TALES OF TRAIL AND TOWN By Bret Harte CONTENTS THE ANCESTORS OF PETER ATHERLY TWO AMERICANS THE JUDGMENT OF BOLINAS PLAIN THE STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF ALKALI DICK A NIGHT ON THE DIVIDE THE YOUNGEST PROSPECTOR IN CALAVERAS A TALE OF THREE TRUANTS TALES OF TRAIL AND TOWN THE ANCESTORS OF PETER ATHERLY CHAPTER I It must be admitted that the civilizing processes of Rough and Readywere not marked by any of the ameliorating conditions of other improvedcamps. After the discovery of the famous "Eureka" lead, there was theusual influx of gamblers and saloon-keepers; but that was accepted as amatter of course. But it was thought hard that, after a church was builtand a new school erected, it should suddenly be found necessary to havedoors that locked, instead of standing shamelessly open to the criticismand temptation of wayfarers, or that portable property could no longerbe left out at night in the old fond reliance on universal brotherhood. The habit of borrowing was stopped with the introduction of more moneyinto the camp, and the establishment of rates of interest; the poorerpeople either took what they wanted, or as indiscreetly bought oncredit. There were better clothes to be seen in its one long stragglingstreet, but those who wore them generally lacked the grim virtue of theold pioneers, and the fairer faces that were to be seen were generallyrouged. There was a year or two of this kind of mutation, in which theyouthful barbarism of Rough and Ready might have been said to strugglewith adult civilized wickedness, and then the name itself disappeared. By an Act of the Legislature the growing town was called "Atherly, "after the owner of the Eureka mine, --Peter Atherly, --who had givenlargess to the town in its "Waterworks" and a "Gin Mill, " as the newAtherly Hotel and its gilded bar-rooms were now called. Even at the lastmoment, however, the new title of "Atherly" hung in the balance. Theromantic daughter of the pastor had said that Mr. Atherly shouldbe called "Atherly of Atherly, " an aristocratic title so stronglysuggestive of an innovation upon democratic principles that it was notuntil it was discreetly suggested that everybody was still free to callhim "Atherly, late of Rough and Ready, " that opposition ceased. Possibly this incident may have first awakened him to the value of hisname, and some anxiety as to its origin. Roughly speaking, Atherly'sfather was only a bucolic emigrant from "Mizzouri, " and his mother haddone the washing for the camp on her first arrival. The Atherlys hadsuffered on their overland journey from drought and famine, with theaddition of being captured by Indians, who had held them captive for tenmonths. Indeed, Mr. Atherly, senior, never recovered from the effectsof his captivity, and died shortly after Mrs. Atherly had given birthto twins, Peter and Jenny Atherly. This was scant knowledge for Peterin the glorification of his name through his immediate progenitors; but"Atherly of Atherly" still sounded pleasantly, and, as the young ladyhad said, smacked of old feudal days and honors. It was believedbeyond doubt, even in their simple family records, --the flyleaf of aBible, --that Peter Atherly's great-grandfather was an Englishman whobrought over to his Majesty's Virginian possessions his only son, thena boy. It was not established, however, to what class of deportationhe belonged: whether he was suffering exile from religious or judicialconviction, or if he were only one of the articled "apprentices"who largely made up the American immigration of those days. Howbeit, "Atherly" was undoubtedly an English name, even suggesting respectableand landed ancestry, and Peter Atherly was proud of it. He lookedsomewhat askance upon his Irish and German fellow citizens, and talkeda good deal about "race. " Two things, however, concerned him: he was notin looks certainly like any type of modern Englishman as seen eitheron the stage in San Francisco, or as an actual tourist in the miningregions, and his accent was undoubtedly Southwestern. He was tall anddark, with deep-set eyes in a singularly immobile countenance; he hadan erect but lithe and sinewy figure even for his thirty odd years, and might easily have been taken for any other American except for thesingle exception that his nose was distinctly Roman, and gave him adistinguished air. There was a suggestion of Abraham Lincoln (and evenof Don Quixote) in his tall, melancholy figure and length of limb, butnothing whatever that suggested an Englishman. It was shortly after the christening of Atherly town that an incidentoccurred which at first shook, and then the more firmly established, hismild monomania. His widowed mother had been for the last two yearsan inmate of a private asylum for inebriates, through certain habitscontracted while washing for the camp in the first year of herwidowhood. This had always been a matter of open sympathy to Rough andReady; but it was a secret reproach hinted at in Atherly, althoughit was known that the rich Peter Atherly kept his mother liberallysupplied, and that both he and his sister "Jinny" or Jenny Atherlyvisited her frequently. One day he was telegraphed for, and on going tothe asylum found Mrs. Atherly delirious and raving. Through her son'sliberality she had bribed an attendant, and was fast succumbing to aprivate debauch. In the intervals of her delirium she called Peterby name, talked frenziedly and mysteriously of his "highconnections"--alluded to himself and his sister as being of the"true breed"--and with a certain vigor of epithet, picked up in thefamiliarity of the camp during the days when she was known as "Old Ma'amAtherly" or "Aunt Sally, " declared that they were "no corn-crackingHoosiers, " "hayseed pikes, " nor "northern Yankee scum, " and that sheshould yet live to see them "holding their own lands again and the landsof their forefathers. " Quieted at last by opiates, she fell into a morelucid but scarcely less distressing attitude. Recognizing her son again, as well as her own fast failing condition, she sarcastically thankedhim for coming to "see her off, " congratulated him that he would soon bespared the lie and expense of keeping her here on account of his pride, under the thin pretext of trying to "cure" her. She knew that SallyAtherly of Rough and Ready wasn't considered fit company for "Atherly ofAtherly" by his fine new friends. This and much more in a voice minglingmaudlin sentiment with bitter resentment, and with an ominous glitter inher bloodshot and glairy eyes. Peter winced with a consciousness of thehalf-truth of her reproaches, but the curiosity and excitement awakenedby the revelations of her frenzy were greater than his remorse. He saidquickly:-- "You were speaking of father!--of his family--his lands and possessions. Tell me again!" "Wot are ye givin' us?" she ejaculated in husky suspicion, opening uponhim her beady eyes, in which the film of death was already gathering. "Tell me of father, --my father and his family! hisgreat-grandfather!