it is all right to be sorry that Mr. Cummins gotkilled. Every honest man and woman in Nevada County is sorry. But youdidn't cause his death, any more than I did. I never felt meaner in mylife than I did that day, holding those horses and looking down into thebarrel of that robber's gun. He had me, until he started for Cummins. And it was all over so quick, I hardly knew what happened. But I can'tquite forgive myself for not jumping down after that robber as soon asever he uncovered me. It would probably have been too late; and thehorses would have run away, most likely; but still I wish I had jumped. But because I didn't jump I'm not going to hold myself responsible forCummins' death. The robbers must hang for it, and not you and me. As forwhat you said, I don't believe it made any difference at all. They werebound to get all the gold on the stage that day; and they knew Cumminshad some. "--

"That's just it, Mr. Bailey, and that's what makes it so hard for me. "

Mat saw he had been swept off his feet by his own eloquence, and so hetried again. 

"Well, they would have got it anyhow. They might have wasted a minute ortwo more hunting for it, but they would have found it, and Cummins wouldhave fought for it just the same. "

"Yes, that is what I've thought, " said Mamie. "Oh, why did he risk hislife so?"

"I'll tell you, Mamie, " said Mat, "everybody in this country is crazyabout gold--miners, gamblers, bankers, robbers, --everybody. They're likehungry wolves, ready to tear one another to pieces. Only the wolves havemore sense. Gold is of no earthly use to anyone. I'm sick and tired ofthe whole business. " And Mat rose, hat in hand, to go. 

"I hope you'll call again, Mr. Bailey, " said the the girl shyly. Herewas a friend in need! A great bashful, manly fellow, so kind andsympathetic!

"I'll be more than pleased to, " replied Mat, determined to prove hisphilosophy that there are things far more precious than gold. 

Fascinated with the idea, he loitered in the neighborhood longer than hewould otherwise have done; and, glancing back at the dear girl's house, he was astonished to see "Bed-bug Brown" emerge from the cellar. Brownsaw him at about the same time. There was no escape for either, so theydrifted together good-naturedly. The little man extended his hand:

"Congratulations! When is the wedding to be?"

Bailey simply smiled, and said:

"Bed-bug Brown, detective!"

CHAPTER IX

The Home-Coming of a Dead Man

Meanwhile the body of the murdered man--noble countenance peaceful nowafter twenty-five years of adventure--had been traveling eastward to itsfinal resting place. The body of William F. Cummins came home instate--home at last, where the familiar caw of crow and tinkle ofcow-bell might almost conjure the dead back to life again. Three yearsbefore, at the time of the great Centennial, when, in the full vigor ofmanhood, Will Cummins had visited his native town, no sounds had sostirred old memories of fields and mountains as those homely sounds ofcrow and cow-bell. 

Then neighbors had flocked about the bold Californian, eager to presshis hand and to look into his fearless eyes. Now, robbed and murdered, he came home again, life's journey ended. The quiet village wasappalled, and shaken with anger. Friends and neighbors flocked to thefuneral--indignant youths, solemn old men and women. True, the youngergeneration had hardly known of the Californian's existence. To them heseemed to have come out of the Sierras like a Rip Van Winkle, who sleptsoundly on, asking no questions. But to the old men he had died a youth, full of promise. They remembered well the eager buoyancy with which heand his comrades had set out for the gold fields. Middle-aged men andwomen remembered his school days in Reedsville, when he was one of them, when they were all healthy, merry boys and girls together. 

The funeral over, and the Californian safely laid in his native soil onthe hillside, men gathered in groups on the corners of the villagestreet, or stepped into the bank to look at the six-shooter which hadfailed their friend in his hour of need. The local minister, gazing uponthe dead man's revolver, was heard to remark:

"They that take the sword shall perish with the sword. "

But the bystanders would not endure the doctrine. Their Anglo-Saxonblood recoiled. And a former Californian, who was an old friend ofCummins, stepped forward and said:

"Mr. Lamb, Will Cummins was not afraid to perish with the sword. And, ifhe could have drawn that revolver, there would have been two deadrobbers. This doctrine of non-resistance is wrong, dead wrong. We provedthat in California, just as you people proved it here in the Civil War. Will Cummins was not afraid to defend his rights. "

"But, " replied the minister, who in spite of his name seemed eager forthe combat, "the Civil War was a national crime. Think of the hundredsof thousands of young men, North and South, who perished. "

"Yes, Mr. Lamb, the war _was_ a crime. And Jeff Davis and the othercriminals ought to have been hanged, just as those stage-robbers oughtto be. "

"Don't you see, my friend, " replied the minister, "that violence breedsviolence?"

"Then, " rather scornfully, "you think Will Cummins did wrong to defendhis property?"

"He would have been alive to-day if he hadn't. "

"But that's not the point. Will Cummins died for a principle. Hebelieved in self-defense, and was not afraid to risk his life. "

"Of course, " said the minister, "I admit that he was a brave man. ButChrist said, 'if any man take away thy coat, let him have thy cloakalso'--'turn the other cheek'--'resist not evil'--'they that take thesword shall perish with the sword. '"

"Well, " said the Californian, "I don't dispute the fact that people whocarry weapons are likely to get killed. What I say is, I admire a manwho is not afraid of getting killed when he knows he's right. It may bejust as honorable to perish with the sword as to be crucified. "

This statement, savoring of the heresy that was introduced into Americanthought both by soldiers returning from the Civil War and by menreturning from the lawless life of the West, rather shocked theminister, who was a good and sincere man. But he only said:

"Surely, you are a Christian?"

"Well, " replied the Californian, "I don't know. If Jesus Christ saidself-defense is wrong, then He was mistaken. "

Here the argument ended. But the theme is a fruitful one; and everythoughtful man and woman in Reedsville was bound to consider it. Deadmen tell no tales and make no arguments. Will Cummins slept peacefullyon. But the facts of the case were too plain to be ignored; and theCalifornian's doubt of Christ's infallibility was widely discussed. 

It was indeed a great issue, involving the fundamental principles ofChristianity. A brave man, who is not a scoffer, attacks the doctrine ofnon-resistance, and lays down his life for the faith that is in him. Amartyr, then. Martyrdom in itself cannot establish a principle; but werespect martyrdom. Turn the argument around: the martyrdom of Christ didnot establish the correctness of His teaching. 

But this leads to a further question, namely, the nature of Christ--wasChrist human or divine? We may honestly say He was both; for if ever manwas inspired He was. But He might have made mistakes, as other inspiredteachers have done. And what did He really teach? Not one word ofScripture was written by His hand. The spirit of Christ--this is theimportant thing. The letter killeth, the spirit giveth life. Did He notcaution us to look not to Himself but to God? "Why callest thou me good?One there is who is good, even God" . .. "Not those who say, 'Lord, Lord, ' but those who do the will of My Father which is in heaven. "

Self-defense is a duty which civilized man owes to civilization. Willyou tell me that the hundreds of thousands of Armenians who, making noresistance, have perished like sheep at the hands of the Turks, werebetter men than the four thousand who fled to the mountains and foughtoff their persecutors till help arrived? Read of the heroic defense, when for fifty-three days the men of that gallant band, with a fewrifles, saved their women and children from worse than death. I saythese men performed a duty to God and man--to the Turk himself, intowhose black heart they shot more virtue and honesty than ever wereimplanted by the hundreds of thousands who died like sheep. 

Civilized man must maintain himself, else the world will relapse intobarbarism. To perish with the sword in defense of home and friends maybe a sacred duty. If I have any quarrel with the Californians it is notwith their courage and daring. These were exemplary. And if it is rightto defend one's life, it is right to defend one's property, by means ofwhich life is supported. 

But the dead men sleep soundly there on the hill, unmindful of praise orblame, and old man Palmer, himself in a pauper's grave by the MiddleYuba, robbed in his turn, and by a trusted friend, tells no tales, forhe sleeps serenely. 

CHAPTER X

The Travels of John Keeler

John Keeler had found his friend the sheriff at the Citizens' Bank, putting up money on a bet that Cummins' murderers would not be caughtwithin a year. Sheriff Carter was dealing in futures, as it were. Nothing would have pleased him better than to lay hands on thosehighwaymen; but, --thoroughly discouraged at the outlook, --like a truesportsman he enjoyed the humor of betting against himself in the vaguehope that such action might lead to something. He was more than pleasedto see Keeler, whose mysterious air clearly indicated that something wasup. They walked immediately to the court-house, and were soon closetedtogether. 

"Now look here, Keeler, if you're going to play detective, you don'twant to hang out a sign, 'John Keeler, Detective. ' There's blood in youreye. Any crook could spot you a block away. "

Keeler laughed, and looked rather sheepish. 

"Well, " he said, "there's no harm done, I reckon. Those fellows areprobably a thousand miles from here by this time. "

"What makes you think so?" asked Carter. "They may be right here inNevada City. Some of those fellows can throw a perfect bluff on a pairof two-spots. "

"Well, Carter, I thank you for your suggestion. After this, I'll becareful. That is, I'll appear to be careless. I haven't any inkling asto where those thugs are, and I've come to you to get some points. "

"I don't blame you a bit, Keeler, for wanting to look into this affair. Cummins was your partner once; and a better man never lived in NevadaCounty. I hope to God I can string up the men who killed him. Just stepin here. "

In an ante-room Carter had set up two straw men dressed in the discardedclothes of the highwaymen. 

"Of course, this ain't going to help much, " explained Carter, deprecatingly. "But it does give you a fair idea of the height of thosefellows. Mat Bailey was in here the other day to help me with thesedummies. He seems to have a pretty good idea of what the men lookedlike. "

As his mission to San Francisco was confidential, and inasmuch asPalmer's Mrs. Somers was an unknown quantity, Keeler refrained frommentioning her. He proceeded to San Francisco that day; looked up Mrs. Somers, who gave him the names and descriptions of a dozen bad men ofNevada County; and the next day he returned to hunt up some of thesesame bad men. One of them was O'Leary of You Bet, whom he found withouttrouble. But he got very little encouragement from O'Leary; and he verysoon discovered how hard it is for an honest man to get any sort ofsatisfaction from thieves and liars. 

