STORIES IN LIGHT AND SHADOW

By Bret Harte

From: "ARGONAUT EDITION" OF THE WORKS OF BRET HARTE, VOL. 13

P. F. COLLIER & SON

NEW YORK

CONTENTS

"UNSER KARL"

UNCLE JIM AND UNCLE BILLY

SEE YUP

THE DESBOROUGH CONNECTIONS

SALOMY JANE'S KISS

THE MAN AND THE MOUNTAIN

THE PASSING OF ENRIQUEZ

STORIES IN LIGHT AND SHADOW

"UNSER KARL"

The American consul for Schlachtstadt had just turned out of the broadKonig's Allee into the little square that held his consulate. Itsresidences always seemed to him to wear that singularly uninhabited airpeculiar to a street scene in a theatre. The facades, with their stiff, striped wooden awnings over the windows, were of the regularity, color, and pattern only seen on the stage, and conversation carried on in thestreet below always seemed to be invested with that perfect confidenceand security which surrounds the actor in his painted desert of urbanperspective. Yet it was a peaceful change to the other byways andhighways of Schlachtstadt which were always filled with an equallyunreal and mechanical soldiery, who appeared to be daily taken out oftheir boxes of "caserne" or "depot" and loosely scattered all overthe pretty linden-haunted German town. There were soldiers standing onstreet corners; soldiers staring woodenly into shop windows; soldiershalted suddenly into stone, like lizards, at the approach of Offiziere;Offiziere lounging stiffly four abreast, sweeping the pavement withtheir trailing sabres all at one angle. There were cavalcades ofred hussars, cavalcades of blue hussars, cavalcades of Uhlans, withglittering lances and pennons--with or without a band--formallyparading; there were straggling "fatigues" or "details" coming roundthe corners; there were dusty, businesslike columns of infantry, goingnowhere and to no purpose. And they one and all seemed to be WOUNDUP--for that service--and apparently always in the same place. In theband of their caps--invariably of one pattern--was a button, in thecentre of which was a square opening or keyhole. The consul was alwaysconvinced that through this keyhole opening, by means of a key, thehumblest caporal wound up his file, the Hauptmann controlled hislieutenants and non-commissioned officers, and even the general himself, wearing the same cap, was subject through his cap to a higher movingpower. In the suburbs, when the supply of soldiers gave out, therewere sentry-boxes; when these dropped off, there were "caissons, " orcommissary wagons. And, lest the military idea should ever fail fromout the Schlachtstadt's burgher's mind, there were police in uniform, street-sweepers in uniform; the ticket-takers, guards, and sweepers atthe Bahnhof were in uniform, --but all wearing the same kind of cap, withthe probability of having been wound up freshly each morning for theirdaily work. Even the postman delivered peaceful invoices to the consulwith his side-arms and the air of bringing dispatches from the fieldof battle; and the consul saluted, and felt for a few moments the wholeweight of his consular responsibility. 

Yet, in spite of this military precedence, it did not seem in the leastinconsistent with the decidedly peaceful character of the town, and thisagain suggested its utter unreality; wandering cows sometimes got mixedup with squadrons of cavalry, and did not seem to mind it; sheep passedsingly between files of infantry, or preceded them in a flock when onthe march; indeed, nothing could be more delightful and innocent thanto see a regiment of infantry in heavy marching order, laden with everyconceivable thing they could want for a week, returning after a cheerfulsearch for an invisible enemy in the suburbs, to bivouac peacefullyamong the cabbages in the market-place. Nobody was ever imposed uponfor a moment by their tremendous energy and severe display; drums mightbeat, trumpets blow, dragoons charge furiously all over the ExercierPlatz, or suddenly flash their naked swords in the streets to theguttural command of an officer--nobody seemed to mind it. People glancedup to recognize Rudolf or Max "doing their service, " nodded, and wentabout their business. And although the officers always wore theirside-arms, and at the most peaceful of social dinners only relinquishedtheir swords in the hall, apparently that they might be ready to bucklethem on again and rush out to do battle for the Fatherland between thecourses, the other guests only looked upon these weapons in the lightof sticks and umbrellas, and possessed their souls in peace. Andwhen, added to this singular incongruity, many of these warriors werespectacled, studious men, and, despite their lethal weapons, wore aslightly professional air, and were--to a man--deeply sentimental andsingularly simple, their attitude in this eternal Kriegspiel seemed tothe consul more puzzling than ever. 

As he entered his consulate he was confronted with another aspect ofSchlachtstadt quite as wonderful, yet already familiar to him. For, in spite of these "alarums without, " which, however, never seem topenetrate beyond the town itself, Schlachtstadt and its suburbs wereknown all over the world for the manufactures of certain beautifultextile fabrics, and many of the rank and file of those warriors hadbuilt up the fame and prosperity of the district over their peacefullooms in wayside cottages. There were great depots and counting-houses, larger than even the cavalry barracks, where no other uniform but thatof the postman was known. Hence it was that the consul's chief dutywas to uphold the flag of his own country by the examinationand certification of divers invoices sent to his office by themanufacturers. But, oddly enough, these business messengers were chieflywomen, --not clerks, but ordinary household servants, and, on busy days, the consulate might have been mistaken for a female registry office, so filled and possessed it was by waiting Madchen. Here it was thatGretchen, Lieschen, and Clarchen, in the cleanest of blue gowns, andstoutly but smartly shod, brought their invoices in a piece of cleanpaper, or folded in a blue handkerchief, and laid them, with fingersmore or less worn and stubby from hard service, before the consul forhis signature. Once, in the case of a very young Madchen, that signaturewas blotted by the sweep of a flaxen braid upon it as the child turnedto go; but generally there was a grave, serious business instinct andsense of responsibility in these girls of ordinary peasant origin which, equally with their sisters of France, were unknown to the English orAmerican woman of any class. 

That morning, however, there was a slight stir among those who, withtheir knitting, were waiting their turn in the outer office as thevice-consul ushered the police inspector into the consul's privateoffice. He was in uniform, of course, and it took him a moment torecover from his habitual stiff, military salute, --a little stiffer thanthat of the actual soldier. 

It was a matter of importance! A stranger had that morning been arrestedin the town and identified as a military deserter. He claimed to be anAmerican citizen; he was now in the outer office, waiting the consul'sinterrogation. 

The consul knew, however, that the ominous accusation had only a mildsignificance here. The term "military deserter" included any one whohad in youth emigrated to a foreign country without first fulfilling hismilitary duty to his fatherland. His first experiences of these caseshad been tedious and difficult, --involving a reference to his Ministerat Berlin, a correspondence with the American State Department, acondition of unpleasant tension, and finally the prolonged detention ofsome innocent German--naturalized--American citizen, who had forgottento bring his papers with him in revisiting his own native country. It sochanced, however, that the consul enjoyed the friendship and confidenceof the General Adlerkreutz, who commanded the 20th Division, and itfurther chanced that the same Adlerkreutz was as gallant a soldier asever cried Vorwarts! at the head of his men, as profound a militarystrategist and organizer as ever carried his own and his enemy'splans in his iron head and spiked helmet, and yet with as simple andunaffected a soul breathing under his gray mustache as ever issued fromthe lips of a child. So this grim but gentle veteran had arrangedwith the consul that in cases where the presumption of nationalitywas strong, although the evidence was not present, he would take theconsul's parole for the appearance of the "deserter" or his papers, without the aid of prolonged diplomacy. In this way the consul had savedto Milwaukee a worthy but imprudent brewer, and to New York an excellentsausage butcher and possible alderman; but had returned to martial dutyone or two tramps or journeymen who had never seen America except fromthe decks of the ships in which they were "stowaways, " and on which theywere returned, --and thus the temper and peace of two great nations werepreserved. 

"He says, " said the inspector severely, "that he is an American citizen, but has lost his naturalization papers. Yet he has made the damagingadmission to others that he lived several years in Rome! And, " continuedthe inspector, looking over his shoulder at the closed door as he placedhis finger beside his nose, "he says he has relations livingat Palmyra, whom he frequently visited. Ach! Observe thisunheard-of-and-not-to-be-trusted statement!"

The consul, however, smiled with a slight flash of intelligence. "Let mesee him, " he said. 

They passed into the outer office; another policeman and a corporal ofinfantry saluted and rose. In the centre of an admiring and sympatheticcrowd of Dienstmadchen sat the culprit, the least concerned of theparty; a stripling--a boy--scarcely out of his teens! Indeed, it wasimpossible to conceive of a more innocent, bucolic, and almost angeliclooking derelict. With a skin that had the peculiar white and rosinessof fresh pork, he had blue eyes, celestially wide open and staring, andthe thick flocculent yellow curls of the sun god! He might have beenan overgrown and badly dressed Cupid who had innocently wandered fromPaphian shores. He smiled as the consul entered, and wiped from hisfull red lips with the back of his hand the traces of a sausage he waseating. The consul recognized the flavor at once, --he had smelled itbefore in Lieschen's little hand-basket. 

"You say you lived at Rome?" began the consul pleasantly. "Did you takeout your first declaration of your intention of becoming an Americancitizen there?"

The inspector cast an approving glance at the consul, fixed a stern eyeon the cherubic prisoner, and leaned back in his chair to hear the replyto this terrible question. 

"I don't remember, " said the culprit, knitting his brows in infantinethought. "It was either there, or at Madrid or Syracuse. "

The inspector was about to rise; this was really trifling with thedignity of the municipality. But the consul laid his hand on theofficial's sleeve, and, opening an American atlas to a map of the Stateof New York, said to the prisoner, as he placed the inspector's hand onthe sheet, "I see you know the names of the TOWNS on the Erie and NewYork Central Railroad. But"--

"I can tell you the number of people in each town and what are themanufactures, " interrupted the young fellow, with youthful vanity. "Madrid has six thousand, and there are over sixty thousand in"--

"That will do, " said the consul, as a murmur of Wunderschon! went roundthe group of listening servant girls, while glances of admiration wereshot at the beaming accused. "But you ought to remember the name of thetown where your naturalization papers were afterwards sent. "

"But I was a citizen from the moment I made my declaration, " said thestranger smiling, and looking triumphantly at his admirers, "and I couldvote!"

The inspector, since he had come to grief over American geographicalnomenclature, was grimly taciturn. The consul, however, was by no meanscertain of his victory. His alleged fellow citizen was too encyclopaedicin his knowledge: a clever youth might have crammed for this with atextbook, but then he did not LOOK at all clever; indeed, he had ratherthe stupidity of the mythological subject he represented. "Leave himwith me, " said the consul. The inspector handed him a precis of thecase. The cherub's name was Karl Schwartz, an orphan, missing fromSchlachtstadt since the age of twelve. Relations not living, or inemigration. Identity established by prisoner's admission and record. 

"Now, Karl, " said the consul cheerfully, as the door of his privateoffice closed upon them, "what is your little game? Have you EVER hadany papers? And if you were clever enough to study the map of New YorkState, why weren't you clever enough to see that it wouldn't stand youin place of your papers?"

"Dot's joost it, " said Karl in English; "but you see dot if I hafdeclairet mine intention of begomming a citizen, it's all the same, don't it?"

"By no means, for you seem to have no evidence of the DECLARATION; nopapers at all. "

"Zo!" said Karl. Nevertheless, he pushed his small, rosy, pickled-pig's-feet of fingers through his fleecy curls and beamedpleasantly at the consul. "Dot's vot's der matter, " he said, as iftaking a kindly interest in some private trouble of the consul's. "Dot'svere you vos, eh?"

The consul looked steadily at him for a moment. Such stupidity was byno means phenomenal, nor at all inconsistent with his appearance. "And, "continued the consul gravely, "I must tell you that, unless you haveother proofs than you have shown, it will be my duty to give you up tothe authorities. "

"Dot means I shall serve my time, eh?" said Karl, with an unchangedsmile. 

"Exactly so, " returned the consul. 

"Zo!" said karl. "Dese town--dose Schlachtstadt--is fine town, eh? Finevomens. Goot men. Und beer und sausage. Blenty to eat and drink, eh?Und, " looking around the room, "you and te poys haf a gay times. "

"Yes, " said the consul shortly, turning away. But he presently facedround again on the unfettered Karl, who was evidently indulging in agormandizing reverie. 

"What on earth brought you here, anyway?"

"Was it das?"

"What brought you here from America, or wherever you ran away from?"

"To see der, volks. "

"But you are an ORPHAN, you know, and you have no folks living here. "

"But all Shermany is mine volks, --de whole gountry, don't it? Pet yourpoots! How's dot, eh?"

The consul turned back to his desk and wrote a short note to GeneralAdlerkreutz in his own American German. He did not think it his dutyin the present case to interfere with the authorities or to offer hisparole for Karl Schwartz. But he would claim that, as the offenderwas evidently an innocent emigrant and still young, any punishment ormilitary degradation be omitted, and he be allowed to take his placelike any other recruit in the ranks. If he might have the temerity tothe undoubted, far-seeing military authority of suggestion making here, he would suggest that Karl was for the commissariat fitted! Of course, he still retained the right, on production of satisfactory proof, hisdischarge to claim. 

The consul read this aloud to Karl. The cherubic youth smiled and said, "Zo!" Then, extending his hand, he added the word "Zshake!"

The consul shook his hand a little remorsefully, and, preceding him tothe outer room, resigned him with the note into the inspector's hands. Auniversal sigh went up from the girls, and glances of appeal sought theconsul; but he wisely concluded that it would be well, for a while, thatKarl--a helpless orphan--should be under some sort of discipline! Andthe securer business of certifying invoices recommenced. 

Late that afternoon he received a folded bit of blue paper from thewaistbelt of an orderly, which contained in English characters and asa single word "Alright, " followed by certain jagged pen-marks, which herecognized as Adlerkreutz's signature. But it was not until a week laterthat he learned anything definite. He was returning one night to hislodgings in the residential part of the city, and, in opening the doorwith his pass-key, perceived in the rear of the hall his handmaidenTrudschen, attended by the usual blue or yellow or red shadow. He waspassing by them with the local 'n' Abend! on his lips when the soldierturned his face and saluted. The consul stopped. It was the cherub Karlin uniform!

But it had not subdued a single one of his characteristics. His hairhad been cropped a little more closely under his cap, but there was itscolor and woolliness still intact; his plump figure was girt by belt andbuttons, but he only looked the more unreal, and more like a combinationof pen-wiper and pincushion, until his puffy breast and shoulders seemedto offer a positive invitation to any one who had picked up a pin. But, wonderful!--according to his brief story--he had been so proficientin the goose step that he had been put in uniform already, and allowedcertain small privileges, --among them, evidently the present one. The consul smiled and passed on. But it seemed strange to him thatTrudschen, who was a tall strapping girl, exceedingly popular withthe military, and who had never looked lower than a corporal at least, should accept the attentions of an Einjahriger like that. Later heinterrogated her. 

Ach! it was only Unser Karl! And the consul knew he was Amerikanisch!

"Indeed!"

"Yes! It was such a tearful story!"

"Tell me what it is, " said the consul, with a faint hope that Karl hadvolunteered some communication of his past. 

"Ach Gott! There in America he was a man, and could 'vote, ' make laws, and, God willing, become a town councilor, --or Ober Intendant, --andhere he was nothing but a soldier for years. And this America was afine country. Wunderschon? There were such big cities, and one'Booflo'--could hold all Schlachtstadt, and had of people five hundredthousand!"

The consul sighed. Karl had evidently not yet got off the line of theNew York Central and Erie roads. "But does he remember yet what he didwith his papers?" said the consul persuasively. 

"Ach! What does he want with PAPERS when he could make the laws? Theywere dumb, stupid things--these papers--to him. "

"But his appetite remains good, I hope?" suggested the consul. 

This closed the conversation, although Karl came on many other nights, and his toy figure quite supplanted the tall corporal of hussars in theremote shadows of the hall. One night, however, the consul returned homefrom a visit to a neighboring town a day earlier than he was expected. As he neared his house he was a little surprised to find the windows ofhis sitting-room lit up, and that there were no signs of Trudschen inthe lower hall or passages. He made his way upstairs in the dark andpushed open the door of his apartment. To his astonishment, Karl wassitting comfortably in his own chair, his cap off before a student-lampon the table, deeply engaged in apparent study. So profound was hisabstraction that it was a moment before he looked up, and the consul hada good look at his usually beaming and responsive face, which, however, now struck him as wearing a singular air of thought and concentration. When their eyes at last met, he rose instantly and saluted, andhis beaming smile returned. But, either from his natural phlegm orextraordinary self-control he betrayed neither embarrassment nor alarm. 

The explanation he gave was direct and simple. Trudschen had gone outwith the Corporal Fritz for a short walk, and had asked him to "keephouse" during their absence. He had no books, no papers, nothing to readin the barracks, and no chance to improve his mind. He thought the HerrConsul would not object to his looking at his books. The consul wastouched; it was really a trivial indiscretion and as much Trudschen'sfault as Karl's! And if the poor fellow had any mind to improve, --hisrecent attitude certainly suggested thought and reflection, --the consulwere a brute to reprove him. He smiled pleasantly as Karl returned astubby bit of pencil and some greasy memoranda to his breast pocket, andglanced at the table. But to his surprise it was a large map that Karlhad been studying, and, to his still greater surprise, a map of theconsul's own district. 

"You seem to be fond of map-studying, " said the consul pleasantly. "Youare not thinking of emigrating again?"

"Ach, no!" said Karl simply; "it is my cousine vot haf lif near here. Ifind her. "

But he left on Trudschen's return, and the consul was surprised tosee that, while Karl's attitude towards her had not changed, the girlexhibited less effusiveness than before. Believing it to be partlythe effect of the return of the corporal, the consul taxed her withfaithlessness. But Trudschen looked grave. 

"Ah! He has new friends, this Karl of ours. He cares no more for poorgirls like us. When fine ladies like the old Frau von Wimpfel make muchof him, what will you?"

It appeared, indeed, from Trudschen's account, that the widow of awealthy shopkeeper had made a kind of protege of the young soldier, and given him presents. Furthermore, that the wife of his colonel hademployed him to act as page or attendant at an afternoon Gesellschaft, and that since then the wives of other officers had sought him. Did notthe Herr Consul think it was dreadful that this American, who could voteand make laws, should be subjected to such things?

The consul did not know what to think. It seemed to him, however, thatKarl was "getting on, " and that he was not in need of his assistance. It was in the expectation of hearing more about him, however, thathe cheerfully accepted an invitation from Adlerkreutz to dine at theCaserne one evening with the staff. Here he found, somewhat to hisembarrassment, that the dinner was partly in his own honor, and at theclose of five courses, and the emptying of many bottles, his health wasproposed by the gallant veteran Adlerkreutz in a neat address of manysyllables containing all the parts of speech and a single verb. It wasto the effect that in his soul-friend the Herr Consul and himself wasthe never-to-be-severed union of Germania and Columbia, and in theirperfect understanding was the war-defying alliance of two great nations, and that in the consul's noble restoration of Unser Karl to the Germanarmy there was the astute diplomacy of a great mind. He was satisfiedthat himself and the Herr Consul still united in the great future, looking down upon a common brotherhood, --the great Germanic-AmericanConfederation, --would feel satisfied with themselves and each otherand their never-to-be-forgotten earth-labors. Cries of "Hoch! Hoch!"resounded through the apartment with the grinding roll of heavy-bottomedbeer-glasses, and the consul, tremulous with emotion and a reserve verbin his pocket, rose to reply. Fully embarked upon this perilous voyage, and steering wide and clear of any treacherous shore of intelligence orfancied harbor of understanding and rest, he kept boldly out at sea. Hesaid that, while his loving adversary in this battle of compliment haddisarmed him and left him no words to reply to his generous panegyric, he could not but join with that gallant soldier in his heartfeltaspirations for the peaceful alliance of both countries. But while hefully reciprocated all his host's broader and higher sentiments, he mustpoint out to this gallant assembly, this glorious brotherhood, thateven a greater tie of sympathy knitted him to the general, --the tie ofkinship! For while it was well known to the present company that theirgallant commander had married an Englishwoman, he, the consul, althoughalways an American, would now for the first time confess to them that heHIMSELF was of Dutch descent on his mother's side! He would say no more, but confidently leave them in possession of the tremendous significanceof this until-then-unknown fact! He sat down, with the forgotten verbstill in his pocket, but the applause that followed this perfectlyconclusive, satisfying, and logical climax convinced him of his success. His hand was grasped eagerly by successive warriors; the general turnedand embraced him before the breathless assembly; there were tears in theconsul's eyes. 

As the festivities progressed, however, he found to his surprise thatKarl had not only become the fashion as a military page, but that hisnaive stupidity and sublime simplicity was the wondering theme andinexhaustible delight of the whole barracks. Stories were told of hisgenius for blundering which rivaled Handy Andy's; old stories of fatuousignorance were rearranged and fitted to "our Karl. " It was "our Karl"who, on receiving a tip of two marks from the hands of a young lady towhom he had brought the bouquet of a gallant lieutenant, exhibited somehesitation, and finally said, "Yes, but, gnadiges Fraulein, that COST usnine marks!" It was "our Karl" who, interrupting the regrets of anotherlady that she was unable to accept his master's invitation, saidpolitely, "Ah! what matter, Gnadigste? I have still a letter forFraulein Kopp [her rival], and I was told that I must not invite youboth. " It was "our Karl" who astonished the hostess to whom he was sentat the last moment with apologies from an officer, unexpectedly detainedat barrack duty, by suggesting that he should bring that unfortunateofficer his dinner from the just served table. Nor were these charminginfelicities confined to his social and domestic service. Althoughready, mechanical, and invariably docile in the manual and physicalduties of a soldier, --which endeared him to the German drill-master, --hewas still invincibly ignorant as to its purport, or even the meaningand structure of the military instruments he handled or vacantlylooked upon. It was "our Karl" who suggested to his instructors that infield-firing it was quicker and easier to load his musket to themuzzle at once, and get rid of its death-dealing contents at a singledischarge, than to load and fire consecutively. It was "our Karl" whonearly killed the instructor at sentry drill by adhering to the letterof his instructions when that instructor had forgotten the password. It was the same Karl who, severely admonished for his recklessness, thenext time added to his challenge the precaution, "Unless you instantlysay 'Fatherland' I'll fire!" Yet his perfect good humor and childlikecuriosity were unmistakable throughout, and incited his comrades andhis superiors to show him everything in the hope of getting somecharacteristic comment from him. Everything and everybody were open toKarl and his good-humored simplicity. 

That evening, as the general accompanied the consul down to the gatewayand the waiting carriage, a figure in uniform ran spontaneously beforethem and shouted "Heraus!" to the sentries. But the general promptlychecked "the turning out" of the guard with a paternal shake of hisfinger to the over-zealous soldier, in whom the consul recognized Karl. "He is my Bursche now, " said the general explanatorily. "My wife hastaken a fancy to him. Ach! he is very popular with these women. " Theconsul was still more surprised. The Frau Generalin Adlerkreutz heknew to be a pronounced Englishwoman, --carrying out her Englishways, proprieties, and prejudices in the very heart of Schlachtstadt, uncompromisingly, without fear and without reproach. That she shouldfollow a merely foreign society craze, or alter her English household soas to admit the impossible Karl, struck him oddly. 

A month or two elapsed without further news of Karl, when one afternoonhe suddenly turned up at the consulate. He had again sought the consularquiet to write a few letters home; he had no chance in the confinementof the barracks. 

"But by this time you must be in the family of a field-marshal, atleast, " suggested the consul pleasantly. 

"Not to-day, but next week, " said Karl, with sublime simplicity; "THEN Iam going to serve with the governor commandant of Rheinfestung. "

The consul smiled, motioned him to a seat at a table in the outeroffice, and left him undisturbed to his correspondence. 

Returning later, he found Karl, his letters finished, gazing withchildish curiosity and admiration at some thick official envelopes, bearing the stamp of the consulate, which were lying on the table. Hewas evidently struck with the contrast between them and the thin, flimsyaffairs he was holding in his hand. He appeared still more impressedwhen the consul told him what they were. 

"Are you writing to your friends?" continued the consul, touched by hissimplicity. 

"Ach ja!" said Karl eagerly. 

"Would you like to put your letter in one of these envelopes?" continuedthe official. 

The beaming face and eyes of Karl were a sufficient answer. After all, it was a small favor granted to this odd waif, who seemed to still clingto the consular protection. He handed him the envelope and left himaddressing it in boyish pride. 

It was Karl's last visit to the consulate. He appeared to have spokentruly, and the consul presently learned that he had indeed beentransferred, through some high official manipulation, to the personalservice of the governor of Rheinfestung. There was weeping among theDienstmadchen of Schlachtstadt, and a distinct loss of originality andlightness in the gatherings of the gentler Hausfrauen. His memorystill survived in the barracks through the later editions of hisformer delightful stupidities, --many of them, it is to be feared, were inventions, --and stories that were supposed to have come fromRheinfestung were described in the slang of the Offiziere as being"colossal. " But the consul remembered Rheinfestung, and could notimagine it as a home for Karl, or in any way fostering his peculiarqualities. For it was eminently a fortress of fortresses, a magazine ofmagazines, a depot of depots. It was the key of the Rhine, the citadelof Westphalia, the "Clapham Junction" of German railways, but defended, fortified, encompassed, and controlled by the newest as well as theoldest devices of military strategy and science. Even in the pipingesttime of peace, whole railway trains went into it like a rat in a trap, and might have never come out of it; it stretched out an invitinghand and arm across the river that might in the twinkling of an eye bechanged into a closed fist of menace. You "defiled" into it, commandedat every step by enfilading walls; you "debouched" out of it, as youthought, and found yourself only before the walls; you "reentered" it atevery possible angle; you did everything apparently but pass through it. You thought yourself well out of it, and were stopped by a bastion. Itscircumvallations haunted you until you came to the next station. It hadpressed even the current of the river into its defensive service. Therewere secrets of its foundations and mines that only the highest militarydespots knew and kept to themselves. In a word--it was impregnable. 

That such a place could not be trifled with or misunderstood in itsright-and-acute-angled severities seemed plain to every one. But set onby his companions, who were showing him its defensive foundations, orin his own idle curiosity, Karl managed to fall into the Rhine and wasfished out with difficulty. The immersion may have chilled his militaryardor or soured his good humor, for later the consul heard that he hadvisited the American consular agent at an adjacent town with the oldstory of his American citizenship. "He seemed, " said the consul'scolleague, "to be well posted about American railways and Americantowns, but he had no papers. He lounged around the office for a whileand"--

"Wrote letters home?" suggested the consul, with a flash ofreminiscence. 

"Yes, the poor chap had no privacy at the barracks, and I reckon wasoverlooked or bedeviled. "

This was the last the consul heard of Karl Schwartz directly; for aweek or two later he again fell into the Rhine, this time so fatally andeffectually that in spite of the efforts of his companions he was sweptaway by the rapid current, and thus ended his service to his country. His body was never recovered. 

A few months before the consul was transferred from Schlachtstadt toanother post his memory of the departed Karl was revived by a visit fromAdlerkreutz. The general looked grave. 

"You remember Unser Karl?" he said. 

"Yes. "

"Do you think he was an impostor?"

"As regards his American citizenship, yes! But I could not say more. "

"So!" said the general. "A very singular thing has happened, " he added, twirling his mustache. "The Inspector of police has notified us of thearrival of a Karl Schwartz in this town. It appears he is the REAL KarlSchwartz, identified by his sister as the only one. The other, who wasdrowned, was an impostor. Hein?"

"Then you have secured another recruit?" said the consul smilingly. 

"No. For this one has already served his time in Elsass, where he wentwhen he left here as a boy. But, Donnerwetter, why should that dumb fooltake his name?"

"By chance, I fancy. Then he stupidly stuck to it, and had to take theresponsibilities with it. Don't you see?" said the consul, pleased withhis own cleverness. 

"Zo-o!" said the general slowly, in his deepest voice. But the Germanexclamation has a variety of significance, according to the inflection, and Adlerkreutz's ejaculation seemed to contain them all. 

*****

It was in Paris, where the consul had lingered on his way to his newpost. He was sitting in a well-known cafe, among whose habitues wereseveral military officers of high rank. A group of them were gatheredround a table near him. He was idly watching them with an oddrecollection of Schlachtstadt in his mind, and as idly glancing fromthem to the more attractive Boulevard without. The consul was getting alittle tired of soldiers. 

Suddenly there was a slight stir in the gesticulating group and a cry ofgreeting. The consul looked up mechanically, and then his eyes remainedfixed and staring at the newcomer. For it was the dead Karl; Karl, surely! Karl!--his plump figure belted in a French officer's tunic; hisflaxen hair clipped a little closer, but still its fleece showing underhis kepi. Karl, his cheeks more cherubic than ever--unchanged but for atiny yellow toy mustache curling up over the corners of his full lips. Karl, beaming at his companions in his old way, but rattling off Frenchvivacities without the faintest trace of accent. Could he be mistaken?Was it some phenomenal resemblance, or had the soul of the Germanprivate been transmigrated to the French officer. 

The consul hurriedly called the garcon. "Who is that officer who hasjust arrived?"

"It is the Captain Christian, of the Intelligence Bureau, " said thewaiter, with proud alacrity. "A famous officer, brave as a rabbit, --unfier lapin, --and one of our best clients. So drole, too, such a farceurand mimic. M'sieur would be ravished to hear his imitations. "

"But he looks like a German; and his name!"

"Ah, he is from Alsace. But not a German!" said the waiter, absolutelywhitening with indignation. "He was at Belfort. So was I. Mon Dieu! No, a thousand times no!"

"But has he been living here long?" said the consul. 

"In Paris, a few months. But his Department, M'sieur understands, takeshim EVERYWHERE! Everywhere where he can gain information. "

The consul's eyes were still on the Captain Christian. Presently theofficer, perhaps instinctively conscious of the scrutiny, looked towardshim. Their eyes met. To the consul's surprise, the ci-devant Karl beamedupon him, and advanced with outstretched hand. 

But the consul stiffened slightly, and remained so with his glass in hishand. At which Captain Christian brought his own easily to a militarysalute, and said politely:--

"Monsieur le Consul has been promoted from his post. Permit me tocongratulate him. "

"You have heard, then?" said the consul dryly. 

"Otherwise I should not presume. For our Department makes it abusiness--in Monsieur le Consul's case it becomes a pleasure--to knoweverything. "

"Did your Department know that the real Karl Schwartz has returned?"said the consul dryly. 

Captain Christian shrugged his shoulders. "Then it appears that the shamKarl died none too soon, " he said lightly. "And yet"--he bent his eyeswith mischievous reproach upon the consul. 

"Yet what?" demanded the consul sternly. 

"Monsieur le Consul might have saved the unfortunate man by acceptinghim as an American citizen and not helping to force him into the Germanservice. "

The consul saw in a flash the full military significance of this logic, and could not repress a smile. At which Captain Christian dropped easilyinto a chair beside him, and as easily into broken German English:--

"Und, " he went on, "dees town--dees Schlachtstadt is fine town, eh? Finewomens? Goot men? Und peer and sausage? Blenty to eat and trink, eh? Undyou und te poys haf a gay times?"

The consul tried to recover his dignity. The waiter behind him, recognizing only the delightful mimicry of this adorable officer, was infits of laughter. Nevertheless, the consul managed to say dryly:--

"And the barracks, the magazines, the commissariat, the details, thereserves of Schlachtstadt were very interesting?"

"Assuredly. "

"And Rheinfestung--its plans--its details, even its dangerousfoundations by the river--they were to a soldier singularlyinstructive?"

"You have reason to say so, " said Captain Christian, curling his littlemustache. 

"And the fortress--you think?"

"Imprenable! Mais"--

The consul remembered General Adlerkreutz's "Zo-o, " and wondered. 

UNCLE JIM AND UNCLE BILLY

They were partners. The avuncular title was bestowed on them by CedarCamp, possibly in recognition of a certain matured good humor, quitedistinct from the spasmodic exuberant spirits of its other members, and possibly from what, to its youthful sense, seemed their advancedages--which must have been at least forty! They had also set habitseven in their improvidence, lost incalculable and unpayable sums toeach other over euchre regularly every evening, and inspected theirsluice-boxes punctually every Saturday for repairs--which they nevermade. They even got to resemble each other, after the fashion of oldmarried couples, or, rather, as in matrimonial partnerships, weresubject to the domination of the stronger character; although intheir case it is to be feared that it was the feminine UncleBilly--enthusiastic, imaginative, and loquacious--who swayed themasculine, steady-going, and practical Uncle Jim. They had lived in thecamp since its foundation in 1849; there seemed to be no reason whythey should not remain there until its inevitable evolution into amining-town. The younger members might leave through restless ambitionor a desire for change or novelty; they were subject to no such triflingmutation. Yet Cedar Camp was surprised one day to hear that Uncle Billywas going away. 

The rain was softly falling on the bark thatch of the cabin with amuffled murmur, like a sound heard through sleep. The southwest tradeswere warm even at that altitude, as the open door testified, althougha fire of pine bark was flickering on the adobe hearth and striking outanswering fires from the freshly scoured culinary utensils on the rudesideboard, which Uncle Jim had cleaned that morning with his usualserious persistency. Their best clothes, which were interchangeable andworn alternately by each other on festal occasions, hung on thewalls, which were covered with a coarse sailcloth canvas instead oflath-and-plaster, and were diversified by pictures from illustratedpapers and stains from the exterior weather. Two "bunks, " like ships'berths, --an upper and lower one, --occupied the gable-end of this singleapartment, and on beds of coarse sacking, filled with dry moss, werecarefully rolled their respective blankets and pillows. They were theonly articles not used in common, and whose individuality was respected. 

Uncle Jim, who had been sitting before the fire, rose as the square bulkof his partner appeared at the doorway with an armful of wood for theevening stove. By that sign he knew it was nine o'clock: for the lastsix years Uncle Billy had regularly brought in the wood at that hour, and Uncle Jim had as regularly closed the door after him, and set outtheir single table, containing a greasy pack of cards taken from itsdrawer, a bottle of whiskey, and two tin drinking-cups. To this wasadded a ragged memorandum-book and a stick of pencil. The two men drewtheir stools to the table. 

"Hol' on a minit, " said Uncle Billy. 

His partner laid down the cards as Uncle Billy extracted from his pocketa pill-box, and, opening it, gravely took a pill. This was clearly aninnovation on their regular proceedings, for Uncle Billy was always inperfect health. 

"What's this for?" asked Uncle Jim half scornfully. 

"Agin ager. "

"You ain't got no ager, " said Uncle Jim, with the assurance of intimatecognizance of his partner's physical condition. 

"But it's a pow'ful preventive! Quinine! Saw this box at Riley's store, and laid out a quarter on it. We kin keep it here, comfortable, forevenings. It's mighty soothin' arter a man's done a hard day's work onthe river-bar. Take one. "

Uncle Jim gravely took a pill and swallowed it, and handed the box backto his partner. 

"We'll leave it on the table, sociable like, in case any of the boyscome in, " said Uncle Billy, taking up the cards. "Well. How do westand?"

Uncle Jim consulted the memorandum-book. "You were owin' me sixty-twothousand dollars on the last game, and the limit's seventy-fivethousand!"

"Je whillikins!" ejaculated Uncle Billy. "Let me see. "

He examined the book, feebly attempted to challenge the additions, butwith no effect on the total. "We oughter hev made the limit a hundredthousand, " he said seriously; "seventy-five thousand is only triflin'in a game like ours. And you've set down my claim at Angel's?" hecontinued. 

"I allowed you ten thousand dollars for that, " said Uncle Jim, withequal gravity, "and it's a fancy price too. "

The claim in question being an unprospected hillside ten miles distant, which Uncle Jim had never seen, and Uncle Billy had not visited foryears, the statement was probably true; nevertheless, Uncle Billyretorted:--

"Ye kin never tell how these things will pan out. Why, only this mornin'I was taking a turn round Shot Up Hill, that ye know is just rotten withquartz and gold, and I couldn't help thinkin' how much it was like myole claim at Angel's. I must take a day off to go on there and strike apick in it, if only for luck. "

Suddenly he paused and said, "Strange, ain't it, you should speak of itto-night? Now I call that queer!"