--the Atherlys, my relations--what you were saying. What do you know about them?" "THAT'S all ye wanter know--is it? THAT'S what ye'r' comin' to the oldwasher-woman for--is it?" she burst out with the desperation of disgust. "Well--give it up! Ask me another!" "But, mother--the old records, you know! The family Bible--what you oncetold us--me and Jinny!" Something gurgled in her throat like a chuckle. With the energy ofmalevolence, she stammered: "There wasn't no records--there wasn't nofamily Bible! it's all a lie--you hear me! Your Atherly that you're soproud of was just a British bummer who was kicked outer his family inEngland and sent to buzz round in Americky. He honey-fogled me--SallyMagregor--out of a better family than his'n, in Kansas, and skyugled meaway, but it was a straight out marriage, and I kin prove it. It wasin the St. Louis papers, and I've got it stored away safe enough inmy trunk! You hear me! I'm shoutin'! But he wasn't no old settler inMizzouri--he wasn't descended from any settler, either! He was a new manouter England--fresh caught--and talked down his throat. And he fooledME--the darter of an old family that was settled on the right bankof the Mizzouri afore Dan'l Boone came to Kentucky--with his newphilanderings. Then he broke up, and went all to pieces when we struckCaliforny, and left ME--Sally Magregor, whose father had niggers of hisown--to wash for Rough and Ready! THAT'S your Atherly! Take him! I don'twant him--I've done with him! I was done with him long afore--afore"--acough checked her utterance, --"afore"--She gasped again, but the wordsseemed to strangle in her throat. Intent only on her words and scarcelyheeding her sufferings, Peter was bending over her eagerly, when thedoctor rudely pulled him away and lifted her to a sitting posture. Butshe never spoke again. The strongest restoratives quickly administeredonly left her in a state of scarcely breathing unconsciousness. "Is she dying? Can't you bring her to, " said the anxious Peter, "if onlyfor a moment, doctor?" "I'm thinkin', " said the visiting doctor, an old Scotch army surgeon, looking at the rich Mr. Atherly with cool, professional contempt, "thatyour mother willna do any more washing for me as in the old time, norgive up her life again to support her bairns. And it isna my eententionto bring her back to pain for the purposes of geeneral conversation!" Nor, indeed, did she ever come back to any purpose, but passed away withher unfinished sentence. And her limbs were scarcely decently composedby the attendants before Peter was rummaging the trunk in her room forthe paper she had spoken of. It was in an old work-box--a now fadedyellow clipping from a newspaper, lying amidst spoils of cotton thread, buttons, and beeswax, which he even then remembered to have seen uponhis mother's lap when she superadded the sewing on of buttons to herwashing of the miners' shirts. And his dark and hollow cheek glowed withgratified sentiment as he read the clipping. "We hear with regret of the death of Philip Atherly, Esq. , of Rough andReady, California. Mr. Atherly will be remembered by some of our readersas the hero of the romantic elopement of Miss Sallie Magregor, daughterof Colonel 'Bob' Magregor, which created such a stir in well-to-docircles some thirty years ago. It was known vaguely that the youngcouple had 'gone West, '--a then unknown region, --but it seems thatafter severe trials and tribulations on the frontier with savages, theyemigrated early to Oregon, and then, on the outbreak of the gold fever, to California. But it will be a surprise to many to know that it hasjust transpired that Mr. Atherly was the second son of Sir AshleyAtherly, an English baronet, and by the death of his brother might havesucceeded to the property and title. " He remained for some moments looking fixedly at the paper, until thecommonplace paragraph imprinted itself upon his brain as no line ofsage or poet had ever done, and then he folded it up and put it in hispocket. In his exaltation he felt that even the mother he had neverloved was promoted to a certain respect as his father's wife, althoughhe was equally conscious of a new resentment against her for hercontemptuous allusions to HIS father, and her evident hopeless inabilityto comprehend his position. His mother, he feared, was indeed low!--butHE was his father's son! Nevertheless, he gave her a funeral at Atherly, long remembered for its barbaric opulence and display. Thirty carriages, procured from Sacramento at great expense, were freely offered to hisfriends to join in the astounding pageant. A wonderful casket ofiron and silver, brought from San Francisco, held the remains of theex-washerwoman of Rough and Ready. But a more remarkable innovation wasthe addition of a royal crown to the other ornamentation of the casket. Peter Atherly's ideas of heraldry were very vague, --Sacramento at thattime offered him no opportunity of knowing what were the arms of theAtherlys, --and the introduction of the royal crown seemed to satisfyPeter's mind as to what a crest MIGHT be, while to the ordinarydemocratic mind it simply suggested that the corpse was English!Political criticism being thus happily averted, Mrs. Atherly's bodywas laid in the little cemetery, not far away from certain rude woodencrosses which marked the burial-place of wanderers whose very names wereunknown, and in due time a marble shaft was erected over it. Butwhen, the next day, the county paper contained, in addition tothe column-and-a-half description of the funeral, the more formalannouncement of the death of "Mrs. Sallie Atherly, wife of the latePhilip Atherly, second son of Sir Ashley Atherly, of England, " criticismand comment broke out. The old pioneers of Rough and Ready felt thatthey had been imposed upon, and that in some vague way the unfortunatewoman had made them the victims of a huge practical joke during allthese years. That she had grimly enjoyed their ignorance of her positionthey did not doubt. "Why, I remember onct when I was sorter bullyraggin'her about mixin' up my duds with Doc Simmons's, and sendin' me WhiskeyDick's old rags, she turned round sudden with a kind of screech, and ranout into the brush. I reckoned, at the time, that it was either 'drink'or feelin's, and could hev kicked myself for being sassy to theold woman, but I know now that all this time that air critter--thatbarrownet's daughter-in-law--was just laughin' herself into fits in thebrush! No, sir, she played this yer camp for all it was worth, year inand out, and we just gave ourselves away like speckled idiots! and nowshe's lyin' out thar in the bone yard, and keeps on p'intin' the joke, and a-roarin' at us in marble. " Even the later citizens in Atherly felt an equal resentment against her, but from different motives. That her drinking habits and her powerfulvocabulary were all the effect of her aristocratic alliance they neverdoubted. And, although it brought the virtues of their own superiorrepublican sobriety into greater contrast, they felt a scandal at havingbeen tricked into attending this gilded funeral of dissipated rank. Peter Atherly found himself unpopular in his own town. The sober whodrank from his free "Waterworks, " and the giddy ones who imbibed athis "Gin Mill, " equally criticised him. He could not understand it; hispeculiar predilections had been accepted before, when they were merepresumptions; why should they not NOW, when they were admitted facts?He was conscious of no change in himself since the funeral! Yet thecriticism went on. Presently it took the milder but more contagious formof ridicule. In his own hotel, built with his own money, and in his ownpresence, he had heard a reckless frequenter of the bar-room declinesome proffered refreshment on the ground that "he only drank with histitled