In the absence of any definite information he resolved to turn eastward, across the Sierras. He was on the right track, as we know. As far asOmaha it was not so very difficult to make a fairly thorough search forthe criminals. However, this took time, and although he happened to pickup information here and there about a couple of rather odd-lookingCalifornians traveling eastward with gold, he often felt that he was ona fool's errand. He fell in with Californians everywhere. If thebuilding of the transcontinental railroad had served no other purpose, it had sent a steady stream of people away from the gold fields--acircumstance that made his mission seem all the more hopeless. Among somany how could he distinguish the criminals? True, he could distinguishan ex-miner among a thousand. And whenever such a man extended his righthand and said, "Put it there, partner!" Keeler could not refuse theproffered hand-clasp. 

At Louisville he encountered a man whom he was sure he had seen inNevada City. The man evidently recognized him also, and for an instantKeeler thought he saw a wild gleam in the man's eye. Then it was, "Putit there, partner!" and Keeler placed his clean right hand into thegrimy palm indicated. 

"The drinks are on me, this morning, " said the man, marching him off tothe nearest bar. And Keeler was so much in the humor of the thing thathe was soon telling the story of the Frenchman who took lessons inEnglish from a Kentuckian:

"What do you say in Anglais when one offer you a drink, and you accep'le invite?"

"Don't care if I do, " replied the instructor. 

"Don car fido, " repeated Frenchy. "And what eef you do not accep' leinvite?"

The Kentuckian looked grave, slowly shook his head, and finally answeredin despair:

"You've got me there, Frenchy!"

The Californian laughed heartily--rather too heartily, Keeler thought;and then inquired:

"Going East or West?"

"Westward for me, " replied Keeler; "and you?"

"Well, I reckon I've played my last game of poker in Nevada City. TheEast for me. With a little dust for capital, this country seems rightgood. Why, out there in the Sierras, you know as well as I do, thesoil's too poor to feed lizards. Not much like the blue grass country ofKaintuck. "

"Well, " said Keeler, "if I had made my pile, Maryland would be goodenough for me. As it is, California is all right, barring those samepesky lizards. "

"The boys set too stiff a pace out there, though, " replied the ex-miner. "Why, many a Saturday night I've seen fellows drop into town with ahundred and fifty dollars in dust, and then borrow the money to take thestage out Monday morning. "

"I don't go in for sporting myself, " said Keeler, "so I guess mycharacter won't be ruined. The churches have got started, and they aregiving the saloons a good deal of trouble. "

"By thunder! that reminds me, " quoth the Californian, "this here is aChristian country, and I'm going to join the church, first thing I do. "

"And spin California yarns to a Sunday-School class, " suggested Keeler. "Bet your class will be a large one. "

"I'll do it, by thunder! The very thing! And I'll shoot any lad as getsimpertinent. "

Keeler was clearly out of his element, and thought it time to terminatethe brief acquaintance. 

"John Keeler is my name; and I can swear I've seen you in Nevada City. But you have the best of me. "

"Why, " replied the Californian, as cool as you please, "my name'sDarcy. "

It was the man who had killed Will Cummins! But John Keeler was none thewiser, as Darcy quickly saw. He and Collins had reached Louisvilleundetected. Had there assumed the character of honest miners, shippedtheir bullion by express, a part to New Orleans and a part toPhiladelphia, and were on the point of dissolving partnership. 

Darcy soon afterward assumed the name of Thorn, set up in the lumberbusiness at Union City, Indiana, where it is but a few steps across theborder into Ohio, --and became a prosperous and respected citizen. Heactually associated himself with the leading church of the town and waslooked upon by the young men as a Californian who had succeeded. 

Honest John Keeler, who was well acquainted with the type, as hethought, could only remark, as his train sped westward, "There is asensible miner! One who has safely transferred his money from saloonsand gambling dens and robbers to the famous blue grass country. Goodluck to him!"

He had well-nigh forgotten the incident when Darcy was arrested threeyears later. 

A whole year had passed before Keeler returned home, discouraged. In themeantime, as we shall see, the snows of the Sierras had not chilled thebudding affections of Mat Bailey; but the hot sun of another Californiasummer had stricken down old man Palmer. Keeler mistrusted thatsomething was wrong, as he had not heard from his old friend for severalmonths. Fortunately, his wife and child were well and happy, but theyhad impatiently waited for his return. From them he had heard every weekor two. 

At length he was safely back across the Sierras. The cañon of theAmerican River had never seemed more terrible as the train hovered overthe brink of it. And now they were at Colfax, the junction of the narrowgauge railroad, whence, at nine cents a mile, you travel northward toNevada City. The iron bars on the high, narrow windows of the station, the low whistle of the little engine, like the lonesome cry of a wolf, as it took the high trestle over Bear River, the very bars of dirt inthe river bed far below, proclaimed to John Keeler that he had returnedto the land of robbers and gold mining. 

CHAPTER XI

The Snows of the Sierras

After the heat and turmoil of a day when the children have beenespecially vexing, what mother does not smile in forgiveness upon thepeaceful faces of her offspring, whose characters in sleep appear asspotless as the sheets which cover them? So smiled the sun upon thegrown-up children of the Sierras asleep under the winter snow. After theheat and turmoil of the summer, the mad search for gold was over. Savewhen there was a heavy snowstorm, the Graniteville stage traveled overthe mountains, as usual; but no highwayman molested it. It would havebeen a practical impossibility for a robber to have made off with booty. The snow was light and feathery, and the drifts were often twenty-fivefeet deep. The web-footed snow-shoes of New England could not be usedwith advantage in such snow, so recourse was had to skis. But it wasdifficult to manage these upon the steep trails of the cañons, so thatpeople generally were content to hibernate like grizzlies. Many a miner, glad to indulge his liking of conviviality, would take up his residencein some mountain village for the winter, spending with a liberal handthe precious yellow dust that he had worked so hard to get. Many, forcedto keep the wolf from the door, found work with lumbermen and ditchcompanies. 

In my opinion, Mat Bailey and Dr. Mason had a decided advantage overboth miners and villagers. Like the man-o-war's man of song they enjoyedsteady occupations summer and winter, and spent much of their time inthe open. The cold was never extreme, the thermometer very rarelydropping below zero Fahrenheit. The dust of summer was buried deep underthe gleaming snow, and the air was crisp and exhilarating. Often thedoctor was one of Mat's passengers. Often he would leave the stage wheresome trail wound down into a cañon, and putting on his skis glide awayamong the great pines, which, covered with snow and ornamented withshining icicles, were scattered over the mountain slopes like greatwigwams of white canvas. A doctor anywhere is a welcome visitor and afriend in need; in the wilderness, in the depth of winter he ranks butlittle lower than the angels. Often, coming to a lonely cabin, fairlyburied in snow-drifts, he would climb in through the gable window of theloft; and no doubt his descent to the patient lying below suggested thearrival of a heavenly visitor. 

One glorious winter day Mamie Slocum through Mat's persuasionsaccompanied him from Nevada City to Graniteville. He wanted her to seethe magnificence of the Sierras in winter. Mamie needed little coaxing. Indeed, her admiration for Mat was making her unmindful of very eligiblesuitors. Besides, she enjoyed life in the open almost as much as he did. But I suspect on that beautiful winter morning both enjoyed each other'ssociety even more than the scenery. As far as North Bloomfield, she wasthe only passenger, so well had Mat and the weather bureau contrivedmatters. He explained that he was really in need of her assistance, forin the open places where the snow had drifted across the road, it wasoften necessary to attack the drifts with a snow-shovel. He would thenpass the reins to Mamie, who, demurely perched aloft, rosy-cheeked andmost bewitching, was a picture for an artist. 

No wonder Mat should have grown confidential and talked about hispersonal history--which was usually bad form in California, wherepresent fortune counted for everything and family history was regardedas ancient history. He told her how in boyhood he came to Californiafrom Virginia with his parents. That was back in the fifties, whenrespectable women were so rare in the gold fields that their arrival washailed by the rough miners with a sort of religious fervor. One of Mat'searliest recollections was a scene with emigrant wagon and camp-fire inthe background, and in the foreground his mother, clasping him by thehand and greeting a score of bearded men, who, with hats off, werepaying her homage. 

He could remember, too, how they had come over the mountains throughEmigrant Gap, passing the graves of the Donner party. The tragedy of thesnow-bound emigrants had made a deep impression upon his imagination. Hespoke of it to Mamie, and she rather saucily inquired what he would dowith her if they, too, were caught in a severe snowstorm. 

"In the first place, " said Mat, "I wouldn't let you start out in asnowstorm. And in the second place, if we should get caught, on thereturn trip, we would make for the nearest shelter and stay there tilltraveling was safe again. "

"Oh, dear, what a stupid adventure that would be! There's very littleexcitement in this civilized country. "

Mat laughed. "So this is what you call a civilized country? I don't seeany signs of civilization except this road and the water ditch yonder. "

Mat was quite right. In every direction the frost-king held sway over anunbroken wilderness. The massive ranges of the Sierras, clothed all inwhite, were as majestic and as untamed as when Fremont and Kit Carsongazed down upon them from their snowy summit. To cross that mountainbarrier, ninety-three hundred feet above the level of the sea, wouldrequire as much heroism as ever. The wise old Indians knew better thanto attempt it; and so did the miners. Only a Fremont or a Kit Carsonmight pass over that awful divide in safety, pushing on through the deepdrifts, half their mules and horses dead, and their comrades staggeringwith exhaustion. How absolutely essential was that stage-road, windingover the snow fields!

Soon Mat perceived signs that made him anxious. They would reachGraniteville without mishap. But the return trip to-morrow? A fallingbarometer could not have made him feel more certain of an approachingstorm. He began to question the disinterestedness which had led him toshow Miss Slocum the splendor of the winter landscape. The girl's gaychatter could not drown the voice of his accusing conscience. Fortunately for Mat, at this juncture Dr. Mason came to the rescue likea fairy godfather. 