He laid down his cards and gazed mysteriously at his companion. UncleJim knew perfectly that Uncle Billy had regularly once a week formany years declared his final determination to go over to Angel's andprospect his claim, yet nevertheless he half responded to his partner'ssuggestion of mystery, and a look of fatuous wonder crept into his eyes. But he contented himself by saying cautiously, "You spoke of it first. "

"That's the more sing'lar, " said Uncle Billy confidently. "And I've beenthinking about it, and kinder seeing myself thar all day. It's mightyqueer!" He got up and began to rummage among some torn and coverlessbooks in the corner. 

"Where's that 'Dream Book' gone to?"

"The Carson boys borrowed it, " replied Uncle Jim. "Anyhow, yours wasn'tno dream--only a kind o' vision, and the book don't take no stock invisions. " Nevertheless, he watched his partner with some sympathy, andadded, "That reminds me that I had a dream the other night of being in'Frisco at a small hotel, with heaps o' money, and all the time beingsort o' scared and bewildered over it. "

"No?" queried his partner eagerly yet reproachfully. "You never leton anything about it to ME! It's mighty queer you havin' these strangefeelin's, for I've had 'em myself. And only to-night, comin' up fromthe spring, I saw two crows hopping in the trail, and I says, 'If I seeanother, it's luck, sure!' And you'll think I'm lyin', but when I wentto the wood-pile just now there was the THIRD one sittin' up on a log asplain as I see you. Tell 'e what folks ken laugh--but that's just whatJim Filgee saw the night before he made the big strike!"

They were both smiling, yet with an underlying credulity and seriousnessas singularly pathetic as it seemed incongruous to their years andintelligence. Small wonder, however, that in their occupation andenvironment--living daily in an atmosphere of hope, expectation, andchance, looking forward each morning to the blind stroke of a pick thatmight bring fortune--they should see signs in nature and hear mysticvoices in the trackless woods that surrounded them. Still less strangethat they were peculiarly susceptible to the more recognized diversionsof chance, and were gamblers on the turning of a card who trusted to therevelation of a shovelful of upturned earth. 

It was quite natural, therefore, that they should return from theirabstract form of divination to the table and their cards. But they werescarcely seated before they heard a crackling step in the brush outside, and the free latch of their door was lifted. A younger member of thecamp entered. He uttered a peevish "Halloo!" which might have passedfor a greeting, or might have been a slight protest at finding the doorclosed, drew the stool from which Uncle Jim had just risen before thefire, shook his wet clothes like a Newfoundland dog, and sat down. Yethe was by no means churlish nor coarse-looking, and this act was ratherone of easy-going, selfish, youthful familiarity than of rudeness. Thecabin of Uncles Billy and Jim was considered a public right or "common"of the camp. Conferences between individual miners were appointed there. "I'll meet you at Uncle Billy's" was a common tryst. Added to this was atacit claim upon the partners' arbitrative powers, or the equal right torequest them to step outside if the interviews were of a private nature. Yet there was never any objection on the part of the partners, andto-night there was not a shadow of resentment of this intrusion in thepatient, good-humored, tolerant eyes of Uncles Jim and Billy as theygazed at their guest. Perhaps there was a slight gleam of relief inUncle Jim's when he found that the guest was unaccompanied by any one, and that it was not a tryst. It would have been unpleasant for thetwo partners to have stayed out in the rain while their guests wereexchanging private confidences in their cabin. While there might havebeen no limit to their good will, there might have been some to theircapacity for exposure. 

Uncle Jim drew a huge log from beside the hearth and sat on the driestend of it, while their guest occupied the stool. The young man, withoutturning away from his discontented, peevish brooding over the fire, vaguely reached backward for the whiskey-bottle and Uncle Billy's tincup, to which he was assisted by the latter's hospitable hand. But onsetting down the cup his eye caught sight of the pill-box. 

"Wot's that?" he said, with gloomy scorn. "Rat poison?"

"Quinine pills--agin ager, " said Uncle Jim. "The newest thing out. Keepsout damp like Injin-rubber! Take one to follow yer whiskey. Me and UncleBilly wouldn't think o' settin' down, quiet like, in the evening arterwork, without 'em. Take one--ye 'r' welcome! We keep 'em out here forthe boys. "

Accustomed as the partners were to adopt and wear each other's opinionsbefore folks, as they did each other's clothing, Uncle Billy was, nevertheless, astonished and delighted at Uncle Jim's enthusiasm overHIS pills. The guest took one and swallowed it. 

"Mighty bitter!" he said, glancing at his hosts with the quickCalifornian suspicion of some practical joke. But the honest faces ofthe partners reassured him. 

"That bitterness ye taste, " said Uncle Jim quickly, "is whar thething's gittin' in its work. Sorter sickenin' the malaria--and kinderwater-proofin' the insides all to onct and at the same lick! Don't yersee? Put another in yer vest pocket; you'll be cryin' for 'em like achild afore ye get home. Thar! Well, how's things agoin' on your claim, Dick? Boomin', eh?"

The guest raised his head and turned it sufficiently to fling his answerback over his shoulder at his hosts. "I don't know what YOU'D call'boomin', '" he said gloomily; "I suppose you two men sitting herecomfortably by the fire, without caring whether school keeps or not, would call two feet of backwater over one's claim 'boomin';' I reckonYOU'D consider a hundred and fifty feet of sluicing carried away, and drifting to thunder down the South Fork, something in the way ofadvertising to your old camp! I suppose YOU'd think it was an inducementto investors! I shouldn't wonder, " he added still more gloomily, as asudden dash of rain down the wide-throated chimney dropped in histin cup--"and it would be just like you two chaps, sittin' theregormandizing over your quinine--if yer said this rain that's lastedthree weeks was something to be proud of!"

It was the cheerful and the satisfying custom of the rest of the camp, for no reason whatever, to hold Uncle Jim and Uncle Billy responsiblefor its present location, its vicissitudes, the weather, or anyconvulsion of nature; and it was equally the partners' habit, for noreason whatever, to accept these animadversions and apologize. 

"It's a rain that's soft and mellowin', " said Uncle Billy gently, "and supplin' to the sinews and muscles. Did ye ever notice, Jim"--ostentatiously to his partner--"did ye ever notice that you getinter a kind o' sweaty lather workin' in it? Sorter openin' to thepores!"

"Fetches 'em every time, " said Uncle Billy. "Better nor fancy soap. "

Their guest laughed bitterly. "Well, I'm going to leave it to you. Ireckon to cut the whole concern to-morrow, and 'lite' out for somethingnew. It can't be worse than this. "

The two partners looked grieved, albeit they were accustomed to theseoutbursts. Everybody who thought of going away from Cedar Camp used itfirst as a threat to these patient men, after the fashion of runawaynephews, or made an exemplary scene of their going. 

"Better think twice afore ye go, " said Uncle Billy. 

"I've seen worse weather afore ye came, " said Uncle Jim slowly. "Waterall over the Bar; the mud so deep ye couldn't get to Angel's for asack o' flour, and we had to grub on pine nuts and jackass-rabbits. Andyet--we stuck by the camp, and here we are!"

The mild answer apparently goaded their guest to fury. He rose from hisseat, threw back his long dripping hair from his handsome but querulousface, and scattered a few drops on the partners. "Yes, that's just it. That's what gets me! Here you stick, and here you are! And here you'llstick and rust until you starve or drown! Here you are, --two men whoought to be out in the world, playing your part as grown men, --stuckhere like children 'playing house' in the woods; playing work in yourwretched mud-pie ditches, and content. Two men not so old that youmightn't be taking your part in the fun of the world, going to ballsor theatres, or paying attention to girls, and yet old enough to havemarried and have your families around you, content to stay in thisGod-forsaken place; old bachelors, pigging together like poorhousepaupers. That's what gets me! Say you LIKE it? Say you expect byhanging on to make a strike--and what does that amount to? What are YOURchances? How many of us have made, or are making, more than grub wages?Say you're willing to share and share alike as you do--have you gotenough for two? Aren't you actually living off each other? Aren't yougrinding each other down, choking each other's struggles, as you sinktogether deeper and deeper in the mud of this cussed camp? And whileyou're doing this, aren't you, by your age and position here, holdingout hopes to others that you know cannot be fulfilled?"

Accustomed as they were to the half-querulous, half-humorous, but alwaysextravagant, criticism of the others, there was something so new in thisarraignment of themselves that the partners for a moment sat silent. There was a slight flush on Uncle Billy's cheek, there was a slightpaleness on Uncle Jim's. He was the first to reply. But he did so with acertain dignity which neither his partner nor their guest had ever seenon his face before. 

"As it's OUR fire that's warmed ye up like this, Dick Bullen, " he said, slowly rising, with his hand resting on Uncle Billy's shoulder, "and asit's OUR whiskey that's loosened your tongue, I reckon we must put upwith what ye 'r' saying, just as we've managed to put up with our ownway o' living, and not quo'll with ye under our own roof. "

The young fellow saw the change in Uncle Jim's face and quickly extendedhis hand, with an apologetic backward shake of his long hair. "Hangit all, old man, " he said, with a laugh of mingled contrition andamusement, "you mustn't mind what I said just now. I've been so worriedthinking of things about MYSELF, and, maybe, a little about you, that Iquite forgot I hadn't a call to preach to anybody--least of all to you. So we part friends, Uncle Jim, and you too, Uncle Billy, and you'llforget what I said. In fact, I don't know why I spoke at all--only Iwas passing your claim just now, and wondering how much longer your oldsluice-boxes would hold out, and where in thunder you'd get others whenthey caved in! I reckon that sent me off. That's all, old chap!"

Uncle Billy's face broke into a beaming smile of relief, and it was HIShand that first grasped his guest's; Uncle Jim quickly followed withas honest a pressure, but with eyes that did not seem to be looking atBullen, though all trace of resentment had died out of them. He walkedto the door with him, again shook hands, but remained looking out in thedarkness some time after Dick Bullen's tangled hair and broad shouldershad disappeared. 

Meantime, Uncle Billy had resumed his seat and was chuckling andreminiscent as he cleaned out his pipe. 

"Kinder reminds me of Jo Sharp, when he was cleaned out at poker by hisown partners in his own cabin, comin' up here and bedevilin' US aboutit! What was it you lint him?"

But Uncle Jim did not reply; and Uncle Billy, taking up the cards, began to shuffle them, smiling vaguely, yet at the same time somewhatpainfully. "Arter all, Dick was mighty cut up about what he said, and Ifelt kinder sorry for him. And, you know, I rather cotton to a man thatspeaks his mind. Sorter clears him out, you know, of all the slumgullionthat's in him. It's just like washin' out a pan o' prospecting: you pourin the water, and keep slushing it round and round, and out comes firstthe mud and dirt, and then the gravel, and then the black sand, andthen--it's all out, and there's a speck o' gold glistenin' at thebottom!"

"Then you think there WAS suthin' in what he said?" said Uncle Jim, facing about slowly. 

An odd tone in his voice made Uncle Billy look up. "No, " he saidquickly, shying with the instinct of an easy pleasure-loving nature froma possible grave situation. "No, I don't think he ever got the color!But wot are ye moonin' about for? Ain't ye goin' to play? It's mor' 'nhalf past nine now. "

Thus adjured, Uncle Jim moved up to the table and sat down, while UncleBilly dealt the cards, turning up the Jack or right bower--but WITHOUTthat exclamation of delight which always accompanied his good fortune, nor did Uncle Jim respond with the usual corresponding simulation ofdeep disgust. Such a circumstance had not occurred before in the historyof their partnership. They both played in silence--a silence onlyinterrupted by a larger splash of raindrops down the chimney. 

"We orter put a couple of stones on the chimney-top, edgewise, like JackCurtis does. It keeps out the rain without interferin' with the draft, "said Uncle Billy musingly. 

"What's the use if"--

"If what?" said Uncle Billy quietly. 

"If we don't make it broader, " said Uncle Jim half wearily. 

They both stared at the chimney, but Uncle Jim's eye followed the wallaround to the bunks. There were many discolorations on the canvas, anda picture of the Goddess of Liberty from an illustrated paper had brokenout in a kind of damp, measly eruption. "I'll stick that funny handbillof the 'Washin' Soda' I got at the grocery store the other day rightover the Liberty gal. It's a mighty perty woman washin' with shortsleeves, " said Uncle Billy. "That's the comfort of them picters, you kinalways get somethin' new, and it adds thickness to the wall. "

Uncle Jim went back to the cards in silence. After a moment he roseagain, and hung his overcoat against the door. 

"Wind's comin' in, " he said briefly. 

"Yes, " said Uncle Billy cheerfully, "but it wouldn't seem nat'ral ifthere wasn't that crack in the door to let the sunlight in o mornin's. Makes a kind o' sundial, you know. When the streak o' light's inthat corner, I says 'six o'clock!' when it's across the chimney I say'seven!' and so 'tis!"

It certainly had grown chilly, and the wind was rising. Thecandle guttered and flickered; the embers on the hearth brightenedoccasionally, as if trying to dispel the gathering shadows, but alwaysineffectually. The game was frequently interrupted by the necessity ofstirring the fire. After an interval of gloom, in which each partnersuccessively drew the candle to his side to examine his cards, Uncle Jimsaid:--

"Say?"

"Well!" responded Uncle Billy. 

"Are you sure you saw that third crow on the wood-pile?"

"Sure as I see you now--and a darned sight plainer. Why?"

"Nothin', I was just thinkin'. Look here! How do we stand now?"

Uncle Billy was still losing. "Nevertheless, " he said cheerfully, "I'mowin' you a matter of sixty thousand dollars. "

Uncle Jim examined the book abstractedly. "Suppose, " he said slowly, butwithout looking at his partner, "suppose, as it's gettin' late now, weplay for my half share of the claim agin the limit--seventy thousand--tosquare up. "

"Your half share!" repeated Uncle Billy, with amused incredulity. 

"My half share of the claim, --of this yer house, you know, --one half ofall that Dick Bullen calls our rotten starvation property, " reiteratedUncle Jim, with a half smile. 

Uncle Billy laughed. It was a novel idea; it was, of course, "all in theair, " like the rest of their game, yet even then he had an odd feelingthat he would have liked Dick Bullen to have known it. "Wade in, oldpard, " he said. "I'm on it. "

Uncle Jim lit another candle to reinforce the fading light, and the dealfell to Uncle Billy. He turned up Jack of clubs. He also turned a littleredder as he took up his cards, looked at them, and glanced hastily athis partner. "It's no use playing, " he said. "Look here!" He laid downhis cards on the table. They were the ace, king and queen of clubs, and Jack of spades, --or left bower, --which, with the turned-up Jack ofclubs, --or right bower, --comprised ALL the winning cards!

"By jingo! If we'd been playin' four-handed, say you an' me agin someother ducks, we'd have made 'four' in that deal, and h'isted somemoney--eh?" and his eyes sparkled. Uncle Jim, also, had a slighttremulous light in his own. 

"Oh no! I didn't see no three crows this afternoon, " added Uncle Billygleefully, as his partner, in turn, began to shuffle the cards withlaborious and conscientious exactitude. Then dealing, he turned up aheart for trumps. Uncle Billy took up his cards one by one, but whenhe had finished his face had become as pale as it had been red before. "What's the matter?" said Uncle Jim quickly, his own face growing white. 

Uncle Billy slowly and with breathless awe laid down his cards, face upon the table. It was exactly the same sequence IN HEARTS, with the knaveof diamonds added. He could again take every trick. 

They stared at each other with vacant faces and a half-drawn smile offear. They could hear the wind moaning in the trees beyond; there was asudden rattling at the door. Uncle Billy started to his feet, but UncleJim caught his arm. "DON'T LEAVE THE CARDS! It's only the wind; sitdown, " he said in a low awe-hushed voice, "it's your deal; you were twobefore, and two now, that makes your four; you've only one point to maketo win the game. Go on. "

They both poured out a cup of whiskey, smiling vaguely, yet with acertain terror in their eyes. Their hands were cold; the cards slippedfrom Uncle Billy's benumbed fingers; when he had shuffled them he passedthem to his partner to shuffle them also, but did not speak. When UncleJim had shuffled them methodically he handed them back fatefully to hispartner. Uncle Billy dealt them with a trembling hand. He turned up aclub. "If you are sure of these tricks you know you've won, " said UncleJim in a voice that was scarcely audible. Uncle Billy did not reply, buttremulously laid down the ace and right and left bowers. 

He had won!

A feeling of relief came over each, and they laughed hysterically anddiscordantly. Ridiculous and childish as their contest might have seemedto a looker-on, to each the tension had been as great as that of thegreatest gambler, without the gambler's trained restraint, coolness, andcomposure. Uncle Billy nervously took up the cards again. 

"Don't, " said Uncle Jim gravely; "it's no use--the luck's gone now. "

"Just one more deal, " pleaded his partner. 

Uncle Jim looked at the fire, Uncle Billy hastily dealt, and threw thetwo hands face up on the table. They were the ordinary average cards. He dealt again, with the same result. "I told you so, " said Uncle Jim, without looking up. 

It certainly seemed a tame performance after their wonderful hands, andafter another trial Uncle Billy threw the cards aside and drew his stoolbefore the fire. "Mighty queer, warn't it?" he said, with reminiscentawe. "Three times running. Do you know, I felt a kind o' creepy feelin'down my back all the time. Criky! what luck! None of the boys wouldbelieve it if we told 'em--least of all that Dick Bullen, who don'tbelieve in luck, anyway. Wonder what he'd have said! and, Lord! how he'dhave looked! Wall! what are you starin' so for?"

Uncle Jim had faced around, and was gazing at Uncle Billy'sgood-humored, simple face. "Nothin'!" he said briefly, and his eyesagain sought the fire. 

"Then don't look as if you was seein' suthin'--you give me the creeps, "returned Uncle Billy a little petulantly. "Let's turn in, afore the firegoes out!"

The fateful cards were put back into the drawer, the table shovedagainst the wall. The operation of undressing was quickly got over, the clothes they wore being put on top of their blankets. Uncle Billyyawned, "I wonder what kind of a dream I'll have tonight--it oughter besuthin' to explain that luck. " This was his "good-night" to his partner. In a few moments he was sound asleep. 

Not so Uncle Jim. He heard the wind gradually go down, and in theoppressive silence that followed could detect the deep breathing ofhis companion and the far-off yelp of a coyote. His eyesight becomingaccustomed to the semi-darkness, broken only by the scintillation ofthe dying embers of their fire, he could take in every detail of theirsordid cabin and the rude environment in which they had lived so long. The dismal patches on the bark roof, the wretched makeshifts of eachday, the dreary prolongation of discomfort, were all plain to him now, without the sanguine hope that had made them bearable. And when heshut his eyes upon them, it was only to travel in fancy down the steepmountain side that he had trodden so often to the dreary claim on theoverflowed river, to the heaps of "tailings" that encumbered it, likeempty shells of the hollow, profitless days spent there, which theywere always waiting for the stroke of good fortune to clear away. He sawagain the rotten "sluicing, " through whose hopeless rifts and holes eventheir scant daily earnings had become scantier. At last he arose, and with infinite gentleness let himself down from his berth withoutdisturbing his sleeping partner, and wrapping himself in his blanket, went to the door, which he noiselessly opened. From the position of afew stars that were glittering in the northern sky he knew that it wasyet scarcely midnight; there were still long, restless hours before theday! In the feverish state into which he had gradually worked himself itseemed to him impossible to wait the coming of the dawn. 

But he was mistaken. For even as he stood there all nature seemed toinvade his humble cabin with its free and fragrant breath, and investhim with its great companionship. He felt again, in that breath, thatstrange sense of freedom, that mystic touch of partnership with thebirds and beasts, the shrubs and trees, in this greater home before him. It was this vague communion that had kept him there, that still heldthese world-sick, weary workers in their rude cabins on the slopesaround him; and he felt upon his brow that balm that had nightly lulledhim and them to sleep and forgetfulness. He closed the door, turnedaway, crept as noiselessly as before into his bunk again, and presentlyfell into a profound slumber. 

But when Uncle Billy awoke the next morning he saw it was late; forthe sun, piercing the crack of the closed door, was sending a pencil oflight across the cold hearth, like a match to rekindle its dead embers. His first thought was of his strange luck the night before, and ofdisappointment that he had not had the dream of divination that he hadlooked for. He sprang to the floor, but as he stood upright hisglance fell on Uncle Jim's bunk. It was empty. Not only that, but hisBLANKETS--Uncle Jim's own particular blankets--WERE GONE!

A sudden revelation of his partner's manner the night before struck himnow with the cruelty of a blow; a sudden intelligence, perhaps the verydivination he had sought, flashed upon him like lightning! He glancedwildly around the cabin. The table was drawn out from the wall a littleostentatiously, as if to catch his eye. On it was lying the stainedchamois-skin purse in which they had kept the few grains of goldremaining from their last week's "clean up. " The grains had beencarefully divided, and half had been taken! But near it lay the littlememorandum-book, open, with the stick of pencil lying across it. A deepline was drawn across the page on which was recorded their imaginaryextravagant gains and losses, even to the entry of Uncle Jim's halfshare of the claim which he had risked and lost! Underneath werehurriedly scrawled the words:--

"Settled by YOUR luck, last night, old pard. --JAMES FOSTER. "

It was nearly a month before Cedar Camp was convinced that Uncle Billyand Uncle Jim had dissolved partnership. Pride had prevented Uncle Billyfrom revealing his suspicions of the truth, or of relating the eventsthat preceded Uncle Jim's clandestine flight, and Dick Bullen had goneto Sacramento by stage-coach the same morning. He briefly gave out thathis partner had been called to San Francisco on important business oftheir own, that indeed might necessitate his own removal there later. Inthis he was singularly assisted by a letter from the absent Jim, datedat San Francisco, begging him not to be anxious about his success, as hehad hopes of presently entering into a profitable business, but with nofurther allusions to his precipitate departure, nor any suggestion ofa reason for it. For two or three days Uncle Billy was staggered andbewildered; in his profound simplicity he wondered if his extraordinarygood fortune that night had made him deaf to some explanation of hispartner's, or, more terrible, if he had shown some "low" and incredibleintimation of taking his partner's extravagant bet as REAL and binding. In this distress he wrote to Uncle Jim an appealing and apologeticletter, albeit somewhat incoherent and inaccurate, and bristlingwith misspelling, camp slang, and old partnership jibes. But to thiselaborate epistle he received only Uncle Jim's repeated assurances ofhis own bright prospects, and his hopes that his old partner would bemore fortunate, single-handed, on the old claim. For a whole week or twoUncle Billy sulked, but his invincible optimism and good humor got thebetter of him, and he thought only of his old partner's good fortune. He wrote him regularly, but always to one address--a box at the SanFrancisco post-office, which to the simple-minded Uncle Billy suggesteda certain official importance. To these letters Uncle Jim respondedregularly but briefly. 

From a certain intuitive pride in his partner and his affection, UncleBilly did not show these letters openly to the camp, although he spokefreely of his former partner's promising future, and even read themshort extracts. It is needless to say that the camp did not accept UncleBilly's story with unsuspecting confidence. On the contrary, a hundredsurmises, humorous or serious, but always extravagant, were afloat inCedar Camp. The partners had quarreled over their clothes--Uncle Jim, who was taller than Uncle Billy, had refused to wear his partner'strousers. They had quarreled over cards--Uncle Jim had discovered thatUncle Billy was in possession of a "cold deck, " or marked pack. They hadquarreled over Uncle Billy's carelessness in grinding up half a boxof "bilious pills" in the morning's coffee. A gloomily imaginativemule-driver had darkly suggested that, as no one had really seen UncleJim leave the camp, he was still there, and his bones would yet be foundin one of the ditches; while a still more credulous miner averred thatwhat he had thought was the cry of a screech-owl the night previous toUncle Jim's disappearance, might have been the agonized utterance ofthat murdered man. It was highly characteristic of that camp--and, indeed, of others in California--that nobody, not even the ingenioustheorists themselves, believed their story, and that no one took theslightest pains to verify or disprove it. Happily, Uncle Billy neverknew it, and moved all unconsciously in this atmosphere of burlesquesuspicion. And then a singular change took place in the attitude of thecamp towards him and the disrupted partnership. Hitherto, for no reasonwhatever, all had agreed to put the blame upon Billy--possibly becausehe was present to receive it. As days passed that slight reticence anddejection in his manner, which they had at first attributed to remorseand a guilty conscience, now began to tell as absurdly in his favor. Here was poor Uncle Billy toiling though the ditches, while his selfishpartner was lolling in the lap of luxury in San Francisco! Uncle Billy'sglowing accounts of Uncle Jim's success only contributed to the sympathynow fully given in his behalf and their execration of the abscondingpartner. It was proposed at Biggs's store that a letter expressing theindignation of the camp over his heartless conduct to his late partner, William Fall, should be forwarded to him. Condolences were offered toUncle Billy, and uncouth attempts were made to cheer his loneliness. Aprocession of half a dozen men twice a week to his cabin, carrying theirown whiskey and winding up with a "stag dance" before the premises, wassufficient to lighten his eclipsed gayety and remind him of a happierpast. "Surprise" working parties visited his claim with spasmodic essaystowards helping him, and great good humor and hilarity prevailed. It wasnot an unusual thing for an honest miner to arise from an idle gatheringin some cabin and excuse himself with the remark that he "reckoned he'dput in an hour's work in Uncle Billy's tailings!" And yet, as before, itwas very improbable if any of these reckless benefactors REALLY believedin their own earnestness or in the gravity of the situation. Indeed, akind of hopeful cynicism ran through their performances. "Like as not, Uncle Billy is still in 'cahoots' [i. E. , shares] with his old pard, andis just laughin' at us as he's sendin' him accounts of our tomfoolin'. "

And so the winter passed and the rains, and the days of cloudless skiesand chill starlit nights began. There were still freshets from the snowreservoirs piled high in the Sierran passes, and the Bar was flooded, but that passed too, and only the sunshine remained. Monotonous as theseasons were, there was a faint movement in the camp with the stirringof the sap in the pines and cedars. And then, one day, there was astrange excitement on the Bar. Men were seen running hither and thither, but mainly gathering in a crowd on Uncle Billy's claim, that stillretained the old partners' names in "The Fall and Foster. " To add to theexcitement, there was the quickly repeated report of a revolver, to allappearance aimlessly exploded in the air by some one on the outskirtsof the assemblage. As the crowd opened, Uncle Billy appeared, pale, hysterical, breathless, and staggering a little under the back-slappingand hand-shaking of the whole camp. For Uncle Billy had "struck itrich"--had just discovered a "pocket, " roughly estimated to be worthfifteen thousand dollars!

Although in that supreme moment he missed the face of his old partner, he could not help seeing the unaffected delight and happiness shiningin the eyes of all who surrounded him. It was characteristic of thatsanguine but uncertain life that success and good fortune brought nojealousy nor envy to the unfortunate, but was rather a promiseand prophecy of the fulfillment of their own hopes. The gold wasthere--Nature but yielded up her secret. There was no prescribed limitto her bounty. So strong was this conviction that a long-suffering butstill hopeful miner, in the enthusiasm of the moment, stooped down andpatted a large boulder with the apostrophic "Good old gal!"

Then followed a night of jubilee, a next morning of hurried consultationwith a mining expert and speculator lured to the camp by the goodtidings; and then the very next night--to the utter astonishment ofCedar Camp--Uncle Billy, with a draft for twenty thousand dollars in hispocket, started for San Francisco, and took leave of his claim and thecamp forever!

*****

When Uncle Billy landed at the wharves of San Francisco he was a littlebewildered. The Golden Gate beyond was obliterated by the incomingsea-fog, which had also roofed in the whole city, and lights alreadyglittered along the gray streets that climbed the grayer sand-hills. As a Western man, brought up by inland rivers, he was fascinated andthrilled by the tall-masted seagoing ships, and he felt a strange senseof the remoter mysterious ocean, which he had never seen. But he wasimpressed and startled by smartly dressed men and women, the passing ofcarriages, and a sudden conviction that he was strange and foreign towhat he saw. It had been his cherished intention to call upon his oldpartner in his working clothes, and then clap down on the table beforehim a draft for ten thousand dollars as HIS share of their old claim. But in the face of these brilliant strangers a sudden and unexpectedtimidity came upon him. He had heard of a cheap popular hotel, muchfrequented by the returning gold-miner, who entered its hospitabledoors--which held an easy access to shops--and emerged in a few hoursa gorgeous butterfly of fashion, leaving his old chrysalis behind him. Thence he inquired his way; hence he afterwards issued in garmentsglaringly new and ill fitting. But he had not sacrificed his beard, andthere was still something fine and original in his handsome weak facethat overcame the cheap convention of his clothes. Making his way to thepost-office, he was again discomfited by the great size of the building, and bewildered by the array of little square letter-boxes behind glasswhich occupied one whole wall, and an equal number of opaque and lockedwooden ones legibly numbered. His heart leaped; he remembered thenumber, and before him was a window with a clerk behind it. Uncle Billyleaned forward. 

"Kin you tell me if the man that box 690 b'longs to is in?"

The clerk stared, made him repeat the question, and then turned away. But he returned almost instantly, with two or three grinning headsbesides his own, apparently set behind his shoulders. Uncle Billy wasagain asked to repeat his question. He did so. 

"Why don't you go and see if 690 is in his box?" said the first clerk, turning with affected asperity to one of the others. 

The clerk went away, returned, and said with singular gravity, "He wasthere a moment ago, but he's gone out to stretch his legs. It's rathercrampin' at first; and he can't stand it more than ten hours at a time, you know. "

But simplicity has its limits. Uncle Billy had already guessed hisreal error in believing his partner was officially connected with thebuilding; his cheek had flushed and then paled again. The pupils of hisblue eyes had contracted into suggestive black points. "Ef you'll letme in at that winder, young fellers, " he said, with equal gravity, "I'll show yer how I kin make YOU small enough to go in a box withoutcrampin'! But I only wanted to know where Jim Foster LIVED. "

At which the first clerk became perfunctory again, but civil. "A letterleft in his box would get you that information, " he said, "and here'spaper and pencil to write it now. "

Uncle Billy took the paper and began to write, "Just got here. Come andsee me at"--He paused. A brilliant idea had struck him; He could impressboth his old partner and the upstarts at the window; he would put in thename of the latest "swell" hotel in San Francisco, said to be a fairydream of opulence. He added "The Oriental, " and without folding thepaper shoved it in the window. 

"Don't you want an envelope?" asked the clerk. 

"Put a stamp on the corner of it, " responded Uncle Billy, laying down acoin, "and she'll go through. " The clerk smiled, but affixed the stamp, and Uncle Billy turned away. 

But it was a short-lived triumph. The disappointment at finding UncleJim's address conveyed no idea of his habitation seemed to remove himfarther away, and lose his identity in the great city. Besides, he mustnow make good his own address, and seek rooms at the Oriental. He wentthither. The furniture and decorations, even in these early days ofhotel-building in San Francisco, were extravagant and over-strained, and Uncle Billy felt lost and lonely in his strange surroundings. Buthe took a handsome suite of rooms, paid for them in advance on the spot, and then, half frightened, walked out of them to ramble vaguely throughthe city in the feverish hope of meeting his old partner. At night hisinquietude increased; he could not face the long row of tables in thepillared dining-room, filled with smartly dressed men and women;he evaded his bedroom, with its brocaded satin chairs and its giltbedstead, and fled to his modest lodgings at the Good Cheer House, andappeased his hunger at its cheap restaurant, in the company of retiredminers and freshly arrived Eastern emigrants. Two or three days passedthus in this quaint double existence. Three or four times a day he wouldenter the gorgeous Oriental with affected ease and carelessness, demandhis key from the hotel-clerk, ask for the letter that did not come, goto his room, gaze vaguely from his window on the passing crowd below forthe partner he could not find, and then return to the Good Cheer Housefor rest and sustenance. On the fourth day he received a short notefrom Uncle Jim; it was couched in his usual sanguine but brief andbusinesslike style. He was very sorry, but important and profitablebusiness took him out of town, but he trusted to return soon and welcomehis old partner. He was also, for the first time, jocose, and hopedthat Uncle Billy would not "see all the sights" before he, Uncle Jim, returned. Disappointing as this procrastination was to Uncle Billy, agleam of hope irradiated it: the letter had bridged over that gulf whichseemed to yawn between them at the post-office. His old partner hadaccepted his visit to San Francisco without question, and had alluded toa renewal of their old intimacy. For Uncle Billy, with all his trustfulsimplicity, had been tortured by two harrowing doubts: one, whetherUncle Jim in his new-fledged smartness as a "city" man--such as hesaw in the streets--would care for his rough companionship; the other, whether he, Uncle Billy, ought not to tell him at once of his changedfortune. But, like all weak, unreasoning men, he clung desperately toa detail--he could not forego his old idea of astounding Uncle Jim bygiving him his share of the "strike" as his first intimation of it, andhe doubted, with more reason perhaps, if Jim would see him after hehad heard of his good fortune. For Uncle Billy had still a frightenedrecollection of Uncle Jim's sudden stroke for independence, andthat rigid punctiliousness which had made him doggedly accept theresponsibility of his extravagant stake at euchre. 

With a view of educating himself for Uncle Jim's company, he "saw thesights" of San Francisco--as an overgrown and somewhat stupid childmight have seen them--with great curiosity, but little contamination orcorruption. But I think he was chiefly pleased with watching the arrivalof the Sacramento and Stockton steamers at the wharves, in the hopeof discovering his old partner among the passengers on the gang-plank. Here, with his old superstitious tendency and gambler's instinct, hewould augur great success in his search that day if any one of thepassengers bore the least resemblance to Uncle Jim, if a man or womanstepped off first, or if he met a single person's questioning eye. Indeed, this got to be the real occupation of the day, which he would onno account have omitted, and to a certain extent revived each day inhis mind the morning's work of their old partnership. He would say tohimself, "It's time to go and look up Jim, " and put off what hewas pleased to think were his pleasures until this act of duty wasaccomplished. 

In this singleness of purpose he made very few and no entanglingacquaintances, nor did he impart to any one the secret of his fortune, loyally reserving it for his partner's first knowledge. To a man ofhis natural frankness and simplicity this was a great trial, and was, perhaps, a crucial test of his devotion. When he gave up his rooms atthe Oriental--as not necessary after his partner's absence--he senta letter, with his humble address, to the mysterious lock-box of hispartner without fear or false shame. He would explain it all when theymet. But he sometimes treated unlucky and returning miners to a dinnerand a visit to the gallery of some theatre. Yet while he had an activesympathy with and understanding of the humblest, Uncle Billy, whofor many years had done his own and his partner's washing, scrubbing, mending, and cooking, and saw no degradation in it, was somewhatinconsistently irritated by menial functions in men, and althoughhe gave extravagantly to waiters, and threw a dollar to thecrossing-sweeper, there was always a certain shy avoidance of them inhis manner. Coming from the theatre one night Uncle Billy was, however, seriously concerned by one of these crossing-sweepers turning hastilybefore them and being knocked down by a passing carriage. The man roseand limped hurriedly away; but Uncle Billy was amazed and still moreirritated to hear from his companion that this kind of menial occupationwas often profitable, and that at some of the principal crossings thesweepers were already rich men. 