relatives. " A local humorist, amidst the applause of an admiringcrowd at the post-office window, had openly accused the postmaster ofwithholding letters to him from his only surviving brother, "the Dook ofDoncherknow. " "The ole dooky never onct missed the mail to let meknow wot's goin' on in me childhood's home, " remarked the humoristplaintively; "and yer's this dod-blasted gov'ment mule of a postmasterkeepin' me letters back!" Letters with pretentious and gilded coats ofarms, taken from the decorated inner lining of cigar-boxes, were postedto prominent citizens. The neighboring and unregenerated settlement ofRed Dog was more outrageous in its contribution. The Red Dog "Sentinel, "in commenting on the death of "Haulbowline Tom, " a drunken Englishman-o'-war's man, said: "It may not be generally known that ourregretted fellow citizen, while serving on H. M. S. Boxer, was secretlymarried to Queen Kikalu of the Friendly Group; but, unlike some ofour prosperous neighbors, he never boasted of his royal alliance, andresisted with steady British pluck any invitation to share the throne. Indeed, any allusion to the subject affected him deeply. There are thoseamong us who will remember the beautiful portrait of his royal bridetattooed upon his left arm with the royal crest and the crossed flags ofthe two nations. " Only Peter Atherly and his sister understood the stinginflicted either by accident or design in the latter sentence. Bothhe and his sister had some singular hieroglyphic branded on theirarms, --probably a reminiscence of their life on the plains in theirinfant Indian captivity. But there was no mistaking the generalsentiment. The criticisms of a small town may become inevasible. Atherlydetermined to take the first opportunity to leave Rough and Ready. Hewas rich; his property was secure; there was no reason why he shouldstay where his family pretensions were a drawback. And a furthercircumstance determined his resolution. He was awaiting his sister in his new house on a little crest abovethe town. She had been at the time of her mother's death, and since, aprivate boarder in the Sacred Heart Convent at Santa Clara, whence shehad been summoned to the funeral, but had returned the next day. Fewpeople had noticed in her brother's carriage the veiled figure whichmight have belonged to one of the religious orders; still less did theyremember the dark, lank, heavy-browed girl who had sometimes been seenabout Rough and Ready. For she had her brother's melancholy, and greaterreticence, and had continued of her own free will, long after hergirlish pupilage at the convent, to live secluded under its maternalroof without taking orders. A general suspicion that she was either areligious "crank, " or considered herself too good to live in a mountainmining town, had not contributed to her brother's popularity. In herabstraction from worldly ambitions she had, naturally, taken no partin her brother's family pretensions. He had given her an independentallowance, and she was supposed to be equally a sharer in his goodfortune. Yet she had suddenly declared her intention of returningto Atherly, to consult him on affairs of importance. Peter was bothsurprised and eager; there was but little affection between them, but, preoccupied with his one idea, he was satisfied that she wanted to talkabout the family. But he was amazed, disappointed, and disconcerted. For Jenny Atherly, the sober recluse of Santa Clara, hidden in her sombre draperies at thefuneral, was no longer to be recognized in the fashionable, smartly butsomewhat over-dressed woman he saw before him. In spite of her largefeatures and the distinguishing Roman nose, like his own, she lookedeven pretty in her excitement. She had left the convent, she was tiredof the life there, she was satisfied that a religious vocation would notsuit her. In brief, she intended to enjoy herself like other women. If he really felt a pride in the family he ought to take her out, likeother brothers, and "give her a show. " He could do it there if he liked, and she would keep house for him. If he didn't want to, she must haveenough money to keep her fashionably in San Francisco. But she wantedexcitement, and that she WOULD HAVE! She wanted to go to balls, theatres, and entertainments, and she intended to! Her voice grew quitehigh, and her dark cheek glowed with some new-found emotion. Astounded as he was, Peter succumbed. It was better that she shouldindulge her astounding caprice under his roof than elsewhere. Itwould not do for the sister of an Atherly to provoke scandal. He gaveentertainments, picnics, and parties, and "Jinny" Atherly plunged intothese mild festivities with the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl. She not onlycould dance with feverish energy all night, but next day could mounta horse--she was a fearless rider--and lead the most accomplishedhorsemen. She was a good shot, she walked with the untiring foot of acoyote, she threaded the woods with the instinct of a pioneer. Peterregarded her with a singular mingling of astonishment and fear. Surelyshe had not learned this at school! These were not the teachings nor thesports of the good sisters! He once dared to interrogate her regardingthis change in her habits. "I always FELT like it, " she answeredquickly, "but I kept it down. I used sometimes to feel that I couldn'tstand it any longer, but must rush out and do something, " she saidpassionately; "but, " she went on with furtive eyes, and a sudden wildtimidity like that of a fawn, "I was afraid! I was afraid IT WAS LIKEMOTHER! It seemed to me to be HER blood that was rising in me, and Ikept it down, --I didn't want to be like her, --and I prayed and struggledagainst it. Did you, " she said, suddenly grasping his hand, "ever feellike that?" But Peter never had. His melancholy faith in his father's race hadleft no thought of his mother's blood mingling with it. "But, " he saidgravely, "believing this, why did you change?" "Because I could hold out no longer. I should have gone crazy. Times Iwanted to take some of those meek nuns, some of those white-faced pupilswith their blue eyes and wavy flaxen hair, and strangle them. I couldn'tstrive and pray and struggle any longer THERE, and so I came here tolet myself out! I suppose when I get married--and I ought to, with mymoney--it may change me! You don't suppose, " she said, with a return ofher wild-animal-like timidity, "it is anything that was in FATHER, inthose ATHERLYS, --do you?" But Peter had no idea of anything but virtue in the Atherly blood; hehad heard that the upper class of Europeans were fond of fieldsports and of hunting; it was odd that his sister should inherit thispropensity and not he. He regarded her more kindly for this evidence ofrace. "You think of getting married?" he said more gently, yet with acertain brotherly doubt that any man could like her enough, evenwith her money. "Is there any one here would--suit you?" he addeddiplomatically. "No--I hate them all!" she burst out. "There isn't one I don't despisefor his sickening, foppish, womanish airs. " Nevertheless, it was quite evident that some of the men were attractedby her singular originality and a certain good comradeship in her ways. And it was on one of their riding excursions that Peter noticed that shewas singled out by a good-looking, blond-haired young lawyer of the townfor his especial attentions. As the cavalcade