They picked the doctor up at North Bloomfield. His baggage included notonly his skis and medicine-case but a violin as well. For the doctor wasa musical genius; and it had been his proud achievement to construct hisown instrument, which friends vowed was as excellent as a Stradivarius. Often of a winter evening his music was more sought after than hismedicine. Mamie was delighted. 

"So there's going to be a party to-night, " she exclaimed. Mat promptlyseized the opportunity to secure the lion's share of the dances, andimmediately congratulated himself upon the approach of the storm, hopingit might bring a whole series of parties. 

"Bless you, my children, " said the doctor, "it will be a pleasure tocall off the figures for the likes of you. " The word "eugenics" had notbeen coined as yet, but like all wise physicians the doctor believed inthe idea. It made his heart rejoice to watch the budding affection ofthese normal, healthy young people. And he knew the magic of the violin. And so they waltzed on to their heart's content in the large dining-roomof the hotel at Graniteville. At midnight, the feathery snow began tofall, insuring several other blissful nights. Between dances they lookedout of doors and windows; when the drifts buried the whole first storyof the hotel, the warmth of that great bare room seemed even moregenial. 

 "The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men-- Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell. "

When refreshments were served, so pleased was the doctor with his youngfriends' pleasure, that he drew them aside to tell them a bit of hisfamily history. 

"My family, " said the doctor, "lived for many generations in Ayrshire, Scotland, neighbors to the family of Robert Burns. And, like the poet'speople, they were very poor. No wonder! The poor man has no chance inthe old country. Years ago an ancestor of mine leased a tract ofworthless swamp land for forty-nine years at a penny an acre per year. By hard labor and perseverance he drained the land and made itproductive. So when the forty-nine years were up and the family soughtan extension of the lease, the rent went up to one pound an acre. Thiswas pretty hard; but by frugality and perseverance the family stillprospered. At the end of the second forty-nine years the rent demandedwas five pounds an acre. Think of it--twenty-five dollars a year! Thatwas too much to endure, so my father, then a young blacksmith, was sentover to Canada to buy land. He bought three farms of a hundred acreseach, one for himself, one for his brother, and one for their father, paying four dollars an acre. Here again the rich man had the upper hand. For this same land had been sold by the British Government tocapitalists for twenty-five cents an acre. Of course, my people had nomoney to pay cash down, but they quit Scotland nevertheless. They cameover in 1832, in a small sailing vessel, which took four weeks to makethe passage. Then came another struggle. The land was very productive, but money was scarce and crops brought hardly anything. But at least theMason family had enough to eat. Finally, after many years, the mortgageswere paid off, and the family established. "

The doctor paused, and Mat thought he saw a reason for Scotch grit. Hecontrasted such a history with the get-rich-quick methods of California!

"America, " continued the doctor, "is the land of opportunity. With goodhealth and industry the poor man can succeed. " And he looked at Matsignificantly. 

CHAPTER XII

The Golden Summer Comes Again

The golden summer had come again. To old man Palmer, living alone on thetop of Fillmore Hill, the great snow banks stored high upon themountains meant abundance of water for mining. The strange flowers ofCalifornia, yellow and red, grown familiar now after many years, madetheir appeal to him. With the returning summer he welcomed the yellowbird with red crown and black wings. He loved the exhilarating air andthe glorious sunshine. But I am afraid the golden glow of morningsuggested gold. 

He was cleaning up several square rods of bed-rock in the ancient riverbed on the hill-top, and the dirt was rich in gold. Every morning early, leaving his breakfast dishes unwashed, he carefully shoveled this dirtinto his sluices, and watched the water carry mud and sand away. Once ina while he would shut off the water to examine the rich amalgam at eachcleat across the trough, removing that which was saturated with gold andreplacing it with fresh mercury. This clean-up was going to beespecially good, and he was glad to be alone. 

Treasure like this would tempt his lawless neighbors. He wanted no suchrogues round as they had at Angels Camp, Calaveras County, where, according to his last copy of "The California Democrat, " the post-officehad been robbed of a thousand dollars, including one hundred dollars'worth of postage stamps. Postage stamps! He laughed to think to whatstraits thieves had come in Calaveras County. 

Then he thought of his own hard-earned treasures, safely locked up inthe Hibernia Bank of San Francisco and with D. O. Mills of Sacramento. Some day kindred back in Connecticut would have cause to praise hisfrugality and self-denial. Sometimes he thought of his blasted romanceand of the poor woman in San Francisco who scrubbed floors for an honestliving. Ah, well, life is hard. His own years of toil were nearly over, as he knew by unmistakable signs. Perhaps this rich clean-up would behis last. And so it was; though nearly two years elapsed before amerciful Providence released the old man from this world where thievesbreak through and steal the fruits of our labors. 

The Woolsey boys, young men now, with the strength of the hills in boneand muscle, were the old man's chief reliance. They could see that hewas failing, and felt sincerely sorry. They noted with what grimdetermination he stuck to his work. The tenacity inherited from ahundred generations of strong men, farmers, sea-kings, warriors, nervedhis old arms and kept strong the will within him. 

One day about the first of August, in the early afternoon when the sunis hottest, they found the old man within doors, washing dishes. 

"Sit down, Mr. Palmer, " said John, the older of the boys, "and we willdo the dishes for you. "

"Well, boys, go ahead. I know what famous pot-wrastlers ye be. I can'tcompete with you. " And he gladly sat down, to examine a legal documentthe boys had brought him. For one Dupre, who had a rough farm at thebottom of the cañon and sold the old man vegetables, had sued him fordamages, because the dirt washed down from Palmer's diggings had coveredup a few square rods of grass land. The damage was slight, but theFrenchman was thrifty, and had sued for a round sum. Palmer was quitewilling to pay actual damages, but he had refused to be robbed. Acompromise had finally been made, and Dupre agreed to withdraw his suitupon the payment of fifty dollars. To this contract the old man nowaffixed his signature, in a very shaky hand. 

"There, I'm glad that's settled, " said he. And a moment later he hadfallen out of his chair upon the floor. 

Miner's paralysis! Even the Woolsey boys knew the symptoms. They liftedthe old man up and put him on his bed, gave him whiskey, and thenconsulted as to their next duty. They could not leave him there aloneupon the mountain-top; nor was it an easy matter to descend to thebottom of the cañon for help. 

"You stay here, Charley, " said John, "and I'll go for Dr. Mason. "

"That won't do, Jack. It will be five o'clock before you can cross thecañon, and dark by the time you reach North Bloomfield. Alleghany Cityis the place to strike for. Get Dr. Lefevre over there. They say he cancure paralysis if any man can. "

"It's no easy trip to Alleghany, either, " said John thoughtfully. "Thecañon of Wolf Creek is as bad as the cañon of the Middle Yuba. Andthere's Kanaka Creek beyond. "

"Then again, whichever way you go, " responded his brother, "you ain'tsure of finding the doctor. Better take the old man with us and make forAlleghany, I guess. "

This seemed the most feasible plan. So they saddled Palmer's sure-footedhorse, put his sick master into the saddle, and started down the trailacross the cañon of Wolf Creek. It was a long, hard trip. To the Woolseyboys, holding and steadying the old man, the cañon had never seemed sodeep. At last they reached the Plumbago Mine, on the opposite height, where they borrowed two mules to carry them the rest of the way. It waseasy going now as far as Chipp's Flat. Late in the evening they climbedthe steep trail from Kanaka Creek to Alleghany City, took their chargeto the hotel, and hunted up Dr. Lefevre. 

So began a long, hard sickness, the first serious sickness Robert Palmerhad suffered since his arrival in the gold fields. For days he layhelpless. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to take notice of hissurroundings, he begged to be moved from the noisy hotel, with itssickening smells, to the cabin of an old friend named Lee, who livedsome distance from the main street. 

There are not more than half a dozen streets in Alleghany City, theprincipal one being the road along the mountain-side, which, leaving thevillage, climbs up over an ancient stream of lava, and crossing thesummit of the mountain plunges down to Forest City. Dr. Lefevre was theonly doctor in the two "cities, " and spent much of his time crossing thehigh ridge that separates the two. He often wished that the miners, inpursuit of gold-bearing gravel, had dug a passage-way through the ridge, as they had done on the opposite side of Kanaka Creek, where there was atunnel from Chipp's Flat to Minnesota. But on this side of the creekthey mined for quartz. However, the miners were good patients, and someday the doctor hoped to return to France with the gold his skill hadearned him. 

With a Frenchman's zeal for science and thoroughness, he was a mostexcellent physician. By the first of October, Robert Palmer was cured. To the doctor it seemed almost a miracle; and he cautioned the old minerkindly:

"Mr. Palmer, one can never tell about this malady. To-day you are well, thanks to your remarkable constitution and a Frenchman's art. Nextmonth, perhaps"--and he shrugged his shoulders. 

"If you have any business matters to settle, monsieur, any affair of theheart, any will to make, you had better attend to such things while thegood Lord gives you strength. "

Robert Palmer heeded this advice; and so, a few days after, when he hadreturned to his house on Fillmore Hill, he wrote the followingremarkable document:

 "Fillmore Hill, Oct. 12, 1880. 

 "I, Robert Palmer, the undersigned, of sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament. After my death it is my will that after all just, honest debts and expenses are paid, if there is any property left that it shall be divided equally between my nieces and nephews: that is, each one shall receive an equal share; and it is also my will that should a majority of my nieces believe money or other property placed in the hands of any of their number would not be used properly the others shall hold such money or property and pay it to the owner at such times and in such amounts as they may think best: and it is also my will that the same plan shall be adopted and carried out with regard to my nephews as I have named above for my nieces, except my nephews shall hold the property. 

 "Now then be it known that I hereby appoint as my administrators or executors, to execute and carry out the above my will, the following named persons, (to wit), John Hintzen of Forest City, Sierra County; John Haggerty of Moore's Flat, Nevada County, and Henry Francis of Moore's Flat, Nevada County: also James B. Francis of Reedsville, Mifflin County, Pennsylvania; to act without bonds, and also to act without the interference of any court of law or any Public Administrator whatever; to act at all times and under all circumstances to the best of their judgment in settling my affairs: if they have patience they may hear any pleas my relations have to offer, but I wish them in the end to stand firm and resolute on their own judgment, and take time to settle the concern whether it need one year or twenty years. 