But a few days later brought a more notable event to Uncle Billy. Oneafternoon in Montgomery Street he recognized in one of its smartlydressed frequenters a man who had a few years before been a member ofCedar Camp. Uncle Billy's childish delight at this meeting, whichseemed to bridge over his old partner's absence, was, however, onlyhalf responded to by the ex-miner, and then somewhat satirically. In thefullness of his emotion, Uncle Billy confided to him that he was seekinghis old partner, Jim Foster, and, reticent of his own good fortune, spoke glowingly of his partner's brilliant expectations, but deploredhis inability to find him. And just now he was away on importantbusiness. "I reckon he's got back, " said the man dryly. "I didn't knowhe had a lock-box at the post-office, but I can give you his otheraddress. He lives at the Presidio, at Washerwoman's Bay. " He stopped andlooked with a satirical smile at Uncle Billy. But the latter, familiarwith Californian mining-camp nomenclature, saw nothing strange in it, and merely repeated his companion's words. 

"You'll find him there! Good-by! So long! Sorry I'm in a hurry, " saidthe ex-miner, and hurried away. 

Uncle Billy was too delighted with the prospect of a speedy meeting withUncle Jim to resent his former associate's supercilious haste, or evento wonder why Uncle Jim had not informed him that he had returned. Itwas not the first time that he had felt how wide was the gulf betweenhimself and these others, and the thought drew him closer to his oldpartner, as well as his old idea, as it was now possible to surprisehim with the draft. But as he was going to surprise him in his ownboarding-house--probably a handsome one--Uncle Billy reflected that hewould do so in a certain style. 

He accordingly went to a livery stable and ordered a landau and pair, with a negro coachman. Seated in it, in his best and most ill-fittingclothes, he asked the coachman to take him to the Presidio, and leanedback in the cushions as they drove through the streets with such anexpression of beaming gratification on his good-humored face that thepassers-by smiled at the equipage and its extravagant occupant. To themit seemed the not unusual sight of the successful miner "on a spree. " Tothe unsophisticated Uncle Billy their smiling seemed only a natural andkindly recognition of his happiness, and he nodded and smiled backto them with unsuspecting candor and innocent playfulness. "These yer'Frisco fellers ain't ALL slouches, you bet, " he added to himself halfaloud, at the back of the grinning coachman. 

Their way led through well-built streets to the outskirts, or ratherto that portion of the city which seemed to have been overwhelmed byshifting sand-dunes, from which half-submerged fences and even lowhouses barely marked the line of highway. The resistless trade-windswhich had marked this change blew keenly in his face and slightlychilled his ardor. At a turn in the road the sea came in sight, andsloping towards it the great Cemetery of Lone Mountain, with whiteshafts and marbles that glittered in the sunlight like the sails ofships waiting to be launched down that slope into the Eternal Ocean. Uncle Billy shuddered. What if it had been his fate to seek Uncle Jimthere!

"Dar's yar Presidio!" said the negro coachman a few moments later, pointing with his whip, "and dar's yar Wash'woman's Bay!"

Uncle Billy stared. A huge quadrangular fort of stone with a flag flyingabove its battlements stood at a little distance, pressed against therocks, as if beating back the encroaching surges; between him and thefort but farther inland was a lagoon with a number of dilapidated, rudely patched cabins or cottages, like stranded driftwood around itsshore. But there was no mansion, no block of houses, no street, notanother habitation or dwelling to be seen!

Uncle Billy's first shock of astonishment was succeeded by a feeling ofrelief. He had secretly dreaded a meeting with his old partner in the"haunts of fashion;" whatever was the cause that made Uncle Jim seekthis obscure retirement affected him but slightly; he even was thrilledwith a vague memory of the old shiftless camp they had both abandoned. Acertain instinct--he knew not why, or less still that it might be one ofdelicacy--made him alight before they reached the first house. Biddingthe carriage wait, Uncle Billy entered, and was informed by a blowzyIrish laundress at a tub that Jim Foster, or "Arkansaw Jim, " lived atthe fourth shanty "beyant. " He was at home, for "he'd shprained hisfut. " Uncle Billy hurried on, stopped before the door of a shantyscarcely less rude than their old cabin, and half timidly pushed itopen. A growling voice from within, a figure that rose hurriedly, leaning on a stick, with an attempt to fly, but in the same moment sankback in a chair with an hysterical laugh--and Uncle Billy stood in thepresence of his old partner! But as Uncle Billy darted forward, UncleJim rose again, and this time with outstretched hands. Uncle Billycaught them, and in one supreme pressure seemed to pour out andtransfuse his whole simple soul into his partner's. There they swayedeach other backwards and forwards and sideways by their still claspedhands, until Uncle Billy, with a glance at Uncle Jim's bandaged ankle, shoved him by sheer force down into his chair. 

Uncle Jim was first to speak. "Caught, b' gosh! I mighter known you'd beas big a fool as me! Look you, Billy Fall, do you know what you've done?You've druv me out er the streets whar I was makin' an honest livin', byday, on three crossin's! Yes, " he laughed forgivingly, "you druv me outer it, by day, jest because I reckoned that some time I might run intoyour darned fool face, "--another laugh and a grasp of the hand, --"andthen, b'gosh! not content with ruinin' my business BY DAY, when Itook to it at night, YOU took to goin' out at nights too, and so put astopper on me there! Shall I tell you what else you did? Well, by theholy poker! I owe this sprained foot to your darned foolishness and myown, for it was getting away from YOU one night after the theatre that Igot run into and run over!

"Ye see, " he went on, unconscious of Uncle Billy's paling face, and witha naivete, though perhaps not a delicacy, equal to Uncle Billy's own, "Ihad to play roots on you with that lock-box business and these letters, because I did not want you to know what I was up to, for you mightn'tlike it, and might think it was lowerin' to the old firm, don't yersee? I wouldn't hev gone into it, but I was played out, and I don'tmind tellin' you NOW, old man, that when I wrote you that first chipperletter from the lock-box I hedn't eat anythin' for two days. But it'sall right NOW, " with a laugh. "Then I got into this business--thinkin'it nothin'--jest the very last thing--and do you know, old pard, Icouldn't tell anybody but YOU--and, in fact, I kept it jest to tellyou--I've made nine hundred and fifty-six dollars! Yes, sir, NINEHUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX DOLLARS! solid money, in Adams and Co. 's Bank, just out er my trade. "

"Wot trade?" asked Uncle Billy. 

Uncle Jim pointed to the corner, where stood a large, heavycrossing-sweeper's broom. "That trade. "

"Certingly, " said Uncle Billy, with a quick laugh. 

"It's an outdoor trade, " said Uncle Jim gravely, but with no suggestionof awkwardness or apology in his manner; "and thar ain't much differencebetween sweepin' a crossin' with a broom and raking over tailing with arake, ONLY--WOT YE GET with a broom YOU HAVE HANDED TO YE, and ye don'thave to PICK IT UP AND FISH IT OUT ER the wet rocks and sluice-gushin';and it's a heap less tiring to the back. "

"Certingly, you bet!" said Uncle Billy enthusiastically, yet with acertain nervous abstraction. 

"I'm glad ye say so; for yer see I didn't know at first how you'd tumbleto my doing it, until I'd made my pile. And ef I hadn't made it, Iwouldn't hev set eyes on ye agin, old pard--never!"

"Do you mind my runnin' out a minit, " said Uncle Billy, rising. "Yousee, I've got a friend waitin' for me outside--and I reckon"--hestammered--"I'll jest run out and send him off, so I kin talk comf'bleto ye. "

"Ye ain't got anybody you're owin' money to, " said Uncle Jim earnestly, "anybody follerin' you to get paid, eh? For I kin jest set down righthere and write ye off a check on the bank!"

"No, " said Uncle Billy. He slipped out of the door, and ran like a deerto the waiting carriage. Thrusting a twenty-dollar gold-piece into thecoachman's hand, he said hoarsely, "I ain't wantin' that kerridge justnow; ye ken drive around and hev a private jamboree all by yourself therest of the afternoon, and then come and wait for me at the top o' thehill yonder. "

Thus quit of his gorgeous equipage, he hurried back to Uncle Jim, grasping his ten-thousand dollar draft in his pocket. He was nervous, hewas frightened, but he must get rid of the draft and his story, and haveit over. But before he could speak he was unexpectedly stopped by UncleJim. 

"Now, look yer, Billy boy!" said Uncle Jim; "I got suthin' to say toye--and I might as well clear it off my mind at once, and then we canstart fair agin. Now, " he went on, with a half laugh, "wasn't it enoughfor ME to go on pretendin' I was rich and doing a big business, andgettin' up that lock-box dodge so as ye couldn't find out whar I hungout and what I was doin'--wasn't it enough for ME to go on with all thisplay-actin', but YOU, you long-legged or nary cuss! must get up and goto lyin' and play-actin', too!"

"ME play-actin'? ME lyin'?" gasped Uncle Billy. 

Uncle Jim leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Do you think you couldfool ME? Do you think I didn't see through your little game o' goingto that swell Oriental, jest as if ye'd made a big strike--and all thewhile ye wasn't sleepin' or eatin' there, but jest wrastlin' yer hashand having a roll down at the Good Cheer! Do you think I didn't spy onye and find that out? Oh, you long-eared jackass-rabbit!"

He laughed until the tears came into his eyes, and Uncle Billy laughedtoo, albeit until the laugh on his face became quite fixed, and he wasfain to bury his head in his handkerchief. 

"And yet, " said Uncle Jim, with a deep breath, "gosh! I wasfrighted--jest for a minit! I thought, mebbe, you HAD made a bigstrike--when I got your first letter--and I made up my mind what I'ddo! And then I remembered you was jest that kind of an open sluice thatcouldn't keep anythin' to yourself, and you'd have been sure to haveyelled it out to ME the first thing. So I waited. And I found you out, you old sinner!" He reached forward and dug Uncle Billy in the ribs. 

"What WOULD you hev done?" said Uncle Billy, after an hystericalcollapse. 

Uncle Jim's face grew grave again. "I'd hev--I'd--hev cl'ared out! Outer 'Frisco! out er Californy! out er Ameriky! I couldn't have stud it!Don't think I would hev begrudged ye yer luck! No man would have beengladder than me. " He leaned forward again, and laid his hand caressinglyupon his partner's arm--"Don't think I'd hev wanted to take a penny ofit--but I--thar! I COULDN'T hev stood up under it! To hev had YOU, youthat I left behind, comin' down here rollin' in wealth and new partnersand friends, and arrive upon me--and this shanty--and"--he threw towardsthe corner of the room a terrible gesture, none the less terriblethat it was illogical and inconsequent to all that had gonebefore--"and--and--THAT BROOM!"

There was a dead silence in the room. With it Uncle Billy seemed to feelhimself again transported to the homely cabin at Cedar Camp and thatfateful night, with his partner's strange, determined face before himas then. He even fancied that he heard the roaring of the pines without, and did not know that it was the distant sea. 

But after a minute Uncle Jim resumed:--

"Of course you've made a little raise somehow, or you wouldn't be here?"

"Yes, " said Uncle Billy eagerly. "Yes! I've got"--He stopped andstammered. "I've got--a--few hundreds. "

"Oh, oh!" said Uncle Jim cheerfully. He paused, and then addedearnestly, "I say! You ain't got left, over and above your d--dfoolishness at the Oriental, as much as five hundred dollars?"

"I've got, " said Uncle Billy, blushing a little over his firstdeliberate and affected lie, "I've got at least five hundred andseventy-two dollars. Yes, " he added tentatively, gazing anxiously at hispartner, "I've got at least that. "

"Je whillikins!" said Uncle Jim, with a laugh. Then eagerly, "Look here, pard! Then we're on velvet! I've got NINE hundred; put your FIVE withthat, and I know a little ranch that we can get for twelve hundred. That's what I've been savin' up for--that's my little game! No moreminin' for ME. It's got a shanty twice as big as our old cabin, nigh ona hundred acres, and two mustangs. We can run it with two Chinamen andjest make it howl! Wot yer say--eh?" He extended his hand. 

"I'm in, " said Uncle Billy, radiantly grasping Uncle Jim's. But hissmile faded, and his clear simple brow wrinkled in two lines. 

Happily Uncle Jim did not notice it. "Now, then, old pard, " he saidbrightly, "we'll have a gay old time to-night--one of our jamborees!I've got some whiskey here and a deck o' cards, and we'll have a littlegame, you understand, but not for 'keeps' now! No, siree; we'll play forbeans. "

A sudden light illuminated Uncle Billy's face again, but he said, with agrim desperation, "Not to-night! I've got to go into town. That fren'o' mine expects me to go to the theayter, don't ye see? But I'll be outto-morrow at sun-up, and we'll fix up this thing o' the ranch. "

"Seems to me you're kinder stuck on this fren', " grunted Uncle Jim. 

Uncle Billy's heart bounded at his partner's jealousy. "No--but I MUST, you know, " he returned, with a faint laugh. 

"I say--it ain't a HER, is it?" said Uncle Jim. 

Uncle Billy achieved a diabolical wink and a creditable blush at hislie. 

"Billy?"

"Jim!"

And under cover of this festive gallantry Uncle Billy escaped. He ranthrough the gathering darkness, and toiled up the shifting sands to thetop of the hill, where he found the carriage waiting. 

"Wot, " said Uncle Billy in a low confidential tone to the coachman, "wot do you 'Frisco fellers allow to be the best, biggest, and riskiestgamblin'-saloon here? Suthin' high-toned, you know?"

The negro grinned. It was the usual case of the extravagant spendthriftminer, though perhaps he had expected a different question and order. 

"Dey is de 'Polka, ' de 'El Dorado, ' and de 'Arcade' saloon, boss, " hesaid, flicking his whip meditatively. "Most gents from de mines preferde 'Polka, ' for dey is dancing wid de gals frown in. But de real primafacie place for gents who go for buckin' agin de tiger and straight-outgamblin' is de 'Arcade. '"

"Drive there like thunder!" said Uncle Billy, leaping into the carriage. 

*****

True to his word, Uncle Billy was at his partner's shanty early the nextmorning. He looked a little tired, but happy, and had brought a draftwith him for five hundred and seventy-five dollars, which he explainedwas the total of his capital. Uncle Jim was overjoyed. They would startfor Napa that very day, and conclude the purchase of the ranch; UncleJim's sprained foot was a sufficient reason for his giving up hispresent vocation, which he could also sell at a small profit. Hisdomestic arrangements were very simple; there was nothing to takewith him--there was everything to leave behind. And that afternoon, atsunset, the two reunited partners were seated on the deck of the Napaboat as she swung into the stream. 

Uncle Billy was gazing over the railing with a look of abstracted relieftowards the Golden Gate, where the sinking sun seemed to be drawingtowards him in the ocean a golden stream that was forever pouringfrom the Bay and the three-hilled city beside it. What Uncle Billy wasthinking of, or what the picture suggested to him, did not transpire;for Uncle Jim, who, emboldened by his holiday, was luxuriating in anevening paper, suddenly uttered a long-drawn whistle, and moved closerto his abstracted partner. "Look yer, " he said, pointing to a paragraphhe had evidently just read, "just you listen to this, and see if weain't lucky, you and me, to be jest wot we air--trustin' to our own hardwork--and not thinkin' o' 'strikes' and 'fortins. ' Jest unbutton yerears, Billy, while I reel off this yer thing I've jest struck in thepaper, and see what d--d fools some men kin make o' themselves. And thattheer reporter wot wrote it--must hev seed it reely!"

Uncle Jim cleared his throat, and holding the paper close to his eyesread aloud slowly:--

"'A scene of excitement that recalled the palmy days of '49 waswitnessed last night at the Arcade Saloon. A stranger, who might havebelonged to that reckless epoch, and who bore every evidence of beinga successful Pike County miner out on a "spree, " appeared at one of thetables with a negro coachman bearing two heavy bags of gold. Selectinga faro-bank as his base of operations, he began to bet heavily and withapparent recklessness, until his play excited the breathless attentionof every one. In a few moments he had won a sum variously estimated atfrom eighty to a hundred thousand dollars. A rumor went round the roomthat it was a concerted attempt to "break the bank" rather than thedrunken freak of a Western miner, dazzled by some successful strike. To this theory the man's careless and indifferent bearing towards hisextraordinary gains lent great credence. The attempt, if such it was, however, was unsuccessful. After winning ten times in succession theluck turned, and the unfortunate "bucker" was cleared out not only ofhis gains, but of his original investment, which may be placed roughlyat twenty thousand dollars. This extraordinary play was witnessed by acrowd of excited players, who were less impressed by even the magnitudeof the stakes than the perfect sang-froid and recklessness of theplayer, who, it is said, at the close of the game tossed a twenty-dollargold-piece to the banker and smilingly withdrew. The man was notrecognized by any of the habitues of the place. '

"There!" said Uncle Jim, as he hurriedly slurred over the Frenchsubstantive at the close, "did ye ever see such God-forsakenfoolishness?"

Uncle Billy lifted his abstracted eyes from the current, still pouringits unreturning gold into the sinking sun, and said, with a deprecatorysmile, "Never!"

Nor even in the days of prosperity that visited the Great Wheat Ranch of"Fall and Foster" did he ever tell his secret to his partner. 

SEE YUP

I don't suppose that his progenitors ever gave him that name, or, indeed, that it was a NAME at all; but it was currently believedthat--as pronounced "See UP"--it meant that lifting of the outer angleof the eye common to the Mongolian. On the other hand, I had been toldthat there was an old Chinese custom of affixing some motto or legend, or even a sentence from Confucius, as a sign above their shops, and thattwo or more words, which might be merely equivalent to "Virtue is itsown reward, " or "Riches are deceitful, " were believed by the simpleCalifornian miner to be the name of the occupant himself. Howbeit, "SeeYup" accepted it with the smiling patience of his race, and neverwent by any other. If one of the tunnelmen always addressed him as"Brigadier-General, " "Judge, " or "Commodore, " it was understood to beonly the American fondness for ironic title, and was never used exceptin personal conversation. In appearance he looked like any otherChinaman, wore the ordinary blue cotton blouse and white drawers of theSampan coolie, and, in spite of the apparent cleanliness and freshnessof these garments, always exhaled that singular medicated odor--halfopium, half ginger--which we recognized as the common "Chinese smell. "

Our first interview was characteristic of his patient quality. He haddone my washing for several months, but I had never yet seen him. A meeting at last had become necessary to correct his impressionsregarding "buttons"--which he had seemed to consider as mereexcrescences, to be removed like superfluous dirt from soiled linen. I had expected him to call at my lodgings, but he had not yet made hisappearance. One day, during the noontide recess of the little frontierschool over which I presided, I returned rather early. Two or three ofthe smaller boys, who were loitering about the school-yard, disappearedwith a certain guilty precipitation that I suspected for the moment, but which I presently dismissed from my mind. I passed through theempty school-room to my desk, sat down, and began to prepare the cominglessons. Presently I heard a faint sigh. Looking up, to my intenseconcern, I discovered a solitary Chinaman whom I had overlooked, sittingin a rigid attitude on a bench with his back to the window. He caught myeye and smiled sadly, but without moving. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked sternly. 

"Me washee shilts; me talkee 'buttons. '"

"Oh! you're See Yup, are you?"

"Allee same, John. "

"Well, come here. "

I continued my work, but he did not move. 

"Come here, hang it! Don't you understand?"

"Me shabbee, 'comme yea. ' But me no shabbee Mellican boy, who catcheeme, allee same. YOU 'comme yea'--YOU shabbee?"

Indignant, but believing that the unfortunate man was still in fearof persecution from the mischievous urchins whom I had evidently justinterrupted, I put down my pen and went over to him. Here I discovered, to my surprise and mortification, that his long pigtail was held hardand fast by the closed window behind him which the young rascals hadshut down upon it, after having first noiselessly fished it outside witha hook and line. I apologized, opened the window, and released him. Hedid not complain, although he must have been fixed in that uncomfortableposition for some minutes, but plunged at once into the business thatbrought him there. 

"But WHY didn't you come to my lodgings?" I asked. 

He smiled sadly but intelligently. 

"Mishtel Bally [Mr. Barry, my landlord] he owce me five dollee fowashee, washee. He no payee me. He say he knock hellee outee me alleetime I come for payee. So me no come HOUSEE, me come SCHOOLEE, Shabbee?Mellican boy no good, but not so big as Mellican man. No can hurteeChinaman so much. Shabbee?"

Alas! I knew that this was mainly true. Mr. James Barry was an Irishman, whose finer religious feelings revolted against paying money to aheathen. I could not find it in my heart to say anything to See Yupabout the buttons; indeed, I spoke in complimentary terms about thegloss of my shirts, and I think I meekly begged him to come again for mywashing. When I went home I expostulated with Mr. Barry, but succeededonly in extracting from him the conviction that I was one of "thim blackRepublican fellys that worshiped naygurs. " I had simply made an enemy ofhim. But I did not know that, at the same time, I had made a friend ofSee Yup!

I became aware of this a few days later, by the appearance on my desk ofa small pot containing a specimen of camellia japonica in flower. I knewthe school-children were in the habit of making presents to me in thisfurtive fashion, --leaving their own nosegays of wild flowers, or perhapsa cluster of roses from their parents' gardens, --but I also knew thatthis exotic was too rare to come from them. I remembered that See Yuphad a Chinese taste for gardening, and a friend, another Chinaman, whokept a large nursery in the adjoining town. But my doubts were set atrest by the discovery of a small roll of red rice-paper containing mywashing-bill, fastened to the camellia stalk. It was plain that thismingling of business and delicate gratitude was clearly See Yup'sown idea. As the finest flower was the topmost one, I plucked it forwearing, when I found, to my astonishment, that it was simply wired tothe stalk. This led me to look at the others, which I found also wired!More than that, they seemed to be an inferior flower, and exhaled thatcold, earthy odor peculiar to the camellia, even, as I thought, to anexcess. A closer examination resulted in the discovery that, with theexception of the first flower I had plucked, they were one and allingeniously constructed of thin slices of potato, marvelously cut toimitate the vegetable waxiness and formality of the real flower. Thework showed an infinite and almost pathetic patience in detail, yet strangely incommensurate with the result, admirable as it was. Nevertheless, this was also like See Yup. But whether he had tried todeceive me, or whether he only wished me to admire his skill, I couldnot say. And as his persecution by my scholars had left a balance ofconsideration in his favor, I sent him a warm note of thanks, and saidnothing of my discovery. 

As our acquaintance progressed, I became frequently the recipient ofother small presents from him: a pot of preserves of a quality I couldnot purchase in shops, and whose contents in their crafty, gingerydissimulation so defied definition that I never knew whether they wereanimal, vegetable, or mineral; two or three hideous Chinese idols, "forluckee, " and a diabolical fire-work with an irregular spasmodic activitythat would sometimes be prolonged until the next morning. In return, Igave him some apparently hopeless oral lessons in English, and certainsentences to be copied, which he did with marvelous precision. Iremember one instance when this peculiar faculty of imitation wasdisastrous in result. In setting him a copy, I had blurred a word whichI promptly erased, and then traced the letters more distinctly over thescratched surface. To my surprise, See Yup triumphantly produced HIScopy with the erasion itself carefully imitated, and, in fact, much moreneatly done than mine. 

In our confidential intercourse, I never seemed to really get nearerto him. His sympathy and simplicity appeared like his flowers--to be agood-humored imitation of my own. I am satisfied that his particularlysoulless laugh was not derived from any amusement he actually felt, yetI could not say it was forced. In his accurate imitations, I fancied hewas only trying to evade any responsibility of his own. THAT devolvedupon his taskmaster! In the attention he displayed when new ideaswere presented to him, there was a slight condescension, as if he werelooking down upon them from his three thousand years of history. 

"Don't you think the electric telegraph wonderful?" I asked one day. 

"Very good for Mellican man, " he said, with his aimless laugh; "plentymakee him jump!"

I never could tell whether he had confounded it with electro-galvanism, or was only satirizing our American haste and feverishness. He wascapable of either. For that matter, we knew that the Chinese themselvespossessed some means of secretly and quickly communicating with oneanother. Any news of good or ill import to their race was quicklydisseminated through the settlement before WE knew anything about it. Aninnocent basket of clothes from the wash, sent up from the river-bank, became in some way a library of information; a single slip ofrice-paper, aimlessly fluttering in the dust of the road, had themysterious effect of diverging a whole gang of coolie tramps away fromour settlement. 

When See Yup was not subject to the persecutions of the more ignorantand brutal he was always a source of amusement to all, and I cannotrecall an instance when he was ever taken seriously. The miners founddiversions even in his alleged frauds and trickeries, whether innocentor retaliatory, and were fond of relating with great gusto his evasionof the Foreign Miners' Tax. This was an oppressive measure aimedprincipally at the Chinese, who humbly worked the worn-out "tailings" oftheir Christian fellow miners. It was stated that See Yup, knowing thedifficulty--already alluded to--of identifying any particular Chinamanby NAME, conceived the additional idea of confusing recognition byintensifying the monotonous facial expression. Having paid his taxhimself to the collector, he at once passed the receipt to his fellows, so that the collector found himself confronted in different parts of thesettlement with the receipt and the aimless laugh of, apparently, SeeYup himself. Although we all knew that there were a dozen Chinamen ormore at work at the mines, the collector never was able to collect thetax from more than TWO, --See Yup and one See Yin, --and so great wasTHEIR facial resemblance that the unfortunate official for a long timehugged himself with the conviction that he had made See Yup PAY TWICE, and withheld the money from the government! It is very probable that theCalifornian's recognition of the sanctity of a joke, and his belief that"cheating the government was only cheating himself, " largely accountedfor the sympathies of the rest of the miners. 

But these sympathies were not always unanimous. 

One evening I strolled into the bar-room of the principal saloon, which, so far as mere upholstery and comfort went, was also the principal housein the settlement. The first rains had commenced; the windows were open, for the influence of the southwest trades penetrated even this far-offmountain mining settlement, but, oddly enough, there was a fire in thelarge central stove, around which the miners had collected, with theirsteaming boots elevated on a projecting iron railing that encircled it. They were not attracted by the warmth, but the stove formed a socialpivot for gossip, and suggested that mystic circle dear to thegregarious instinct. Yet they were decidedly a despondent group. Forsome moments the silence was only broken by a gasp, a sigh, a mutteredoath, or an impatient change of position. There was nothing in thefortunes of the settlement, nor in their own individual affairs tosuggest this gloom. The singular truth was that they were, one and all, suffering from the pangs of dyspepsia. 

Incongruous as such a complaint might seem to their healthyenvironment, --their outdoor life, their daily exercise, the healingbalsam of the mountain air, their enforced temperance in diet, andthe absence of all enervating pleasures, --it was nevertheless theincontestable fact. Whether it was the result of the nervous, excitabletemperament which had brought them together in this feverish hunt forgold; whether it was the quality of the tinned meats or half-cookedprovisions they hastily bolted, begrudging the time it took to prepareand to consume them; whether they too often supplanted their meals bytobacco or whiskey, the singular physiological truth remained that theseyoung, finely selected adventurers, living the lives of the natural, aboriginal man, and looking the picture of health and strength, actuallysuffered more from indigestion than the pampered dwellers of the cities. The quantity of "patent medicines, " "bitters, " "pills, " "panaceas, "and "lozenges" sold in the settlement almost exceeded the amount ofthe regular provisions whose effects they were supposed to correct. The sufferers eagerly scanned advertisements and placards. Therewere occasional "runs" on new "specifics, " and general conversationeventually turned into a discussion of their respective merits. Acertain childlike faith and trust in each new remedy was not the leastdistressing and pathetic of the symptoms of these grown-up, bearded men. 

"Well, gentlemen, " said Cyrus Parker, glancing around at his fellowsufferers, "ye kin talk of your patent medicines, and I've tackled 'emall, but only the other day I struck suthin' that I'm goin' to hang onto, you bet. "

Every eye was turned moodily to the speaker, but no one said anything. 

"And I didn't get it outer advertisements, nor off of circulars. I gotit outer my head, just by solid thinking, " continued Parker. 

"What was it, Cy?" said one unsophisticated and inexperienced sufferer. 

Instead of replying, Parker, like a true artist, knowing he had the earof his audience, dramatically flashed a question upon them. 

"Did you ever hear of a Chinaman having dyspepsy?"

"Never heard he had sabe enough to hev ANYTHING, " said a scorner. 

"No, but DID ye?" insisted Parker. 

"Well, no!" chorused the group. They were evidently struck with thefact. 

"Of course you didn't, " said Parker triumphantly. "'Cos they AIN'T. Well, gentlemen, it didn't seem to me the square thing that a pesky loto' yellow-skinned heathens should be built different to a white man, and never know the tortur' that a Christian feels; and one day, arterdinner, when I was just a-lyin' flat down on the bank, squirmin', andclutching the short grass to keep from yellin', who should go by butthat pizened See Yup, with a grin on his face. 

"'Mellican man plenty playee to him Joss after eatin', ' sez he; 'butChinaman smellee punk, allee same, and no hab got. '

"I knew the slimy cuss was just purtendin' he thought I was prayin' tomy Joss, but I was that weak I hadn't stren'th, boys, to heave a rock athim. Yet it gave me an idea. "

"What was it?" they asked eagerly. 

"I went down to his shop the next day, when he was alone, and I wasfeeling mighty bad, and I got hold of his pigtail and I allowed I'dstuff it down his throat if he didn't tell me what he meant. Then hetook a piece of punk and lit it, and put it under my nose, and, darn myskin, gentlemen, you migh'n't believe me, but in a minute I felt better, and after a whiff or two I was all right. "

"Was it pow'ful strong, Cy?" asked the inexperienced one. 

"No, " said Parker, "and that's just what's got me. It was a sort o'dreamy, spicy smell, like a hot night. But as I couldn't go 'round 'mongyou boys with a lighted piece o' punk in my hand, ez if I was settin'off Fourth of July firecrackers, I asked him if he couldn't fix me upsuthin' in another shape that would be handier to use when I was tookbad, and I'd reckon to pay him for it like ez I'd pay for any otherpatent medicine. So he fixed me up this. "

He put his hand in his pocket, and drew out a small red paper which, when opened, disclosed a pink powder. It was gravely passed around thegroup. 

"Why, it smells and tastes like ginger, " said one. 

"It is only ginger!" said another scornfully. 

"Mebbe it is, and mebbe it isn't, " returned Cy Parker stoutly. "Mebbeut's only my fancy. But if it's the sort o' stuff to bring on thatfancy, and that fancy CURES me, it's all the same. I've got about twodollars' worth o' that fancy or that ginger, and I'm going to stick toit. You hear me!" And he carefully put it back in his pocket. 

At which criticisms and gibes broke forth. If he (Cy Parker), a whiteman, was going to "demean himself" by consulting a Chinese quack, he'dbetter buy up a lot o' idols and stand 'em up around his cabin. If hehad that sort o' confidences with See Yup, he ought to go to work withhim on his cheap tailings, and be fumigated all at the same time. Ifhe'd been smoking an opium pipe, instead of smelling punk, he ought tobe man enough to confess it. Yet it was noticeable that they wereall very anxious to examine the packet again, but Cy Parker was alikeindifferent to demand or entreaty. 

A few days later I saw Abe Wynford, one of the party, coming out of SeeYup's wash-house. He muttered something in passing about the infamousdelay in sending home his washing, but did not linger long inconversation. The next day I met another miner AT the wash-house, but HElingered so long on some trifling details that I finally left him therealone with See Yup. When I called upon Poker Jack of Shasta, there was asingular smell of incense in HIS cabin, which he attributed to the veryresinous quality of the fir logs he was burning. I did not attemptto probe these mysteries by any direct appeal to See Yup himself: Irespected his reticence; indeed, if I had not, I was quite satisfiedthat he would have lied to me. Enough that his wash-house was wellpatronized, and he was decidedly "getting on. "

It might have been a month afterwards that Dr. Duchesne was setting abroken bone in the settlement, and after the operation was over, hadstrolled into the Palmetto Saloon. He was an old army surgeon, muchrespected and loved in the district, although perhaps a little fearedfor the honest roughness and military precision of his speech. After hehad exchanged salutations with the miners in his usual hearty fashion, and accepted their invitation to drink, Cy Parker, with a certainaffected carelessness which did not, however, conceal a singularhesitation in his speech, began:--

"I've been wantin' to ask ye a question, Doc, --a sort o' darned foolquestion, ye know, --nothing in the way of consultation, don't you see, though it's kin er in the way o' your purfeshun. Sabe?"

"Go on, Cy, " said the doctor good-humoredly, "this is my dispensaryhour. "

"Oh! it ain't anything about symptoms, Doc, and there ain't anything thematter with me. It's only just to ask ye if ye happened to know anythingabout the medical practice of these yer Chinamen?"

"I don't know, " said the doctor bluntly, "and I don't know ANYBODY whodoes. "

There was a sudden silence in the bar, and the doctor, putting down hisglass, continued with slight professional precision:--

"You see, the Chinese know nothing of anatomy from personal observation. Autopsies and dissection are against their superstitions, which declarethe human body sacred, and are consequently never practiced. "

There was a slight movement of inquiring interest among the party, and Cy Parker, after a meaning glance at the others, went on halfaggressively, half apologetically:--

"In course, they ain't surgeons like you, Doc, but that don't keep themfrom having their own little medicines, just as dogs eat grass, youknow. Now I want to put it to you, as a fa'r-minded man, if you mean tersay that, jest because those old women who sarve out yarbs and springmedicines in families don't know anything of anatomy, they ain't fit togive us their simple and nat'ral medicines?"

"But the Chinese medicines are not simple or natural, " said the doctorcoolly. 

"Not simple?" echoed the party, closing round him. 

"I don't mean to say, " continued the doctor, glancing around at theireager, excited faces with an appearance of wonder, "that they arepositively noxious, unless taken in large quantities, for they are notdrugs at all, but I certainly should not call them 'simple. ' Do YOU knowwhat they principally are?"

"Well, no, " said Parker cautiously, "perhaps not EXACTLY. "

"Come a little closer, and I'll tell you. "

Not only Parker's head but the others were bent over the counter. Dr. Duchesne uttered a few words in a tone inaudible to the rest of thecompany. There was a profound silence, broken at last by Abe Wynford'svoice:--

"Ye kin pour me out about three fingers o' whiskey, Barkeep. I'll takeit straight. "

"Same to me, " said the others. 

The men gulped down their liquor; two of them quietly passed out. Thedoctor wiped his lips, buttoned his coat, and began to draw on hisriding-gloves. 

"I've heerd, " said Poker Jack of Shasta, with a faint smile on his whiteface, as he toyed with the last drops of liquor in his glass, "that thedarned fools sometimes smell punk as a medicine, eh?"

"Yes, THAT'S comparatively decent, " said the doctor reflectively. "It'sonly sawdust mixed with a little gum and formic acid. "

"Formic acid? Wot's that?"

"A very peculiar acid secreted by ants. It is supposed to be used bythem offensively in warfare--just as the skunk, eh?"

But Poker Jack of Shasta had hurriedly declared that he wanted to speakto a man who was passing, and had disappeared. The doctor walked to thedoor, mounted his horse, and rode away. I noticed, however, that therewas a slight smile on his bronzed, impassive face. This led me towonder if he was entirely ignorant of the purpose for which he had beenquestioned, and the effect of his information. I was confirmed in thebelief by the remarkable circumstances that nothing more was said of it;the incident seemed to have terminated there, and the victims made noattempt to revenge themselves on See Yup. That they had one and all, secretly and unknown to one another, patronized him, there was no doubt;but, at the same time, as they evidently were not sure that Dr. Duchesnehad not hoaxed them in regard to the quality of See Yup's medicines, they knew that an attack on the unfortunate Chinaman would in eithercase reveal their secret and expose them to the ridicule of theirbrother miners. So the matter dropped, and See Yup remained master ofthe situation. 