straggled in climbingthe mountain, the young fellow rode close to her saddle-bow, and asthe distance lengthened between the other stragglers, they at last werequite alone. When the trail became more densely wooded, Peter quitelost sight of them. But when, a few moments later, having lost thetrail himself, they again appeared in the distance before him, he wasso amazed that he unconsciously halted. For the two horses were walkingside by side, and the stranger's arm was round his sister's waist. Had Peter any sense of humor he might have smiled at this weakness inhis Amazonian sister, but he saw only the serious, practical side ofthe situation, with, of course, its inevitable relation to his onecontrolling idea. The young man was in good practice, and would havemade an eligible husband to any one else. But was he fit to mate with anAtherly? What would those as yet unknown and powerful relatives sayto it? At the same time he could not help knowing that "Jinny, " inthe eccentricities of her virgin spinsterhood, might be equallyobjectionable to them, as she certainly was a severe trial to him here. If she were off his hands he might be able to prosecute his search forhis relatives with more freedom. After all, there were mesalliances inall families, and being a woman she was not in the direct line. Instead, therefore, of spurring forward to join them, he lingered a little untilthey passed out of sight, and until he was joined by a companion frombehind. Him, too, he purposely delayed. They were walking slowly, breathing their mustangs, when his companion suddenly uttered a cry ofalarm, and sprang from his horse. For on the trail before them lay theyoung lawyer quite unconscious, with his riderless steed nipping theyoung leaves of the underbrush. He was evidently stunned by a fall, although across his face was a livid welt which might have been causedby collision with the small elastic limb of a sapling, or a blow froma riding-whip; happily the last idea was only in Peter's mind. As theylifted him up he came slowly to consciousness. He was bewildered anddazed at first, but as he began to speak the color came back freshly tohis face. He could not conceive, he stammered, what had happened. Hewas riding with Miss Atherly, and he supposed his horse had slipped uponsome withered pine needles and thrown him! A spasm of pain crossed hisface suddenly, and he lifted his hand to the top of his head. Was hehurt THERE? No, but perhaps his hair, which was flowing and curly, hadcaught in the branches--like Absalom's! He tried to smile, and evenbegged them to assist him to his horse that he might follow his faircompanion, who would be wondering where he was; but Peter, satisfiedthat he had received no serious injury, hurriedly enjoined him to stay, while he himself would follow his sister. Putting spurs to his horse, he succeeded, in spite of the slippery trail, in overtaking her nearthe summit. At the sound of his horse's hoofs she wheeled quickly, camedashing furiously towards him, and only pulled up at the sound of hisvoice. But she had not time to change her first attitude and expression, which was something which perplexed and alarmed him. Her long lithefigure was half crouching, half clinging to the horse's back, herloosened hair flying over her shoulders, her dark eyes gleaming with anodd nymph-like mischief. Her white teeth flashed as she recognizedhim, but her laugh was still mocking and uncanny. He took refuge inindignation. "What has happened?" he said sharply. "The fool tried to kiss me!" she said simply. "And I--I--let out athim--like mother!" Nevertheless, she gave him one of those shy, timid glances he hadnoticed before, and began coiling something around her fingers, witha suggestion of coy embarrassment, indescribably inconsistent with herprevious masculine independence. "You might have killed him, " said Peter angrily. "Perhaps I might! OUGHT I have killed him, Peter?" she said anxiously, yet with the same winning, timid smile. If she had not been his sister, he would have thought her quite handsome. "As it is, " he said impetuously, "you have made a frightful scandalhere. " "HE won't say anything about it--will he?" she inquired shyly, stilltwisting the something around her finger. Peter did not reply; perhaps the young lawyer really loved her and wouldkeep her secret! But he was vexed, and there was something maniacal inher twisting fingers. "What have you got there?" he said sharply. She shook the object in the air before her with a laugh. "Only a lock ofhis hair, " she said gayly; "but I didn't CUT it off!" "Throw it away, and come here!" he said angrily. But she only tucked the little blond curl into her waist belt and shookher head. He urged his horse forward, but she turned and fled, laughingas he pursued her. Being the better rider she could easily evade himwhenever he got too near, and in this way they eventually reached thetown and their house long before their companions. But she was farenough ahead of her brother to be able to dismount and hide her trophywith childish glee before he arrived. She was right in believing that her unfortunate cavalier would make norevelation of her conduct, and his catastrophe passed as an accident. But Peter could not disguise the fact that much of his unpopularitywas shared by his sister. The matrons of Atherly believed that she was"fast, " and remembered more distinctly than ever the evil habits of hermother. That she would, in the due course of time, "take to drink, " theynever doubted. Her dancing was considered outrageous in its unfetteredfreedom, and her extraordinary powers of endurance were looked upon as"masculine" by the weaker girls whose partners she took from them. Shereciprocally looked down upon them, and made no secret of her contemptfor their small refinements and fancies. She affected only the societyof men, and even treated them with a familiarity that was both fearlessand scornful. Peter saw that it was useless to face the opposition;Miss Atherly did not seem to encourage the renewal of the young lawyer'sattentions, although it was evident that he was still attracted by her, nor did she seem to invite advances from others. He must go away--andhe would have to take her with him. It seemed ridiculous that a woman ofthirty, of masculine character, should require a chaperon in a brotherof equal age; but Peter knew the singular blending of childlikeignorance with this Amazonian quality. He had made his arrangementsfor an absence from Atherly of three or four years, and they departedtogether. The young fair-haired lawyer came to the stage-coach office tosee them off. Peter could detect no sentiment in his sister's familiarfarewell of her unfortunate suitor. At New York, however, it wasarranged that "Jinny" should stay with some friends whom they had madeen route, and that, if she wished, she could come to Europe later, andjoin him in London. Thus relieved of one, Peter Atherly of Atherly started on his cherishedquest of his other and more remote relations. CHAPTER II Peter Atherly had been four months in England, but knew little of thecountry until one summer afternoon when his carriage rolled along thewell-ordered road between Nonningsby Station and Ashley Grange. In that four months he had consulted authorities, examined records, visited the Heralds' College, written letters, and made a few friends. Arich American, tracing his genealogical tree, was