 "And furthermore it is my will that if the above named persons cannot act conveniently then if two or more act they shall have the same power as if all acted; but if only two act they shall both agree on all the matters, but if more act then the majority may rule. 

 "Robert Palmer. " Oct. 12, 1880. 

Only one who knows the spirit of early California can understand thisdocument. Its beginning is modest: "if there is any property left. " Whatamount was the old man about to distribute? He was too cautious tomention it; and when his friend John Hintzen of Forest City, in whosesafe the will was deposited, wrote asking for a list of the property, the old man parried the question. 

Another curious feature of this document is that the old man chose twoexecutors. He did not care to trust any one friend too far, apparently. 

Robert Palmer, Democrat, paid his respects to courts and lawyers. Hisexecutors were "to act without bonds, and also to act withoutinterference of any court of law or any Public Administrator whatever. "He might better have trusted the courts, as we shall see, for hisfriends failed him. After thirty years the executors all died; and tothis day the will of Robert Palmer is an unsolved mystery. 

CHAPTER XIII

The End of the Trail

 The gold that with the sunlight lies In bursting heaps at dawn, The silver spilling from the skies At night to walk upon, The diamonds gleaming in the dew He never saw, he never knew. 

 He got some gold, dug from the mud, Some silver, crushed from stones, The gold was red with dead men's blood, The silver black with groans; And when he died he moaned aloud, "There'll be no pocket in my shroud. "

 Joaquin Miller. 

John Keeler, returned from his travels, became Palmer's trustedmessenger to Hintzen, to whom the old man sent a copy of his will. Keeler was provided with another copy to deposit at the court-house inDownieville, county seat of Sierra County. For although Robert Palmerdisliked courts and lawyers, he deemed it wise to file a copy of hiswill at the court-house. This he could do without telling Hintzen, so heinstructed Keeler, after having seen that gentleman at Forest City, tocontinue over the mountains to Downieville, as if on private business. 

Honest John Keeler, after a year spent in tracking criminals, had littleliking for this new mission. It seemed as if his old friend thought allmen rogues. Such a sweeping condemnation would include himself, and heresented the insinuation. However, the old man was still feeble. SoKeeler set out on foot across the mountains. 

It had been some time since he had been as far as Chipp's Flat. There hesought out the old cannon, long since dismounted, and sitting down uponit he thought of the changes wrought in that neighborhood within hisrecollection. In Civil War times, eighteen years before, miners ofChipp's Flat and vicinity had enlisted in the Union Army. There had beena full company of a hundred men, and the cannon had been a part of theirequipment. But the cannon had not left that California mountain-side;and the soldiers themselves had got no further East than Arizona, for inthose days there was no transcontinental railroad. Now that there wasone, Chipp's Flat had no need of it. Save for two or three scatteredhouses the mining town had disappeared. The mountain ridge had beenmined through from Minnesota, and now that the gold-bearing gravel hadbeen exhausted, Chipp's Flat, except in name, had gone out of existence. 

The next thing of interest was the dirty blue water of Kanaka Creek, andthe clatter of the stamping mills on the other side of it; for Keelerwas not much used to quartz mining. The name "quartz mining" seemedmisleading, for the wash from the crushed rock was distinctly blue. Itwas evident that these quartz mines were paying well, as Alleghany hadevery appearance of a live mining town. Keeler stopped at the hotelthere for dinner. It seemed strange that intelligent men should so losetheir heads. Great quantities of liquor were being consumed at the hotelbar, poker games were in full blast, and there was a cemetery handy. 

Keeler was glad to leave Alleghany to climb over the mountain ridge toForest City. Now to the eastward the lofty peaks of the Sierras hoveinto view, dwarfing the mountain ridges of the gold fields. He paused toinspect the ancient stream of lava which crossed his path, andconsidered once more those convulsions of the earth which had thrown theancient river beds to the hill-tops, and of which California earthquakesare a constant reminder. 

Arrived at the summit of the ridge, he looked down upon Forest City, astraggling village in a barren valley denuded of forests. Church, school, and cemetery gave the place an air of permanence; but some dayit might disappear, like Chipp's Flat. It lay almost beneath him, sosteep was the road down the mountain. Beyond, up the bare valley of amountain stream, lay the trail to Downieville, nine miles away. Hismission to Hintzen performed, he would spend the night at Forest City, and push on to Downieville the next morning. 

Hintzen kept the general store at Forest City, a business more certainand profitable than gold-mining; and having a reputation for stricthonesty, he had become a sort of agent and business manager for theminers. He was one of the few men Robert Palmer trusted; therefore hereceived the document from Keeler's hand without surprise. But he couldnot repress a smile at the testator's extreme caution and resolvedforthwith to ask for a list of his friend's securities. 

"How is the old man now?" he asked. 

"Mr. Palmer has had a close call, " replied Keeler. "But he is good for acouple of years yet, I reckon. "

"Sit down, Keeler, while I write him a note. You'll find a whiskey toddyup there at the end of the counter. --Beg your pardon. Forgot yourtemperance principles. There's fresh spring water in that bucket. "

Next morning Keeler pushed on up the ascending valley of the mountaintorrent. The horns of a wild sheep by the wayside reminded him ofearlier days when game was plentiful. The only wild creatures along thetrail to-day were rattlesnakes. With these he was well acquainted. Butit did give him a start to find one twined about a branch of a bush. 

An hour's steady climbing brought him to the top of the watershedbetween the North and the Middle Yuba. Here a scene of wild grandeur laybefore him. Bare crags on either hand guarded the pass over the divide. Immediately in front lay a whole system of deep cañons, clothed withprimeval forests, wild and forbidding. Beyond towered a chain of rough, bare mountain peaks. Keeler paused to wonder anew at the vastness of theSierras. 

Then he plunged down from the ridge and was soon traversing one of themost lonesome and gloomy trails in all the mountains. The tree trunkswere covered with yellowish green moss. In one place stood a pine stumpfifty feet high with the upper hundred feet of the tree thrust into theearth beside it. At another place a huge log blocked the trail. Then hecrossed a brook and was among chaparral and manzanita bushes. Then hewas among the pines again, listening to their voices, for a breeze wasblowing up the cañon. Now he came to a spooky region which had beenswept by fire, with bare tree trunks, broken and going to decay, standing like ghosts of the forest. Beyond was a clump of young firswith gray stems, so straight and perfect as to be almost uncanny. Or wasit the traveler's overwrought imagination?

Now the trail turned at right angles along the steep side of a cañon, and he heard the music of the mountain torrent far below. Half a milefurther on, where the trail crossed the brook at the head of the cañon, it doubled back on itself along the other side. The traveler refreshedhimself at a mossy spring by the side of the trail, then, as he emergedfrom the cañon at a sudden turn, Downieville appeared. It lay far belowhim, at the forks of the North Yuba. How musically the roar of the rivercame up through the autumn stillness! Sign boards pointing to the RubyMine, and to the City of Six, prepare the traveler for the discovery ofsome settlement in the wilderness. But he is hardly prepared for such abeautiful and welcome sight. Here, tucked away among the mountains astidily as some Eastern village, lies the county seat of Sierra County. But this is California and not Maryland, for yonder comes a mountaineerup the trail with his pack horses. 

Keeler lost no time in descending and transacting his business at thecourt-house. But after his lonesome walk over the mountains something hesaw here appealed to his imagination. It was a human skull, which hadbelonged to a murderer. The murdered man was a Frenchman, killed for hismoney. This was Keeler's first visit to Downieville since the crime, andas he had known the Frenchman he determined to visit his grave. 

The cemetery is up the river beyond the edge of the town; and here, inmore senses than one, a traveler finds the end of the trail. Men andwomen whose life journey had begun in New England, Old England, Wales, Ireland, France, Denmark, or Russia, had here come to their journey'send. 

At the cemetery gate, fastened by a wire, was the quaint sign:

 "NOTICE PLEASE PUT THIS WIRE ON AGIN TO KEEP IT SHUT. "

A beautiful clear mountain stream flows along one side of the ground andpours into the river below. A lone pine chants requiems over the dead;and yellow poppies with red hearts spring out of the graves. Many of theheadstones are boards, naturally; and one poor fellow, whose estate atdeath was probably a minus quantity, is commemorated by a strip of tinwith his name pricked into it. There is a fair proportion of pretentiousmonuments, which were drawn by ten-horse teams from some distantrailroad station. 

Marked by such a monument was the grave which Keeler sought. Thesymbolism was striking, --a broken column, an angel holding out an olivebranch, and Father Time. And this was the verse of Scripture carved instone:

 "Man walketh in a vain shadow: he heapeth up riches and cannot tell who shall gather them. "

Forgetting the murdered Frenchman in the forcefulness of the text, Keeler wondered if Robert Palmer's journey, too, would end like this. 

CHAPTER XIV

Golden Opportunities

In California Opportunity knocked at every gate--not once but manytimes. It returned again and again, most persistently, and intrudedalike on men awake and feasting, or asleep and dreaming. John Keeler hadhardly spent an hour in Downieville before he had met a GoldenOpportunity. On approaching the town he had passed several short tunnelsdug into the hillside, and at the court-house he met the owners of oneof these tunnels. Smith came from Ohio, --he had for many years been ateacher, and was a member of the Grand Army of the Republic. Hispartner, whom he introduced as a Confederate veteran, was a Virginian. As partners, the blue and the gray were almost irresistible. Threehundred dollars invested in their shaft would mean a rich strike. 