Meantime he was prospering. The coolie gang he worked on the river, whennot engaged in washing clothes, were "picking over" the "tailings, "or refuse of gravel, left on abandoned claims by successful miners. As there was no more expense attending this than in stone-breaking orrag-picking, and the feeding of the coolies, which was ridiculouslycheap, there was no doubt that See Yup was reaping a fair weekly returnfrom it; but, as he sent his receipts to San Francisco through cooliemanagers, after the Chinese custom, and did not use the regular ExpressCompany, there was no way of ascertaining the amount. Again, neitherSee Yup nor his fellow countrymen ever appeared to have any money aboutthem. In ruder times and more reckless camps, raids were often made byruffians on their cabins or their traveling gangs, but never with anypecuniary result. This condition, however, it seemed was destined tochange. 

One Saturday See Yup walked into Wells, Fargo & Co. 's Express officewith a package of gold-dust, which, when duly weighed, was valued atfive hundred dollars. It was consigned to a Chinese company in SanFrancisco. When the clerk handed See Yup a receipt, he remarkedcasually:--

"Washing seems to pay, See Yup. "

"Washee velly good pay. You wantee washee, John?" said See Yup eagerly. 

"No, no, " said the clerk, with a laugh. "I was only thinking fivehundred dollars would represent the washing of a good many shirts. "

"No leplesent washee shirts at all! Catchee gold-dust when washeetailings. Shabbee?"

The clerk DID "shabbee, " and lifted his eyebrows. The next Saturday SeeYup appeared with another package, worth about four hundred dollars, directed to the same consignee. 

"Didn't pan out quite so rich this week, eh?" said the clerk engagingly. 

"No, " returned See Yup impassively; "next time he payee more. "

When the third Saturday came, with the appearance of See Yup and fourhundred and fifty dollars' worth of gold-dust, the clerk felt he was nolonger bound to keep the secret. He communicated it to others, andin twenty-four hours the whole settlement knew that See Yup's cooliecompany were taking out an average of four hundred dollars per week fromthe refuse and tailings of the old abandoned Palmetto claim!

The astonishment of the settlement was profound. In earlier daysjealousy and indignation at the success of these degraded heathens mighthave taken a more active and aggressive shape, and it would have faredill with See Yup and his companions. But the settlement had become moreprosperous and law-abiding; there were one or two Eastern families andsome foreign capital already there, and its jealousy and indignationwere restricted to severe investigation and legal criticism. Fortunatelyfor See Yup, it was an old-established mining law that an abandonedclaim and its tailings became the property of whoever chose to workit. But it was alleged that See Yup's company had in reality "struck alead, "--discovered a hitherto unknown vein or original deposit of gold, not worked by the previous company, and having failed legally to declareit by preemption and public registry, in their foolish desire forsecrecy, had thus forfeited their right to the property. A surveillanceof their working, however, did not establish this theory; the gold thatSee Yup had sent away was of the kind that might have been found in thetailings overlooked by the late Palmetto owners. Yet it was a very largeyield for mere refuse. 

"Them Palmetto boys were mighty keerless after they'd made their big'strike' and got to work on the vein, and I reckon they threw a lotof gold away, " said Cy Parker, who remembered their large-handedrecklessness in the "flush days. " "On'y that WE didn't think it waswhite man's work to rake over another man's leavin's, we might hev hadwhat them derned Chinamen hev dropped into. Tell ye what, boys, we'vebeen a little too 'high and mighty, ' and we'll hev to climb down. "

At last the excitement reached its climax, and diplomacy was employed toeffect what neither intimidation nor espionage could secure. Under thepretense of desiring to buy out See Yup's company, a select committee ofthe miners was permitted to examine the property and its workings. Theyfound the great bank of stones and gravel, representing the cast-outdebris of the old claim, occupied by See Yup and four or five ploddingautomatic coolies. At the end of two hours the committee returned tothe saloon bursting with excitement. They spoke under their breath, butenough was gathered to satisfy the curious crowd that See Yup's pile oftailings was rich beyond their expectations. The committee had seen withtheir own eyes gold taken out of the sand and gravel to the amount oftwenty dollars in the two short hours of their examination. And the workhad been performed in the stupidest, clumsiest, yet PATIENT Chinese way. What might not white men do with better appointed machinery! A syndicatewas at once formed. See Yup was offered twenty thousand dollars ifhe would sell out and put the syndicate in possession of the claimin twenty-four hours. The Chinaman received the offer stolidly. As heseemed inclined to hesitate, I am grieved to say that it was intimatedto him that if he declined he might be subject to embarrassing andexpensive legal proceedings to prove his property, and that companieswould be formed to "prospect" the ground on either side of his heap oftailings. See Yup at last consented, with the proviso that the moneyshould be paid in gold into the hands of a Chinese agent in SanFrancisco on the day of the delivery of the claim. The syndicate madeno opposition to this characteristic precaution of the Chinaman. Itwas like them not to travel with money, and the implied uncomplimentarysuspicion of danger from the community was overlooked. See Yup departedthe day that the syndicate took possession. He came to see me before hewent. I congratulated him upon his good fortune; at the same time, I wasembarrassed by the conviction that he was unfairly forced into a sale ofhis property at a figure far below its real value. 

I think differently now. 

At the end of the week it was said that the new company cleared upabout three hundred dollars. This was not so much as the communityhad expected, but the syndicate was apparently satisfied, and the newmachinery was put up. At the end of the next week the syndicate weresilent as to their returns. One of them made a hurried visit to SanFrancisco. It was said that he was unable to see either See Yup or theagent to whom the money was paid. It was also noticed that there was noChinaman remaining in the settlement. Then the fatal secret was out. 

The heap of tailings had probably never yielded the See Yup company morethan twenty dollars a week, the ordinary wage of such a company. See Yuphad conceived the brilliant idea of "booming" it on a borrowed capitalof five hundred dollars in gold-dust, which he OPENLY transmitted byexpress to his confederate and creditor in San Francisco, who in turnSECRETLY sent it back to See Yup by coolie messengers, to be againopenly transmitted to San Francisco. The package of gold-dust was thuspassed backwards and forwards between debtor and creditor, to thegrave edification of the Express Company and the fatal curiosity of thesettlement. When the syndicate had gorged the bait thus thrown out, SeeYup, on the day the self-invited committee inspected the claim, promptly"salted" the tailings by CONSCIENTIOUSLY DISTRIBUTING THE GOLD-DUST OVERIT so deftly that it appeared to be its natural composition and yield. 

I have only to bid farewell to See Yup, and close this reminiscence ofa misunderstood man, by adding the opinion of an eminent jurist in SanFrancisco, to whom the facts were submitted: "So clever was this allegedfraud, that it is extremely doubtful if an action would lie against SeeYup in the premises, there being no legal evidence of the 'salting, 'and none whatever of his actual allegation that the gold-dust was theORDINARY yield of the tailings, that implication resting entirely withthe committee who examined it under false pretense, and who subsequentlyforced the sale by intimidation. "

THE DESBOROUGH CONNECTIONS

"Then it isn't a question of property or next of kin?" said the consul. 

"Lord! no, " said the lady vivaciously. "Why, goodness me! I reckonold Desborough could, at any time before he died, have 'bought up' or'bought out' the whole lot of his relatives on this side of thebig pond, no matter what they were worth. No, it's only a matter ofcuriosity and just sociableness. "

The American consul at St. Kentigorn felt much relieved. He had fearedit was only the old story of delusive quests for imaginary estates andimpossible inheritances which he had confronted so often in nervouswan-eyed enthusiasts and obstreperous claimants from his own land. Certainly there was no suggestion of this in the richly dressed andbe-diamonded matron before him, nor in her pretty daughter, charming ina Paris frock, alive with the consciousness of beauty and admiration, and yet a little ennuye from gratified indulgence. He knew the mother tobe the wealthy widow of a New York millionaire, that she was travelingfor pleasure in Europe, and a chance meeting with her at dinner afew nights before had led to this half-capricious, half-confidentialappointment at the consulate. 

"No, " continued Mrs. Desborough; "Mr. Desborough came to America, whena small boy, with an uncle who died some years ago. Mr. Desborough neverseemed to hanker much after his English relatives as long as I knew him, but now that I and Sadie are over here, why we guessed we might look 'emup and sort of sample 'em! 'Desborough' 's rather a good name, " addedthe lady, with a complacency that, however, had a suggestion of query init. 

"Yes, " said the consul; "from the French, I fancy. "

"Mr. Desborough was English--very English, " corrected the lady. 

"I mean it may be an old Norman name, " said the consul. 

"Norman's good enough for ME, " said the daughter, reflecting. "We'lljust settle it as Norman. I never thought about that DES. "

"Only you may find it called 'Debborough' here, and spelt so, " said theconsul, smiling. 

Miss Desborough lifted her pretty shoulders and made a charming grimace. "Then we won't acknowledge 'em. No Debborough for me!"

"You might put an advertisement in the papers, like the 'next ofkin' notice, intimating, in the regular way, that they would 'hear ofsomething to their advantage'--as they certainly would, " continued theconsul, with a bow. "It would be such a refreshing change to the kindof thing I'm accustomed to, don't you know--this idea of one of mycountrywomen coming over just to benefit English relatives! By Jove! Iwouldn't mind undertaking the whole thing for you--it's such a novelty. "He was quite carried away with the idea. 

But the two ladies were far from participating in this joyous outlook. "No, " said Mrs. Desborough promptly, "that wouldn't do. You see, " shewent on with superb frankness, "that would be just giving ourselvesaway, and saying who WE were before we found out what THEY were like. Mr. Desborough was all right in HIS way, but we don't know anythingabout his FOLKS! We ain't here on a mission to improve the Desboroughs, nor to gather in any 'lost tribes. '"

It was evident that, in spite of the humor of the situation and thelevity of the ladies, there was a characteristic national practicalnessabout them, and the consul, with a sigh, at last gave the address of oneor two responsible experts in genealogical inquiry, as he had oftendone before. He felt it was impossible to offer any advice to ladiesas thoroughly capable of managing their own affairs as his faircountrywomen, yet he was not without some curiosity to know the resultof their practical sentimental quest. That he should ever hear of themagain he doubted. He knew that after their first loneliness had worn offin their gregarious gathering at a London hotel they were not likely toconsort with their own country people, who indeed were apt to fightshy of one another, and even to indulge in invidious criticism of oneanother when admitted in that society to which they were all equallystrangers. So he took leave of them on their way back to London with thebelief that their acquaintance terminated with that brief incident. Buthe was mistaken. 

In the year following he was spending his autumn vacation at acountry house. It was an historic house, and had always struck him asbeing--even in that country of historic seats--a singular example of thevicissitudes of English manorial estates and the mutations of itslords. His host in his prime had been recalled from foreign serviceto unexpectedly succeed to an uncle's title and estate. That estate, however, had come into the possession of the uncle only through hismarriage with the daughter of an old family whose portraits still lookeddown from the walls upon the youngest and alien branch. There werelikenesses, effigies, memorials, and reminiscences of still olderfamilies who had occupied it through forfeiture by war or the favoritismof kings, and in its stately cloisters and ruined chapel was still feltthe dead hand of its evicted religious founders, which could not beshaken off. 

It was this strange individuality that affected all who saw it. For, however changed were those within its walls, whoever were its inheritorsor inhabiters, Scrooby Priory never changed nor altered its owncharacter. However incongruous or ill-assorted the portraits that lookedfrom its walls, --so ill met that they might have flown at one another'sthroats in the long nights when the family were away, --the greathouse itself was independent of them all. The be-wigged, be-laced, andbe-furbelowed of one day's gathering, the round-headed, steel-fronted, and prim-kerchiefed congregation of another day, and even theblack-coated, bare-armed, and bare-shouldered assemblage of to-day hadno effect on the austerities of the Priory. Modern houses might showthe tastes and prepossessions of their dwellers, might have caught somepassing trick of the hour, or have recorded the augmented fortunes orluxuriousness of the owner, but Scrooby Priory never! No one had daredeven to disturb its outer rigid integrity; the breaches of time andsiege were left untouched. It held its calm indifferent sway over allwho passed its low-arched portals, and the consul was fain to believethat he--a foreign visitor--was no more alien to the house than itspresent owner. 

"I'm expecting a very charming compatriot of yours to-morrow, " said LordBeverdale as they drove from the station together. "You must tell mewhat to show her. "

"I should think any countrywoman of mine would be quite satisfied withthe Priory, " said the consul, glancing thoughtfully towards the piledimly seen through the park. 

"I shouldn't like her to be bored here, " continued Beverdale. "Algy mether at Rome, where she was occupying a palace with her mother--they'revery rich, you know. He found she was staying with Lady Minever atHedham Towers, and I went over and invited her with a little party. She's a Miss Desborough. "

The consul gave a slight start, and was aware that Beverdale was lookingat him. 

"Perhaps you know her?" said Beverdale. 

"Just enough to agree with you that she is charming, " said the consul. "I dined with them, and saw them at the consulate. "

"Oh yes; I always forget you are a consul. Then, of course, you knowall about them. I suppose they're very rich, and in society over there?"said Beverdale in a voice that was quite animated. 

It was on the consul's lips to say that the late Mr. Desborough was anEnglishman, and even to speak playfully of their proposed quest, but asudden instinct withheld him. After all, perhaps it was only a caprice, or idea, they had forgotten, --perhaps, who knows?--that they werealready ashamed of. They had evidently "got on" in English society, ifthat was their real intent, and doubtless Miss Desborough, by this time, was quite as content with the chance of becoming related to the Earl ofBeverdale, through his son and heir, Algernon, as if they had found areal Lord Desborough among their own relatives. The consul knew thatLord Beverdale was not a rich man, that like most men of old family hewas not a slave to class prejudice; indeed, the consul had seen very fewnoblemen off the stage or out of the pages of a novel who were. So hesaid, with a slight affectation of authority, that there was aslittle doubt of the young lady's wealth as there was of her personalattractions. 

They were nearing the house through a long avenue of chestnuts whosevariegated leaves were already beginning to strew the ground beneath, and they could see the vista open upon the mullioned windows of thePriory, lighted up by the yellow October sunshine. In that sunshinestood a tall, clean-limbed young fellow, dressed in a shooting-suit, whom the consul recognized at once as Lord Algernon, the son of hiscompanion. As if to accent the graces of this vision of youth and vigor, near him, in the shadow, an old man had halted, hat in hand, stillholding the rake with which he had been gathering the dead leaves in theavenue; his back bent, partly with years, partly with the obeisance ofa servitor. There was something so marked in this contrast, in thisold man standing in the shadow of the fading year, himself as dried andwithered as the leaves he was raking, yet pausing to make his reverenceto this passing sunshine of youth and prosperity in the presence of hiscoming master, that the consul, as they swept by, looked after him witha stirring of pain. 

"Rather an old man to be still at work, " said the consul. 

Beverdale laughed. "You must not let him hear you say so; he considershimself quite as fit as any younger man in the place, and, by Jove!though he's nearly eighty, I'm inclined to believe it. He's not one ofour people, however; he comes from the village, and is taken on at oddtimes, partly to please himself. His great aim is to be independent ofhis children, --he has a granddaughter who is one of the maids at thePriory, --and to keep himself out of the workhouse. He does not come fromthese parts--somewhere farther north, I fancy. But he's a tough lot, andhas a deal of work in him yet. "

"Seems to be going a bit stale lately, " said Lord Algernon, "and I thinkis getting a little queer in his head. He has a trick of stopping andstaring straight ahead, at times, when he seems to go off for a minuteor two. There!" continued the young man, with a light laugh. "I say!he's doing it now!" They both turned quickly and gazed at the bentfigure--not fifty yards away--standing in exactly the same attitude asbefore. But, even as they gazed, he slowly lifted his rake and began hismonotonous work again. 

At Scrooby Priory, the consul found that the fame of his faircountrywoman had indeed preceded her, and that the other guests werequite as anxious to see Miss Desborough as he was. One of them hadalready met her in London; another knew her as one of the house party atthe Duke of Northforeland's, where she had been a central figure. Someof her naive sallies and frank criticisms were repeated with greatunction by the gentlemen, and with some slight trepidation and a"fearful joy" by the ladies. He was more than ever convinced that motherand daughter had forgotten their lineal Desboroughs, and he resolved toleave any allusion to it to the young lady herself. 

She, however, availed herself of that privilege the evening after herarrival. "Who'd have thought of meeting YOU here?" she said, sweepingher skirts away to make room for him on a sofa. "It's a coon's agesince I saw you--not since you gave us that letter to those genealogicalgentlemen in London. "

The consul hoped that it had proved successful. 

"Yes, but maw guessed we didn't care to go back to Hengist and Horsa, and when they let loose a lot of 'Debboroughs' and 'Daybrooks' upon us, maw kicked! We've got a drawing ten yards long, that looks like a sourapple tree, with lots of Desboroughs hanging up on the branches likelast year's pippins, and I guess about as worm-eaten. We took that wellenough, but when it came to giving us a map of straight lines and dasheswith names written under them like an old Morse telegraph slip, struckby lightning, then maw and I guessed that it made us tired. 

"You know, " she went on, opening her clear gray eyes on the consul, witha characteristic flash of shrewd good sense through her quaint humor, "we never reckoned where this thing would land us, and we found wewere paying a hundred pounds, not only for the Desboroughs, but all thepeople they'd MARRIED, and their CHILDREN, and children's children, andthere were a lot of outsiders we'd never heard of, nor wanted to hearof. Maw once thought she'd got on the trail of a Plantagenet, andfollowed it keen, until she found she had been reading the dreadfulthing upside down. Then we concluded we wouldn't take any more stock inthe family until it had risen. "

During this speech the consul could not help noticing that, although herattitude was playfully confidential to him, her voice really was pitchedhigh enough to reach the ears of smaller groups around her, who were notonly following her with the intensest admiration, but had shamelesslyabandoned their own conversation, and had even faced towards her. Wasshe really posing in her naivete? There was a certain mischievous, even aggressive, consciousness in her pretty eyelids. Then she suddenlydropped both eyes and voice, and said to the consul in a genuine aside, "I like this sort of thing much better. "

The consul looked puzzled. "What sort of thing?"

"Why, all these swell people, don't you see? those pictures on thewalls! this elegant room! everything that has come down from the past, all ready and settled for you, you know--ages ago! Something you haven'tto pick up for yourself and worry over. "

But here the consul pointed out that the place itself was not"ancestral" as regarded the present earl, and that even the originaltitle of his predecessors had passed away from it. "In fact, it cameinto the family by one of those 'outsiders' you deprecate. But I daresay you'd find the place quite as comfortable with Lord Beverdale for ahost as you would if you had found out he were a cousin, " he added. 

"Better, " said the young lady frankly. 

"I suppose your mother participates in these preferences?" said theconsul, with a smile. 

"No, " said Miss Desborough, with the same frankness, "I think maw'srather cut up at not finding a Desborough. She was invited down here, but SHE'S rather independent, you know, so she allowed I could take careof myself, while she went off to stay with the old Dowager Lady Mistowe, who thinks maw a very proper womanly person. I made maw mad by tellingher that's just what old Lady Mistowe would say of her cook--for I can'tstand these people's patronage. However, I shouldn't wonder if I wasinvited here as a 'most original person. '"

But here Lord Algernon came up to implore her to sing them one of "thoseplantation songs;" and Miss Desborough, with scarcely a change of voiceor manner, allowed herself to be led to the piano. The consul hadlittle chance to speak with her again, but he saw enough that evening toconvince him not only that Lord Algernon was very much in love withher, but that the fact had been equally and complacently accepted by thefamily and guests. That her present visit was only an opportunity for aformal engagement was clear to every woman in the house--not excepting, I fear, even the fair subject of gossip herself. Yet she seemed sounconcerned and self-contained that the consul wondered if she reallycared for Lord Algernon. And having thus wondered, he came to theconclusion that it didn't much matter, for the happiness of sopractically organized a young lady, if she loved him or not. 

It is highly probable that Miss Sadie Desborough had not even gone sofar as to ask herself that question. She awoke the next morning with asense of easy victory and calm satisfaction that had, however, none ofthe transports of affection. Her taste was satisfied by the love ofa handsome young fellow, --a typical Englishman, --who, if not exactlyoriginal or ideal, was, she felt, of an universally accepted, "hall-marked" standard, the legitimate outcome of a highly ordered, carefully guarded civilization, whose repose was the absence of struggleor ambition; a man whose regular features were not yet differentiatedfrom the rest of his class by any of those disturbing lines which peoplecall character. Everything was made ready for her, without care orpreparation; she had not even an ideal to realize or to modify. Shecould slip without any jar or dislocation into this life which was justsaved from self-indulgence and sybaritic luxury by certain conventionalrules of activity and the occupation of amusement which, as obligationsof her position, even appeared to suggest the novel aspect of a DUTY!She could accept all this without the sense of being an intruder inan unbroken lineage--thanks to the consul's account of the Beverdales'inheritance. She already pictured herself as the mistress of this fairdomain, the custodian of its treasures and traditions, and the dispenserof its hospitalities, but--as she conscientiously believed--withoutpride or vanity, in her position; only an intense and thoughtfulappreciation of it. Nor did she dream of ever displaying itostentatiously before her less fortunate fellow countrywomen; on thecontrary, she looked forward to their possible criticism of her castingoff all transatlantic ties with an uneasy consciousness that was perhapsher nearest approach to patriotism. Yet, again, she reasoned that, asher father was an Englishman, she was only returning to her old home. As to her mother, she had already comforted herself by noticing certaindiscrepancies in that lady's temperament, which led her to believe thatshe herself alone inherited her father's nature--for her mother was, ofcourse, distinctly American! So little conscious was she of any possiblesnobbishness in this belief, that in her superb naivete she would haveargued the point with the consul, and employed a wit and dialect thatwere purely American. 

She had slipped out of the Priory early that morning that she mightenjoy alone, unattended and unciceroned, the aspect of that vast estatewhich might be hers for the mere accepting. Perhaps there was someinstinct of delicacy in her avoiding Lord Algernon that morning; notwishing, as she herself might have frankly put it, "to take stock" ofhis inheritance in his presence. As she passed into the garden throughthe low postern door, she turned to look along the stretching facade ofthe main building, with the high stained windows of its banqueting-halland the state chamber where a king had slept. Even in that crisp Octoberair, and with the green of its ivied battlements against the gold ofthe distant wood, it seemed to lie in the languid repose of an eternalsummer. She hurried on down the other terrace into the Italian garden, aquaint survival of past grandeur, passed the great orangery and numerousconservatories, making a crystal hamlet in themselves--seeing everywherethe same luxury. But it was a luxury that she fancied was redeemedfrom the vulgarity of ostentation by the long custom of years andgenerations, so unlike the millionaire palaces of her own land; and, inher enthusiasm, she even fancied it was further sanctified by the grimmonastic founders who had once been content with bread and pulse in thecrumbling and dismantled refectory. In the plenitude of her feelings shefelt a slight recognition of some beneficent being who had rolled thisgolden apple at her feet, and felt as if she really should like to "dogood" in her sphere. 

It so chanced that, passing through a small gate in the park, she sawwalking, a little ahead of her, a young girl whom she at once recognizedas a Miss Amelyn, one of the guests of the evening before. MissDesborough remembered that she played the accompaniment of one or twosongs upon the piano, and had even executed a long solo during thegeneral conversation, without attention from the others, and apparentlywith little irritation to herself, subsiding afterwards into anarmchair, quite on the fringe of other people's conversation. She hadbeen called "my dear" by one or two dowagers, and by her Christian nameby the earl, and had a way of impalpably melting out of sight at times. These trifles led Miss Desborough to conclude that she was some kind ofdependent or poor relation. Here was an opportunity to begin her work of"doing good. " She quickened her pace and overtook Miss Amelyn. 

"Let me walk with you, " she said graciously. 

The young English girl smiled assent, but looked her surprise at seeingthe cynosure of last night's eyes unattended. 

"Oh, " said Sadie, answering the mute query, "I didn't want to be 'shownround' by anybody, and I'm not going to bore YOU with asking to seesights either. We'll just walk together; wherever YOU'RE going is goodenough for me. "

"I'm going as far as the village, " said Miss Amelyn, looking downdoubtfully at Sadie's smart French shoes--"if you care to walk so far. "

Sadie noticed that her companion was more solidly booted, and thather straight, short skirts, although less stylish than her own, hada certain character, better fitted to the freer outdoor life of thecountry. But she only said, however, "The village will do, " and gaylytook her companion's arm. 

"But I'm afraid you'll find it very uninteresting, for I am going tovisit some poor cottages, " persisted Miss Amelyn, with a certaintimid ingenuousness of manner which, however, was as distinct as MissDesborough's bolder frankness. "I promised the rector's daughter to takeher place to-day. "

"And I feel as if I was ready to pour oil and wine to any extent, " saidMiss Desborough, "so come along!"

Miss Amelyn laughed, and yet glanced around her timidly, as if shethought that Miss Desborough ought to have a larger and more importantaudience. Then she continued more confidentially and boldly, "But itisn't at all like 'slumming, ' you know. These poor people here are notvery bad, and are not at all extraordinary. "

"Never mind, " said Sadie, hurrying her along. After a pause she went on, "You know the Priory very well, I guess?"

"I lived there when I was a little girl, with my aunt, the Dowager LadyBeverdale, " said Miss Amelyn. "When my cousin Fred, who was the youngheir, died, and the present Lord Beverdale succeeded, --HE never expectedit, you know, for there were two lives, his two elder brothers, besidespoor Fred's, between, but they both died, --we went to live in the DowerHouse. "

"The Dower House?" repeated Sadie. 

"Yes, Lady Beverdale's separate property. "

"But I thought all this property--the Priory--came into the familythrough HER. "

"It did--this was the Amelyns' place; but the oldest son or nearest maleheir always succeeds to the property and title. "

"Do you mean to say that the present Lord Beverdale turned that old ladyout?"

Miss Amelyn looked shocked. "I mean to say, " she said gravely, "LadyBeverdale would have had to go when her own son became of age, hadhe lived. " She paused, and then said timidly, "Isn't it that way inAmerica?"

"Dear no!" Miss Desborough had a faint recollection that there wassomething in the Constitution or the Declaration of Independence againstprimogeniture. "No! the men haven't it ALL their own way THERE--notmuch!"

Miss Amelyn looked as if she did not care to discuss this problem. Aftera few moments Sadie continued, "You and Lord Algernon are pretty oldfriends, I guess?"

"No, " replied Miss Amelyn. "He came once or twice to the Priory for theholidays, when he was quite a boy at Marlborough--for the family weren'tvery well off, and his father was in India. He was a very shy boy, andof course no one ever thought of him succeeding. "

Miss Desborough felt half inclined to be pleased with this, and yet halfinclined to resent this possible snubbing of her future husband. Butthey were nearing the village, and Miss Amelyn turned the conversationto the object of her visit. It was a new village--an unhandsome village, for all that it stood near one of the gates of the park. It had beengiven over to some mines that were still worked in its vicinity, and tothe railway, which the uncle of the present earl had resisted; but therailway had triumphed, and the station for Scrooby Priory was there. There was a grim church, of a blackened or weather-beaten stone, on thehill, with a few grim Amelyns reposing cross-legged in the chancel, butthe character of the village was as different from the Priory as if itwere in another county. They stopped at the rectory, where Miss Amelynprovided herself with certain doles and gifts, which the Americangirl would have augmented with a five-pound note but for Miss Amelyn'shorrified concern. "As many shillings would do, and they would be asgrateful, " she said. "More they wouldn't understand. "

"Then keep it, and dole it out as you like, " said Sadie quickly. 

"But I don't think that--that Lord Beverdale would quite approve, "hesitated Miss Amelyn. 

The pretty brow of her companion knit, and her gray eyes flashedvivaciously. "What has HE to do with it?" she said pertly; "besides, yousay these are not HIS poor. Take that five-pound note--or--I'll DOUBLEit, get it changed into sovereigns at the station, and hand 'em round toevery man, woman, and child. "

Miss Amelyn hesitated. The American girl looked capable of doing whatshe said; perhaps it was a national way of almsgiving! She took thenote, with the mental reservation of making a full confession to therector and Lord Beverdale. 

She was right in saying that the poor of Scrooby village were notinteresting. There was very little squalor or degradation; their povertyseemed not a descent, but a condition to which they had been born; thefaces which Sadie saw were dulled and apathetic rather than sullenor rebellious; they stood up when Miss Amelyn entered, paying HER thedeference, but taking little note of the pretty butterfly who was withher, or rather submitting to her frank curiosity with that dull consentof the poor, as if they had lost even the sense of privacy, or a rightto respect. It seemed to the American girl that their poverty was moreindicated by what they were SATISFIED with than what she thought theyMISSED. It is to be feared that this did not add to Sadie's sympathy;all the beggars she had seen in America wanted all they could get, andshe felt as if she were confronted with an inferior animal. 

"There's a wonderful old man lives here, " said Miss Amelyn, as theyhalted before a stone and thatch cottage quite on the outskirts ofthe village. "We can't call him one of our poor, for he still works, although over eighty, and it's his pride to keep out of the poorhouse, and, as he calls it, 'off' the hands of his granddaughters. But wemanage to do something for THEM, and we hope he profits by it. One ofthem is at the Priory; they're trying to make a maid of her, but herqueer accent--they're from the north--is against her with the servants. I am afraid we won't see old Debs, for he's at work again to-day, thoughthe doctor has warned him. "

"Debs! What a funny name!"

"Yes, but as many of these people cannot read or write, the name iscarried by the ear, and not always correctly. Some of the railwaynavvies, who come from the north as he does, call him 'Debbers. '"

They were obliged to descend into the cottage, which was so low that itseemed to have sunk into the earth until its drooping eaves of thatchmingled with the straw heap beside it. Debs was not at home. But hisgranddaughter was there, who, after a preliminary "bob, " continued thestirring of the pot before the fire in tentative silence. 

"I am sorry to find that your grandfather has gone to work again inspite of the doctor's orders, " said Miss Amelyn. 

The girl continued to stir the pot, and then said without lookingup, but as if also continuing a train of aggressive thoughts with heroccupation: "Eay, but 'e's so set oop in 'issen 'ee doan't take ordersfrom nobbut--leastways doctor. Moinds 'em now moor nor a floy. Says 'eeknaws there nowt wrong wi' 'is 'eart. Mout be roight--how'siver, sartensewer, 'is 'EAD'S a' in a muddle! Toims 'ee goes off stamrin' andstarin' at nowt, as if 'ee a'nt a n'aporth o' sense. How'siver I bedoing my duty by 'em--and 'ere's 'is porritch when a' cooms--'gin a' besick or maad. "

What the American understood of the girl's speech and manner struckher as having very little sympathy with either her aged relative or herpresent visitor. And there was a certain dogged selfish independenceabout her that Miss Desborough half liked and half resented. However, Miss Amelyn did not seem to notice it, and, after leaving a bottle ofport for the grandfather, she took her leave and led Sadie away. As theypassed into the village a carriage, returning to the Priory, filled withtheir fellow guests, dashed by, but was instantly pulled up at a wordfrom Lord Algernon, who leaped from the vehicle, hat in hand, andimplored the fair truant and her companion to join them. 

"We're just making a tour around Windover Hill, and back to luncheon, "he said, with a rising color. "We missed you awfully! If we had knownyou were so keen on 'good works, ' and so early at it, by Jove! we'd havegot up a 'slummin' party, ' and all joined!"

"And you haven't seen half, " said Lord Beverdale from the box. "MissAmelyn's too partial to the village. There's an old drunken retiredpoacher somewhere in a hut in Crawley Woods, whom it's death toapproach, except with a large party. There's malignant diphtheria overat the South Farm, eight down with measles at the keeper's, and an oldwoman who has been bedridden for years. "

But Miss Desborough was adamant, though sparkling. She thanked him, but said she had just seen an old woman "who had been lying in bed fortwenty years, and hadn't spoken the truth once!" She proposed "goingoutside of Lord Beverdale's own preserves of grain-fed poor, " andstarting up her own game. She would return in time for luncheon--if shecould; if not, she "should annex the gruel of the first kind incapableshe met. "

Yet, actually, she was far from displeased at being accidentallydiscovered by these people while following out her capricious whim ofthe morning. One or two elder ladies, who had fought shy of her frocksand her frankness the evening before, were quite touched now by thisbutterfly who was willing to forego the sunlight of society, and soilher pretty wings on the haunts of the impoverished, with only a singlecompanion, --of her own sex!--and smiled approvingly. And in her presentstate of mind, remembering her companion's timid attitude towards LordBeverdale's opinions, she was not above administering this slight snubto him in her presence. 

When they had driven away, with many regrets, Miss Amelyn was deeplyconcerned. "I am afraid, " she said, with timid conscientiousness, "Ihave kept you from going with them. And you must be bored with what youhave seen, I know. I don't believe you really care one bit for it--andyou are only doing it to please me. "

"Trot out the rest of your show, " said Sadie promptly, "and we'll windup by lunching with the rector. "

"He'd be too delighted, " said Miss Amelyn, with disaster written allover her girlish, truthful face, "but--but--you know--it really wouldn'tbe quite right to Lord Beverdale. You're his principal guest--you know, and--they'd think I had taken you off. "

"Well, " said Miss Desborough impetuously, "what's the matter with thatinn--the Red Lion? We can get a sandwich there, I guess. I'm not VERYhungry. "

Miss Amelyn looked horrified for a moment, and then laughed; butimmediately became concerned again. "No! listen to me, REALLY now! Letme finish my round alone! You'll have ample time if you go NOW to reachthe Priory for luncheon. Do, please! It would be ever so much better foreverybody. I feel quite guilty as it is, and I suppose I am already inLord Beverdale's black books. "

The trouble in the young girl's face was unmistakable, and as it suitedMiss Desborough's purpose just as well to show her independence byreturning, as she had set out, alone, she consented to go. Miss Amelynshowed her a short cut across the park, and they separated--to meet atdinner. In this brief fellowship, the American girl had kept a certainsupremacy and half-fascination over the English girl, even while she wasconscious of an invincible character in Miss Amelyn entirely differentfrom and superior to her own. Certainly there was a difference in thetwo peoples. Why else this inherited conscientious reverence for LordBeverdale's position, shown by Miss Amelyn, which she, an American aliveto its practical benefits, could not understand? Would Miss Amelyn andLord Algernon have made a better match? The thought irritated her, evenwhile she knew that she herself possessed the young man's affections, the power to marry him, and, as she believed, kept her own independencein the matter. 

As she entered the iron gates at the lower end of the park, and glancedat the interwoven cipher and crest of the Amelyns still above, she wasconscious that the wind was blowing more chill, and that a few cloudshad gathered. As she walked on down the long winding avenue, the skybecame overcast, and, in one of those strange contrasts of the Englishclimate, the glory of the whole day went out with the sunshine. Thewoods suddenly became wrinkled and gray, the distant hills sombre, thevery English turf beneath her feet grew brown; a mile and a half away, through the opening of the trees, the west part of the Priory lookeda crumbling, ivy-eaten ruin. A few drops of rain fell. She hurriedon. Suddenly she remembered that the avenue made a long circuit beforeapproaching the house, and that its lower end, where she was walking, was but a fringe of the park. Consequently there must be a short cutacross some fields and farm buildings to the back of the park and thePriory. She at once diverged to the right, presently found a low fence, which she clambered over, and again found a footpath which led to astile. Crossing that, she could see the footpath now led directly to thePriory, --now a grim and austere looking pile in the suddenly dejectedlandscape, --and that it was probably used only by the servants andfarmers. A gust of wind brought some swift needles of rain to her cheek;she could see the sad hills beyond the Priory already veiling theirfaces; she gathered her skirts and ran. The next field was a long one, but beside the further stile was a small clump of trees, the only onesbetween her and the park. Hurrying on to that shelter, she saw that thestile was already occupied by a tall but bent figure, holding a longstick in his hand, which gave him the appearance, against the horizon, of the figure of Time leaning on his scythe. As she came nearer she sawit was, indeed, an old man, half resting on his rake. He was veryrugged and weather-beaten, and although near the shelter of the trees, apparently unmindful of the rain that was falling on his bald head, andthe limp cap he was holding uselessly in one hand. He was staring ather, yet apparently unconscious of her presence. A sudden instinct cameupon her--it was "Debs"!