not a new thing--evenin that day--in London; but there was something original and simple inhis methods, and so much that was grave, reserved, and un-American inhis personality, that it awakened interest. A recognition that he was aforeigner, but a puzzled doubt, however, of his exact nationality, whichhe found everywhere, at first pained him, but he became reconciled toit at about the same time that his English acquaintances abandoned theirown reserve and caution before the greater reticence of this melancholyAmerican, and actually became the questioners! In this way his questbecame known only as a disclosure of his own courtesy, and offersof assistance were pressed eagerly upon him. That was why Sir EdwardAtherly found himself gravely puzzled, as he sat with his familysolicitor one morning in the library of Ashley Grange. "Humph!" said Sir Edward. "And you say he has absolutely no otherpurpose in making these inquiries?" "Positively none, " returned the solicitor. "He is even willing to sign arenunciation of any claim which might arise out of this information. Itis rather a singular case, but he seems to be a rich man and quite ableto indulge his harmless caprices. " "And you are quite sure he is Philip's son?" "Quite, from the papers he brings me. Of course I informed him thateven if he should be able to establish a legal marriage he could expectnothing as next of kin, as you had children of your own. He seemed toknow that already, and avowed that his only wish was to satisfy his ownmind. " "I suppose he wants to claim kinship and all that sort of thing forsociety's sake?" "I do not think so, " said the solicitor dryly. "I suggested an interviewwith you, but he seemed to think it quite unnecessary, if I could givehim the information he required. " "Ha!" said Sir Edward promptly, "we'll invite him here. Lady Atherly canbring in some people to see him. Is he--ahem--What is he like? The usualAmerican, I suppose?" "Not at all. Quite foreign-looking--dark, and rather like an Italian. There is no resemblance to Mr. Philip, " he said, glancing at thepainting of a flaxen-haired child fondling a greyhound under the elms ofAshley Park. "Ah! Yes, yes! Perhaps the mother was one of those Southern creoles, ormulattoes, " said Sir Edward with an Englishman's tolerant regard forthe vagaries of people who were clearly not English; "they're ratherattractive women, I hear. " "I think you do quite well to be civil to him, " said the solicitor. "Heseems to take an interest in the family, and being rich, and apparentlyonly anxious to enhance the family prestige, you ought to know him. Now, in reference to those mortgages on Appleby Farm, if you could get"-- "Yes, yes!" said Sir Edward quickly; "we'll have him down here; and, Isay! YOU'LL come too?" The solicitor bowed. "And, by the way, " continued Sir Edward, "there wasa girl too, --wasn't there? He has a sister, I believe?" "Yes, but he has left her in America. " "Ah, yes!--very good--yes!--of course. We'll have Lord Greyshott andSir Roger and old Lady Everton, --she knows all about Sir Ashley and thefamily. And--er--is he young or old?" "About thirty, I should say, Sir Edward. " "Ah, well! We'll have Lady Elfrida over from the Towers. " Had Peter known of these preparations he might have turned back toNonningsby without even visiting the old church in Ashley Park, whichhe had been told held the ashes of his ancestors. For during these fourmonths the conviction that he was a foreigner and that he had little ornothing in common with things here had been clearly forced upon him. Hecould recognize some kinship in the manners and customs of the people tothose he had known in the West and on the Atlantic coast, but not to hisown individuality, and he seemed even more a stranger here--where he hadexpected to feel the thrill of consanguinity--than in the West. Hehad accepted the invitation of the living Atherly for the sake of theAtherlys long dead and forgotten. As the great quadrangle of stoneand ivy lifted itself out of the park, he looked longingly towards thelittle square tower which peeped from between the yews nearer the road. As the carriage drove up to the carved archway whence so many Atherlyshad issued into the world, he could not believe that any of his bloodhad gone forth from it, or, except himself, had ever entered it before. Once in the great house he felt like a prisoner as he wandered throughthe long corridors to his room; even the noble trees beyond hismullioned windows seemed of another growth than those he had known. There was no doubt that he created a sensation at Ashley Grange, notonly from his singular kinship, but from his striking individuality. TheAtherlys and their guests were fascinated and freely admiring. His veryoriginality, which prevented them from comparing him with any Englishor American standard of excellence, gave them a comfortable assuranceof safety in their admiration. His reserve, his seriousness, hissimplicity, very unlike their own, and yet near enough to suggest adelicate flattery, was in his favor. So was his naive frankness inregard to his status in the family, shown in the few words of greetingwith Sir Ashley, and in his later simple yet free admissions regardinghis obscure youth, his former poverty, and his present wealth. Heboasted of neither; he was disturbed by neither. Standing alone, astranger, for the first time in an assemblage of distinguished andtitled men and women, he betrayed no consciousness; surrounded for thefirst time by objects which he knew his wealth could not buy, he showedthe most unmistakable indifference, --the indifference of temperament. The ladies vied with each other to attack this unimpressiblenature, --this profound isolation from external attraction. Theyfollowed him about, they looked into his dark, melancholy eyes; it wasimpossible, they thought, that he could continue this superb actingforever. A glance, a smile, a burst of ingenuous confidence, a covertappeal to his chivalry would yet catch him tripping. But the melancholyeyes that had gazed at the treasures of Ashley Grange and theopulent ease of its guests without kindling, opened to their firstemotion, --wonder! At which Lady Elfrida, who had ingenuously admiredhim, hated him a little, as the first step towards a kindlier feeling. The next day, having declared his intention of visiting Ashley Church, and, as frankly, his intention of going there alone, he slipped out inthe afternoon and made his way quietly through the park to the squareivied tower he had first seen. In this tranquil level length of the woodthere was the one spot, the churchyard, where, oddly enough, the greenearth heaved into little billows as if to show the turbulence of thatlife which those who lay below them had lately quitted. It was arelief to the somewhat studied and formal monotony of the well-orderedwoodland, --every rood, of which had been paced by visitors, keepers, orpoachers, --to find those decrepit and bending tombstones, lurchingat every angle, or deeply sinking into the green sea of forgetfulnessaround them. All this, and the trodden paths of the villagers towardsthat common place of meeting, struck him as being more human thananything he had left behind him at the Grange. He entered the ivy-grown porch and stared for a moment at the half-legalofficial parochial notices posted on the oaken door, --his firstobtrusive intimation of the combination of