But other Opportunities had left Keeler rich in experience and short ofcash. He could not use Robert Palmer's money as his own; so he couldonly smile, rather sadly, and wish his new friends success. How many ofhis acquaintances had invested good money in a hole in the ground! Eventhe most prudent, in some unguarded moment, had parted with thousands ofdollars, like the dog in the fable which dropped the real bone to seizethe shadow. There was Mack, proprietor of the hotel at Graniteville, making lots of money at his business and losing it all in miningventures. Only the other day Mack had remarked that if his savings hadbeen allowed to accumulate in some good bank he would now be worth somefifty thousand dollars. As it was, he was as poor as his humblest guest. Even Dr. Mason, canny Scot though he was, could not forget the sight ofninety thousand dollars' worth of gold bullion he had once seen piled upat North Bloomfield, and so was persuaded to gamble with his earnings. He had lost as much as Mack. How rosy is the rainbow, and how evanescentthe pot of gold at the end of it! California had swallowed up morewealth than its gold could ever repay, as Keeler well knew. It was onlyoccasionally that some lucky devil, or some prudent, saving man likeRobert Palmer, after thirty years in the gold fields, had anything toshow for it. 

So Keeler, pondering the deceitfulness of riches, sadly made his wayback across the mountains. Even then Fate was weaving her web about hisold friend Palmer, who was soon to lie in a pauper's grave. Francisseized a Golden Opportunity. 

Francis had so far prospered that he had moved to San Francisco. In thecity he could watch the stock market, as he told himself privately. Tohis friends he announced that failing health demanded the change, albeitthe exhilarating air of the Sierras was far more beneficial than thedampness of the sea coast. But Francis, inheriting ten thousand dollarsfrom one of his deceased brothers, had moved to San Francisco, takingwith him sundry hundreds and thousands of dollars, entrusted to him byhis Pennsylvania friends for investment. Everybody had faith in theintegrity of Henry Francis. 

The next summer, when the blue-bells were in blossom at Grass Valley, hepassed through that prosperous mining town on the narrow gauge bound forNevada City and Moore's Flat. This was the summer of 1881, nearly twoyears after the murder of Cummins. A still, small voice accused him ofsomething akin to highway robbery; and it gave his conscience a twingeto pass the well-known stump which had concealed the robbers. It was badenough that the robbers were still at large, a fact that reflected uponhim. "Bed-bug Brown's" mission had proved a fiasco. But the thing thatreally worried Francis was his own mission and not the fruitless one ofBrown's. If his own proved fruitless his conscience might be bettersatisfied. 

But business is business, and the day was fine. Francis was a gentlemanand something of a scholar. His face showed refinement, and his handswere as soft as a gambler's. He was fairly well read, and he could havetold you, when the stage crossed the South Yuba, that "_Uvas_" isSpanish for "grapes, " and that the name "Yuba" is a curious Englishabbreviation of "Rio Las Uvas. "

When next day he crossed the foot-bridge over the Middle Yuba, where ittears along in its deep, wild cañon below Moore's Flat, he was lessinterested in Spanish or in the grandeur of the scenery than he was inreaching Robert Palmer's. He had not hired a horse at Moore's Flat, asthe livery man might be curious; so he had sauntered along through thevillage, greeting old friends and chatting with them now and then untilconsiderable time had been consumed, but he knew that the old man wouldput him up for the night. 

It was late in the afternoon before he reached the top of Fillmore Hill. Old man Palmer, much broken in health, as Francis remarked with a degreeof inward exultation immediately reproved by his conscience, greeted himaffectionately. 

"Well, Henry, I almost thought you had forgotten me. But, of course, Iknew better. "

"You must remember, Mr. Palmer, that it is quite a ways up here from thecity. The narrow gauge from Colfax is little better than a stage coach. It means a trip of fifty miles into the mountains to get here. "

"Well, I'm mighty glad you've come. As soon as you've rested a bit, Iwant to talk business. "

Francis argued with his conscience that the old man had invited him. Howcould he have refused to answer the summons? Palmer ushered him into thehouse, where, seated comfortably in the kitchen and welcomed by dog andcat, he partook of the old man's hospitality. Palmer was evidently muchwrought up; and, as soon as his guest had rested a little, proceeded tobusiness. 

"You got my letter?"

"Yes, Mr. Palmer. "

"Hintzen has informed you that I've named you as one of my executors?"

"Yes. "

"And you will be willing to act, I hope?"

"Well, Mr. Palmer, I hope that won't be necessary for many years tocome. "

"The Lord only knows how long I have to live. It was rather hard for mehere last winter. But I guess the mountain air was good for me. However, I'm going to spend next winter at Sherwood's. The Woolsey boys saythey'll take good care of me; and I'm going to deed them my claim. "

"Better come to San Francisco. I saw a friend of yours down there theother day, a Mrs. Somers, who always inquires about you. "

"And how is she getting along these days, Francis?"

"She appears to be well. Says hard work agrees with her. "

"Glad to hear good news of her. She writes me occasionally. Remember meto her when you see her. "

"Then you don't think you'll go below with me?" ("Going below" was localparlance for going to San Francisco. )

"No. I'd feel like a fish out of water in that big city. I'll becomfortable at the Sherwood's. I'll have to depend upon you to send mesome money occasionally. "

"Hintzen writes me that he has your will locked up in his safe. Isuppose you have given him a list of your property?"

"He has written me asking for a list; but I'm not going to give himany. " If the old man had not trusted Francis so implicitly he might havenoticed an expression of relief light up that gentleman's dark eyes. 

"So I handle your funds, and Hintzen holds your will, " smiled Francis. "Do you think that is fair to either of us?"

"Oh, as for the will, I've kept a copy, which you may as well look at. "And he fetched the document. 

Francis read it over very carefully; and then looked up with anexpression of undisguised satisfaction. 

"I'm glad you put it that way, " he said. "You leave it to us to act inaccordance with our best judgment, whether it takes one year or twentyyears. That leaves us free to dispose of securities to the bestadvantage, and not sacrifice them in a falling market. "

"Yes, I was thinking of that investment you advised me to make a yearago. "

Francis winced a little; for the old man probably knew how low a certainstock had fallen. 

"I see you've named my brother back in Pennsylvania as one of theexecutors. "

"Yes; as most of my heirs live in the East, I thought your brother couldhunt them up, and let you do business through him. "

"That is a good idea. But don't you think Hintzen and Haggerty ought tohave a list of your property? If you should die, and they found onexamining your books and papers that you had trusted me but not them, why, naturally, they would feel hurt. "

"Well, Haggerty's an Irishman, and Hintzen's a Dutchman. You are anAmerican like myself, and, what's more, a Democrat after my own heart. Iwant you to hold the funds. "

"If you feel that way, I wish you wouldn't tell anybody. For if theyknew I had money belonging to you people would suspect me of helpingmyself to it. "

Francis had been rehearsing this speech for several days; but was nowrather surprised that he had the nerve to utter it. But the old mantrusted him. Was not Francis almost a son to him?

If he had been, he could not have inherited the old man's property moresurely. He stayed over night on Fillmore Hill; and when he departed nextmorning, he took with him bank books and securities and a letter toPalmer's banker which made Francis the custodian of all his money. Heeven took a small chamois skin bag filled with gold nuggets which theold man had saved. And he left behind at the house on Fillmore Hill nota receipt or a paper of any kind that would indicate that Palmer everhad had any money. They had burned all such tell-tale records; and HenryFrancis felt that he was guilty of something baser than highway robbery. Yet, if the stock market should take an upward turn, all might be well. 

CHAPTER XV

Three Graves by the Middle Yuba

 Gaily bedight A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. 

 But he grew old-- This knight so bold-- And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. 

 And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow-- "Shadow, " said he, "Where can it be-- This land of Eldorado?"

 "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride, " The shade replied, "If you seek for Eldorado!"

 Edgar Allan Poe. 

Robert Palmer's diggings on Fillmore Hill are still plainly seen fromthe stage road on the other side of the cañon of the Middle Yuba; but hewho has the hardihood to cross the cañon will find the mine worked out, the water-ditch dry, and the old man's house pulled down. The basementof the house still affords shelter to adventurers who come to dig forPalmer's hidden treasure. There is no other treasure on that barrenhill-top, for the Woolsey boys, to whom the old man deeded his mine, worked out the paying gravel long ago. 

At the bottom of the cañon, and just across the cold, rushing river, isa clump of rose bushes, which mark the spot where the Woolsey brotherslived with their mother and old Sherwood, their step-father. Beyond therose bushes, in the edge of a meadow, are three lonely graves, coveredby the branches of alders, unmarked save for flat field stones, andunknown except to a few ranchmen who drive their cattle up the river forsummer pasturage. The first burial was that of one "Scotty, " a ranchman. In 1915 there was living at the Soldiers' Home in the Napa Valley anoctogenarian, last surviving member of the Keystone Club, who had helpedto dig Scotty's grave. In the middle grave by the Middle Yuba lies thebody of Robert Palmer. The third grave is that of Sherwood. No doubtthese Californians rest as peacefully as those whose mortal remains havebeen gathered into the cemetery at Downieville. Mother Earth hasreceived her children back into her bosom, and day and night the riverchants their requiem. 

In September, ten weeks after Henry Francis's visit, Palmer put hishouse in order, and with Sammy, the cat and his dog Bruce, soughtprotection at Sherwood's. For Sherwood he had little respect; and hethought Mrs. Sherwood a silly woman to have brought her boys to such ahome. But the boys were now grown men, friendly, generous, and strong. The old man had no better neighbors. 

He insisted, proud and independent to the last, that he should provisionthe family for the winter. So he drew on Hintzen, who packed in anabundance of good things from Forest City. Every night the old man satby the stove. He liked to stroke Sammy's sleek coat and listen to thecat's affectionate purring. He liked to tell how his dog Bruce had savedhis life. For it seems Palmer had once started off for Forest City bynight, was stricken with a paralytic shock, and, falling unconscious inthe woods, was finally rescued by neighbors who had heard the dog'sinsistent barking. 

When the snow was deep in the cañon, and the supply of provisions wasgetting low, the old man ordered more from Hintzen. He recalled theseverity of New England winters, and talked of the friends of his youth. He began to plan a trip East in the coming summer, directed John Woolseyto inquire as to the expense of such a trip, and proposed to employ himas a traveling companion. And feeling the need of some money, he badeMrs. Sherwood write a letter for him to Francis, signing it with hismark. 