She went directly up to him, and with that frank common sense whichordinarily distinguished her, took his cap from his hand and put iton his head, grasped his arm firmly, and led him to the shelter of thetree. Then she wiped the raindrops from his face with her handkerchief, shook out her own dress and her wet parasol, and, propping her companionagainst the tree, said:--

"There, Mr. Debs! I've heard of people who didn't know enough to come inwhen it rained, but I never met one before. "

The old man started, lifted his hairy, sinewy arm, bared to the elbow, and wiped his bare throat with the dry side of it. Then a look ofintelligence--albeit half aggressive--came into his face. "Wheer beesttha going?" he asked. 

Something in his voice struck Sadie like a vague echo. Perhaps it wasonly the queer dialect--or some resemblance to his granddaughter'svoice. She looked at him a little more closely as she said:--

"To the Priory. "

"Whaat?"

She pointed with her parasol to the gray pile in the distance. It waspossible that this demented peasant didn't even UNDERSTAND English. 

"The hall. Oh, ay!" Suddenly his brows knit ominously as he faced her. "An' wassist tha doin' drest oop in this foinery? Wheer gettist theethat goawn? Thissen, or thy maester? Nowt even a napron, fit for thywark as maaid at serviss; an' parson a gettin' tha plaace at Hall! Sothou'lt be high and moity will tha! thou'lt not walk wi' maaids, buttraipse by thissen like a slut in the toon--dang tha!"

Although it was plain to Sadie that the old man, in his wanderingperception, had mistaken her for his granddaughter in service at thePriory, there was still enough rudeness in his speech for her to haveresented it. But, strange to say, there was a kind of authority in itthat touched her with an uneasiness and repulsion that was stronger thanany other feeling. "I think you have mistaken me for some one else, "she said hurriedly, yet wondering why she had admitted it, and evenirritated at the admission. "I am a stranger here, a visitor at thePriory. I called with Miss Amelyn at your cottage, and saw your othergranddaughter; that's how I knew your name. "

The old man's face changed. A sad, senile smile of hopeless bewildermentcrept into his hard mouth; he plucked his limp cap from his head andlet it hang submissively in his fingers, as if it were his sole apology. Then he tried to straighten himself, and said, "Naw offins, miss, nawoffins! If tha knaws mea tha'll knaw I'm grandfeyther to two galls asmoight be tha owern age; tha'll tell 'ee that old Debs at haaty years'as warked and niver lost a day as man or boy; has niver coome oopen 'emfor n'aporth. An' 'e'll keep out o' warkus till he doy. An' 'ee's put byenow to by wi' his own feythers in Lanksheer, an' not liggen aloane inparson's choorchyard. "

It was part of her uneasiness that, scarcely understanding or, indeed, feeling any interest in these maundering details, she still seemedto have an odd comprehension of his character and some reminiscentknowledge of him, as if she were going through the repetition of someunpleasant dream. Even his wrinkled face was becoming familiar to her. Some weird attraction was holding her; she wanted to get away from it asmuch as she wanted to analyze it. She glanced ostentatiously at the sky, prepared to open her parasol, and began to edge cautiously away. 

"Then tha beant from these pearts?" he said suddenly. 

"No, no, " she said quickly and emphatically, --"no, I'm an American. "

The old man started and moved towards her, eagerly, his keen eyesbreaking through the film that at times obscured them. "'Merrikan! thabaist 'Merrikan? Then tha knaws ma son John, 'ee war nowt but a bairnwhen brether Dick took un to 'Merriky! Naw! Now! that wor fifty yearssen!--niver wroate to his old feyther--niver coomed back, 'Ee wortall-loike, an' thea said 'e feavored mea. " He stopped, threw up hishead, and with his skinny fingers drew back his long, straggling locksfrom his sunken cheeks, and stared in her face. The quick transitionof fascination, repulsion, shock, and indefinable apprehension made herlaugh hysterically. To her terror he joined in it, and eagerly claspedher wrists. "Eh, lass! tha knaws John--tha coomes from un to olegrandfeyther. Who-rr-u! Eay! but tha tho't to fool mea, did tha, lass?Whoy, I knoawed tha voice, for a' tha foine peacock feathers. So tha beJohn's gell coom from Ameriky. Dear! a dear! Coom neaur, lass! let's seewhat tha's loike. Eh, but thou'lt kiss tha grandfather, sewerly?"

A wild terror and undefined consternation had completely overpoweredher! But she made a desperate effort to free her wrists, and burst outmadly:--

"Let me go! How dare you! I don't know you or yours! I'm nothing to youor your kin! My name is Desborough--do you understand--do you hear me, Mr. Debs?--DESBOROUGH!"

At the word the old man's fingers stiffened like steel around herwrists, as he turned upon her a hard, invincible face. 

"So thou'lt call thissen Des-borough, wilt tha? Let me tell tha, then, that 'Debs, ' 'Debban, ' 'Debbrook, ' and 'Des-borough' are all a seame!Ay! thy feyther and thy feyther's feyther! Thou'lt be a Des-borough, will tha? Dang tha! and look doon on tha kin, and dress thissen in silkso' shame! Tell 'ee thou'rt an ass, gell! Don't tha hear? An ass! for alltha bean John's bairn! An ass! that's what tha beast!"

With flashing eyes and burning cheeks she made one more supremeeffort, lifting her arms, freeing her wrists, and throwing the old manstaggering from her. Then she leaped the stile, turned, and fled throughthe rain. But before she reached the end of the field she stopped! Shehad freed herself--she was stronger than he--what had she to fear? Hewas crazy! Yes, he MUST be crazy, and he had insulted her, but he was anold man--and God knows what! Her heart was beating rapidly, her breathwas hurried, but she ran back to the stile. 

He was not there. The field sloped away on either side of it. But shecould distinguish nothing in the pouring rain above the wind-sweptmeadow. He must have gone home. Relieved for a moment she turned andhurried on towards the Priory. 

But at every step she was followed, not by the old man's presence, butby what he had said to her, which she could not shake off as she hadshaken off his detaining fingers. Was it the ravings of insanity, or hadshe stumbled unwittingly upon some secret--was it after all a SECRET?Perhaps it was something they all knew, or would know later. And she hadcome down here for this. For back of her indignation, back even of herdisbelief in his insanity, there was an awful sense of truth! The nameshe had flung out, of "Debs, " "Debban, " and "Debbrook" now flashed uponher as something she had seen before, but had not understood. Until shesatisfied herself of this, she felt she could not live or breathe! Sheloathed the Priory, with its austere exclusiveness, as it rose beforeher; she wished she had never entered it; but it contained that whichshe must know, and know at once! She entered the nearest door and ranup the grand staircase. Her flushed face and disordered appearance wereeasily accounted for by her exposure to the sudden storm. She went toher bedroom, sent her maid to another room to prepare a change of dress, and sinking down before her traveling-desk, groped for a document. Ah!there it was--the expensive toy that she had played with! She hastilyran over its leaves to the page she already remembered. And there, amongthe dashes and perpendicular lines she had jested over last night, onwhich she had thought was a collateral branch of the line, stood herfather's name and that of Richard, his uncle, with the bracketed note inred ink, "see Debbrook, Daybrook, Debbers, and Debs. " Yes! this gaunt, half-crazy, overworked peasant, content to rake the dead leaves beforethe rolling chariots of the Beverdales, was her grandfather; that poorlyclad girl in the cottage, and even the menial in the scullery of thisvery house that might be HERS, were her COUSINS! She burst into a laugh, and then refolded the document and put it away. 

At luncheon she was radiant and sparkling. Her drenched clothes werean excuse for a new and ravishing toilette. She had never looked sobeautiful before, and significant glances were exchanged between someof the guests, who believed that the expected proposal had already come. But those who were of the carriage party knew otherwise, and of LordAlgernon's disappointment. Lord Beverdale contented himself withrallying his fair guest on the becomingness of "good works. " But hecontinued, "You're offering a dreadful example to these ladies, MissDesborough, and I know I shall never hereafter be able to content themwith any frivolous morning amusement at the Priory. For myself, whenI am grown gouty and hideous, I know I shall bloom again as a districtvisitor. "

Yet under this surface sparkle and nervous exaltation Sadie never lostconsciousness of the gravity of the situation. If her sense of humorenabled her to see one side of its grim irony; if she experienced awicked satisfaction in accepting the admiration and easy confidence ofthe high-born guests, knowing that her cousin had assisted in preparingthe meal they were eating, she had never lost sight of the practicaleffect of the discovery she had made. And she had come to a finalresolution. She should leave the Priory at once, and abandon all idea ofa matrimonial alliance with its heir! Inconsistent as this might seemto her selfish, worldly nature, it was nevertheless in keeping with acertain pride and independence that was in her blood. She did not loveLord Algernon, neither did she love her grandfather; she was equallywilling to sacrifice either or both; she knew that neither Lord Algernonnor his father would make her connections an objection, however theymight wish to keep the fact a secret, or otherwise dispose of them bypensions or emigration, but she could not bear to KNOW IT HERSELF!She never could be happy as the mistress of Scrooby Priory with thatknowledge; she did not idealize it as a principle! Carefully weighing itby her own practical common sense, she said to herself that "it wouldn'tpay. " The highest independence is often akin to the lowest selfishness;she did not dream that the same pride which kept her grandfather fromthe workhouse and support by his daughters, and had even kept him fromcommunicating with his own son, now kept her from acknowledging them, even for the gift of a title and domain. There was only one questionbefore her: should she stay long enough to receive the proposal of LordAlgernon, and then decline it? Why should she not snatch that singlefeminine joy out of the ashes of her burnt-up illusion? She knew that anopportunity would be offered that afternoon. The party were to take teaat Broxby Hall, and Lord Algernon was to drive her there in his dogcart. Miss Desborough had gone up to her bedroom to put on a warmer cloak, andhad rung twice or thrice impatiently for her maid. 

When the girl made her appearance, apologetic, voluble, and excited, Miss Desborough scarcely listened to her excuses, until a single wordsuddenly arrested her attention. It was "old Debs. "

"What ARE you talking about?" said Sadie, pausing in the adjustment ofher hat on her brown hair. 

"Old Debs, miss, --that's what they call him; an old park-keeper, justfound dead in a pool of water in the fields; the grandfather of one ofthe servants here; and there's such an excitement in the servants' hall. The gentlemen all knew it, too, for I heard Lord Algernon say thathe was looking very queer lately, and might have had a fit; and LordBeverdale has sent word to the coroner. And only think, the people hereare such fools that they daren't touch or move the poor man, and himlyin' there in the rain all the time, until the coroner comes!"

Miss Desborough had been steadily regarding herself in the glass to seeif she had turned pale. She had. She set her teeth together untilthe color partly returned. But she kept her face away from the maid. "That'll do, " she said quietly. "You can tell me all later. I have someimportant news myself, and I may not go out after all. I want you totake a note for me. " She went to her table, wrote a line in pencil, folded it, scribbled an address upon it, handed it to the girl, andgently pushed her from the room. 

*****

The consul was lingering on the terrace beside one of the carriages; ata little distance a groom was holding the nervous thoroughbred of LordAlgernon's dog-cart. Suddenly he felt a touch on his shoulder, and MissDesborough's maid put a note in his hand. It contained only a line:--

Please come and see me in the library, but without making any fuss aboutit--at once. S. D. 

The consul glanced around him; no one had apparently noticed theincident. He slipped back into the house and made his way to thelibrary. It was a long gallery; at the further end Miss Desborough stoodcloaked, veiled, and coquettishly hatted. She was looking very beautifuland animated. "I want you to please do me a great favor, " she said, withan adorable smile, "as your own countrywoman, you know--for the sake ofFourth of July and Pumpkin Pie and the Old Flag! I don't want to goto this circus to-day. I am going to leave here to-night! I am! HonestInjin! I want YOU to manage it. I want you to say that as consul you'vereceived important news for me: the death of some relative, if you like;or better, something AFFECTING MY PROPERTY, you know, " with a littlesatirical laugh. "I guess that would fetch 'em! So go at once. "

"But really, Miss Desborough, do let us talk this over before youdecide!" implored the bewildered consul. "Think what a disappointment toyour host and these ladies. Lord Algernon expects to drive you there; heis already waiting! The party was got up for you!" Miss Desborough madea slight grimace. "I mean you ought to sacrifice something--but I trustthere is really nothing serious--to them!"

"If YOU do not speak to them, I will!" said Miss Desborough firmly. "Ifyou say what I tell you, it will come the more plausibly from you. Come!My mind is made up. One of us must break the news! Shall it be you orI?" She drew her cloak over her shoulders and made a step forwards. 

The consul saw she was determined. "Then wait here till I return, butkeep yourself out of sight, " he said, and hurried away. Between thelibrary and the terrace he conceived a plan. His perplexity lent him aseriousness which befitted the gravity of the news he had to disclose. "I am sorry to have to tell you, " he said, taking Lord Beverdale aside, "that I was the unlucky bearer of some sad news to Miss Desborough thismorning, through my consular letters--some matter concerning the deathof a relation of hers, and some wearisome question of property. Ithought that it was of little importance, and that she would not takeit seriously, but I find I was mistaken. It may even oblige her to catchthe London train to-night. I promised to make her excuses to you for thepresent, and I'm afraid I must add my own to them, as she wishes me tostay and advise her in this matter, which requires some prompt action. "

Miss Desborough was right: the magic word "property" changed the slightannoyance on the earl's face to a sympathetic concern. "Dear me! I trustit is nothing really serious, " he said. "Of course, you will advise her, and, by the way, if my solicitor, Withers, who'll be here to-morrow, can do anything, you know, call him in. I hope she'll be able to seeme later. It could not be a NEAR relation who died, I fancy; she has nobrothers or sisters, I understand. "

"A cousin, I think; an old friend, " said the consul hastily. He heardLord Beverdale say a few words to his companions, saw with a tinge ofremorse a cloud settle upon Lord Algernon's fresh face, as he appealedin a whisper to old Lady Mesthyn, who leaned forward from the carriage, and said, "If the dear child thought I could be of any service, I shouldonly be too glad to stay with her. "

"I knew she would appreciate Lady Mesthyn's sympathy, " said theingenious consul quickly, "but I really think the question is more abusiness one--and"--

"Ah, yes, " said the old lady, shaking her head, "it's dreadful, ofcourse, but we must all think of THAT!"

As the carriage drove away, the consul hurried back a little viciouslyto his fair countrywoman. "There!" he said, "I have done it! If I havemanaged to convey either the idea that you are a penniless orphan, orthat I have official information that you are suspected of a dynamiteconspiracy, don't blame me! And now, " he said, "as I have excused myselfon the ground that I must devote myself to this dreadful business ofyours, perhaps you'll tell me WHAT it really is. "

"Not a word more, " said Miss Desborough; "except, " she added, --checkingher smile with a weary gesture, --"except that I want to leave thisdreadful place at once! There! don't ask me any more!"

There could be no doubt of the girl's sincerity. Nor was it theextravagant caprice of a petted idol. What had happened? He might havebelieved in a lovers' quarrel, but he knew that she and Lord Algernoncould have had no private interview that evening. He must perforceaccept her silence, yet he could not help saying:--

"You seemed to like the place so much last night. I say, you haven'tseen the Priory ghost, have you?"

"The Priory ghost, " she said quickly. "What's that?"

"The old monk who passes through the cloisters with the sacred oil, thebell, and the smell of incense whenever any one is to die here. By Jove!it would have been a good story to tell instead of this cock-and-bullone about your property. And there WAS a death here to-day. You'd haveadded the sibyl's gifts to your other charms. "

"Tell me about that old man, " she said, looking past him out of thewindow. "I was at his cottage this morning. But, no! first let us goout. You can take me for a walk, if you like. You see I am all ready, and I'm just stifling here. "

They descended to the terrace together. "Where would you like to go?" heasked. 

"To the village. I may want to telegraph, you know. "

They turned into the avenue, but Miss Desborough stopped. 

"Is there not a shorter cut across the fields, " she asked, "over there?"

"There is, " said the consul. 

They both turned into the footpath which led to the farm and stile. After a pause she said, "Did you ever talk with that poor old man?"

"No. "

"Then you don't know if he really was crazy, as they think. "

"No. But they may have thought an old man's forgetfulness of presentthings and his habit of communing with the past was insanity. For allthat he was a plucky, independent old fellow, with a grim purpose thatwas certainly rational. "

"I suppose in his independence he would not have taken favors from thesepeople, or anybody?"

"I should think not. "

"Don't you think it was just horrid--their leaving him alone in therain, when he might have been only in a fit?"

"The doctor says he died suddenly of heart disease, " said the consul. "It might have happened at any moment and without warning. "

"Ah, that was the coroner's verdict, then, " said Miss Desboroughquickly. 

"The coroner did not think it necessary to have any inquest after LordBeverdale's statement. It wouldn't have been very joyous for the Prioryparty. And I dare say he thought it might not be very cheerful for YOU. "

"How very kind!" said the young girl, with a quick laugh. "But do youknow that it's about the only thing human, original, and striking thathas happened in this place since I've been here! And so unexpected, considering how comfortably everything is ordered here beforehand. "

"Yet you seemed to like that kind of thing very well, last evening, "said the consul mischievously. 

"That was last night, " retorted Miss Desborough; "and you know the line, 'Colors seen by candlelight do not look the same by day. ' But I'm goingto be very consistent to-day, for I intend to go over to that poor man'scottage again, and see if I can be of any service. Will you go with me?"

"Certainly, " said the consul, mystified by his companion's extraordinaryconduct, yet apparent coolness of purpose, and hoping for some furtherexplanation. Was she only an inexperienced flirt who had found herselfon the point of a serious entanglement she had not contemplated? Yeteven then he knew she was clever enough to extricate herself in someother way than this abrupt and brutal tearing through the meshes. Or wasit possible that she really had any intelligence affecting her property?He reflected that he knew very little of the Desboroughs, but on theother hand he knew that Beverdale knew them much better, and was aprudent man. He had no right to demand her confidence as a reward forhis secrecy; he must wait her pleasure. Perhaps she would still explain;women seldom could resist the triumph of telling the secret that puzzledothers. 

When they reached the village she halted before the low roof of Debs'scottage. "I had better go in first, " she said; "you can come in later, and in the meantime you might go to the station for me and find out theexact time that the express train leaves for the north. "

"But, " said the astonished consul, "I thought you were going to London?"

"No, " said Miss Desborough quietly, "I am going to join some friends atHarrogate. "

"But that train goes much earlier than the train south, and--and I'mafraid Lord Beverdale will not have returned so soon. "

"How sad!" said Miss Desborough, with a faint smile, "but we must bearup under it, and--I'll write him. I will be here until you return. "

She turned away and entered the cottage. The granddaughter she hadalready seen and her sister, the servant at the Priory, were bothchatting comfortably, but ceased as she entered, and both rose withawkward respect. There was little to suggest that the body of theirgrandfather, already in a rough oak shell, was lying upon trestlesbeside them. 

"You have carried out my orders, I see, " said Miss Desborough, layingdown her parasol. 

"Ay, miss; but it was main haard gettin' et dooan so soon, and etcooast"--

"Never mind the cost. I've given you money enough, I think, and if Ihaven't, I guess I can give you more. "

"Ay, miss! Abbut the pa'son 'ead gi' un a funeral for nowt. "

"But I understood you to say, " said Miss Desborough, with an impatientflash of eye, "that your grandfather wished to be buried with hiskindred in the north?"

"Ay, miss, " said the girl apologetically, "an naw 'ees savit th' munny. Abbut e'd bean tickled 'ad 'ee knowed it! Dear! dear! 'ee niver thowt et'ud be gi'en by stranger an' not 'es ownt fammaly. "

"For all that, you needn't tell anybody it was given by ME, " said MissDesborough. "And you'll be sure to be ready to take the train thisafternoon--without delay. " There was a certain peremptoriness in hervoice very unlike Miss Amelyn's, yet apparently much more effective withthe granddaughter. 

"Ay, miss. Then, if tha'll excoose mea, I'll go streight to 'oory oopsexten. "

She bustled away. "Now, " said Miss Desborough, turning to the othergirl, "I shall take the same train, and will probably see you on theplatform at York to give my final directions. That's all. Go and see ifthe gentleman who came with me has returned from the station. "

The girl obeyed. Left entirely alone, Miss Desborough glanced aroundthe room, and then went quietly up to the unlidded coffin. The repose ofdeath had softened the hard lines of the old man's mouth and brow into aresemblance she now more than ever understood. She had stood thus onlya few years before, looking at the same face in a gorgeously inlaidmahogany casket, smothered amidst costly flowers, and surrounded byfriends attired in all the luxurious trappings of woe; yet it was thesame face that was now rigidly upturned to the bare thatch and raftersof that crumbling cottage, herself its only companion. She lifted herdelicate veil with both hands, and, stooping down, kissed the hard, coldforehead, without a tremor. Then she dropped her veil again over her dryeyes, readjusted it in the little, cheap, black-framed mirror that hungagainst the wall, and opened the door as the granddaughter returned. Thegentleman was just coming from the station. 

"Remember to look out for me at York, " said Miss Desborough, extendingher gloved hand. "Good-by till then. " The young girl respectfullytouched the ends of Miss Desborough's fingers, dropped a curtsy, andMiss Desborough rejoined the consul. 

"You have barely time to return to the Priory and see to your luggage, "said the consul, "if you must go. But let me hope that you have changedyour mind. "

"I have not changed my mind, " said Miss Desborough quietly, "and mybaggage is already packed. " After a pause, she said thoughtfully, "I'vebeen wondering"--

"What?" said the consul eagerly. 

"I've been wondering if people brought up to speak in a certain dialect, where certain words have their own significance and color, and are partof their own lives and experience--if, even when they understand anotherdialect, they really feel any sympathy with it, or the person who speaksit?"

"Apropos of"--asked the consul. 

"These people I've just left! I don't think I quite felt with them, andI guess they didn't feel with me. "

"But, " said the consul laughingly, "you know that we Americans speakwith a decided dialect of our own, and attach the same occult meaning toit. Yet, upon my word, I think that Lord Beverdale--or shall I say LordAlgernon?--would not only understand that American word 'guess' as youmean it, but would perfectly sympathize with you. "

Miss Desborough's eyes sparkled even through her veil as she glanced ather companion and said, "I GUESS NOT. "

As the "tea" party had not yet returned, it fell to the consul toaccompany Miss Desborough and her maid to the station. But here he wasstartled to find a collection of villagers upon the platform, gatheredround two young women in mourning, and an ominous-looking box. He mingled for a moment with the crowd, and then returned to MissDesborough's side. 

"Really, " he said, with a concern that was scarcely assumed, "I oughtnot to let you go. The omens are most disastrous! You came here to adeath; you are going away with a funeral!"

"Then it's high time I took myself off!" said the lady lightly. 

"Unless, like the ghostly monk, you came here on a mission, and havefulfilled it. "

"Perhaps I have. Good-by!"

*****

In spite of the bright and characteristic letter which Miss Desboroughleft for her host, --a letter which mingled her peculiar shrewd sensewith her humorous extravagance of expression, --the consul spent asomewhat uneasy evening under the fire of questions that assailed himin reference to the fair deserter. But he kept loyal faith with her, adhering even to the letter of her instructions, and only once wasgoaded into more active mendacity. The conversation had turned upon"Debs, " and the consul had remarked on the singularity of the name. Aguest from the north observed, however, that the name was undoubtedly acontraction. "Possibly it might have been 'Debborough, ' or even the samename as our fair friend. "

"But didn't Miss Desborough tell you last night that she had beenhunting up her people, with a family tree, or something like that?" saidLord Algernon eagerly. "I just caught a word here and there, for youwere both laughing. "

The consul smiled blandly. "You may well say so, for it was all the mostdelightful piece of pure invention and utter extravagance. It would haveamused her still more if she had thought you were listening and took itseriously!"

"Of course; I see!" said the young fellow, with a laugh and a slightrise of color. "I knew she was taking some kind of a rise out of YOU, and that remark reminded me of it. "

Nevertheless, within a year, Lord Algernon was happily married to thedaughter of a South African millionaire, whose bridal offerings alonetouched the sum of half a million. It was also said that the motherwas "impossible" and the father "unspeakable, " the relations"inextinguishable;" but the wedding was an "occasion, " and in thesucceeding year of festivity it is presumed that the names of "Debs" and"Desborough" were alike forgotten. 

But they existed still in a little hamlet near the edge of a bleaknorthern moor, where they were singularly exalted on a soaring shaft ofpure marble above the submerged and moss-grown tombstones of a simplecountry churchyard. So great was the contrast between the modern andpretentious monument and the graves of the humbler forefathers of thevillage, that even the Americans who chanced to visit it were shocked atwhat they believed was the ostentatious and vulgar pride of one of theirown countrywomen. For on its pedestal was inscribed:--

 Sacred to the Memory of JOHN DEBS DESBOROUGH, Formerly of this parish, Who departed this life October 20th, 1892, At Scrooby Priory, At the age of eighty-two years. This monument was erected as a loving testimony by his granddaughter, Sadie Desborough, of New York, U. S. A. 

 "And evening brings us home. "

SALOMY JANE'S KISS

Only one shot had been fired. It had gone wide of its mark, --theringleader of the Vigilantes, --and had left Red Pete, who had firedit, covered by their rifles and at their mercy. For his hand had beencramped by hard riding, and his eye distracted by their sudden onset, and so the inevitable end had come. He submitted sullenly to hiscaptors; his companion fugitive and horse-thief gave up the protractedstruggle with a feeling not unlike relief. Even the hot and revengefulvictors were content. They had taken their men alive. At any time duringthe long chase they could have brought them down by a rifle shot, but itwould have been unsportsmanlike, and have ended in a free fight, insteadof an example. And, for the matter of that, their doom was alreadysealed. Their end, by a rope and a tree, although not sanctified by law, would have at least the deliberation of justice. It was the tribute paidby the Vigilantes to that order which they had themselves disregarded inthe pursuit and capture. Yet this strange logic of the frontier sufficedthem, and gave a certain dignity to the climax. 

"Ef you've got anything to say to your folks, say it NOW, and say itquick, " said the ringleader. 

Red Pete glanced around him. He had been run to earth at his own cabinin the clearing, whence a few relations and friends, mostly women andchildren, non-combatants, had outflowed, gazing vacantly at the twentyVigilantes who surrounded them. All were accustomed to scenes ofviolence, blood-feud, chase, and hardship; it was only the suddenness ofthe onset and its quick result that had surprised them. They looked onwith dazed curiosity and some disappointment; there had been no fightto speak of--no spectacle! A boy, nephew of Red Pete, got upon therain-barrel to view the proceedings more comfortably; a tall, handsome, lazy Kentucky girl, a visiting neighbor, leaned against the doorpost, chewing gum. Only a yellow hound was actively perplexed. He couldnot make out if a hunt were just over or beginning, and ran eagerlybackwards and forwards, leaping alternately upon the captives and thecaptors. 

The ringleader repeated his challenge. Red Pete gave a reckless laughand looked at his wife. 

At which Mrs. Red Pete came forward. It seemed that she had much to say, incoherently, furiously, vindictively, to the ringleader. His soul wouldroast in hell for that day's work! He called himself a man, skunkin'in the open and afraid to show himself except with a crowd of other"Kiyi's" around a house of women and children. Heaping insult uponinsult, inveighing against his low blood, his ancestors, his dubiousorigin, she at last flung out a wild taunt of his invalid wife, theinsult of a woman to a woman, until his white face grew rigid, and onlythat Western-American fetich of the sanctity of sex kept his twitchingfingers from the lock of his rifle. Even her husband noticed it, andwith a half-authoritative "Let up on that, old gal, " and a pat of hisfreed left hand on her back, took his last parting. The ringleader, still white under the lash of the woman's tongue, turned abruptly to thesecond captive. "And if YOU'VE got anybody to say 'good-by' to, now'syour chance. "

The man looked up. Nobody stirred or spoke. He was a stranger there, being a chance confederate picked up by Red Pete, and known to no one. Still young, but an outlaw from his abandoned boyhood, of which fatherand mother were only a forgotten dream, he loved horses and stole them, fully accepting the frontier penalty of life for the interference withthat animal on which a man's life so often depended. But he understoodthe good points of a horse, as was shown by the ones he bestrode--untila few days before the property of Judge Boompointer. This was his soledistinction. 

The unexpected question stirred him for a moment out of the attitudeof reckless indifference, for attitude it was, and a part of hisprofession. But it may have touched him that at that moment he was lessthan his companion and his virago wife. However, he only shook his head. As he did so his eye casually fell on the handsome girl by the doorpost, who was looking at him. The ringleader, too, may have been touched byhis complete loneliness, for HE hesitated. At the same moment he sawthat the girl was looking at his friendless captive. 

A grotesque idea struck him. 

"Salomy Jane, ye might do worse than come yere and say 'good-by' to adying man, and him a stranger, " he said. 

There seemed to be a subtle stroke of poetry and irony in this thatequally struck the apathetic crowd. It was well known that Salomy JaneClay thought no small potatoes of herself, and always held off the localswain with a lazy nymph-like scorn. Nevertheless, she slowly disengagedherself from the doorpost, and, to everybody's astonishment, loungedwith languid grace and outstretched hand towards the prisoner. The colorcame into the gray reckless mask which the doomed man wore as her righthand grasped his left, just loosed by his captors. Then she paused; hershy, fawn-like eyes grew bold, and fixed themselves upon him. She tookthe chewing-gum from her mouth, wiped her red lips with the back ofher hand, by a sudden lithe spring placed her foot on his stirrup, and, bounding to the saddle, threw her arms about his neck and pressed a kissupon his lips. 

They remained thus for a hushed moment--the man on the threshold ofdeath, the young woman in the fullness of youth and beauty--linkedtogether. Then the crowd laughed; in the audacious effrontery of thegirl's act the ultimate fate of the two men was forgotten. She slippedlanguidly to the ground; SHE was the focus of all eyes, --she only! Theringleader saw it and his opportunity. He shouted: "Time's up--Forward!"urged his horse beside his captives, and the next moment the wholecavalcade was sweeping over the clearing into the darkening woods. 

Their destination was Sawyer's Crossing, the headquarters of thecommittee, where the council was still sitting, and where both culpritswere to expiate the offense of which that council had already foundthem guilty. They rode in great and breathless haste, --a haste in which, strangely enough, even the captives seemed to join. That haste possiblyprevented them from noticing the singular change which had taken placein the second captive since the episode of the kiss. His high colorremained, as if it had burned through his mask of indifference; his eyeswere quick, alert, and keen, his mouth half open as if the girl's kissstill lingered there. And that haste had made them careless, for thehorse of the man who led him slipped in a gopher-hole, rolled over, unseated his rider, and even dragged the bound and helpless secondcaptive from Judge Boompointer's favorite mare. In an instant they wereall on their feet again, but in that supreme moment the second captivefelt the cords which bound his arms had slipped to his wrists. Bykeeping his elbows to his sides, and obliging the others to help himmount, it escaped their notice. By riding close to his captors, andkeeping in the crush of the throng, he further concealed the accident, slowly working his hands downwards out of his bonds. 

Their way lay through a sylvan wilderness, mid-leg deep in ferns, whosetall fronds brushed their horses' sides in their furious gallop andconcealed the flapping of the captive's loosened cords. The peacefulvista, more suggestive of the offerings of nymph and shepherd than ofhuman sacrifice, was in a strange contrast to this whirlwind rush ofstern, armed men. The westering sun pierced the subdued light and thetremor of leaves with yellow lances; birds started into song on blue anddove-like wings, and on either side of the trail of this vengefulstorm could be heard the murmur of hidden and tranquil waters. In afew moments they would be on the open ridge, whence sloped the commonturnpike to "Sawyer's, " a mile away. It was the custom of returningcavalcades to take this hill at headlong speed, with shouts and criesthat heralded their coming. They withheld the latter that day, asinconsistent with their dignity; but, emerging from the wood, sweptsilently like an avalanche down the slope. They were well under way, looking only to their horses, when the second captive slipped his rightarm from the bonds and succeeded in grasping the reins that lay trailingon the horse's neck. A sudden vaquero jerk, which the well-trainedanimal understood, threw him on his haunches with his forelegs firmlyplanted on the slope. The rest of the cavalcade swept on; the man whowas leading the captive's horse by the riata, thinking only of anotheraccident, dropped the line to save himself from being dragged backwardsfrom his horse. The captive wheeled, and the next moment was gallopingfuriously up the slope. 

It was the work of a moment; a trained horse and an experienced hand. The cavalcade had covered nearly fifty yards before they could pull up;the freed captive had covered half that distance uphill. The road wasso narrow that only two shots could be fired, and these broke dust twoyards ahead of the fugitive. They had not dared to fire low; the horsewas the more valuable animal. The fugitive knew this in his extremityalso, and would have gladly taken a shot in his own leg to spare that ofhis horse. Five men were detached to recapture or kill him. The latterseemed inevitable. But he had calculated his chances; before they couldreload he had reached the woods again; winding in and out betweenthe pillared tree trunks, he offered no mark. They knew his horse wassuperior to their own; at the end of two hours they returned, for hehad disappeared without track or trail. The end was briefly told in the"Sierra Record:"--

"Red Pete, the notorious horse-thief, who had so long eluded justice, was captured and hung by the Sawyer's Crossing Vigilantes last week;his confederate, unfortunately, escaped on a valuable horse belongingto Judge Boompointer. The judge had refused one thousand dollars forthe horse only a week before. As the thief, who is still at large, wouldfind it difficult to dispose of so valuable an animal without detection, the chances are against either of them turning up again. "

*****

Salomy Jane watched the cavalcade until it had disappeared. Then shebecame aware that her brief popularity had passed. Mrs. Red Pete, instormy hysterics, had included her in a sweeping denunciation of thewhole universe, possibly for simulating an emotion in which she herselfwas deficient. The other women hated her for her momentary exaltationabove them; only the children still admired her as one who hadundoubtedly "canoodled" with a man "a-going to be hung"--a daring flightbeyond their wildest ambition. Salomy Jane accepted the change withcharming unconcern. She put on her yellow nankeen sunbonnet, --a hideousaffair that would have ruined any other woman, but which only enhancedthe piquancy of her fresh brunette skin, --tied the strings, letting theblue-black braids escape below its frilled curtain behind, jumped onher mustang with a casual display of agile ankles in shapely whitestockings, whistled to the hound, and waving her hand with a "So long, sonny!" to the lately bereft but admiring nephew, flapped and flutteredaway in her short brown holland gown. 

Her father's house was four miles distant. Contrasted with the cabin shehad just quitted, it was a superior dwelling, with a long "lean-to" atthe rear, which brought the eaves almost to the ground and made it looklike a low triangle. It had a long barn and cattle sheds, for MadisonClay was a "great" stock-raiser and the owner of a "quarter section. " Ithad a sitting-room and a parlor organ, whose transportation thither hadbeen a marvel of "packing. " These things were supposed to give SalomyJane an undue importance, but the girl's reserve and inaccessibility tolocal advances were rather the result of a cool, lazy temperament andthe preoccupation of a large, protecting admiration for her father, forsome years a widower. For Mr. Madison Clay's life had been threatened inone or two feuds, --it was said, not without cause, --and it is possiblethat the pathetic spectacle of her father doing his visiting with ashotgun may have touched her closely and somewhat prejudiced her againstthe neighboring masculinity. The thought that cattle, horses, and"quarter section" would one day be hers did not disturb her calm. As forMr. Clay, he accepted her as housewifely, though somewhat "interfering, "and, being one of "his own womankind, " therefore not without some degreeof merit. 

"Wot's this yer I'm hearin' of your doin's over at Red Pete's?Honeyfoglin' with a horse-thief, eh?" said Mr. Clay two days later atbreakfast. 