church and state, --andhesitated. He was not prepared to find that this last resting-place ofhis people had something to do with taxes and tithes, and that a certainmaterial respectability and security attended his votive sigh. God andthe reigning sovereign of the realm preserved a decorous alliance in theroyal arms that appeared above the official notices. Presently he pushedopen the door gently and entered the nave. For a moment it seemed to himas if the arched gloom of the woods he had left behind was repeatedin the dim aisle and vaulted roof; there was an earthy odor, as if thechurch itself, springing from the fertilizing dust below, had taken rootin the soil; the chequers of light from the faded stained-glass windowsfell like the flicker of leaves on the pavement. He paused before thecold altar, and started, for beside him lay the recumbent figure ofa warrior pillowed on his helmet with the paraphernalia of his tradearound him. A sudden childish memory of the great Western plains, andthe biers of the Indian "braves" raised on upright poles against thestaring sky and above the sunbaked prairie, rushed upon him. There, too, had lain the weapons of the departed chieftain; there, too, lay theIndian's "faithful hound, " here simulated by the cross-leggedcrusader's canine effigy. And now, strangest of all, he found that thisunlooked-for recollection and remembrance thrilled him more at thatmoment than the dead before him. Here they rested, --the Atherlys ofcenturies; recumbent in armor or priestly robes, upright in busts thatwere periwigged or hidden in long curls, above the marble record oftheir deeds and virtues. Some of these records were in Latin, --anunknown tongue to Peter, --some in a quaint English almost asunintelligible; but none as foreign to him as the dead themselves. Theirbanners waved above his head; their voices filled the silent church, butfell upon his vacant eye and duller ear. He was none of them. Presently he was conscious of a footstep, so faint, so subtle, that itmight have come from a peregrinating ghost. He turned quickly and sawLady Elfrida, half bold, yet half frightened, halting beside a pillarof the chancel. But there was nothing of the dead about her: she wasradiating and pulsating with the uncompromising and material freshnessof English girlhood. The wild rose in the hedgerow was not more tangiblethan her cheek, nor the summer sky more clearly cool and blue than hereyes. The vigor of health and unfettered freedom of limb was in herfigure from her buckled walking-shoe to her brown hair topped by asailor hat. The assurance and contentment of a well-ordered life, ofsecured position and freedom from vain anxieties or expectations, werevisible in every line of her refined, delicate, and evenly quiescentfeatures. And yet Lady Elfrida, for the first time in her girlhood, felta little nervous. Yet she was frank, too, with the frankness of those who have no thoughtof being misunderstood. She said she had come there out of curiosity tosee how he would "get on" with his ancestors. She had been watching himfrom the chancel ever since he came, --and she was disappointed. As faras emotion went she thought he had the advantage of the stoniest andlongest dead of them all. Perhaps he did not like them? But he must becareful what he SAID, for some of her own people were there, --manifestlythis one. (She put the toe of her buckled shoe on the crusader Peter hadjust looked at. ) And then there was another in the corner. So she had aright to come there as well as he, --and she could act as cicerone! Thisone was a De Brecy, one of King John's knights, who married an Atherly. (She swung herself into a half-sitting posture on the effigy of thedead knight, composed her straight short skirt over her trim ankles, and looked up in Peter's dark face. ) That would make them some kind ofrelations, --wouldn't it? He must come over to Bentley Towers and see therest of the De Brecys in the chapel there to-morrow. Perhaps there mightbe some he liked better, and who looked more like him. For there was noone here or at the Grange who resembled him in the least. He assented to the truth of this with such grave, disarming courtesy, and yet with such undisguised wonder, --as she appeared to talk withgreater freedom to a stranger than an American girl would, --that she atonce popped off the crusader, and accompanied him somewhat more demurelyaround the church. Suddenly she stopped with a slight exclamation. They had halted before a tablet to the memory of a later Atherly, an officer of his Majesty's 100th Foot, who was killed at Braddock'sdefeat. The tablet was supported on the one side by a weeping Fame, and on the other by a manacled North American Indian. She stammered andsaid: "You see there are other Atherlys who went to America even beforeyour father, " and then stopped with a sense of having made a slip. A wild and inexplicable resentment against this complacent historicaloutrage suddenly took possession of Peter. He knew that his rage wasinconsistent with his usual calm, but he could not help it! His swarthycheek glowed, his dark eyes flashed, he almost trembled with excitementas he hurriedly pointed out to Lady Elfrida that the Indians wereVICTORIOUS in that ill-fated expedition of the British forces, and thatthe captive savage was an allegorical lie. So swift and convincing washis emotion that the young girl, knowing nothing of the subject andcaring less, shared his indignation, followed him with anxious eyes, andtheir hands for an instant touched in innocent and generous sympathy. And then--he knew not how or why--a still more wild and terrible ideasprang up in his fancy. He knew it was madness, yet for a moment hecould only stand and grapple with it silently and breathlessly. Itwas to seize this young and innocent girl, this witness of hisdisappointment, this complacent and beautiful type of all they valuedhere, and bear her away--a prisoner, a hostage--he knew not why--on agalloping horse in the dust of the prairie--far beyond the seas! It wasonly when he saw her cheek flush and pale, when he saw her staring athim with helpless, frightened, but fascinated eyes, --the eyes of thefluttering bird under the spell of the rattlesnake, --that he drew hisbreath and turned bewildered away. "And do you know, dear, " she saidwith naive simplicity to her sister that evening, "that although he wasan American, and everybody says that they don't care at all for thosepoor Indians, he was so magnanimous in his indignation that I fanciedhe looked like one of Cooper's heroes himself rather than an Atherly. Itwas such a stupid thing for me to show him that tomb of Major Atherly, you know, who fought the Americans, --didn't he?--or was it later?