For some unaccountable reason Francis made no answer, and the old manseemed much disturbed. Other letters were dispatched. Still no answer. After long waiting a letter in a feminine hand, postmarked "SanFrancisco, " and addressed to "Rob't Palmer, Moore's Flat, " found its waythrough the snow-drifts to Sherwood's ranch. It was from Harriet Somers. But no letter came from Francis. 

Finally Sherwood suggested a registered letter. In a few days a receiptcame back, followed by a letter in which Francis explained that he hadjust returned from a trip to Honolulu for his health, and that he hopedwhen he was better to go up into the mountains to see Mr. Palmer. 

But the old man's strength was failing, and worry over Francis hadresulted in another paralytic shock. Dr. Mason was summoned, and madehis way into the cañon on skis. He found the patient in bad condition, suffering from miner's paralysis in its worst form. Still, the old manrallied, affixed his mark in lieu of signature to a letter orderingmedicines and other necessaries from Hintzen, and forbade the writing ofalarming letters to his relatives. He hoped to weather the storm againas he had done under Dr. Lefevre's treatment. 

But patient and nurses had their premonitions. He would call out indistress, "Mrs. Sherwood, please help my hand, " and she, taking thestiffened fingers in hers, would soothe him so. He came more and more todepend upon her. Told her he trusted she would do whatever was needful;and, sure sign of the coming end, spoke of his relatives in the East. Save for the astronomer nephew, he had seen none of them for more thanthirty years; but his heart went out in tenderness towards them. Hespoke of his brothers and sisters and their promising children. Weeping, he told of his beloved mother, who died when he was a boy of seven yearsand left him heart-broken. 

He talked about making legal provision for pet cat and dog, which didnot forsake him in his weakness. Mrs. Sherwood, remarking upon suchextravagance, asked:

"You have considerable means, Mr. Palmer?" And he, grown less secretiveunder her patient nursing, replied:

"Why, yes, I have considerable money. "

The days went by, and he got no better. But his mind was clear; and heresolved before it was too late to reward his benefactors. So a justiceof the peace was summoned, and a deed of the old man's claim on FillmoreHill was drawn up, making the property over to the Woolsey brothers. Without hesitation he described his boundaries in legal fashion; and hesigned the deed with his mark, before witnesses. Furthermore, he toldthe boys where they would be likely to find rich gravel; and theyafterward had cause to praise the old man's judgment. 

He became as gentle as a woman. Indeed, Mrs. Sherwood, who had hung upsome of his family portraits about his bed, remarked that in hissickness he very much resembled the astronomer's mother, his sister. Hecomforted his friends, and told them his wishes in case he was "caughtin a worse snap, " as he put it. 

About this time he was stricken with blindness. Mrs. Sherwood was muchaffected. She took down her Bible and read to him. And she read thebeautiful litanies of the Episcopal prayer-book. With her boys she kneltin prayer by his bedside. The blind eyes moistened; for the strong man'sheart and brain still served him well. 

Only a few days before the end, when the whole body was apparentlyparalyzed, Dr. Mason inquired if there was any business which he wishedattended to, and Robert Palmer replied:

"My affairs are settled; and, Doctor, you will be paid for yourservices. "

The last day of April had arrived; but the snow banks were still deep inthe cañon. Nothing further had been heard from Henry Francis, but theold man at last seemed reconciled. Perhaps Francis was not well enoughto come through the snow. It was Sunday, and at midnight came the fatalstroke. He did not regain consciousness, and died peacefully on Tuesdayafternoon, May 2, 1882. 

Then strange things happened. Hintzen, a large, heavy man, unused toexercise, appeared on snow-shoes at Sherwood's house and asked if Mr. Palmer had said anything about his property. No! And though the dead manlay within, he turned away and immediately put back to Forest City. Henry Francis was notified. But Henry Francis did not make hisappearance. And the snow drifts being deep, Robert Palmer was buried bythe side of Scotty, like a pauper. 

No, not like a pauper; for there was still twenty-nine dollars standingto his credit at Hintzen's. And this sum defrayed his funeral expenses. Out of rough planks, lying about to mend sluices, the Woolsey boysframed a coffin, for which they procured handles at a neighboringvillage. And Mrs. Sherwood, faithful nurse and spiritual adviser, laidthe old man out in his best clothes. The rugged face showed no look ofannoyance. After thirty-three years of honest striving the oldForty-niner slept the sleep of the just. 

The doctor's bill remained unpaid, a circumstance which would haveannoyed Robert Palmer exceedingly, were he further concerned with theaffairs of this world. It would appear that Henry Francis deemed it goodpolicy to assume no obligations. So for thirty-three years that honestdebt remained unpaid; while in the meantime Francis, Hintzen andHaggerty became wealthy, lost their money, and passed on to theirreward. The doctor, long since removed from North Bloomfield, thieves, and murderers, was finally paid by Palmers of a later generation. 

CHAPTER XVI

When Thieves Fall Out

When news of Robert Palmer's death reached his relatives, pity for hislonesome life of self-denial was swallowed up by pleasant anticipations. But weeks and months passed by with no word of encouragement from hisexecutors. Finally, Mrs. Sherwood, thinking the heirs were beingdefrauded, wrote East urging that some member of the Palmer family visitCalifornia. So the astronomer nephew, at considerable expense tohimself, was delegated to cross the continent. At the end of August hefound himself in the Sierras once more. On horseback he visitedSherwood's ranch, and his uncle's house on Fillmore Hill, ran thegauntlet of rogues at Alleghany, and passed on over the mountains toForest City and Downieville. It was a glorious outing, in spite of thedust. How brightly the stars shone down on the Sierras! But the furtherhe investigated the deeper grew the mystery. Dr. Mason told the story ofthe sixty thousand dollars loaned by Robert Palmer to the water company. But the three California executors, reputed honest men, assured thenephew there was no money to be found. Bankers in Sacramento and SanFrancisco were polite but disappointing. All the astronomer brought homewas Mat Bailey's story of the murder of Cummins, a copy of RobertPalmer's will procured at Downieville, and a problem which defied hishigher mathematics. "Set a thief to catch a thief;" the astronomer wasan honest man. 

A few months after his return from California, the tangled web of myyarn began to unravel. Mat Bailey had reported that nothing had beenheard of the highwaymen "from that day to this. " But John Keeler's workhad not been done in vain. O'Leary of You Bet, the Nevada Cityjail-bird, had been duly impressed with the handsome reward offered forthe apprehension of the murderers. So every time he met an oldacquaintance he talked about the murder of Will Cummins. It was a simplemethod of procedure, and it did not prove immediately successful. As itwas about as easy to be a vagabond in one locality as in another, hedrifted from place to place--first to Sacramento, then to San Francisco, then over the Sierras to the mining camps of Nevada, then through Utahand Wyoming, till at last he found himself in jail in St. Louis. 

There, three years after the murder, he found his old pal J. C. P. Collins--but how changed! Could that coarse and bloated countenancebelong to the fastidious and pleasure-loving Collins?

"Well, Collins, I hardly knew you. How does the grub here compare withwhat we used to get at Carter's boarding-house?" O'Leary referred to thejail at Nevada City. 

"This must be your first week in St. Louis, " replied Collins, "if youhaven't put up at this hotel before. Been caught stealing again, Isuppose?"

"That's me. Only the matter of a lady's purse that was of no use toher. "

"Well, women are the cause of all my trouble. They drag a man down worsethan drink. They are a bad lot, are women. "

"Why, you're a regular preacher, ain't you? You used to be a ladies'man. "

"That was in California. "

"How's the wild and woolly?" asked Collins, presently, looking his oldpal over contemptuously. 

"Oh, I know I ain't stylish like you Eastern dudes. I'm a honest miner, I am. And I don't wear boiled shirts like you. "

"You're honest, all right. We'll leave that to Sheriff Carter. Rememberhow he caught you stealing that Chinaman's dust? I can see thatChinaman's sign now: 'Heekee & Co. , Gold Dust Bought. ' By the way, what's become of my old flame back there?"

"Oh, a lady? I don't remember no ladies that was acquainted with gentslike us. "

"I don't reckon you know the girl I mean. She wasn't in your class, that's a fact. "

"Maybe I can tell you if you'll just say her name. "

"Well, I'm inquiring after Miss Mamie Slocum, the sweetest little girlin Nevada City. "

"You're joking, sure. That girl never had any use for the likes of you. Mat Bailey would knock your head off if he heard you breathe her name. "

"Insult me as much as you like. 'No fighting' is the rules of thishotel. I asked you, how is that little girl? Sweet on Mat Bailey, isshe? Well, I'm glad of it. "

"Yes; she and Mat have been good friends ever since Will Cummins waskilled. "

"So? How's that?"

"Why, you know she came down on the stage that day, and saw it all. Somesay she knew the robbers and helped them find Cummins' bullion. I guessMat was in the deal, too. Anyhow, she and Mat have been good friendsever since, as I tell you. "

"Now look here, O'Leary, you're dead wrong. That girl is as innocent asyou are. "

"Sure! The judge just sent me up for snatching a purse, you know. "

"I tell you that girl knew nothing about the hold-up. "

"It must have happened after you left California, or you wouldn't be sosure. I'll tell you about it. Stage comes down from Moore's Flat. MamieSlocum talks and laughs with Will Cummins. Sees where he stows his oldleather grip. Sings out to the robbers, 'That's Mr. Cummins' valiseunder the seat there. '"

"That's a lie, and you are a fool to believe it!"

"I'm telling you the facts. "

"The facts! Why, man, wasn't I there? And don't I know just whathappened?"

Astonished at this outburst, O'Leary looked hard at Collins. There wasno mistaking his earnestness; and he only leered at the other'sastonishment. O'Leary was discreet enough to say no more; and Collinsseemed to think his secret safe enough in the keeping of an old pal twothousand miles from the scene of the murder. But that very night O'Learytelegraphed to Sheriff Carter of Nevada City:

 "Man who killed Cummins in jail here. Come at once. 

 Pat O'Leary. "

John Keeler and Henry Francis happened to be at the railroad station thenext morning, when Carter started for St. Louis; and he showed them thetelegram. 

"When thieves fall out, " remarked Keeler; and Francis winced. Was itbecause he foresaw that the ten thousand dollar reward would be claimed?or was it for some other reason? Keeler wondered. 