"I reckon you heard about the straight thing, then, " said Salomy Janeunconcernedly, without looking round. 

"What do you kalkilate Rube will say to it? What are you goin' to tellHIM?" said Mr. Clay sarcastically. 

"Rube, " or Reuben Waters, was a swain supposed to be favoredparticularly by Mr. Clay. Salomy Jane looked up. 

"I'll tell him that when HE'S on his way to be hung, I'll kiss him, --nottill then, " said the young lady brightly. 

This delightful witticism suited the paternal humor, and Mr. Claysmiled; but, nevertheless, he frowned a moment afterwards. 

"But this yer hoss-thief got away arter all, and that's a hoss of adifferent color, " he said grimly. 

Salomy Jane put down her knife and fork. This was certainly a new anddifferent phase of the situation. She had never thought of it before, and, strangely enough, for the first time she became interested in theman. "Got away?" she repeated. "Did they let him off?"

"Not much, " said her father briefly. "Slipped his cords, and going downthe grade pulled up short, just like a vaquero agin a lassoed bull, almost draggin' the man leadin' him off his hoss, and then skyuted upthe grade. For that matter, on that hoss o' Judge Boompointer's he mouthave dragged the whole posse of 'em down on their knees ef he liked!Sarved 'em right, too. Instead of stringin' him up afore the door, orshootin' him on sight, they must allow to take him down afore the hullcommittee 'for an example. ' 'Example' be blowed! Ther' 's example enoughwhen some stranger comes unbeknownst slap onter a man hanged to a treeand plugged full of holes. THAT'S an example, and HE knows what itmeans. Wot more do ye want? But then those Vigilantes is allus clingin'and hangin' onter some mere scrap o' the law they're pretendin' todespise. It makes me sick! Why, when Jake Myers shot your ole AuntViney's second husband, and I laid in wait for Jake afterwards in theButternut Hollow, did I tie him to his hoss and fetch him down to yourAunt Viney's cabin 'for an example' before I plugged him? No!" in deepdisgust. "No! Why, I just meandered through the wood, careless-like, till he comes out, and I just rode up to him, and I said"--

But Salomy Jane had heard her father's story before. Even one's dearestrelatives are apt to become tiresome in narration. "I know, dad, " sheinterrupted; "but this yer man, --this hoss-thief, --did HE get clean awaywithout gettin' hurt at all?"

"He did, and unless he's fool enough to sell the hoss he kin keep away, too. So ye see, ye can't ladle out purp stuff about a 'dyin' stranger'to Rube. He won't swaller it. "

"All the same, dad, " returned the girl cheerfully, "I reckon to say it, and say MORE; I'll tell him that ef HE manages to get away too, I'llmarry him--there! But ye don't ketch Rube takin' any such risks ingettin' ketched, or in gettin' away arter!"

Madison Clay smiled grimly, pushed back his chair, rose, dropped aperfunctory kiss on his daughter's hair, and, taking his shotgun fromthe corner, departed on a peaceful Samaritan mission to a cow who haddropped a calf in the far pasture. Inclined as he was to Reuben's wooingfrom his eligibility as to property, he was conscious that he was sadlydeficient in certain qualities inherent in the Clay family. It certainlywould be a kind of mesalliance. 

Left to herself, Salomy Jane stared a long while at the coffee-pot, andthen called the two squaws who assisted her in her household duties, toclear away the things while she went up to her own room to make her bed. Here she was confronted with a possible prospect of that proverbial bedshe might be making in her willfulness, and on which she must lie, in the photograph of a somewhat serious young man of refinedfeatures--Reuben Waters--stuck in her window-frame. Salomy Jane smiledover her last witticism regarding him and enjoyed, it, like your truehumorist, and then, catching sight of her own handsome face in thelittle mirror, smiled again. But wasn't it funny about that horse-thiefgetting off after all? Good Lordy! Fancy Reuben hearing he was alive andgoing round with that kiss of hers set on his lips! She laughed again, alittle more abstractedly. And he had returned it like a man, holding hertight and almost breathless, and he going to be hung the next minute!Salomy Jane had been kissed at other times, by force, chance, orstratagem. In a certain ingenuous forfeit game of the locality known as"I'm a-pinin', " many had "pined" for a "sweet kiss" from Salomy Jane, which she had yielded in a sense of honor and fair play. She had neverbeen kissed like this before--she would never again; and yet the man wasalive! And behold, she could see in the mirror that she was blushing!

She should hardly know him again. A young man with very bright eyes, a flushed and sunburnt cheek, a kind of fixed look in the face, and nobeard; no, none that she could feel. Yet he was not at all like Reuben, not a bit. She took Reuben's picture from the window, and laid it on herworkbox. And to think she did not even know this young man's name! Thatwas queer. To be kissed by a man whom she might never know! Of coursehe knew hers. She wondered if he remembered it and her. But of course hewas so glad to get off with his life that he never thought of anythingelse. Yet she did not give more than four or five minutes to thesespeculations, and, like a sensible girl, thought of something else. Onceagain, however, in opening the closet, she found the brown hollandgown she had worn on the day before; thought it very unbecoming, andregretted that she had not worn her best gown on her visit to Red Pete'scottage. On such an occasion she really might have been more impressive. 

When her father came home that night she asked him the news. No, theyhad NOT captured the second horse-thief, who was still at large. JudgeBoompointer talked of invoking the aid of the despised law. It remained, then, to see whether the horse-thief was fool enough to try to get ridof the animal. Red Pete's body had been delivered to his widow. Perhapsit would only be neighborly for Salomy Jane to ride over to the funeral. But Salomy Jane did not take to the suggestion kindly, nor yet did sheexplain to her father that, as the other man was still living, shedid not care to undergo a second disciplining at the widow's hands. Nevertheless, she contrasted her situation with that of the widow witha new and singular satisfaction. It might have been Red Pete who hadescaped. But he had not the grit of the nameless one. She had alreadysettled his heroic quality. 

"Ye ain't harkenin' to me, Salomy. "

Salomy Jane started. 

"Here I'm askin' ye if ye've see that hound Phil Larrabee sneaking byyer today?"

Salomy Jane had not. But she became interested and self-reproachful, for she knew that Phil Larrabee was one of her father's enemies. "Hewouldn't dare to go by here unless he knew you were out, " she saidquickly. 

"That's what gets me, " he said, scratching his grizzled head. "I've beenkind o' thinkin' o' him all day, and one of them Chinamen said he sawhim at Sawyer's Crossing. He was a kind of friend o' Pete's wife. That'swhy I thought yer might find out ef he'd been there. " Salomy Janegrew more self-reproachful at her father's self-interest in her"neighborliness. " "But that ain't all, " continued Mr. Clay. "Thar wastracks over the far pasture that warn't mine. I followed them, and theywent round and round the house two or three times, ez ef they mout hevbin prowlin', and then I lost 'em in the woods again. It's just likethat sneakin' hound Larrabee to hev bin lyin' in wait for me and afraidto meet a man fair and square in the open. "

"You just lie low, dad, for a day or two more, and let me do a littleprowlin', " said the girl, with sympathetic indignation in her dark eyes. "Ef it's that skunk, I'll spot him soon enough and let you know wharhe's hiding. "

"You'll just stay where ye are, Salomy, " said her father decisively. "This ain't no woman's work--though I ain't sayin' you haven't got morehead for it than some men I know. "

Nevertheless, that night, after her father had gone to bed, Salomy Janesat by the open window of the sitting-room in an apparent attitude oflanguid contemplation, but alert and intent of eye and ear. It was afine moonlit night. Two pines near the door, solitary pickets of theserried ranks of distant forest, cast long shadows like paths to thecottage, and sighed their spiced breath in the windows. For there was nofrivolity of vine or flower round Salomy Jane's bower. The clearing wastoo recent, the life too practical for vanities like these. But the moonadded a vague elusiveness to everything, softened the rigid outlinesof the sheds, gave shadows to the lidless windows, and touched withmerciful indirectness the hideous debris of refuse gravel and the gauntscars of burnt vegetation before the door. Even Salomy Jane was affectedby it, and exhaled something between a sigh and a yawn with the breathof the pines. Then she suddenly sat upright. 

Her quick ear had caught a faint "click, click, " in the direction of thewood; her quicker instinct and rustic training enabled her to determinethat it was the ring of a horse's shoe on flinty ground; her knowledgeof the locality told her it came from the spot where the trail passedover an outcrop of flint scarcely a quarter of a mile from where shesat, and within the clearing. It was no errant "stock, " for the foot wasshod with iron; it was a mounted trespasser by night, and boded no goodto a man like Clay. 

She rose, threw her shawl over her head, more for disguise than shelter, and passed out of the door. A sudden impulse made her seize her father'sshotgun from the corner where it stood, --not that she feared any dangerto herself, but that it was an excuse. She made directly for the wood, keeping in the shadow of the pines as long as she could. At the fringeshe halted; whoever was there must pass her before reaching the house. 

Then there seemed to be a suspense of all nature. Everything was deadlystill--even the moonbeams appeared no longer tremulous; soon there was arustle as of some stealthy animal among the ferns, and then a dismountedman stepped into the moonlight. It was the horse-thief--the man she hadkissed!

For a wild moment a strange fancy seized her usually sane intellect andstirred her temperate blood. The news they had told her was NOT true;he had been hung, and this was his ghost! He looked as white andspirit-like in the moonlight, dressed in the same clothes, as when shesaw him last. He had evidently seen her approaching, and moved quicklyto meet her. But in his haste he stumbled slightly; she reflectedsuddenly that ghosts did not stumble, and a feeling of relief cameover her. And it was no assassin of her father that had been prowlingaround--only this unhappy fugitive. A momentary color came into hercheek; her coolness and hardihood returned; it was with a tinge ofsauciness in her voice that she said:--

"I reckoned you were a ghost. "

"I mout have been, " he said, looking at her fixedly; "but I reckon I'dhave come back here all the same. "

"It's a little riskier comin' back alive, " she said, with a levitythat died on her lips, for a singular nervousness, half fear and halfexpectation, was beginning to take the place of her relief of a momentago. "Then it was YOU who was prowlin' round and makin' tracks in thefar pasture?"

"Yes; I came straight here when I got away. "

She felt his eyes were burning her, but did not dare to raise her own. "Why, " she began, hesitated, and ended vaguely. "HOW did you get here?"

"You helped me!"

"I?"

"Yes. That kiss you gave me put life into me--gave me strength to getaway. I swore to myself I'd come back and thank you, alive or dead. "

Every word he said she could have anticipated, so plain the situationseemed to her now. And every word he said she knew was the truth. Yether cool common sense struggled against it. 

"What's the use of your escaping, ef you're comin' back here to beketched again?" she said pertly. 

He drew a little nearer to her, but seemed to her the more awkward asshe resumed her self-possession. His voice, too, was broken, as if byexhaustion, as he said, catching his breath at intervals:--

"I'll tell you. You did more for me than you think. You made another mano' me. I never had a man, woman, or child do to me what you did. I neverhad a friend--only a pal like Red Pete, who picked me up 'on shares. 'I want to quit this yer--what I'm doin'. I want to begin by doin' thesquare thing to you"--He stopped, breathed hard, and then said brokenly, "My hoss is over thar, staked out. I want to give him to you. JudgeBoompointer will give you a thousand dollars for him. I ain't lyin';it's God's truth! I saw it on the handbill agin a tree. Take him, andI'll get away afoot. Take him. It's the only thing I can do for you, andI know it don't half pay for what you did. Take it; your father can geta reward for you, if you can't. "

Such were the ethics of this strange locality that neither the man whomade the offer nor the girl to whom it was made was struck by anythingthat seemed illogical or indelicate, or at all inconsistent withjustice or the horse-thief's real conversion. Salomy Jane neverthelessdissented, from another and weaker reason. 

"I don't want your hoss, though I reckon dad might; but you're juststarvin'. I'll get suthin'. " She turned towards the house. 

"Say you'll take the hoss first, " he said, grasping her hand. At thetouch she felt herself coloring and struggled, expecting perhaps anotherkiss. But he dropped her hand. She turned again with a saucy gesture, said, "Hol' on; I'll come right back, " and slipped away, the mere shadowof a coy and flying nymph in the moonlight, until she reached the house. 

Here she not only procured food and whiskey, but added a long dust-coatand hat of her father's to her burden. They would serve as a disguisefor him and hide that heroic figure, which she thought everybody mustnow know as she did. Then she rejoined him breathlessly. But he put thefood and whiskey aside. 

"Listen, " he said; "I've turned the hoss into your corral. You'll findhim there in the morning, and no one will know but that he got lost andjoined the other hosses. "

Then she burst out. "But you--YOU--what will become of you? You'll beketched!"

"I'll manage to get away, " he said in a low voice, "ef--ef"--

"Ef what?" she said tremblingly. "Ef you'll put the heart in meagain, --as you did!" he gasped. 

She tried to laugh--to move away. She could do neither. Suddenly hecaught her in his arms, with a long kiss, which she returned again andagain. Then they stood embraced as they had embraced two days before, but no longer the same. For the cool, lazy Salomy Jane had beentransformed into another woman--a passionate, clinging savage. Perhapssomething of her father's blood had surged within her at that suprememoment. The man stood erect and determined. 

"Wot's your name?" she whispered quickly. It was a woman's quickest wayof defining her feelings. 

"Dart. "

"Yer first name?"

"Jack. "

"Let me go now, Jack. Lie low in the woods till to-morrow sunup. I'llcome again. "

He released her. Yet she lingered a moment. "Put on those things, " shesaid, with a sudden happy flash of eyes and teeth, "and lie close till Icome. " And then she sped away home. 

But midway up the distance she felt her feet going slower, and somethingat her heartstrings seemed to be pulling her back. She stopped, turned, and glanced to where he had been standing. Had she seen him then, shemight have returned. But he had disappeared. She gave her first sigh, and then ran quickly again. It must be nearly ten o'clock! It was notvery long to morning!

She was within a few steps of her own door, when the sleeping woods andsilent air appeared to suddenly awake with a sharp "crack!"

She stopped, paralyzed. Another "crack!" followed, that echoed over tothe far corral. She recalled herself instantly and dashed off wildly tothe woods again. 

As she ran she thought of one thing only. He had been "dogged" by oneof his old pursuers and attacked. But there were two shots, and he wasunarmed. Suddenly she remembered that she had left her father's gunstanding against the tree where they were talking. Thank God! she mayagain have saved him. She ran to the tree; the gun was gone. She ranhither and thither, dreading at every step to fall upon his lifelessbody. A new thought struck her; she ran to the corral. The horse was notthere! He must have been able to regain it, and escaped, AFTER the shotshad been fired. She drew a long breath of relief, but it was caught upin an apprehension of alarm. Her father, awakened from his sleep by theshots, was hurriedly approaching her. 

"What's up now, Salomy Jane?" he demanded excitedly. 

"Nothin', " said the girl with an effort. "Nothin', at least, that I canfind. " She was usually truthful because fearless, and a lie stuck in herthroat; but she was no longer fearless, thinking of HIM. "I wasn't abed;so I ran out as soon as I heard the shots fired, " she answered in returnto his curious gaze. 

"And you've hid my gun somewhere where it can't be found, " he saidreproachfully. "Ef it was that sneak Larrabee, and he fired them shotsto lure me out, he might have potted me, without a show, a dozen timesin the last five minutes. "

She had not thought since of her father's enemy! It might indeedhave been he who had attacked Jack. But she made a quick point of thesuggestion. "Run in, dad, run in and find the gun; you've got no showout here without it. " She seized him by the shoulders from behind, shielding him from the woods, and hurried him, half expostulating, halfstruggling, to the house. 

But there no gun was to be found. It was strange; it must have beenmislaid in some corner! Was he sure he had not left it in the barn? Butno matter now. The danger was over; the Larrabee trick had failed;he must go to bed now, and in the morning they would make a searchtogether. At the same time she had inwardly resolved to rise before himand make another search of the wood, and perhaps--fearful joy as sherecalled her promise!--find Jack alive and well, awaiting her!

Salomy Jane slept little that night, nor did her father. But towardsmorning he fell into a tired man's slumber until the sun was well up thehorizon. Far different was it with his daughter: she lay with her faceto the window, her head half lifted to catch every sound, from thecreaking of the sun-warped shingles above her head to the far-offmoan of the rising wind in the pine trees. Sometimes she fell into abreathless, half-ecstatic trance, living over every moment of the stoleninterview; feeling the fugitive's arm still around her, his kisses onher lips; hearing his whispered voice in her ears--the birth of her newlife! This was followed again by a period of agonizing dread--that hemight even then be lying, his life ebbing away, in the woods, with hername on his lips, and she resting here inactive, until she half startedfrom her bed to go to his succor. And this went on until a pale opalglow came into the sky, followed by a still paler pink on the summit ofthe white Sierras, when she rose and hurriedly began to dress. Still sosanguine was her hope of meeting him, that she lingered yet a moment toselect the brown holland skirt and yellow sunbonnet she had worn whenshe first saw him. And she had only seen him twice! Only TWICE! It wouldbe cruel, too cruel, not to see him again!

She crept softly down the stairs, listening to the long-drawn breathingof her father in his bedroom, and then, by the light of a gutteringcandle, scrawled a note to him, begging him not to trust himself out ofthe house until she returned from her search, and leaving the note openon the table, swiftly ran out into the growing day. 

Three hours afterwards Mr. Madison Clay awoke to the sound of loudknocking. At first this forced itself upon his consciousness as hisdaughter's regular morning summons, and was responded to by a grunt ofrecognition and a nestling closer in the blankets. Then he awoke with astart and a muttered oath, remembering the events of last night, and hisintention to get up early, and rolled out of bed. Becoming aware by thistime that the knocking was at the outer door, and hearing the shout ofa familiar voice, he hastily pulled on his boots, his jean trousers, and fastening a single suspender over his shoulder as he clattereddownstairs, stood in the lower room. The door was open, and waitingupon the threshold was his kinsman, an old ally in many ablood-feud--Breckenridge Clay!

"You ARE a cool one, Mad!" said the latter in half-admiring indignation. 

"What's up?" said the bewildered Madison. 

"YOU ought to be, and scootin' out o' this, " said Breckenridge grimly. "It's all very well to 'know nothin';' but here Phil Larrabee's friendshev just picked him up, drilled through with slugs and deader nor acrow, and now they're lettin' loose Larrabee's two half-brothers on you. And you must go like a derned fool and leave these yer things behind youin the bresh, " he went on querulously, lifting Madison Clay's dust-coat, hat, and shotgun from his horse, which stood saddled at the door. "Luckily I picked them up in the woods comin' here. Ye ain't got morethan time to get over the state line and among your folks thar aforethey'll be down on you. Hustle, old man! What are you gawkin' andstarin' at?"

Madison Clay had stared amazed and bewildered--horror-stricken. The incidents of the past night for the first time flashed upon himclearly--hopelessly! The shot; his finding Salomy Jane alone inthe woods; her confusion and anxiety to rid herself of him; thedisappearance of the shotgun; and now this new discovery of the takingof his hat and coat for a disguise! SHE had killed Phil Larrabee in thatdisguise, after provoking his first harmless shot! She, his own child, Salomy Jane, had disgraced herself by a man's crime; had disgraced himby usurping his right, and taking a mean advantage, by deceit, of a foe!

"Gimme that gun, " he said hoarsely. 

Breckenridge handed him the gun in wonder and slowly gatheringsuspicion. Madison examined nipple and muzzle; one barrel had beendischarged. It was true! The gun dropped from his hand. 

"Look here, old man, " said Breckenridge, with a darkening face, "there'sbin no foul play here. Thar's bin no hiring of men, no deputy to do thisjob. YOU did it fair and square--yourself?"

"Yes, by God!" burst out Madison Clay in a hoarse voice. "Who says Ididn't?"

Reassured, yet believing that Madison Clay had nerved himself forthe act by an over-draught of whiskey, which had affected his memory, Breckenridge said curtly, "Then wake up and 'lite' out, ef ye want me tostand by you. "

"Go to the corral and pick me out a hoss, " said Madison slowly, yet notwithout a certain dignity of manner. "I've suthin' to say to SalomyJane afore I go. " He was holding her scribbled note, which he had justdiscovered, in his shaking hand. 

Struck by his kinsman's manner, and knowing the dependent relationsof father and daughter, Breckenridge nodded and hurried away. Left tohimself, Madison Clay ran his fingers through his hair, and straightenedout the paper on which Salomy Jane had scrawled her note, turned itover, and wrote on the back:--

You might have told me you did it, and not leave your ole father tofind it out how you disgraced yourself and him, too, by a low-down, underhanded, woman's trick! I've said I done it, and took the blamemyself, and all the sneakiness of it that folks suspect. If I get awayalive--and I don't care much which--you needn't foller. The house andstock are yours; but you ain't any longer the daughter of your disgracedfather, MADISON CLAY. 

He had scarcely finished the note when, with a clatter of hoofs and aled horse, Breckenridge reappeared at the door elate and triumphant. "You're in nigger luck, Mad! I found that stole hoss of JudgeBoompointer's had got away and strayed among your stock in the corral. Take him and you're safe; he can't be outrun this side of the stateline. "

"I ain't no hoss-thief, " said Madison grimly. 

"Nobody sez ye are, but you'd be wuss--a fool--ef you didn't take him. I'm testimony that you found him among your hosses; I'll tell JudgeBoompointer you've got him, and ye kin send him back when you're safe. The judge will be mighty glad to get him back, and call it quits. So efyou've writ to Salomy Jane, come. "

Madison Clay no longer hesitated. Salomy Jane might return at anymoment, --it would be part of her "fool womanishness, "--and he was inno mood to see her before a third party. He laid the note on the table, gave a hurried glance around the house, which he grimly believed he wasleaving forever, and, striding to the door, leaped on the stolen horse, and swept away with his kinsman. 

But that note lay for a week undisturbed on the table in full view ofthe open door. The house was invaded by leaves, pine cones, birds, and squirrels during the hot, silent, empty days, and at night by shy, stealthy creatures, but never again, day or night, by any of the Clayfamily. It was known in the district that Clay had flown across thestate line, his daughter was believed to have joined him the next day, and the house was supposed to be locked up. It lay off the main road, and few passed that way. The starving cattle in the corral at last brokebounds and spread over the woods. And one night a stronger blast thanusual swept through the house, carried the note from the table to thefloor, where, whirled into a crack in the flooring, it slowly rotted. 

But though the sting of her father's reproach was spared her, SalomyJane had no need of the letter to know what had happened. For as sheentered the woods in the dim light of that morning she saw the figure ofDart gliding from the shadow of a pine towards her. The unaffected cryof joy that rose from her lips died there as she caught sight of hisface in the open light. 

"You are hurt, " she said, clutching his arm passionately. 

"No, " he said. "But I wouldn't mind that if"--

"You're thinkin' I was afeard to come back last night when I heard theshootin', but I DID come, " she went on feverishly. "I ran back here whenI heard the two shots, but you were gone. I went to the corral, but yourhoss wasn't there, and I thought you'd got away. "

"I DID get away, " said Dart gloomily. "I killed the man, thinkin' hewas huntin' ME, and forgettin' I was disguised. He thought I was yourfather. "

"Yes, " said the girl joyfully, "he was after dad, and YOU--you killedhim. " She again caught his hand admiringly. 

But he did not respond. Possibly there were points of honor which thishorse-thief felt vaguely with her father. "Listen, " he said grimly. "Others think it was your father killed him. When I did it--for he firedat me first--I ran to the corral again and took my hoss, thinkin' Imight be follered. I made a clear circuit of the house, and when I foundhe was the only one, and no one was follerin', I come back here and tookoff my disguise. Then I heard his friends find him in the wood, and Iknow they suspected your father. And then another man come through thewoods while I was hidin' and found the clothes and took them away. " Hestopped and stared at her gloomily. 

But all this was unintelligible to the girl. "Dad would have gotthe better of him ef you hadn't, " she said eagerly, "so what's thedifference?"

"All the same, " he said gloomily, "I must take his place. "

She did not understand, but turned her head to her master. "Then you'llgo back with me and tell him ALL?" she said obediently. 

"Yes, " he said. 

She put her hand in his, and they crept out of the wood together. Sheforesaw a thousand difficulties, but, chiefest of all, that he did notlove as she did. SHE would not have taken these risks against theirhappiness. 

But alas for ethics and heroism. As they were issuing from the woodthey heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and had barely time tohide themselves before Madison Clay, on the stolen horse of JudgeBoompointer, swept past them with his kinsman. 

Salomy Jane turned to her lover. 

*****

And here I might, as a moral romancer, pause, leaving the guilty, passionate girl eloped with her disreputable lover, destined to lifelongshame and misery, misunderstood to the last by a criminal, fastidiousparent. But I am confronted by certain facts, on which this romance isbased. A month later a handbill was posted on one of the sentinel pines, announcing that the property would be sold by auction to the highestbidder by Mrs. John Dart, daughter of Madison Clay, Esq. , and it wassold accordingly. Still later--by ten years--the chronicler of thesepages visited a certain "stock" or "breeding farm, " in the "Blue GrassCountry, " famous for the popular racers it has produced. He was toldthat the owner was the "best judge of horse-flesh in the country. ""Small wonder, " added his informant, "for they say as a young man out inCalifornia he was a horse-thief, and only saved himself by eloping withsome rich farmer's daughter. But he's a straight-out and respectable mannow, whose word about horses can't be bought; and as for his wife, she'sa beauty! To see her at the 'Springs, ' rigged out in the latest fashion, you'd never think she had ever lived out of New York or wasn't the wifeof one of its millionaires. "

THE MAN AND THE MOUNTAIN

He was such a large, strong man that, when he first set foot in thelittle parallelogram I called my garden, it seemed to shrink to half itssize and become preposterous. But I noticed at the same time that he washolding in the open palm of his huge hand the roots of a violet, withsuch infinite tenderness and delicacy that I would have engaged him asmy gardener on the spot. But this could not be, as he was already theproud proprietor of a market-garden and nursery on the outskirts of thesuburban Californian town where I lived. He would, however, come for twodays in the week, stock and look after my garden, and impart to myurban intellect such horticultural hints as were necessary. His name was"Rutli, " which I presumed to be German, but which my neighbors renderedas "Rootleigh, " possibly from some vague connection with his occupation. His own knowledge of English was oral and phonetic. I have a delightfulrecollection of a bill of his in which I was charged for "fioletz, " withthe vague addition of "maine cains. " Subsequent explanation proved it tobe "many kinds. "

Nevertheless, my little garden bourgeoned and blossomed under hislarge, protecting hand. I became accustomed to walk around his feetrespectfully when they blocked the tiny paths, and to expect the totaleclipse of that garden-bed on which he worked, by his huge bulk. For thetiniest and most reluctant rootlet seemed to respond to his caressingpaternal touch; it was a pretty sight to see his huge fingers tying upsome slender stalk to its stick with the smallest thread, and he hada reverent way of laying a bulb or seed in the ground, and then gentlyshaping and smoothing a small mound over it, which made the littleinscription on the stick above more like an affecting epitaph thanever. Much of this gentleness may have been that apology for his greatstrength, common with large men; but his face was distinctly amiable, and his very light blue eyes were at times wistful and doglike in theirkindliness. I was soon to learn, however, that placability was notentirely his nature. 

The garden was part of a fifty vara lot of land, on which I wassimultaneously erecting a house. But the garden was finished before thehouse was, through certain circumstances very characteristic of thatepoch and civilization. I had purchased the Spanish title, the onlyLEGAL one, to the land, which, however, had been in POSSESSION of a"squatter. " But he had been unable to hold that possession against a"jumper, "--another kind of squatter who had entered upon it covertly, fenced it in, and marked it out in building sites. Neither having legalrights, they could not invoke the law; the last man held possession. There was no doubt that in due course of litigation and time both theseingenuous gentlemen would have been dispossessed in favor of the realowner, --myself, --but that course would be a protracted one. Followingthe usual custom of the locality, I paid a certain sum to the jumper toyield up peaceably HIS possession of the land, and began to build uponit. It might be reasonably supposed that the question was settled. But it was not. The house was nearly finished when, one morning, I wascalled out of my editorial sanctum by a pallid painter, looking evenmore white-leaded than usual, who informed me that my house was in thepossession of five armed men! The entry had been made peaceablyduring the painters' absence to dinner under a wayside tree. When theyreturned, they had found their pots and brushes in the road, and anintimation from the windows that their reentrance would be forciblyresisted as a trespass. 

I honestly believe that Rutli was more concerned than myself overthis dispossession. While he loyally believed that I would get backmy property, he was dreadfully grieved over the inevitable damagethat would be done to the garden during this interval of neglect andcarelessness. I even think he would have made a truce with my enemies, if they would only have let him look after his beloved plants. As itwas, he kept a passing but melancholy surveillance of them, and wasindeed a better spy of the actions of the intruders than any I couldhave employed. One day, to my astonishment, he brought me a moss-rosebud from a bush which had been trained against a column of the veranda. It appeared that he had called, from over the fence, the attention ofone of the men to the neglected condition of the plant, and had obtainedpermission to "come in and tie it up. " The men, being merely hirelingsof the chief squatter, had no personal feeling, and I was not thereforesurprised to hear that they presently allowed Rutli to come inoccasionally and look after his precious "slips. " If they had anysuspicions of his great strength, it was probably offset by his peacefulavocation and his bland, childlike face. Meantime, I had begun the usualuseless legal proceeding, but had also engaged a few rascals of my ownto be ready to take advantage of any want of vigilance on the part of myadversaries. I never thought of Rutli in that connection any more thanthey had. 

A few Sundays later I was sitting in the little tea-arbor of Rutli'snursery, peacefully smoking with him. Presently he took his longchina-bowled pipe from his mouth, and, looking at me blandly over hisyellow mustache, said:--

"You vonts sometimes to go in dot house, eh?"

I said, "Decidedly. "

"Mit a revolver, and keep dot house dose men out?"

"Yes!"

"Vell! I put you in dot house--today!"

"Sunday?"

"Shoost so! It is a goot day! On der Suntay DREE men vill out go tovalk mit demselluffs, and visky trinken. TWO, " holding up two giganticfingers, apparently only a shade or two smaller than his destinedvictims, "stay dere. Dose I lift de fence over. "

I hastened to inform him that any violence attempted against the partiesWHILE IN POSSESSION, although that possession was illegal, would, by afatuity of the law, land him in the county jail. I said I would not hearof it. 

"But suppose dere vos no fiolence? Suppose dose men vos villin', eh? Howvos dot for high?"

"I don't understand. "

"So! You shall NOT understand! Dot is better. Go away now and dell yourmen to coom dot house arount at halluff past dree. But YOU coom, mityourselluff alone, shoost as if you vos spazieren gehen, for a valk, bydat fence at dree! Ven you shall dot front door vide open see, go in, and dere you vos! You vill der rest leef to me!"

It was in vain that I begged Rutli to divulge his plan, and pointed outagain the danger of his technically breaking the law. But he was firm, assuring me that I myself would be a witness that no assault would bemade. I looked into his clear, good-humored eyes, and assented. I had aburning desire to right my wrongs, but I think I also had considerablecuriosity. 

I passed a miserable quarter of an hour after I had warned my partisans, and then walked alone slowly down the broad leafy street towards thescene of contest. I have a very vivid recollection of my conflictingemotions. I did not believe that I would be killed; I had no distinctintention of killing any of my adversaries; but I had some considerableconcern for my loyal friend Rutli, whom I foresaw might be in some perilfrom the revolver in my unpracticed hand. If I could only avoid shootingHIM, I would be satisfied. I remember that the bells were ringing forchurch, --a church of which my enemy, the chief squatter, was a deaconin good standing, --and I felt guiltily conscious of my revolver in myhip-pocket, as two or three church-goers passed me with their hymn-booksin their hands. I walked leisurely, so as not to attract attention, and to appear at the exact time, a not very easy task in my youthfulexcitement. At last I reached the front gate with a beating heart. Therewas no one on the high veranda, which occupied three sides of the lowone-storied house, nor in the garden before it. But the front door wasopen; I softly passed through the gate, darted up the veranda and intothe house. A single glance around the hall and bare, deserted rooms, still smelling of paint, showed me it was empty, and with my pistol inone hand and the other on the lock of the door, I stood inside, ready tobolt it against any one but Rutli. But where was HE?

The sound of laughter and a noise like skylarking came from the rear ofthe house and the back yard. Then I suddenly heard Rutli's heavy treadon the veranda, but it was slow, deliberate, and so exaggerated inits weight that the whole house seemed to shake with it. Then from thewindow I beheld an extraordinary sight! It was Rutli, swaying fromside to side, but steadily carrying with outstretched arms two of thesquatter party, his hands tightly grasping their collars. Yet Ibelieve his touch was as gentle as with the violets. His face waspreternaturally grave; theirs, to my intense astonishment, while theyhung passive from his arms, wore that fatuous, imbecile smile seen onthe faces of those who lend themselves to tricks of acrobats and strongmen in the arena. He slowly traversed the whole length of one side ofthe house, walked down the steps to the gate, and then gravely depositedthem OUTSIDE. I heard him say, "Dot vins der pet, ain't it?" andimmediately after the sharp click of the gate-latch. 

Without understanding a thing that had happened, I rightly conceivedthis was the cue for my appearance with my revolver at the front door. As I opened it I still heard the sound of laughter, which, however, instantly stopped at a sentence from Rutli, which I could not hear. There was an oath, the momentary apparition of two furious and indignantfaces over the fence; but these, however, seemed to be instantlyextinguished and put down by the enormous palms of Rutli clapped upontheir heads. There was a pause, and then Rutli turned around and quietlyjoined me in the doorway. But the gate was not again opened until thearrival of my partisans, when the house was clearly in my possession. 

Safe inside with the door bolted, I turned eagerly to Rutli for anexplanation. It then appeared that during his occasional visits to thegarden he had often been an object of amusement and criticism to the menon account of his size, which seemed to them ridiculously inconsistentwith his great good humor, gentleness, and delicacy of touch. They haddoubted his strength and challenged his powers. He had responded onceor twice before, lifting weights or even carrying one of his criticsat arm's length for a few steps. But he had reserved his final featfor this day and this purpose. It was for a bet, which they had eagerlyaccepted, secure in their belief in his simplicity, the sincerity of hismotives in coming there, and glad of the opportunity of a little Sundaydiversion. In their security they had not locked the door when theycame out, and had not noticed that HE had opened it. This was his simplestory. His only comment, "I haf von der pet, but I dinks I shall nodgollect der money. " The two men did not return that afternoon, nor didtheir comrades. Whether they wisely conceived that a man who was sopowerful in play might be terrible in earnest; whether they knew thathis act, in which they had been willing performers, had been witnessedby passing citizens, who supposed it was skylarking; or whether theiremployer got tired of his expensive occupation, I never knew. The publicbelieved the latter; Rutli, myself, and the two men he had evicted alonekept our secret. 

From that time Rutli and I became firm friends, and, long after I hadno further need of his services in the recaptured house, I often foundmyself in the little tea-arbor of his prosperous nursery. He was frugal, sober, and industrious; small wonder that in that growing town he waxedrich, and presently opened a restaurant in the main street, connectedwith his market-garden, which became famous. His relations to menever changed with his changed fortunes; he was always the simplemarket-gardener and florist who had aided my first housekeeping, andstood by me in an hour of need. Of all things regarding himself he wassingularly reticent; I do not think he had any confidants or intimates, even among his own countrymen, whom I believed to be German. But one dayhe quite accidentally admitted he was a Swiss. As a youthful admirerof the race I was delighted, and told him so, with the enthusiasticaddition that I could now quite understand his independence, with hisdevoted adherence to another's cause. He smiled sadly, and astonished meby saying that he had not heard from Switzerland since he left six yearsago. He did not want to hear anything; he even avoided his countrymenlest he should. I was confounded. 