--but Iquite forgot he was an American. " And with this belief in her mind, andin the high expiation of a noble nature, she forbore her characteristicraillery, and followed him meekly, manacled in spirit like theallegorical figure, to the church porch, where they separated, to meeton the morrow. But that morrow never came. For late in the afternoon a cable message reached him from Californiaasking him to return to accept a nomination to Congress from his owndistrict. It determined his resolution, which for a moment at the churchporch had wavered under the bright eyes of Lady Elfrida. He telegraphedhis acceptance, hurriedly took leave of his honestly lamenting kinsman, followed his dispatch to London, and in a few days was on the Atlantic. How he was received in California, how he found his sister married tothe blond lawyer, how he recovered his popularity and won his election, are details that do not belong to this chronicle of his quest. And thatquest seems to have terminated forever with his appearance at Washingtonto take his seat as Congressman. It was the night of a levee at the White House. The East Room wascrowded with smartly dressed men and women of the capital, quaintlysimple legislators from remote States in bygone fashions, officers inuniform, and the diplomatic circle blazing with orders. The invokerof this brilliant assembly stood in simple evening dress near thedoor, --unattended and hedged by no formality. He shook the hand ofthe new Congressman heartily, congratulated him by name, and turnedsmilingly to the next comer. Presently there was a slight stir at oneof the opposite doors, the crowd fell back, and five figures stalkedmajestically into the centre of the room. They were the leading chiefsof an Indian reservation coming to pay their respects to their"Great Father, " the President. Their costumes were a mingling of thepicturesque with the grotesque; of tawdriness with magnificence; ofartificial tinsel and glitter with the regal spoils of the chase; ofchildlike vanity with barbaric pride. Yet before these the glitteringorders and ribbons of the diplomats became dull and meaningless, theuniforms of the officers mere servile livery. Their painted, immobilefaces and plumed heads towered with grave dignity above the meanercrowd; their inscrutable eyes returned no response to the timidglances directed towards them. They stood by themselves, alone andimpassive, --yet their presence filled the room with the sense of kings. The unostentatious, simple republican court suddenly seemed to havebecome royal. Even the interpreter who stood between their remotedignity and the nearer civilized world acquired the status of a courtchamberlain. When their "Great Father, " apparently the less important personage, hadsmilingly received them, a political colleague approached Peter and tookhis arm. "Gray Eagle would like to speak with you. Come on! Here's yourchance! You may be put on the Committee on Indian Relations, and pick upa few facts. Remember we want a firm policy; no more palaver about the'Great Father' and no more blankets and guns! You know what we used tosay out West, 'The only "Good Indian" is a dead one. ' So wade in, andhear what the old plug hat has to say. " Peter permitted himself to be led to the group. Even at that moment heremembered the figure of the Indian on the tomb at Ashley Grange, andfelt a slight flash of satisfaction over the superior height and bearingof Gray Eagle. "How!" said Gray Eagle. "How!" said the other four chiefs. "How!"repeated Peter instinctively. At a gesture from Gray Eagle theinterpreter said: "Let your friend stand back; Gray Eagle has nothing tosay to him. He wishes to speak only with you. " Peter's friend reluctantly withdrew, but threw a cautioning glancetowards him. "Ugh!" said Gray Eagle. "Ugh!" said the other chiefs. A fewguttural words followed to the interpreter, who turned, and facing Peterwith the monotonous impassiveness which he had caught from the chiefs, said: "He says he knew your father. He was a great chief, --with manyhorses and many squaws. He is dead. " "My father was an Englishman, --Philip Atherly!" said Peter, with an oddnervousness creeping over him. The interpreter repeated the words to Grey Eagle, who, after a guttural"Ugh!" answered in his own tongue. "He says, " continued the interpreter with a slight shrug, yet relapsinginto his former impassiveness, "that your father was a great chief, and your mother a pale face, or white woman. She was captured with anEnglishman, but she became the wife of the chief while in captivity. Shewas only released before the birth of her children, but a year or twoafterwards she brought them as infants to see their father, --the GreatChief, --and to get the mark of their tribe. He says you and your sisterare each marked on the left arm. " Then Gray Eagle opened his mouth and uttered his first English sentence. "His father, big Injin, take common white squaw! Papoose no good, --toomuch white squaw mother, not enough big Injin father! Look! He big man, but no can bear pain! Ugh!" The interpreter turned in time to catch Peter. He had fainted. CHAPTER III A hot afternoon on the plains. A dusty cavalcade of United Statescavalry and commissary wagons, which from a distance preserved a certainmilitary precision of movement, but on nearer view resolved itself intostraggling troopers in twos and fours interspersed between the wagons, two noncommissioned officers and a guide riding ahead, who had alreadyfallen into the cavalry slouch, but off to the right, smartly erect andcadet-like, the young lieutenant in command. A wide road that had theappearance of being at once well traveled and yet deserted, and that, although well defined under foot, still seemed to disappear and loseitself a hundred feet ahead in the monotonous level. A horizon thatin that clear, dry, hazeless atmosphere never mocked you, yet neverchanged, but kept its eternal rim of mountains at the same height anddistance from hour to hour and day to day. Dust--a parching alkalinepowder that cracked the skin--everywhere, clinging to the hubs andspokes of the wheels, without being disturbed by movement, incrustingthe cavalryman from his high boots to the crossed sabres of his cap;going off in small puffs like explosions under the plunging hoofs of thehorses, but too heavy to rise and follow them. A reeking smell of horsesweat and boot leather that lingered in the road long after the trainhad passed. An external silence broken only by the cough of a jadedhorse in the suffocating dust, or the cracking of harness leather. Within one of the wagons that seemed a miracle of military neatness andmethodical stowage, a lazy conversation carried on by a grizzled driverand sunbrowned farrier. "'Who be you?' sezee. 'I'm Philip Atherly, a member of Congress, ' sezthe long, dark-complected man, sezee, 'and I'm on a commissionfor looking into this yer Injin grievance, ' sezee. 'You may be GodAlmighty, ' sez Nebraska Bill, sezee, 'but you look a d--d sightmore like a hoss-stealin' Apache, and we don't want any of yourpsalm-singing, big-talkin' peacemakers interferin' with our ways oftreatin' pizen, --you hear me? I'm shoutin', ' sezee. With that thedark-complected man's eyes began to glisten, and he sorter squirmed allover to get at Bill, and Bill outs with his battery. --Whoa, will ye;what's up with YOU now?" The latter remark was directed to the youngspirited near horse he was driving, who was beginning to be strangelyexcited. "What happened then?" said the farrier lazily. "Well, " continued the driver, having momentarily quieted his horse, "Ireckoned it was about time for me to wheel into line, for fellers of theBill stripe, out on the plains, would ez leave plug a man in citizen'sclothes, even if he was the President himself, as they would drop onan Injin or a nigger. 