CHAPTER XVII

Brought To Justice

There was no serious doubt in Sheriff Carter's mind as to the importanceof O'Leary's telegram. He hoped that the murder of Will Cummins was, atlast, to be avenged; and, as he had admired and loved that chivalrousman, he resolved to use every means in his power to bring the murderersto justice. But he realized what a difficult task it would be to getthem hanged. 

There was a strong sentiment in California against capital punishment. There seemed to be little objection to murder committed by privatecitizens, but people raised their hands in horror at what they werepleased to call judicial murder. What right has the State to take soprecious a thing as human life, even though the life be that of ahardened criminal? Carter was sick at heart. He had watched the mostdepraved characters, fed and clothed and guarded at the public expense, spend their days in shame and utter uselessness. It would have been amercy to have terminated their existence; and it would have instilledrespect for law in the minds of other criminals. 

But the immediate problem of Sheriff Carter, as it is the immediateconcern of this story, was to capture the murderers. Carter went armedwith proper legal documents, handcuffs, and a pair of derringers--forthe sheriff of Nevada County could shoot straight simultaneously withboth hands. Two faithful deputies accompanied their chief, and all threewere well supplied with the sinews of war in gold and bank-notes. 

Arrived at St. Louis Carter immediately got in touch with O'Leary, andcautioned him not to alarm Collins, for proper circumspection might leadto the capture of both murderers. Showing his credentials to the properauthorities, he took them into his confidence, and thus made sure thatCollins would not be discharged from jail without his knowledge. Then heand his deputies retired to their hotel for rest, refreshment, andpoker. 

In less than three days the chief of police showed him a letter writtenby Collins to Thorn. The missive ran:

 "dear Thorn, alias Darcy, don't let your old pal bother you eny I suppose you are having a revival in your church about this time and converting a great many sinners. Give my kind regards to the widow Brown, and I hope she will marry you soon. I expect to leave this hotel in ten days, so will need $50. Send post office order, St. Louis, general delivery. 

 Your old partner, J. C. P. Collins. "

It was evidently a blackmailing letter. The sheriff remembered Darcy ofold, and the chances seemed good that Thorn _alias_ Darcy was the otherhighwayman. So, taking O'Leary along to assist in the identification, heset out for Union City to deliver Collins' letter in person. No doubtthis Thorn was a harder man to catch than Collins. He had had senseenough to change his name and to join a church. So Carter approachedUnion City rather cautiously, leaving O'Leary with one of his deputiesin Chicago with orders to wait for a telegram. Accompanied by the otherdeputy he arrived at Union City rather late at night, to avoidpublicity. 

There he learned that Thorn had been in town nearly three years. That hewas engaged in the lumber business, was prosperous, highly respected andwas prominent in the leading church of the town. He was away on businessin Chicago at the time, but was expected to return in a week or two, asit was rumored that he was soon to marry. 

The sheriff's disappointment was much relieved by the receipt of atelegram the next morning:

 "We have got Darcy corralled here. Come at once. 

 Pat O'Leary. "

"Just as well that we brought O'Leary along, " remarked Carter to hisdeputy. "You stay on guard here till you hear from me. "

In Chicago the sheriff found that his deputy had promptly arrested Darcyon O'Leary's identification, and had had the man locked up. But onvisiting the jail, Carter was considerably in doubt if he had ever seenthe prisoner before. The Darcy he remembered was smooth shaven, bronzedthrough exposure to the California sun, rough and rather desperate inappearance. This man wore a beard, was well dressed, rather pale fromconfinement in his office, and of sanctimonious countenance. 

"But that's Darcy, all right, " O'Leary assured him. "Same eyes, and samemole on his neck. Just read him that letter from Collins, Mr. Carter. "

At the name of Collins the prisoner winced visibly. For some time he hadrealized that Collins might betray him; and he had thought seriously ofending that scoundrel's career. 

Carter followed up the advantage quickly. 

"I think this is Mr. Thorn of Union City?" he inquired politely. 

"That's my name, " said the man, "and I live in Union City, as I told theofficer. "

"I've just come from Union City, " replied Carter quietly, "and happen toknow that you are a respected citizen of that place. Don't suppose youever heard of J. C. P. Collins of Nevada County, California?"

"I was a miner in California several years, but I don't remember anybodyby the name of Collins. "

"It's singular then that Collins should call you his old pal and addressyou as 'Dear Thorn alias Darcy. '" And Carter presented Collins' letter. 

"You're wanted, Thorn, alias Darcy, for the murder of William F. Cummins. " The sheriff looked at the prisoner so sternly that the manwilted. "Collins has owned up, and you might as well do the same. "

"O God!" groaned the man, "my sin has found me out. I killed Cumminswith my own hand; and I am ready to pay the penalty. "

His religion had not been all humbug, by any means; and now he askedpermission to visit Union City to make public confession of the murder. But Carter had left Collins in jail at St. Louis, and saw no reason todelay the arrest of that scoundrel in order to gratify the wishes of aconfessed murderer. So he proceeded to St. Louis at once, arrestedCollins, who seemed rather shocked and grieved to meet his old friendthe sheriff once more; and hurried the prisoners back to California. 

There was great excitement in the gold fields, you may be sure, when itwas announced that Will Cummins' murderers were safely lodged in jail, more than three years after the crime. Surely, California was becomingcivilized, and at last Nevada County was actually to try a couple of menfor murder. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The End of J. C. P. Collins

At Nevada City, with its pleasant homes scattered on the hills eitherside of the deep gorge of Deer Creek, the traveler lingers awhile todrink in the romance of the gold fields. Roses and poppies that bloomprofusely in the front yards are "emblems of deeds that are done intheir clime. " The very soil, like the flowers that spring therefrom, suggests gold and the red blood so freely shed for it. Here and thereare eloquent, though silent, reminders of the exciting days of placermining and highway robbery, when Wells Fargo and Company broughttreasure out of the mountains guarded by armed men. 

At the court-house Nevada County is advertised as the banner gold countyof California, with a total output of $300, 000, 000; a yellow block onexhibition represents the bullion taken from the Malakoff Mine in onemonth, and valued at $114, 289. In a showcase at the Citizens' Bank areexhibited four of the buckshot which killed T. H. Girard on October 31, 1887. Also, a bit of hemp rope with a tag, on which is written:

 "The end of J. C. P. Collins Feb. 1, 1884 Compliments of Sheriff Carter. "

In vain one may search for a similar reminder of the highwayman Darcy, the actual murderer of Will Cummins. But at the scene of the murder, thestage-driver of the present generation tells his passengers that Darcywas paroled several years ago, after spending thirty years in prison. Hemay add that Darcy, the ex-convict, is an inert and lifeless creature, married to a paroled woman as lifeless as himself. 

Darcy's friends in Union City would not have it appear that their modelcitizen was a murderer. They protested stoutly, and in the end thetax-payers for thirty years were burdened with the care and keep of thecriminal. 

As it has already been remarked, murders in Nevada County were commonenough; but a murder trial was almost unheard of. 

The State tried Collins first. He had no friends, except of the basersort; and his conviction might make it easier to convict Darcy. MatBailey and Mamie Slocum were important witnesses for the State; andCollins himself, poor debauchee though he was, was man enough to clearMamie of all suspicion. She freely told of her conversation with himwhen he had recommended the gallantry of gentlemen of the road. And sheadmitted that she had always been haunted by the suspicion that thehighwayman with whom Cummins had grappled might have been Collins, whohad so strangely disappeared after the robbery. No; she could notidentify him as the man who asked about Cummins' valise. She was notsure about his voice. She was too much frightened to be sure ofanything. 

As Collins seemed less interested in saving his own worthless life thanin establishing the innocence of Mamie Slocum, he was promptlyconvicted. The judge sentenced him to be hanged on Friday, Feb. 1, 1884. 

Sheriff Carter could not see why, if Collins was guilty, Darcy was not. But good souls from Union City showed how exemplary had been the life oftheir brother since he came among them, and the lawyer whom these goodpeople employed pointed out the shame and disgrace that would besuffered by a worthy family if one bearing the name of Darcy should dieupon the scaffold. It is strange that in such cases the lawyers on theother side do not show that the shame and disgrace come with thecommission of the crime, and that honest punishment endured for the sameis the one means left the criminal to atone for the injury he has donethe good name of his family. 

There was no doubt as to Darcy's guilt; and he was man enough to havepaid the extreme penalty willingly. For thirty years he lived themonotonous round of prison life, becoming more and more like a dumbanimal, and paroled at last in his old age little better than anautomaton--the qualities of daring, thrift, and religious enthusiasmlong since dead and gone. 

Throughout the trial of both men, Henry Francis was an interestedspectator. The court-room seemed to have a fascination for him, althoughhe was now a rich man with important demands upon his time. It waswhispered about that the Pennsylvanians had spent a hundred thousanddollars hunting the criminals down; and some people were fanciful enoughto see in Henry Francis the highwaymen's Nemesis. He made a verydignified Nemesis indeed. He looked grave and thoughtful, and his newlyacquired wealth lent dignity to his refined countenance. 

But it occurred to John Keeler that somehow it appeared as if Francisimagined himself sitting at his own trial. He seemed to show an almosteager interest in the subterfuges and the raising of legal dust by meansof which counsel for the defense endeavored to blind the eyes of thejurors. Keeler hardly dared to let his fancy run on to logicalconclusions. It seemed too much like condemning a man without giving hima trial. Yet he could not help being haunted by the thought that somethieves are too shrewd to assume the risks of highway robbery. In hisown mind this thought constituted the one valid argument against capitalpunishment. For if common scoundrels are to be executed what severerpunishment is left for the more crafty villain? But he could see that asensitive nature like that of Francis was capable of infinite suffering;and he thought of the words of Scripture, "Verily they have theirreward. "

CHAPTER XIX

The Home-Coming of Another Dead Man

"The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. "

For example, there was Robert Palmer, who after thirty years spent inthe gold fields had accumulated considerable treasure. But choosing todig for gold and to live among adventurers, thieves, and speculators, hehad come to distrust human nature. He became so secretive that even atthe approach of death, when the kindly French doctor had given him fairwarning, he would confide in only one man. Verily, he had his reward. 