"But, " I said, "surely you have a longing to return to your country; allSwiss have! You will go back some day just to breathe the air of yournative mountains. "

"I shall go back some days, " said Rutli, "after I have made mooch, moochmoney, but not for dot air. "

"What for, then?"

"For revenge--to get efen. "

Surprised, and for a moment dismayed as I was, I could not helplaughing. "Rutli and revenge!" Impossible! And to make it the moreabsurd, he was still smoking gently and regarding me with soft, complacent eyes. So unchanged was his face and manner that he might havetold me he was going back to be married. 

"You do not oonderstand, " he said forgivingly. "Some days I shall dellto you id. Id is a story. You shall make it yourselluff for dose babersdot you write. It is not bretty, berhaps, ain't it, but it is droo. Andde endt is not yet. "

Only that Rutli never joked, except in a ponderous fashion with manyinvolved sentences, I should have thought he was taking a good-humoredrise out of me. But it was not funny. I am afraid I dismissed it from mymind as a revelation of something weak and puerile, quite inconsistentwith his practical common sense and strong simplicity, and wished he hadnot alluded to it. I never asked him to tell me the story. It was a yearlater, and only when he had invited me to come to the opening of a newhotel, erected by him at a mountain spa of great resort, that he himselfalluded to it. 

The hotel was a wonderful affair, even for those days, and Rutli'soutlay of capital convinced me that by this time he must have made the"mooch money" he coveted. Something of this was in my mind when we satby the window of his handsomely furnished private office, overlookingthe pines of a Californian canyon. I asked him if the scenery was likeSwitzerland. 

"Ach! no!" he replied; "but I vill puild a hotel shoost like dis dare. "

"Is that a part of your revenge?" I asked, with a laugh. 

"Ah! so! a bart. "

I felt relieved; a revenge so practical did not seem very malicious oridiotic. After a pause he puffed contemplatively at his pipe, and thensaid, "I dell you somedings of dot story now. "

He began. I should like to tell it in his own particular English, mixedwith American slang, but it would not convey the simplicity of thenarrator. He was the son of a large family who had lived for centuriesin one of the highest villages in the Bernese Oberland. He attained hissize and strength early, but with a singular distaste to use them inthe rough regular work on the farm, although he was a great climber andmountaineer, and, what was at first overlooked as mere boyish fancy, hadan insatiable love and curious knowledge of plants and flowers. He knewthe haunts of Edelweiss, Alpine rose, and blue gentian, and had broughthome rare and unknown blossoms from under the icy lips of glaciers. But as he did this when his time was supposed to be occupied in lookingafter the cows in the higher pastures and making cheeses, there wastrouble in that hard-working, practical family. A giant with the tastesand disposition of a schoolgirl was an anomaly in a Swiss village. Unfortunately again, he was not studious; his record in the villageschool had been on a par with his manual work, and the family had noteven the consolation of believing that they were fostering a genius. Ina community where practical industry was the highest virtue, it was notstrange, perhaps, that he was called "lazy" and "shiftless;" no one knewthe long climbs and tireless vigils he had undergone in remote solitudesin quest of his favorites, or, knowing, forgave him for it. Abstemious, frugal, and patient as he was, even the crusts of his father's tablewere given him grudgingly. He often went hungry rather than ask thebread he had failed to earn. How his great frame was nurtured in thosedays he never knew; perhaps the giant mountains recognized some kinin him and fed and strengthened him after their own fashion. Even hisgentleness was confounded with cowardice. "Dot vos de hardtest, " he saidsimply; "it is not goot to be opligit to half crush your brudder, ven hewould make a laugh of you to your sweetheart. " The end came sooner thanhe expected, and, oddly enough, through this sweetheart. "Gottlieb, " shesaid to him one day, "the English Fremde who stayed here last night metme when I was carrying some of those beautiful flowers you gave me. Heasked me where they were to be found, and I told him only YOU knew. Hewants to see you; go to him. It may be luck to you. " Rutli went. Thestranger, an English Alpine climber of scientific tastes, talked withhim for an hour. At the end of that time, to everybody's astonishment, he engaged this hopeless idler as his personal guide for three months, at the sum of five francs a day! It was inconceivable, it was unheardof! The Englander was as mad as Gottlieb, whose intellect had alwaysbeen under suspicion! The schoolmaster pursed up his lips, the pastorshook his head; no good could come of it; the family looked upon it asanother freak of Gottlieb's, but there was one big mouth less to feedand more room in the kitchen, and they let him go. They parted from himas ungraciously as they had endured his presence. 

Then followed two months of sunshine in Rutli's life--association withhis beloved plants, and the intelligent sympathy and direction of acultivated man. Even in altitudes so dangerous that they had to takeother and more experienced guides, Rutli was always at his master'sside. That savant's collection of Alpine flora excelled all previousones; he talked freely with Rutli of further work in the future, andrelaxed his English reserve so far as to confide to him that the outcomeof their collection and observation might be a book. He gave a flowera Latin name, in which even the ignorant and delighted Rutli coulddistinguish some likeness to his own. But the book was never compiled. In one of their later and more difficult ascents they and their twoadditional guides were overtaken by a sudden storm. Swept from theirfeet down an ice-bound slope, Rutli alone of the roped-together partykept a foothold on the treacherous incline. Here this young Titan, withbleeding fingers clenched in a rock cleft, sustained the struggles andheld up the lives of his companions by that precious thread for morethan an hour. Perhaps he might have saved them, but in their desperateefforts to regain their footing the rope slipped upon a jagged edge ofoutcrop and parted as if cut by a knife. The two guides passed withoutan outcry into obscurity and death; Rutli, with a last despairingexertion, dragged to his own level his unconscious master, crippled by abroken leg. 

Your true hero is apt to tell his tale simply. Rutli did not dwell uponthese details, nor need I. Left alone upon a treacherous ice slopein benumbing cold, with a helpless man, eight hours afterwards hestaggered, half blind, incoherent, and inarticulate, into a "shelter"hut, with the dead body of his master in his stiffened arms. Theshelter-keepers turned their attention to Rutli, who needed it most. Blind and delirious, with scarce a chance for life, he was sent the nextday to a hospital, where he lay for three months, helpless, imbecile, and unknown. The dead body of the Englishman was identified, and senthome; the bodies of the guides were recovered by their friends; but noone knew aught of Rutli, even his name. While the event was still freshin the minds of those who saw him enter the hut with the body of hismaster, a paragraph appeared in a Berne journal recording the heroism ofthis nameless man. But it could not be corroborated nor explained by thedemented hero, and was presently forgotten. Six months from the day hehad left his home he was discharged cured. He had not a kreutzer in hispocket; he had never drawn his wages from his employer; he had preferredto have it in a lump sum that he might astonish his family on hisreturn. His eyes were still weak, his memory feeble; only his greatphysical strength remained through his long illness. A few sympathizingtravelers furnished him the means to reach his native village, manymiles away. He found his family had heard of the loss of the Englishmanand the guides, and had believed he was one of them. Already he wasforgotten. 

"Ven you vos once peliefed to be det, " said Rutli, after a philosophicpause and puff, "it vos not goot to ondeceif beoples. You oopsetsomedings, soomdimes always. Der hole dot you hef made in der grount, among your frients and your family, vos covered up alretty. You areloocky if you vill not fint some vellars shtanding upon id! My frent, ven you vos DINK det, SHTAY det, BE det, and you vill lif happy!"

"But your sweetheart?" I said eagerly. 

A slight gleam of satire stole into Rutli's light eyes. "My sweetheart, ven I vos dinks det, is der miller engaged do bromply! It is moochbetter dan to a man dot vos boor and plint and grazy! So! Vell, der nextday I pids dem goot-py, und from der door I say, 'I am det now; but venI next comes pack alife, I shall dis village py! der lants, der housesall togedders. And den for yourselluffs look oudt!'"

"Then that's your revenge? That is what you really intend to do?" Isaid, half laughing, yet with an uneasy recollection of his illness andenfeebled mind. 

"Yes. Look here! I show you somedings. " He opened a drawer of his deskand took out what appeared to be some diagrams, plans, and a smallwater-colored map, like a surveyor's tracing. "Look, " he said, layinghis finger on the latter, "dat is a map from my fillage. I hef myselluffmade it out from my memory. Dot, " pointing to a blank space, "is dermountain side high up, so far. It is no goot until I vill a tunnel makeor der grade lefel. Dere vas mine fader's house, dere vos der church, der schoolhouse, dot vos de burgomaster's house, " he went on, pointingto the respective plots in this old curving parallelogram of themountain shelf. "So was the fillage when I leave him on the 5th ofMarch, eighteen hundred and feefty. Now you shall see him shoost as Ivill make him ven I go back. " He took up another plan, beautifullydrawn and colored, and evidently done by a professional hand. It wasa practical, yet almost fairylike transformation of the same spot!The narrow mountain shelf was widened by excavation, and a boulevardstretched on either side. A great hotel, not unlike the one in which wesat, stood in an open terrace, with gardens and fountains--the site ofhis father's house. Blocks of pretty dwellings, shops, and cafes filledthe intermediate space. I laid down the paper. 

"How long have you had this idea?"

"Efer since I left dere, fifteen years ago. "

"But your father and mother may be dead by this time?"

"So, but dere vill be odders. Und der blace--it vill remain. "

"But all this will cost a fortune, and you are not sure"--

"I know shoost vot id vill gost, to a cend. "

"And you think you can ever afford to carry out your idea?"

"I VILL affort id. Ven you shall make yet some moneys and go to Europe, you shall see. I VILL infite you dere first. Now coom and look der housearound. "

*****

I did NOT make "some moneys, " but I DID go to Europe. Three years afterthis last interview with Rutli I was coming from Interlaken to Berneby rail. I had not heard from him, and I had forgotten the name of hisvillage, but as I looked up from the paper I was reading, I suddenlyrecognized him in the further end of the same compartment I occupied. His recognition of me was evidently as sudden and unexpected. After ourfirst hand-grasp and greeting, I said:--

"And how about our new village?"

"Dere is no fillage. "

"What! You have given up the idea?"

"Yes. There is no fillage, olt or new. "

"I don't understand. "

He looked at me a moment. "You have not heard?"

"No. "

He gently picked up a little local guidebook that lay in my lap, andturning its leaves, pointed to a page, and read as follows:--

"5 M. Beyond, the train passes a curve R. , where a fine view of the lakemay be seen. A little to the R. Rises the steep slopes of the ----, thescene of a terrible disaster. At three o'clock on March 5, 1850, thelittle village of ----, lying midway of the slope, with its populationof 950 souls, was completely destroyed by a landslip from the top ofthe mountain. So sudden was the catastrophe that not a single escapeis recorded. A large portion of the mountain crest, as will be observedwhen it is seen in profile, descended to the valley, burying theunfortunate village to a depth variously estimated at from 1000 ft. To 1800 ft. The geological causes which produced this extraordinarydisplacement have been fully discussed, but the greater evidence pointsto the theory of subterranean glaciers. 5 M. Beyond ---- the traincrosses the R. Bridge. "

I laid down the guide-book in breathless astonishment. 

"And you never heard of this in all these years?"

"Nefer! I asked no questions, I read no pooks. I have no ledders fromhome. "

"And yet you"--I stopped, I could not call him a fool; neither couldI, in the face of his perfect composure and undisturbed eyes, exhibita concern greater than his own. An uneasy recollection of what heconfessed had been his mental condition immediately after his accidentcame over me. Had he been the victim of a strange hallucinationregarding his house and family all these years? Were these dreams ofrevenge, this fancy of creating a new village, only an outcome ofsome shock arising out of the disaster itself, which he had long sinceforgotten?

He was looking from the window. "Coom, " he said, "ve are near der blace. I vill show id to you. " He rose and passed out to the rear platform. We were in the rear car, and a new panorama of the lake and mountainsflashed upon us at every curve of the line. I followed him. Presentlyhe pointed to what appeared to be a sheer wall of rock and stuntedvegetation towering two or three thousand feet above us, which startedout of a gorge we were passing. "Dere it vos!" he said. I saw the vaststretch of rock face rising upward and onward, but nothing else. Nodebris, no ruins, nor even a swelling or rounding of the mountain flankover that awful tomb. Yet, stay! as we dashed across the gorge, and theface of the mountain shifted, high up, the sky-line was slightly brokenas if a few inches, a mere handful, of the crest was crumbled away. Andthen--both gorge and mountain vanished. 

I was still embarrassed and uneasy, and knew not what to say to this manat my side, whose hopes and ambition had been as quickly overthrown andburied, and whose life-dream had as quickly vanished. But he himself, taking his pipe from his lips, broke the silence. 

"It vos a narrow esgabe!"

"What was?"

"Vy, dis dings. If I had stayed in my fader's house, I vould haf beendet for goot, and perried too! Somedimes dose dings cooms oudt apoutright, don't id?"

Unvanquished philosopher! As we stood there looking at the flyinglandscape and sinking lesser hills, one by one the great snow peaksslowly arose behind them, lifting themselves, as if to take a lastwondering look at the man they had triumphed over, but had not subdued. 

THE PASSING OF ENRIQUEZ

When Enriquez Saltillo ran away with Miss Mannersley, as alreadyrecorded in these chronicles, * her relatives and friends found it mucheasier to forgive that ill-assorted union than to understand it. For, after all, Enriquez was the scion of an old Spanish-Californian family, and in due time would have his share of his father's three squareleagues, whatever incongruity there was between his lively Latinextravagance and Miss Mannersley's Puritan precision and intellectualsuperiority. They had gone to Mexico; Mrs. Saltillo, as was known, having an interest in Aztec antiquities, and he being utterly submissiveto her wishes. For myself from my knowledge of Enriquez's nature, I hadgrave doubts of his entire subjugation, although I knew the prevailingopinion was that Mrs. Saltillo's superiority would speedily tame him. Since his brief and characteristic note apprising me of his marriage, I had not heard from him. It was, therefore, with some surprise, a gooddeal of reminiscent affection, and a slight twinge of reproach that, twoyears after, I looked up from some proofs, in the sanctum of the "DailyExcelsior, " to recognize his handwriting on a note that was handed to meby a yellow Mexican boy. 

 * See "The Devotion of Enriquez, " in Selected Stories by Bret Harte Gutenberg #1312. 

A single glance at its contents showed me that Mrs. Saltillo'scorrect Bostonian speech had not yet subdued Enriquez's peculiarSpanish-American slang:--

"Here we are again, --right side up with care, --at 1110 Dupont Street, Telegraph Hill. Second floor from top. 'Ring and push. ' 'No book agentsneed apply. ' How's your royal nibs? I kiss your hand! Come at six, --theband shall play at seven, --and regard your friend 'Mees Boston, ' whowill tell you about the little old nigger boys, and your old Uncle'Ennery. "

Two things struck me: Enriquez had not changed; Mrs. Saltillo hadcertainly yielded up some of her peculiar prejudices. For the addressgiven, far from being a fashionable district, was known as the "Spanishquarter, " which, while it still held some old Spanish families, waschiefly given over to half-castes and obscurer foreigners. Even povertycould not have driven Mrs. Saltillo to such a refuge against her will;nevertheless, a good deal of concern for Enriquez's fortune mingled withmy curiosity, as I impatiently waited for six o'clock to satisfy it. 

It was a breezy climb to 1110 Dupont Street; and although the streethad been graded, the houses retained their airy elevation, and wereaccessible only by successive flights of wooden steps to the front door, which still gave perilously upon the street, sixty feet below. I nowpainfully appreciated Enriquez's adaptation of the time-honored jokeabout the second floor. An invincible smell of garlic almost took myremaining breath away as the door was opened to me by a swarthy Mexicanwoman, whose loose camisa seemed to be slipping from her unstable bust, and was held on only by the mantua-like shawl which supplemented it, gripped by one brown hand. Dizzy from my ascent to that narrow perch, which looked upon nothing but the distant bay and shores of ContraCosta, I felt as apologetic as if I had landed from a balloon; but thewoman greeted me with a languid Spanish smile and a lazy display ofwhite teeth, as if my arrival was quite natural. Don Enriquez, "of afact, " was not himself in the casa, but was expected "on the instant. ""Donna Urania" was at home. 

"Donna Urania"? For an instant I had forgotten that Mrs. Saltillo'sfirst name was Urania, so pleasantly and spontaneously did it fallfrom the Spanish lips. Nor was I displeased at this chance of learningsomething of Don Enriquez's fortunes and the Saltillo menage beforeconfronting my old friend. The servant preceded me to the next floor, and, opening a door, ushered me into the lady's presence. 

I had carried with me, on that upward climb, a lively recollection ofMiss Mannersley as I had known her two years before. I remembered herupright, almost stiff, slight figure, the graceful precision of herposes, the faultless symmetry and taste of her dress, and the atmosphereof a fastidious and wholesome cleanliness which exhaled from her. In thelady I saw before me, half reclining in a rocking-chair, there wasnone of the stiffness and nicety. Habited in a loose gown of some easy, flexible, but rich material, worn with that peculiarly indolentslouch of the Mexican woman, Mrs. Saltillo had parted with half herindividuality. Even her arched feet and thin ankles, the close-fittingboots or small slippers of which were wont to accent their delicacy, were now lost in a short, low-quartered kid shoe of the Spanish type, in which they moved loosely. Her hair, which she had always worn with acertain Greek simplicity, was parted at one side. Yet her face, withits regularity of feature, and small, thin, red-lipped mouth, was quiteunchanged; and her velvety brown eyes were as beautiful and inscrutableas ever. 

With the same glance I had taken in her surroundings, quite asincongruous to her former habits. The furniture, though of old and heavymahogany, had suffered from careless alien hands, and was interspersedwith modern and unmatchable makeshifts, yet preserving the distinctlyscant and formal attitude of furnished lodgings. It was certainlyunlike the artistic trifles and delicate refinements of her uncle'sdrawing-room, which we all knew her taste had dictated and ruled. Theblack and white engravings, the outlined heads of Minerva and Diana, were excluded from the walls for two cheap colored Catholic prints, --asoulless Virgin, and the mystery of the Bleeding Heart. Against thewall, in one corner, hung the only object which seemed a memento oftheir travels, --a singular-looking upright Indian "papoose-case" orcradle, glaringly decorated with beads and paint, probably an Aztecrelic. On a round table, the velvet cover of which showed marks of usageand abusage, there were scattered books and writing materials; and myeditorial instinct suddenly recognized, with a thrill of apprehension, the loose leaves of an undoubted manuscript. This circumstance, takenwith the fact of Donna Urania's hair being parted on one side, and thegeneral negligee of her appearance, was a disturbing revelation. 

My wandering eye apparently struck her, for after the first greeting shepointed to the manuscript with a smile. 

"Yes; that is THE manuscript. I suppose Enriquez told you all about it?He said he had written. "

I was dumfounded. I certainly had not understood ALL of Enriquez'sslang; it was always so decidedly his own, and peculiar. Yet I could notrecall any allusion to this. 

"He told me something of it, but very vaguely, " I ventured to saydeprecatingly; "but I am afraid that I thought more of seeing my oldfriend again than of anything else. "

"During our stay in Mexico, " continued Mrs. Saltillo, with something ofher old precision, "I made some researches into Aztec history, a subjectalways deeply interesting to me, and I thought I would utilize theresult by throwing it on paper. Of course it is better fitted for avolume of reference than for a newspaper, but Enriquez thought you mightwant to use it for your journal. "

I knew that Enriquez had no taste for literature, and had even ratherdepreciated it in the old days, with his usual extravagance; but Imanaged to say very pleasantly that I was delighted with his suggestionand should be glad to read the manuscript. After all, it was notimprobable that Mrs. Saltillo, who was educated and intelligent, shouldwrite well, if not popularly. "Then Enriquez does not begrudge you thetime that your work takes from him, " I added laughingly. "You seem tohave occupied your honeymoon practically. "

"We quite comprehend our respective duties, " said Mrs. Saltillo dryly;"and have from the first. We have our own lives to live, independentof my uncle and Enriquez's father. We have not only accepted theresponsibility of our own actions, but we both feel the higherprivilege of creating our own conditions without extraneous aid from ourrelatives. "

It struck me that this somewhat exalted statement was decidedly a pose, or a return of Urania Mannersley's old ironical style. I looked quietlyinto her brown, near-sighted eyes; but, as once before, my glance seemedto slip from their moist surface without penetrating the inner thoughtbeneath. "And what does Enriquez do for HIS part?" I asked smilingly. 

I fully expected to hear that the energetic Enriquez was utilizinghis peculiar tastes and experiences by horse-breaking, stock-raising, professional bull-fighting, or even horse-racing, but was quiteastonished when she answered quietly:--

"Enriquez is giving himself up to geology and practical metallurgy, witha view to scientific, purely scientific, mining. "

Enriquez and geology! In that instant all I could remember of it werehis gibes at the "geologian, " as he was wont to term Professor Dobbs, a former admirer of Miss Mannersley's. To add to my confusion Mrs. Saltillo at the same moment absolutely voiced my thought. 

"You may remember Professor Dobbs, " she went on calmly, "one of the mosteminent scientists over here, and a very old Boston friend. He hastaken Enriquez in hand. His progress is most satisfactory; we have thegreatest hopes of him. "

"And how soon do you both hope to have some practical results of hisstudy?" I could not help asking a little mischievously; for I somehowresented the plural pronoun in her last sentence. 

"Very soon, " said Mrs. Saltillo, ignoring everything but the question. "You know Enriquez's sanguine temperament. Perhaps he is already givento evolving theories without a sufficient basis of fact. Still, he hasthe daring of a discoverer. His ideas of the oolitic formation are notwithout originality, and Professor Dobbs says that in his conception ofthe Silurian beach there are gleams that are distinctly precious. "

I looked at Mrs. Saltillo, who had reinforced her eyes with her oldpiquant pince-nez, but could detect no irony in them. She was prettilyimperturbable, that was all. There was an awkward silence. Then it wasbroken by a bounding step on the stairs, a wide-open fling of the door, and Enriquez pirouetted into the room: Enriquez, as of old, unchangedfrom the crown of his smooth, coal-black hair to the tips of his small, narrow Arabian feet; Enriquez, with his thin, curling mustache, hisdancing eyes set in his immovable face, just as I had always known him!

He affected to lapse against the door for a minute, as if staggered by aresplendent vision. Then he said:--

"What do I regard? Is it a dream, or have I again got them--theesjimjams? My best friend and my best--I mean my ONLY--wife! Embrace me!"

He gave me an enthusiastic embrace and a wink like sheet-lightning, passed quickly to his wife, before whom he dropped on one knee, raisedthe toe of her slipper to his lips, and then sank on the sofa insimulated collapse, murmuring, "Thees is too mooch of white stone forone day!"

Through all this I saw his wife regarding him with exactly the samecritically amused expression with which she had looked upon him in thedays of their strange courtship. She evidently had not tired of hisextravagance, and yet I feel as puzzled by her manner as then. She roseand said: "I suppose you have a good deal to say to each other, and Iwill leave you by yourselves. " Turning to her husband, she added, "Ihave already spoken about the Aztec manuscript. "

The word brought Enriquez to his feet again. "Ah! The little oldnigger--you have read?" I began to understand. "My wife, my bestfriend, and the little old nigger, all in one day. Eet is perfect!"Nevertheless, in spite of this ecstatic and overpowering combination, he hurried to take his wife's hand; kissing it, he led her to a dooropening into another room, made her a low bow to the ground as shepassed out, and then rejoined me. 

"So these are the little old niggers you spoke of in your note, " I said, pointing to the manuscript. "Deuce take me if I understood you!"

"Ah, my leetle brother, it is YOU who have changed!" said Enriquezdolorously. "Is it that you no more understand American, or have the'big head' of the editor? Regard me! Of these Aztecs my wife have madestudy. She have pursued the little nigger to his cave, his grotto, wherehe is dead a thousand year. I have myself assist, though I like it not, because thees mummy, look you, Pancho, is not lively. And the mummy whois not dead, believe me! even the young lady mummy, you shall not taketo your heart. But my wife"--he stopped, and kissed his hand toward thedoor whence she had flitted--"ah, SHE is wonderful! She has made thestory of them, the peecture of them, from the life and on the instant!You shall take them, my leetle brother, for your journal; you shallannounce in the big letter: 'Mooch Importance. The Aztec, He is Found. ''How He Look and Lif. ' 'The Everlasting Nigger. ' You shall sell manypaper, and Urania shall have scoop in much spondulics and rocks. Hoop-la! For--you comprehend?--my wife and I have settled that she shallforgif her oncle; I shall forgif my father; but from them we take nocent, not a red, not a scad! We are independent! Of ourselves we make aFourth of July. United we stand; divided we shall fall over! There youare! Bueno!"

It was impossible to resist his wild, yet perfectly sincere, extravagance, his dancing black eyes and occasional flash of white teethin his otherwise immovable and serious countenance. Nevertheless, Imanaged to say:--

"But how about yourself, Enriquez, and this geology, you know?"

His eyes twinkled. "Ah, you shall hear. But first you shall take adrink. I have the very old Bourbon. He is not so old as the Aztec, but, believe me, he is very much liflier. Attend! Hol' on!" He was alreadyrummaging on a shelf, but apparently without success; then he exploreda buffet, with no better results, and finally attacked a large drawer, throwing out on the floor, with his old impetuosity, a number ofgeological specimens, carefully labeled. I picked up one that had rollednear me. It was labeled "Conglomerate sandstone. " I picked up another:it had the same label. 

"Then you are really collecting?" I said, with astonishment. 

"Ciertamente, " responded Enriquez, --"what other fool shall I look? Ishall relate of this geology when I shall have found this beast of abottle. Ah, here he have hide!" He extracted from a drawer a bottlenearly full of spirits, --tippling was not one of Enriquez's vices. "Youshall say 'when. ' 'Ere's to our noble selfs!"

When he had drunk, I picked up another fragment of his collection. Ithad the same label. "You are very rich in 'conglomerate sandstone, '" Isaid. "Where do you find it?"

"In the street, " said Enriquez, with great calmness. 

"In the street?" I echoed. 

"Yes, my friend! He ees call the 'cobblestone, ' also the'pouding-stone, ' when he ees at his home in the country. He ees alsoa small 'boulder. ' I pick him up; I crack him; he made three separatepiece of conglomerate sandstone. I bring him home to my wife in mypocket. She rejoice; we are happy. When comes the efening, I sit downand make him a label; while my wife, she sit down and write of theAztec. Ah, my friend, you shall say of the geology it ees a fine, aBEAUTIFUL study; but the study of the wife, and what shall please her, believe me, ees much finer! Believe your old Uncle 'Ennery every time!On thees question he gets there; he gets left, nevarre!"

"But Professor Dobbs, your geologian, what does HE say to this frequentrecurrence of the conglomerate sandstone period in your study?" I askedquickly. 

"He say nothing. You comprehend? He ees a profound geologian, but healso has the admiration excessif for my wife Urania. " He stopped to kisshis hand again toward the door, and lighted a cigarette. "The geologianwould not that he should break up the happy efening of his friendsby thees small detail. He put aside his head--so; he say, 'A leetlefreestone, a leetle granite, now and then, for variety; they arebuilding in Montgomery Street. ' I take the hint, like a wink to thehorse that has gone blind. I attach to myself part of the edifice thatis erecting himself in Montgomery Street. I crack him; I bring himhome. I sit again at the feet of my beautiful Urania, and I label him'Freestone, ' 'Granite;' but I do not say 'from Parrott's Bank'--eet isnot necessary for our happiness. "

"And you do this sort of thing only because you think it pleases yourwife?" I asked bluntly. 

"My friend, " rejoined Enriquez, perching himself on the back of thesofa, and caressing his knees as he puffed his cigarette meditatively, "you have ask a conundrum. Gif to me an easier one! It is of truth thatI make much of these thing to please Urania. But I shall confess all. Behold, I appear to you, my leetle brother, in my camisa--my shirt! Iblow on myself; I gif myself away. "

He rose gravely from the sofa, and drew a small box from one of thedrawers of the wardrobe. Opening it, he discovered several specimens ofgold-bearing quartz, and one or two scales of gold. "Thees, " he said, "friend Pancho, is my own geology; for thees I am what you see. But Isay nothing to Urania; for she have much disgust of mere gold, --of whatshe calls 'vulgar mining, '--and believe me, a fear of the effect of'speculation' upon my temperamento--you comprehend my complexion, mybrother? Reflect upon it, Pancho! I, who am the filosofo, if that I amanything!" He looked at me with great levity of eye and supernaturalgravity of demeanor. "But eet ees the jealous affection of the wife, my friend, for which I make play to her with the humble leetlepouding-stone rather than the gold quartz that affrights. "

"But what do you want with them, if you have no shares in anything anddo not speculate?" I asked. 

"Pardon! That ees where you slip up, my leetle friend. " He took from thesame drawer a clasped portfolio, and unlocked it, producing half a dozenprospectuses and certificates of mining shares. I stood aghast as Irecognized the names of one or two extravagant failures of the last tenyears, --"played-out" mines that had been galvanized into deceptive lifein London, Paris, and New York, to the grief of shareholders abroadand the laughter of the initiated at home. I could scarcely keep myequanimity. "You do not mean to say that you have any belief or interestin this rubbish?" I said quickly. 

"What you call 'rubbish, ' my good Pancho, ees the rubbish that theAmerican speculator have dump himself upon them in the shaft, therubbish of the advertisement, of the extravagant expense, of the salary, of the assessment, of the 'freeze-out. ' For thees, look you, is the oldMexican mine. My grandfather and hees father have both seen them workbefore you were born, and the American knew not there was gold inCalifornia. "

I knew he spoke truly. One or two were original silver mines in thesouth, worked by peons and Indian slaves, a rope windlass, and avenerable donkey. 

"But those were silver mines, " I said suspiciously, "and these are goldspecimens. "

"They are from the same mother, " said the imperturbable Enriquez, --"thesame mine. The old peons worked him for SILVER, the precious dollar thatbuy everything, that he send in the galleon to the Philippines forthe silk and spice! THAT is good enough for HIM! For the gold he madenothing, even as my leetle wife Urania. And regard me here! There ees aproverb of my father's which say that 'it shall take a gold mine towork a silver mine, ' so mooch more he cost. You work him, you are lost!Naturalmente, if you turn him round, if it take you only a silver mineto work a gold mine, you are gain. Thees ees logic!"

The intense gravity of his face at this extraordinary deduction upsetmy own. But as I was never certain that Enriquez was not purposelymystifying me, with some ulterior object, I could not help saying alittle wickedly:--

"Yes, I understand all that; but how about this geologian? Will he nottell your wife? You know he was a great admirer of hers. "

"That shall show the great intelligence of him, my Pancho. He will havethe four S's, ' especially the secreto!"

There could be no serious discussion in his present mood. I gathered upthe pages of his wife's manuscript, said lightly that, as she had thefirst claim upon my time, I should examine the Aztec material and reportin a day or two. As I knew I had little chance in the hands of these twoincomprehensibles together, I begged him not to call his wife, butto convey my adieus to her, and, in spite of his embraces andprotestations, I managed to get out of the room. But I had scarcelyreached the front door when I heard Enriquez's voice and his boundingstep on the stairs. In another moment his arm was round my neck. 

"You must return on the instant! Mother of God! I haf forget, SHE hafforget, WE all haf forget! But you have not seen him!"

"Seen whom?"

"El nino, the baby! You comprehend, pig! The criaturica, the leetlechild of ourselfs!"

"The baby?" I said confusedly. "IS there--is there a BABY?"

"You hear him?" said Enriquez, sending an appealing voice upward. "Youhear him, Urania? You comprehend. This beast of a leetle brother demandsif there ees one!"

"I beg your pardon, " I said, hurriedly reascending the stairs. On thelanding I met Mrs. Saltillo, but as calm, composed, and precise asher husband was extravagant and vehement. "It was an oversight ofEnriquez's, " she said quietly, reentering the room with us; "and was allthe more strange, as the child was in the room with you all the time. "

She pointed to the corner of the wall, where hung what I had believedto be an old Indian relic. To my consternation, it WAS a bark"papoose-case, " occupied by a LIVING child, swathed and bandaged afterthe approved Indian fashion. It was asleep, I believe, but it opened apair of bright huckleberry eyes, set in the smallest of features, thatwere like those of a carved ivory idol, and uttered a "coo" at the soundof its mother's voice. She stood on one side with unruffled composure, while Enriquez threw himself into an attitude before it, with claspedhands, as if it had been an image of the Holy Child. For myself, I wastoo astounded to speak; luckily, my confusion was attributed to theinexperience of a bachelor. 

"I have adopted, " said Mrs. Saltillo, with the faintest touch ofmaternal pride in her manner, "what I am convinced is the only naturaland hygienic mode of treating the human child. It may be said to bea reversion to the aborigine, but I have yet to learn that it is notsuperior to our civilized custom. By these bandages the limbs of theinfant are kept in proper position until they are strong enough tosupport the body, and such a thing as malformation is unknown. It isprotected by its cradle, which takes the place of its incubating-shell, from external injury, the injudicious coddling of nurses, the so-called'dancings' and pernicious rockings. The supine position, as in theadult, is imposed only at night. By the aid of this strap it may becarried on long journeys, either by myself or by Enriquez, who thusshares with me, as he fully recognizes, its equal responsibility andburden. "

"It--certainly does not--cry, " I stammered. 

"Crying, " said Mrs. Saltillo, with a curve of her pretty red lip, "isthe protest of the child against insanitary and artificial treatment. In its upright, unostentatious cradle it is protected against thatinjudicious fondling and dangerous promiscuous osculation to which, asan infant in human arms, it is so often subjected. Above all, it is keptfrom that shameless and mortifying publicity so unjust to the weak andunformed animal. The child repays this consideration by a gratifyingsilence. It cannot be expected to understand our thoughts, speech, oractions; it cannot participate in our pleasures. Why should it beforced into premature contact with them, merely to feed our vanity orselfishness? Why should we assume our particular parental accidentas superior to the common lot? If we do not give our offspring thatprominence before our visitors so common to the young wife and husband, it is for that reason solely; and this may account for what seemed theforgetfulness of Enriquez in speaking of it or pointing it out toyou. And I think his action in calling you back to see it was somewhatprecipitate. As one does not usually introduce an unknown and inferiorstranger without some previous introduction, he might have asked you ifyou wished to see the baby before he recalled you. "

I looked from Urania's unfathomable eyes to Enriquez's impenetrablecountenance. I might have been equal to either of them alone, buttogether they were invincible. I looked hopelessly at the baby. Withits sharp little eyes and composed face, it certainly was a marvelousminiature of Enriquez. I said so. 

"It would be singular if it was not, " said Mrs. Saltillo dryly; "and asI believe it is by no means an uncommon fact in human nature, it seemsto me strange that people should insist upon it as a discovery. It isan inheritance, however, that in due time progress and science will nodoubt interrupt, to the advancement of the human race. I need notsay that both Enriquez and myself look forward to it with confidenttranquillity. "

There was clearly nothing for me to do now but to shake hands again andtake my leave. Yet I was so much impressed with the unreality of thewhole scene that when I reached the front door I had a strong impulseto return suddenly and fall in upon them in their relaxed and naturalattitudes. They could not keep up this pose between themselves; and Ihalf expected to see their laughing faces at the window, as I glanced upbefore wending my perilous way to the street. 

I found Mrs. Saltillo's manuscript well written and, in the narrativeparts, even graphic and sparkling. I suppressed some general remarkson the universe, and some correlative theories of existence, asnot appertaining particularly to the Aztecs, and as not meeting anyunquenchable thirst for information on the part of the readers of the"Daily Excelsior. " I even promoted my fair contributor to the positionof having been commissioned, at great expense, to make the Mexicanjourney especially for the "Excelsior. " This, with Mrs. Saltillo'ssomewhat precise preraphaelite drawings and water-colors, vilelyreproduced by woodcuts, gave quite a sensational air to her production, which, divided into parts, for two or three days filled a whole pageof the paper. I am not aware of any particular service that it did toethnology; but, as I pointed out in the editorial column, it showed thatthe people of California were not given over by material greed to theexclusion of intellectual research; and as it was attacked instantlyin long communications from one or two scientific men, it thus producedmore copy. 