Incidentally, the three Californians whom he had named as his executorsprospered. They may not all be included among the forty-one thieves ofthis story, but it may not seem unreasonable to suppose that HenryFrancis made it worth while for Hintzen and Haggerty to keep quiet. Thepoint is that all three executors prospered--and then died penniless. 

Hintzen made so much money over at Forest City that he left for Arizona, where he invested in copper, and lost everything he had. Haggerty, whoremained in his store at Moore's Flat, where he had made money rapidly, speculated and lost all, including the savings of a few poor people whohad trusted him. Henry Francis speculated in the stock of the famousComstock mine, in the adjoining State of Nevada, lost the fortune he hadwrongfully acquired, and died broken-hearted. It was only six yearsafter Palmer's death that he collapsed, and was taken home toReedsville, Pennsylvania. 

Here, ostensibly the victim of tuberculosis, he lingered a year to tastethe bitterness of poverty and wretchedness. Then he died, and sufferedthe usual eulogy poured out by country ministers. 

A charitable author must admit the virtues of his "heavy-villain. " Thesun rises upon the evil and the good, and rain descends upon the justand the unjust, for the simple reason, no doubt, that no otherarrangement would be possible, inasmuch as there are no people who areentirely good and none who are wholly bad. In every man the forces ofgood and evil are at war. 

If Henry Francis yielded to temptation there were extenuatingcircumstances. In the first place, Robert Palmer's will distinctlystated that everything was left to the judgment of the executors. Theywere to stand firm and resolute on their own judgment "and take time tosettle the concern whether it need one year or twenty years. "

Possibly Francis reasoned that investing the old man's money in acertain way would, within a very few years, double the estate, and thusrender a service to the heirs. And if at the end of three or four yearsthe event had proved the soundness of his judgment, was it wrong toexercise that judgment in further ventures? The will gave him twentyyears. Weren't the executors acting "at all times and under allcircumstances to the best of their judgment?" If conscience demurredthat Hintzen and Haggerty were left in the dark, so that "theirjudgment" had come to mean simply the judgment of Henry Francis, had henot proved that judgment good?

He knew that when he had given the heirs to understand that there was noproperty, he had prevaricated. But had he not heard their pleas withpatience, just as the old man had directed? And if Robert Palmer'sestate were settled right then, at the end of four years, would theheirs complain of circumstances which had doubled their inheritance? Nodoubt conscience inquired if Francis was thinking of postponingsettlement indefinitely. And no doubt prudence suggested a settlementnow when all was going well. But once let the estate slip from hiscontrol, and he would become a comparatively poor man; while thetwenty-nine heirs might squander their money foolishly. 

While he was debating the question, it was only proper to keep the moneywell invested. And if at the end of the fifth year his securities hadshrunken seriously in value, it was natural to wait another year forvalues to become normal. When the crash came, the injury to his vanityhurt him more than his wounded conscience; that he had learned tosoothe, but his pride had never before been humbled. And so it was saidthat Henry Francis died of a broken heart. 

His sister Mary, who nine years before had brought back to Pennsylvaniathe corpse of the murdered Cummins, was now summoned to carry anotherdead man home. True, he lived a year to contemplate the ruin of fortuneand honor, but he was mortally wounded. Most pathetic of all, he wasresolved to suffer in silence. Brothers and sisters should not share inhis disgrace. He had gambled and lost. But he would not tell them thathe had gambled with his honor. 

There is still balm in Gilead, even for a sinner! It was good to feelthe touch of his sister's hand, to taste the delicacies that only shecould prepare. The last long journey over the plains, at the end ofwhich he would find rest on the hillside where Will Cummins slept, wasalmost as peaceful as his. He had renounced the world of thieves andgamblers, and was going home. 

Arrived in his native valley, he marvelled at its beauty. Why had heever left it, to risk life and honor in the pursuit of riches? Man'sneeds are so simple! How easily he might have thriven among such kindlyneighbors! None of them could be called rich, but they had an abundanceof this world's goods, with something to spare for him, the returnedprodigal. What does it profit a man to gain the wealth of California andlose his own soul? Had he lost his soul, then? He had proved unfaithfulto his friend. Or had he been simply unfortunate? Ah, well! he hardlyknew. He was eager to see Robert Palmer again in the world to which hewas hastening. Then he would confess all, and be forgiven. For RobertPalmer had loved him like a son. Yes, that was what made the cup sobitter!

CHAPTER XX

The Bridal Veil

 "Where ancient forests widely spread, Where bends the cataract's ocean fall, On the lone mountain's silent head, There are Thy temples, Lord of All!"

 Andrews Norton. 

As the trial and execution of J. C. P. Collins were the last acts in hisworthless career, so they were the last but one in the courtship of MatBailey and Mamie Slocum. These comparatively young people were marriedsoon afterward. They were married and did not live happily ever after;but they certainly enjoyed greater happiness than that which fell to thelot of their friends, John Keeler and Dr. Mason only excepted. 

During a long life John Keeler reaped the reward of sterling integrity. To the end of his days he remained a poor man. But no one in all NevadaCounty was more highly respected. Not that he was much interested inwhat other people thought of him, as he strove simply to win the respectof his own exacting conscience. 

Dr. Mason, having at last had the satisfaction of seeing one murdererbrought to justice, felt that he might with dignity retire from the goldfields, where good Anglo-Saxon ideas of law and order were beginning tofind acceptance. So he moved his family into the plains at the foot ofthe Sierras, where in the town of Lincoln, Placer County, they enjoyed amore genial and happy existence. 

Mr. And Mrs. Mat Bailey also moved away from Nevada County. But Mat hadbecome so strongly addicted to stage-driving that he could not give itup even to enjoy the continuous society of his bride. He might, forinstance, have become a florist, and employed Mamie as his chiefassistant. Instead of this he took her to what he considered the mostbeautiful place on earth. 

He established his home in the meadows of the Yosemite Valley, where theclear waters of the Merced preserve the verdure of the fields the wholesummer through. In midsummer, the floor of the Yosemite Valley is likean oasis in the desert. On all sides are rough, dry mountains; and ifyou follow the river down to the San Joaquin Valley it becomes lost in avast parched plain. But between its mountain walls, where Mamie livedand where Mat pursued his vocation, all is beautiful. 

From the mountain height across the river thundered the Yosemite Fall inall its glory, a sight that allures travelers from the uttermost partsof the earth. And down the valley a ways was the Bridal Veil, where Matand Mamie paused to worship when first they entered that enchantedvalley together. 

Their first drive after they went to house-keeping was to Artist Point. Mamie felt that she never had loved Mat before as she did that day; foras he exulted in the glories of the valley, with Half Dome at the endand El Capitan standing in sublime magnificence before them, the scalesfell from her eyes, and she saw in her stage-driver husband the poet andartist that he really was. 

He was artist enough not to attempt to show his sweetheart all theglories of the Yosemite at once. He took the keenest delight in havingthem grow upon her. It was fully two months before they climbed up outof the valley to Inspiration Point, renewing their acquaintance withfamiliar scenes and experiencing more stupendous grandeur. It was twoyears after they came into the valley that Mat disclosed the mosttremendous magnificence of all. 

For years after it fairly took her breath away to think of it. Firstthey took the familiar road to Inspiration Point, then made their wayover the mountains where the Glacier Point Road now runs, and camped forthe night in the highlands of never-failing frost. Next morning theypursued their way through the woods an interminable distance, as itseemed to Mamie, until finally they stood upon the brink of a hugecañon, with a snowy mountain range in the distance beyond, and in theintervening space, a vast panorama of granite mountain sides, almostwhite, --here and there covered with a sparse growth of timber. Thewaters from these mountain reaches had cut a channel for themselvesknown as Little Yosemite Valley, where pour the two wonderful cataractsknown as Nevada Falls and Vernal Falls. Their deep roar came up from thevalley. Mamie felt that she would be content to watch that scene thewhole day through. 

But Mat took her on to Glacier Point, where you look straight down morethan three thousand feet to the level floor of the Yosemite Valley. There below, more than half a mile below, she saw her neighbors'cottages; and the thought occurred to her, as she clung to Mat, that ifshe should fall over the precipice she might crash through the roof ofone of these. She actually saw the good neighbor who was caring for herown child during his mother's absence. Before the day of aviators itseemed strange enough to look straight down from half a mile up in thesky. 

Then came those scenes of terrifying magnificence when she followed Matover the trail cut along the perpendicular walls of the cañon five milesdown to the floor of the Valley. One who has not passed over that trailcan scarcely conceive of it; and one who has, brings away a sense of thesublime and the beautiful mingled with terror. There against the bluesky stands the perpendicular wall of Half Dome, almost within arm'sreach, seemingly, in that clear atmosphere. There stand El Capitan andthe Three Graces. And there at every turn of the trail pours theglorious Yosemite Fall, at first too far away for the ear to notice itsdistant thunder. Then on closer approach the faint roar is heard acrossthe cañon. The attention becomes fixed more and more upon this majesticcataract, to set off which the wonderful mountain walls seem to havebeen specially created. The trail from Glacier Point, beginning at analtitude above the top of the fall opposite, reveals it in its wholenakedness--shows its rise in the vast watershed of upland mountainvalleys, and then by degrees leads you closer and closer to it until, atUnion Point, its glory is perfect. 

But why attempt to outline the wonders of that famous valley?

If Mr. And Mrs. Mat Bailey were not actually happy ever after, theyfound life worth living. As only people of humble fortune are likely todo, they lived the simple life. And they found it pleasant. Theyrealized, as many people of humble fortune do not, that the sweetestpleasure can be derived from the cheerful performance of obvious andcommonplace duties. Mat had always taken pride in his unpretentiouscalling, and his wife learned to love the blessed busy life of wife andmother. 

Her sons and daughters, knowing no better because of their peculiarenvironment, grew up believing this old earth most beautiful, and thenobility of their world seemed to create in them nobility of character. The sheltered peace of that green valley entered into their souls. 

THE END