Briefly, it was a boom for the author and the "Daily Excelsior. " Ishould add, however, that a rival newspaper intimated that it was also aboom for Mrs. Saitillo's HUSBAND, and called attention to the fact thata deserted Mexican mine, known as "El Bolero, " was described graphicallyin the Aztec article among the news, and again appeared in theadvertising columns of the same paper. I turned somewhat indignantlyto the file of the "Excelsior, " and, singularly enough, found in theelaborate prospectus of a new gold-mining company the description of theEl Bolero mine as a QUOTATION from the Aztec article, with extraordinaryinducements for the investment of capital in the projected working of anold mine. If I had had any difficulty in recognizing in the extravagantstyle the flamboyant hand of Enriquez in English writing, I might haveread his name plainly enough displayed as president of the company. Itwas evidently the prospectus of one of the ventures he had shown me. Iwas more amused than indignant at the little trick he had played uponmy editorial astuteness. After all, if I had thus benefited the youngcouple I was satisfied. I had not seen them since my first visit, as Iwas very busy, --my communications with Mrs. Saltillo had been carried onby letters and proofs, --and when I did finally call at their house, itwas only to find that they were visiting at San Jose. I wondered whetherthe baby was still hanging on the wall, or, if he was taken with them, who carried him. 

A week later the stock of El Bolero was quoted at par. More than that, an incomprehensible activity had been given to all the deserted Mexicanmines, and people began to look up scrip hitherto thrown aside asworthless. Whether it was one of those extraordinary fevers whichattacked Californian speculation in the early days, or whether EnriquezSaltillo had infected the stock-market with his own extravagance, Inever knew; but plans as wild, inventions as fantastic, and argumentsas illogical as ever emanated from his own brain, were set forth "on'Change" with a gravity equal to his own. The most reasonable hypothesiswas that it was the effect of the well-known fact that the SpanishCalifornian hitherto had not been a mining speculator, nor connectedin any way with the gold production on his native soil, deeming itinconsistent with his patriarchal life and landed dignity, and that whena "son of one of the oldest Spanish families, identified with the landand its peculiar character for centuries, lent himself to its mineralexploitations, "--I beg to say that I am quoting from the advertisementin the "Excelsior, "--"it was a guerdon of success. " This was so far truethat in a week Enriquez Saltillo was rich, and in a fair way to become amillionaire. 

It was a hot afternoon when I alighted from the stifling Wingdam coach, and stood upon the cool, deep veranda of the Carquinez Springs Hotel. After I had shaken off the dust which had lazily followed us, in ourdescent of the mountain road, like a red smoke, occasionally overflowingthe coach windows, I went up to the room I had engaged for my briefholiday. I knew the place well, although I could see that the hotelitself had lately been redecorated and enlarged to meet the increasingrequirements of fashion. I knew the forest of enormous redwoods whereone might lose one's self in a five minutes' walk from the veranda. Iknew the rocky trail that climbed the mountain to the springs, twistingbetween giant boulders. I knew the arid garden, deep in the waysidedust, with its hurriedly planted tropical plants, already withering inthe dry autumn sunshine, and washed into fictitious freshness, nightand morning by the hydraulic irrigating-hose. I knew, too, the cool, reposeful night winds that swept down from invisible snow-crests beyond, with the hanging out of monstrous stars, that too often failed to bringrepose to the feverish guests. For the overstrained neurotic workerswho fled hither from the baking plains of Sacramento, or from the chillsea-fogs of San Francisco, never lost the fierce unrest that had driventhem here. Unaccustomed to leisure, their enforced idleness impelledthem to seek excitement in the wildest gayeties; the bracing mountainair only reinvigorated them to pursue pleasure as they had pursued theoccupations they had left behind. Their sole recreations were furiousdrives over break-neck roads; mad, scampering cavalcades through thesedate woods; gambling parties in private rooms, where large sums werelost by capitalists on leave; champagne suppers; and impromptu ballsthat lasted through the calm, reposeful night to the first rays of lighton the distant snowline. Unimaginative men, in their temporary sojournthey more often outraged or dispossessed nature in her own fastnessesthan courted her for sympathy or solitude. There were playing-cards leftlying behind boulders, and empty champagne bottles forgotten in forestdepths. 

I remembered all this when, refreshed by a bath, I leaned from thebalcony of my room and watched the pulling up of a brake, drawn by sixdusty, foam-bespattered horses, driven by a noted capitalist. Asits hot, perspiring, closely veiled yet burning-faced fair occupantsdescended, in all the dazzling glory of summer toilets, and I saw thegentlemen consult their watches with satisfaction, and congratulatetheir triumphant driver, I knew the characteristic excitement they hadenjoyed from a "record run, " probably for a bet, over a mountain road ina burning sun. 

"Not bad, eh? Forty-four minutes from the summit!"

The voice seemed at my elbow. I turned quickly, to recognize anacquaintance, a young San Francisco broker, leaning from the nextbalcony to mine. But my attention was just then preoccupied by the faceand figure, which seemed familiar to me, of a woman who was alightingfrom the brake. 

"Who is that?" I asked; "the straight slim woman in gray, with the whiteveil twisted round her felt hat?"

"Mrs. Saltillo, " he answered; "wife of 'El Bolero' Saltillo, don't youknow. Mighty pretty woman, if she is a little stiffish and set up. "

Then I had not been mistaken! "Is Enriquez--is her husband--here?" Iasked quickly. 

The man laughed. "I reckon not. This is the place for other people'shusbands, don't you know. "

Alas! I DID know; and as there flashed upon me all the miserablescandals and gossip connected with this reckless, frivolous caravansary, I felt like resenting his suggestion. But my companion's next words weremore significant:--

"Besides, if what they say is true, Saltillo wouldn't be very popularhere. "

"I don't understand, " I said quickly. 

"Why, after all that row he had with the El Bolero Company. "

"I never heard of any row, " I said, in astonishment. 

The broker laughed incredulously. "Come! and YOU a newspaper man! Well, maybe they DID try to hush it up, and keep it out of the papers, onaccount of the stock. But it seems he got up a reg'lar shindy with theboard, one day; called 'em thieves and swindlers, and allowed he wasdisgracing himself as a Spanish hidalgo by having anything to do with'em. Talked, they say, about Charles V. Of Spain, or some other royalgaloot, giving his ancestors the land in trust! Clean off his head, I reckon. Then shunted himself off the company, and sold out. You canguess he wouldn't be very popular around here, with Jim Bestley, there, "pointing to the capitalist who had driven the brake, "who used to be onthe board with him. No, sir. He was either lying low for something, orwas off his head. Think of his throwing up a place like that!"

"Nonsense!" I said indignantly. "He is mercurial, and has the quickimpulsiveness of his race, but I believe him as sane as any who sat withhim on the board. There must be some mistake, or you haven't got thewhole story. " Nevertheless, I did not care to discuss an old friendwith a mere acquaintance, and I felt secretly puzzled to account for hisconduct, in the face of his previous cleverness in manipulating the ElBolero, and the undoubted fascination he had previously exercised overthe stockholders. The story had, of course, been garbled in repetition. I had never before imagined what might be the effect of Enriquez'speculiar eccentricities upon matter-of-fact people, --I had found themonly amusing, --and the broker's suggestion annoyed me. However, Mrs. Saltillo was here in the hotel, and I should, of course, meet her. Wouldshe be as frank with me?

I was disappointed at not finding her in the drawing-room or on theveranda; and the heat being still unusually oppressive, I strolled outtoward the redwoods, hesitating for a moment in the shade before I ranthe fiery gauntlet of the garden. To my surprise, I had scarcely passedthe giant sentinels on its outskirts before I found that, from someunusual condition of the atmosphere, the cold undercurrent of airwhich generally drew through these pillared aisles was withheld thatafternoon; it was absolutely hotter than in the open, and the wood wascharged throughout with the acrid spices of the pine. I turned back tothe hotel, reascended to my bedroom, and threw myself in an armchair bythe open window. My room was near the end of a wing; the corner room atthe end was next to mine, on the same landing. Its closed door, at rightangles to my open one, gave upon the staircase, but was plainly visiblefrom where I sat. I remembered being glad that it was shut, as itenabled me without offense to keep my own door open. 

The house was very quiet. The leaves of a catalpa, across the roadway, hung motionless. Somebody yawned on the veranda below. I threw awaymy half-finished cigar, and closed my eyes. I think I had not lostconsciousness for more than a few seconds before I was awakened by theshaking and thrilling of the whole building. As I staggered to my feet, I saw the four pictures hanging against the wall swing outwardly fromit on their cords, and my door swing back against the wall. At the samemoment, acted upon by the same potential impulse, the door of the endroom in the hall, opposite the stairs, also swung open. In that briefmoment I had a glimpse of the interior of the room, of two figures, aman and a woman, the latter clinging to her companion in abject terror. It was only for an instant, for a second thrill passed through thehouse, the pictures clattered back against the wall, the door of the endroom closed violently on its strange revelation, and my own door swungback also. Apprehensive of what might happen, I sprang toward it, butonly to arrest it an inch or two before it should shut, when, as myexperience had taught me, it might stick by the subsidence of the walls. But it did stick ajar, and remained firmly fixed in that position. Fromthe clattering of the knob of the other door, and the sound of hurriedvoices behind it, I knew that the same thing had happened there whenthat door had fully closed. 

I was familiar enough with earthquakes to know that, with the secondshock or subsidence of the earth, the immediate danger was passed, andso I was able to note more clearly what else was passing. There was theusual sudden stampede of hurrying feet, the solitary oath and scream, the half-hysterical laughter, and silence. Then the tumult wasreawakened to the sound of high voices, talking all together, or theimpatient calling of absentees in halls and corridors. Then I heardthe quick swish of female skirts on the staircase, and one of the fairguests knocked impatiently at the door of the end room, still immovablyfixed. At the first knock there was a sudden cessation of the hurriedwhisperings and turning of the doorknob. 

"Mrs. Saltillo, are you there? Are you frightened?" she called. 

"Mrs. Saltillo"! It was SHE, then, who was in the room! I drew nearermy door, which was still fixed ajar. Presently a voice, --Mrs. Saltillo'svoice, --with a constrained laugh in it, came from behind the door: "Nota bit. I'll come down in a minute. "

"Do, " persisted the would-be intruder. "It's all over now, but we're allgoing out into the garden; it's safer. "

"All right, " answered Mrs. Saltillo. "Don't wait, dear. I'll follow. Runaway, now. "

The visitor, who was evidently still nervous, was glad to hurry away, and I heard her retreating step on the staircase. The rattling of thedoor began again, and at last it seemed to yield to a stronger pull, and opened sufficiently to allow Mrs. Saltillo to squeeze through. Iwithdrew behind my door. I fancied that it creaked as she passed, as if, noticing it ajar, she had laid an inquiring hand upon it. I waited, butshe was not followed by any one. I wondered if I had been mistaken. Iwas going to the bell-rope to summon assistance to move my own door whena sudden instinct withheld me. If there was any one still in that room, he might come from it just as the servant answered my call, and a publicdiscovery would be unavoidable. I was right. In another instant thefigure of a man, whose face I could not discern, slipped out of theroom, passed my door, and went stealthily down the staircase. 

Convinced of this, I resolved not to call public attention to my beingin my own room at the time of the incident; so I did not summon any one, but, redoubling my efforts, I at last opened the door sufficiently topass out, and at once joined the other guests in the garden. Already, with characteristic recklessness and audacity, the earthquake wasmade light of; the only dictate of prudence had resolved itself intoa hilarious proposal to "camp out" in the woods all night, and havea "torch-light picnic. " Even then preparations were being made forcarrying tents, blankets, and pillows to the adjacent redwoods; dinnerand supper, cooked at campfires, were to be served there on stumps oftrees and fallen logs. The convulsion of nature had been used as anexcuse for one of the wildest freaks of extravagance that CarquinezSprings had ever known. Perhaps that quick sense of humor whichdominates the American male in exigencies of this kind kept theextravagances from being merely bizarre and grotesque, and it waspresently known that the hotel and its menage were to be appropriatelyburlesqued by some of the guests, who, attired as Indians, wouldpersonate the staff, from the oracular hotel proprietor himself down tothe smart hotel clerk. 

During these arrangements I had a chance of drawing near Mrs. Saltillo. I fancied she gave a slight start as she recognized me; but hergreetings were given with her usual precision. "Have you been herelong?" she asked. 

"I have only just come, " I replied laughingly; "in time for the shock. "

"Ah, you felt it, then? I was telling these ladies that our eminentgeologist, Professor Dobbs, assured me that these seismic disturbancesin California have a very remote centre, and are seldom serious. "

"It must be very satisfactory to have the support of geology at such amoment, " I could not help saying, though I had not the slightest ideawhose the figure was that I had seen, nor, indeed, had I recognizedit among the guests. She did not seem to detect any significance inmy speech, and I added: "And where is Enriquez? He would enjoy thisproposed picnic to-night. "

"Enriquez is at Salvatierra Rancho, which he lately bought from hiscousin. "

"And the baby? Surely, here is a chance for you to hang him up on aredwood tonight, in his cradle. "

"The boy, " said Mrs. Saltillo quickly, "is no longer in his cradle; hehas passed the pupa state, and is now free to develop his own perfectedlimbs. He is with his father. I do not approve of children beingsubmitted to the indiscriminate attentions of a hotel. I am here myselfonly for that supply of ozone indicated for brain exhaustion. "

She looked so pretty and prim in her gray dress, so like her old correctself, that I could not think of anything but her mental attitude, whichdid not, by the way, seem much like mental depression. Yet I was awarethat I was getting no information of Enriquez's condition or affairs, unless the whole story told by the broker was an exaggeration. I didnot, however, dare to ask more particularly. 

"You remember Professor Dobbs?" she asked abruptly. 

This recalled a suspicion awakened by my vision, so suddenly that Ifelt myself blushing. She did not seem to notice it, and was perfectlycomposed. 

"I do remember him. Is he here?"

"He is; that is what makes it so particularly unfortunate for me. Yousee, after that affair of the board, and Enriquez's withdrawal, althoughEnriquez may have been a little precipitate in his energetic way, Inaturally took my husband's part in public; for although we preserveour own independence inviolable, we believe in absolute confederation asagainst society. "

"But what has Professor Dobbs to do with the board?" I interrupted. 

"The professor was scientific and geological adviser to the board, andit was upon some report or suggestion of his that Enriquez took issue, against the sentiment of the board. It was a principle affectingEnriquez's Spanish sense of honor. "

"Do tell me all about it, " I said eagerly; "I am very anxious to knowthe truth. "

"As I was not present at the time, " said Mrs. Saltillo, rebuking myeagerness with a gentle frigidity, "I am unable to do so. Anything elsewould be mere hearsay, and more or less ex parte. I do not approve ofgossip. "

"But what did Enriquez tell you? You surely know that. "

"THAT, being purely confidential, as between husband and wife, --perhapsI should say partner and partner, --of course you do not expect me todisclose. Enough that I was satisfied with it. I should not have spokento you about it at all, but that, through myself and Enriquez, you arean acquaintance of the professor's, and I might save you the awkwardnessof presenting yourself with him. Otherwise, although you are a friend ofEnriquez, it need not affect your acquaintance with the professor. "

"Hang the professor!" I ejaculated. "I don't care a rap for HIM. "

"Then I differ with you, " said Mrs. Saltillo, with precision. "He isdistinctly an able man, and one cannot but miss the contact of hisoriginal mind and his liberal teachings. "

Here she was joined by one of the ladies, and I lounged away. I dare sayit was very mean and very illogical, but the unsatisfactory characterof this interview made me revert again to the singular revelation I hadseen a few hours before. I looked anxiously for Professor Dobbs; butwhen I did meet him, with an indifferent nod of recognition, I foundI could by no means identify him with the figure of her mysteriouscompanion. And why should I suspect him at all, in the face of Mrs. Saltillo's confessed avoidance of him? Who, then, could it have been? Ihad seen them but an instant, in the opening and the shutting of a door. It was merely the shadowy bulk of a man that flitted past my door, after all. Could I have imagined the whole thing? Were my perceptivefaculties--just aroused from slumber, too insufficiently clear to berelied upon? Would I not have laughed had Urania, or even Enriquezhimself, told me such a story?

As I reentered the hotel the clerk handed me a telegram. "There's beena pretty big shake all over the country, " he said eagerly. "Everybodyis getting news and inquiries from their friends. Anything fresh?" Hepaused interrogatively as I tore open the envelope. The dispatch hadbeen redirected from the office of the "Daily Excelsior. " It was dated, "Salvatierra Rancho, " and contained a single line: "Come and see yourold uncle 'Ennery. "

There was nothing in the wording of the message that was unlikeEnriquez's usual light-hearted levity, but the fact that he should haveTELEGRAPHED it to me struck me uneasily. That I should have received itat the hotel where his wife and Professor Dobbs were both staying, andwhere I had had such a singular experience, seemed to me more than amere coincidence. An instinct that the message was something personalto Enriquez and myself kept me from imparting it to Mrs. Saltillo. Afterworrying half the night in our bizarre camp in the redwoods, in themidst of a restless festivity which was scarcely the repose I had beenseeking at Carquinez Springs, I resolved to leave the next day forSalvatierra Rancho. I remembered the rancho, --a low, golden-brown, adobe-walled quadrangle, sleeping like some monstrous ruminant in ahollow of the Contra Costa Range. I recalled, in the midst of this noisypicnic, the slumberous coolness of its long corridors and soundlesscourtyard, and hailed it as a relief. The telegram was a sufficientexcuse for my abrupt departure. In the morning I left, but without againseeing either Mrs. Saltillo or the professor. 

It was late the next afternoon when I rode through the canada that ledto the rancho. I confess my thoughts were somewhat gloomy, in spite ofmy escape from the noisy hotel; but this was due to the sombre scenerythrough which I had just ridden, and the monotonous russet of theleagues of wild oats. As I approached the rancho, I saw that Enriquezhad made no attempt to modernize the old casa, and that even the gardenwas left in its lawless native luxuriance, while the rude tiled shedsnear the walled corral contained the old farming implements, unchangedfor a century, even to the ox-carts, the wheels of which were made of asingle block of wood. A few peons, in striped shirts and velvetjackets, were sunning themselves against a wall, and near them hunga half-drained pellejo, or goatskin water-bag. The air of absoluteshiftlessness must have been repellent to Mrs. Saltillo's orderlyprecision, and for a moment I pitied her. But it was equallyinconsistent with Enriquez's enthusiastic ideas of American progress, and the extravagant designs he had often imparted to me of theimprovements he would make when he had a fortune. I was feeling uneasyagain, when I suddenly heard the rapid clack of unshod hoofs on a rockytrail that joined my own. At the same instant a horseman dashed past meat full speed. I had barely time to swerve my own horse aside to avoid acollision, yet in that brief moment I recognized the figure of Enriquez. But his face I should have scarcely known. It was hard and fixed. Hisupper lip and thin, penciled mustache were drawn up over his teeth, which were like a white gash in his dark face. He turned into thecourtyard of the rancho. I put spurs to my horse, and followed, innervous expectation. He turned in his saddle as I entered. But the nextmoment he bounded from his horse, and, before I could dismount, flew tomy side and absolutely lifted me from the saddle to embrace me. It wasthe old Enriquez again; his face seemed to have utterly changed in thatbrief moment. 

"This is all very well, old chap, " I said; "but do you know that younearly ran me down, just now, with that infernal half-broken mustang? Doyou usually charge the casa at that speed?"

"Pardon, my leetle brother! But here you shall slip up. The mustang isnot HALF-broken; he is not broke at all! Look at his hoof--never havea shoe been there. For myself--attend me! When I ride alone, Ithink mooch; when I think mooch I think fast; my idea he go like acannon-ball! Consequent, if I ride not thees horse like the cannon-ball, my thought HE arrive first, and where are you? You get left! Believeme that I fly thees horse, thees old Mexican plug, and your de' uncle'Ennery and his leetle old idea arrive all the same time, and on theinstant. "

It WAS the old Enriquez! I perfectly understood his extravagant speechand illustration, and yet for the first time I wondered if others did. 

"Tak'-a-drink!" he said, all in one word. "You shall possess the oldBourbon or the rhum from the Santa Cruz! Name your poison, gentlemen!"

He had already dragged me up the steps from the patio to the veranda, and seated me before a small round table still covered with thechocolate equipage of the morning. A little dried-up old Indian womantook it away, and brought the spirits and glasses. 

"Mirar the leetle old one!" said Enriquez, with unflinching gravity. "Consider her, Pancho, to the bloosh! She is not truly an Aztec, butshe is of years one hundred and one, and LIFS! Possibly she haf not thebeauty which ravishes, which devastates. But she shall attent you to thehot water, to the bath. Thus shall you be protect, my leetle brother, from scandal. "

"Enriquez, " I burst out suddenly, "tell me about yourself. Why did youleave the El Bolero board? What was the row about?"

Enriquez's eyes for a moment glittered; then they danced as before. 

"Ah, " he said, "you have heard?"

"Something; but I want to know the truth from you. "

He lighted a cigarette, lifted himself backward into a grass hammock, onwhich he sat, swinging his feet. Then, pointing to another hammock, hesaid: "Tranquillize yourself there. I will relate; but, truly, it eesnothing. "

He took a long pull at his cigarette, and for a few momentsseemed quietly to exude smoke from his eyes, ears, nose, even hisfinger-ends--everywhere, in fact, but his mouth. That and his mustacheremained fixed. Then he said slowly, flicking away the ashes with hislittle finger:--

"First you understand, friend Pancho, that I make no row. The otherthemself make the row, the shindig. They make the dance, the howl, thesnap of the finger, the oath, the 'Helen blazes, ' the 'Wot the devil, 'the 'That be d--d, ' the bad language; they themselves finger therevolver, advance the bowie-knife, throw off the coat, square off, andsay 'Come on. ' I remain as you see me now, little brother--tranquil. "He lighted another cigarette, made his position more comfortable in thehammock, and resumed: "The Professor Dobbs, who is the geologian of thecompany, made a report for which he got two thousand dollar. But theesreport--look you, friend Pancho--he is not good for the mine. For in thehole in the ground the Professor Dobbs have found a 'hoss. '"

"A what?" I asked. 

"A hoss, " repeated Enriquez, with infinite gravity. "But not, leetlePancho, the hoss that run, the hoss that buck-jump, but what the minercall a 'hoss, ' a something that rear up in the vein and stop him. Youpick around the hoss; you pick under him; sometimes you find the vein, sometimes you do not. The hoss rear up, and remain! Eet ees not good forthe mine. The board say, 'D--- the hoss!' 'Get rid of the hoss. ' 'Chuckout the hoss. ' Then they talk together, and one say to the ProfessorDobbs: 'Eef you cannot thees hoss remove from the mine, you can takehim out of the report. ' He look to me, thees professor. I see nothing; Iremain tranquil. Then the board say: 'Thees report with the hoss inhim is worth two thousand dollar, but WITHOUT the hoss he is worth fivethousand dollar. For the stockholder is frighted of the rearing hoss. Itis of a necessity that the stockholder should remain tranquil. Withoutthe hoss the report is good; the stock shall errise; the directorshall sell out, and leave the stockholder the hoss to play with. ' Theprofessor he say, 'Al-right;' he scratch out the hoss, sign his name, and get a check for three thousand dollar. "

"Then I errise--so!" He got up from the hammock, suiting the actionto the word, and during the rest of his narrative, I honestly believe, assumed the same attitude and deliberate intonation he had exhibited atthe board. I could even fancy I saw the reckless, cynical faces ofhis brother directors turned upon his grim, impassive features. "I amtranquil. I smoke my cigarette. I say that for three hundred year myfamily have held the land of thees mine; that it pass from father toson, and from son to son; it pass by gift, it pass by grant, but thatNEVARRE THERE PASS A LIE WITH IT! I say it was a gift by a SpanishChristian king to a Christian hidalgo for the spread of the gospel, andnot for the cheat and the swindle! I say that this mine was workedby the slave, and by the mule, by the ass, but never by the cheat andswindler. I say that if they have struck the hoss in the mine, they havestruck a hoss IN THE LAND, a Spanish hoss; a hoss that have no bridleworth five thousand dollar in his mouth, but a hoss to rear, and ahoss that cannot be struck out by a Yankee geologian; and that hoss isEnriquez Saltillo!"

He paused, and laid aside his cigarette. 

"Then they say, 'Dry up, ' and 'Sell out;' and the great bankers say, 'Name your own price for your stock, and resign. ' And I say, 'There isnot enough gold in your bank, in your San Francisco, in the mines ofCalifornia, that shall buy a Spanish gentleman. When I leave, I leavethe stock at my back; I shall take it, nevarre! Then the banker he say, 'And you will go and blab, I suppose?' And then, Pancho, I smile, Ipick up my mustache--so! and I say: 'Pardon, senor, you haf mistake, TheSaltillo haf for three hundred year no stain, no blot upon him. Eet isnot now--the last of the race--who shall confess that he haf sit at aboard of disgrace and dishonor!' And then it is that the band begin toplay, and the animals stand on their hind leg and waltz, and behold, therow he haf begin!"

I ran over to him, and fairly hugged him. But he put me aside witha gentle and philosophical calm. "Ah, eet is nothing, Pancho. It is, believe me, all the same a hundred years to come, and where are you, then? The earth he turn round, and then come el temblor, the earthquake, and there you are! Bah! eet is not of the board that I have asked youto come; it is something else I would tell you. Go and wash yourselfof thees journey, my leetle brother, as I have"--looking at his narrow, brown, well-bred hands--"wash myself of the board. Be very careful ofthe leetle old woman, Pancho; do not wink to her of the eye! Consider, my leetle brother, for one hundred and one year he haf been as a nun, asaint! Disturb not her tranquillity. "

Yes, it was the old Enriquez; but he seemed graver, --if I could use thatword of one of such persistent gravity; only his gravity heretofore hadsuggested a certain irony rather than a melancholy which I now fancied Idetected. And what was this "something else" he was to "tell me later"?Did it refer to Mrs. Saltillo? I had purposely waited for him to speakof her, before I should say anything of my visit to Carquinez Springs. I hurried through my ablutions in the hot water, brought in a bronze jaron the head of the centenarian handmaid; and even while I was smilingover Enriquez's caution regarding this aged Ruth, I felt I was gettingnervous to hear his news. 

I found him in his sitting-room, or study, --a long, low apartment withsmall, deep windows like embrasures in the outer adobe wall, but glazedin lightly upon the veranda. He was sitting quite abstractedly, with apen in his hand, before a table, on which a number of sealed envelopeswere lying. He looked SO formal and methodical for Enriquez. 

"You like the old casa, Pancho?" he said in reply to my praise of itsstudious and monastic gloom. "Well, my leetle brother, some day that isfair--who knows?--it may be at your disposicion; not of our politeness, but of a truth, friend Pancho. For, if I leave it to my wife"--it wasthe first time he had spoken of her--"for my leetle child, " he addedquickly, "I shall put in a bond, an obligacion, that my friend Panchoshall come and go as he will. "

"The Saltillos are a long-lived race, " I laughed. "I shall be agray-haired man, with a house and family of my own by that time. " But Idid not like the way he had spoken. 

"Quien sabe?" he only said, dismissing the question with the nationalgesture. After a moment he added: "I shall tell you something that isstrrange, so strrange that you shall say, like the banker say, 'TheesEnriquez, he ees off his head; he ees a crank, a lunatico;' but it ees aFACT; believe me, I have said!"

He rose, and, going to the end of the room, opened a door. It showeda pretty little room, femininely arranged in Mrs. Saltillo's refinedtaste. "Eet is pretty; eet is the room of my wife. Bueno! attend menow. " He closed the door, and walked back to the table. "I have sit hereand write when the earthquake arrive. I have feel the shock, the grindof the walls on themselves, the tremor, the stagger, and--that--door--heswing open!"

"The door?" I said, with a smile that I felt was ghastly. 

"Comprehend me, " he said quickly; "it ees not THAT which ees strrange. The wall lift, the lock slip, the door he fell open; it is frequent; itcomes so ever when the earthquake come. But eet is not my wife's roomI see; it is ANOTHER ROOM, a room I know not. My wife Urania, she standthere, of a fear, of a tremble; she grasp, she cling to someone. Theearth shake again; the door shut. I jump from my table; I shake andtumble to the door. I fling him open. Maravilloso! it is the room of mywife again. She is NOT there; it is empty; it is nothing!"

I felt myself turning hot and cold by turns. I was horrified, and--and Iblundered. "And who was the other figure?" I gasped. 

"Who?" repeated Enriquez, with a pause, a fixed look at me, and asublime gesture. "Who SHOULD it be, but myself, Enriquez Saltillo?"

A terrible premonition that this was a chivalrous LIE, that it was NOThimself he had seen, but that our two visions were identical, came uponme. "After all, " I said, with a fixed smile, "if you could imagine yousaw your wife, you could easily imagine you saw yourself too. In theshock of the moment you thought of HER naturally, for then she would asnaturally seek your protection. You have written for news of her?"

"No, " said Enriquez quietly. 

"No?" I repeated amazedly. 

"You understand, Pancho! Eef it was the trick of my eyes, why shouldI affright her for the thing that is not? If it is the truth, and itarrive to ME, as a warning, why shall I affright her before it come?"

"Before WHAT comes? What is it a warning of?" I asked impetuously. 

"That we shall be separated! That I go, and she do not. "

To my surprise, his dancing eyes had a slight film over them. "I don'tunderstand you, " I said awkwardly. 

"Your head is not of a level, my Pancho. Thees earthquake he remain foronly ten seconds, and he fling open the door. If he remain for twentyseconds, he fling open the wall, the hoose toomble, and your friendEnriquez is feenish. "

"Nonsense!" I said. "Professor--I mean the geologists--say that thecentre of disturbance of these Californian earthquakes is some far-awaypoint in the Pacific and there never will be any serious convulsionshere. "

"Ah, the geologist, " said Enriquez gravely, "understand the hoss thatrear in the mine, and the five thousand dollar, believe me, no more. He haf lif here three year. My family haf lif here three hundred. Mygrandfather saw the earth swallow the church of San Juan Baptista. "

I laughed, until, looking up, I was shocked to see for the first timethat his dancing eyes were moist and shining. But almost instantly hejumped up, and declared that I had not seen the garden and the corral, and, linking his arm in mine, swept me like a whirlwind into the patio. For an hour or two he was in his old invincible spirits. I was gladI had said nothing of my visit to Carquinez Springs and of seeing hiswife; I determined to avoid it as long as possible; and as he did notagain refer to her, except in the past, it was not difficult. At lasthe infected me with his extravagance, and for a while I forgot even thestrangeness of his conduct and his confidences. We walked and talkedtogether as of old. I understood and enjoyed him perfectly, and itwas not strange that in the end I began to believe that this strangerevelation was a bit of his extravagant acting, got up to amuse me. Thecoincidence of his story with my own experience was not, after all, such a wonderful thing, considering what must have been the nervousand mental disturbance produced by the earthquake. We dined together, attended only by Pedro, an old half-caste body-servant. It was easy tosee that the household was carried on economically, and, from a wordor two casually dropped by Enriquez, it appeared that the rancho anda small sum of money were all that he retained from his former fortunewhen he left the El Bolero. The stock he kept intact, refusing to takethe dividend upon it until that collapse of the company should occurwhich he confidently predicted, when he would make good the swindledstockholders. I had no reason to doubt his perfect faith in this. 

The next morning we were up early for a breezy gallop over the threesquare miles of Enriquez's estate. I was astounded, when I descended tothe patio, to find Enriquez already mounted, and carrying before him, astride of the horn of his saddle, a small child, --the identical papooseof my memorable first visit. But the boy was no longer swathed andbandaged, although, for security, his plump little body was engirt bythe same sash that encircled his father's own waist. I felt a stirringof self-reproach; I had forgotten all about him! To my suggestionthat the exercise might be fatiguing to him, Enriquez shrugged hisshoulders:--

"Believe me, no! He is ever with me when I go on the pasear. He is nottoo yonge. For he shall learn 'to rride, to shoot, and to speak thetruth, ' even as the Persian chile. Eet ees all I can gif to him. "

Nevertheless, I think the boy enjoyed it, and I knew he was safe withsuch an accomplished horseman as his father. Indeed, it was a fine sightto see them both careering over the broad plain, Enriquez with jinglingspurs and whirling riata, and the boy, with a face as composed as hisfather's, and his tiny hand grasping the end of the flapping rein witha touch scarcely lighter than the skillful rider's own. It was a lovelymorning; though warm and still, there was a faint haze--a rare thing inthat climate--on the distant range. The sun-baked soil, arid and thirstyfrom the long summer drought, and cracked into long fissures, brokeinto puffs of dust, with a slight detonation like a pistol-shot, at eachstroke of our pounding hoofs. Suddenly my horse swerved in full gallop, almost lost his footing, "broke, " and halted with braced fore feet, trembling in every limb. I heard a shout from Enriquez at the sameinstant, and saw that he too had halted about a hundred paces from me, with his hand uplifted in warning, and between us a long chasm in thedry earth, extending across the whole field. But the trembling of thehorse continued until it communicated itself to me. I was shaking, too, and, looking about for the cause, when I beheld the most weird andremarkable spectacle I had ever witnessed. The whole llano, or plain, stretching to the horizon-line, was DISTINCTLY UNDULATING! The fainthaze of the hills was repeated over its surface, as if a dust had arisenfrom some grinding displacement of the soil. I threw myself from myhorse, but the next moment was fain to cling to him, as I felt thethrill under my very feet. Then there was a pause, and I lifted myhead to look for Enriquez. He was nowhere to be seen! With a terriblerecollection of the fissure that had yawned between us, I sprang to thesaddle again, and spurred the frightened beast toward that point. BUTIT WAS GONE, TOO! I rode backward and forward repeatedly along the linewhere I had seen it only a moment before. The plain lay compact anduninterrupted, without a crack or fissure. The dusty haze that hadarisen had passed as mysteriously away; the clear outline of the valleyreturned; the great field was empty!

Presently I was aware of the sound of galloping hoofs. I rememberedthen--what I had at first forgotten--that a few moments before we hadcrossed an arroyo, or dried bed of a stream, depressed below the levelof the field. How foolish that I had not remembered! He had evidentlysought that refuge; there were his returning hoofs. I galloped towardit, but only to meet a frightened vaquero, who had taken that avenue ofescape to the rancho. 

"Did you see Don Enriquez?" I asked impatiently. 

I saw that the man's terror was extreme, and his eyes were staring intheir sockets. He hastily crossed himself:--

"Ah, God, yes!"

"Where is he?" I demanded. 

"Gone!"

"Where?"

He looked at me with staring, vacant eyes, and, pointing to the ground, said in Spanish: "He has returned to the land of his fathers!"

We searched for him that day and the next, when the country was arousedand his neighbors joined in a quest that proved useless. Neither henor his innocent burden was ever seen again of men. Whether he had beenengulfed by mischance in some unsuspected yawning chasm in that briefmoment, or had fulfilled his own prophecy by deliberately erasinghimself for some purpose known only to himself, no one ever knew. Hiscountry-people shook their heads and said "it was like a Saltillo. " Andthe few among his retainers who knew him and loved him, whisperedstill more ominously: "He will yet return to his land to confound theAmericanos. "

Yet the widow of Enriquez did NOT marry Professor Dobbs. But she toodisappeared from California, and years afterward I was told that she waswell known to the ingenuous Parisians as the usual wealthy widow "fromSouth America. "