'Look here, Bill, ' sez I, 'I'm escortin' thisstranger under gov'ment orders, and I'm responsible for him. I ain'tallowed to waste gov'ment powder and shot on YOUR kind onless I'veorders, but if you'll wait till I strip off this shell* I'll lam thestuffin' outer ye, afore the stranger. ' With that Bill just danced withrage, but dassent fire, for HE knew, and I knew, that if he'd plugged mehe'd been a dead frontiersman afore the next mornin'. " * Cavalry jacket. "But you'd have had to give him up to the authorities, and a jury of hisown kind would have set him free. " "Not much! If you hadn't just joined, you'd know that ain't the way o'30th Cavalry, " returned the driver. "The kernel would have issued hisorders to bring in Bill dead or alive, and the 30th would have managedto bring him in DEAD! Then your jury might have sat on him! Tell youwhat, chaps of the Bill stripe don't care overmuch to tackle the yallerbraid. "* * Characteristic trimming of cavalry jacket. "But what's this yer Congressman interferin' for, anyway?" "He's a rich Californian. Thinks he's got a 'call, ' I reckon, to lookarter Injins, just as them Abolitionists looked arter slaves. And gethated just as they was by the folks here, --and as WE are, too, for thematter of that. " "Well, I dunno, " rejoined the farrier, "it don't seem nateral for whitemen to quarrel with each other about the way to treat an Injin, and thatInjin lyin' in ambush to shoot 'em both. And ef gov'ment would only makeup its mind how to treat 'em, instead of one day pretendin' to betheir 'Great Father' and treatin' them like babies, and the next makin'treaties with 'em like as they wos forriners, and the next sendin' outa handful of us to lick ten thousand of them--Wot's the use of ONEregiment--even two--agin a nation--on their own ground?" "A nation, --and on their own ground, --that's just whar you've hit it, Softy. That's the argument of that Congressman Atherly, as I've heardhim talk with the kernel. " "And what did the kernel say?" "The kernel reckoned it was his business to obey orders, --and so shouldyou. So shut your head! If ye wanted to talk about gov'ment ye mightsay suthin' about its usin' us to convoy picnics and excursion partiesaround, who come out here to have a day's shootin', under some big-wigof a political boss or a railroad president, with a letter to thegeneral. And WE'RE told off to look arter their precious skins, andkeep the Injins off 'em, --and they shootin' or skeerin' off the Injins'nat'ral game, and our provender! Darn my skin ef there'll be much toscout for ef this goes on. And b'gosh!--of they aren't now ringin' ina lot of titled forriners to hunt 'big game, ' as they call it, --LordThis-and-That and Count So-and-So, --all of 'em with letters to thegeneral from the Washington cabinet to show 'hospitality, ' or frommillionaires who've bin hobnobbin' with 'em in the old country. And darnmy skin ef some of 'em ain't bringin' their wives and sisters along too. There was a lord and lady passed through here under escort last week, and we're goin' to pick up some more of 'em at Fort Biggs tomorrow, --andI reckon some of us will be told off to act as ladies' maids ormilliners. Nothin' short of a good Injin scare, I reckon, would sendthem and us about our reg'lar business. Whoa, then, will ye? At itagain, are ye? What's gone of the d--d critter?" Here the fractious near horse was again beginning to show signs ofdisturbance and active terror. His quivering nostrils were turnedtowards the wind, and he almost leaped the centre pole in his franticeffort to avoid it. The eyes of the two men were turned instinctively inthat direction. Nothing was to be seen, --the illimitable plain andthe sinking sun were all that met the eye. But the horse continued tostruggle, and the wagon stopped. Then it was discovered that the horseof an adjacent trooper was also laboring under the same mysteriousexcitement, and at the same moment wagon No. 3 halted. The infectionof some inexplicable terror was spreading among them. Then twonon-commissioned officers came riding down the line at a sharp canter, and were joined quickly by the young lieutenant, who gave an order. The trumpeter instinctively raised his instrument to his lips, but wasstopped by another order. And then, as seen by a distant observer, a singular spectacle wasunfolded. The straggling train suddenly seemed to resolve itself into alarge widening circle of horsemen, revolving round and partly hidingthe few heavy wagons that were being rapidly freed from their strugglingteams. These, too, joined the circle, and were driven before thewhirling troopers. Gradually the circle seemed to grow smaller under the"winding-up" of those evolutions, until the horseless wagons reappearedagain, motionless, fronting the four points of the compass, thus makingthe radii of a smaller inner circle, into which the teams of the wagonsas well as the troopers' horses were closely "wound up" and denselypacked together in an immovable mass. As the circle became smaller thetroopers leaped from their horses, --which, however, continued to blindlyfollow each other in the narrower circle, --and ran to the wagons, carbines in hand. In five minutes from the time of giving the orderthe straggling train was a fortified camp, the horses corralled in thecentre, the dismounted troopers securely posted with their repeatingcarbines in the angles of the rude bastions formed by the desertedwagons, and ready for an attack. The stampede, if such it was, wasstopped. And yet no cause for it was to be seen! Nothing in earth or skysuggested a reason for this extraordinary panic, or the marvelousevolution that suppressed it. The guide, with three men in open order, rode out and radiated across the empty plain, returning as empty ofresult. In an hour the horses were sufficiently calmed and fed, the campslowly unwound itself, the teams were set to and were led out of thecircle, and as the rays of the setting sun began to expand fanlikeacross the plain the cavalcade moved on. But between them and thesinking sun, and visible through its last rays, was a faint line of hazeparallel with their track. Yet even this, too, quickly faded away. Had the guide, however, penetrated half a mile further to the westhe would have come upon the cause of the panic, and a spectacle moremarvelous than that he had just witnessed. For the illimitable plainwith its monotonous prospect was far from being level; a hundred yardsfurther on he would have slowly and imperceptibly descended intoa depression nearly a mile in width. Here he not only would havecompletely lost sight of his own cavalcade, but have come upon anotherthrice its length. For here was a trailing line of jog-trotting duskyshapes, some crouching on dwarf ponies half their size, some trailinglances, lodge-poles, rifles, women and children after them, all movingwith a monotonous rhythmic motion as marked as the military precisionof the other cavalcade, and always on a parallel line with it. They haddone so all day, keeping touch and distance by stealthy videttes thatcrept and crawled along the imperceptible slope towards the unconsciouswhite men. It was, no doubt, the near proximity of one of those watchersthat had touched the keen scent of the troopers' horses. The moon came up; the two cavalcades, scarcely a mile apart, moved onin unison together. Then suddenly the dusky caravan seemed to arise, stretch itself out, and swept away like a morning mist towards the west. The bugles of Fort Biggs had just rung out. ***** Peter Atherly was up early the next morning pacing the veranda of thecommandant's house at Fort Biggs. It had been his intention to visitthe new Indian Reservation that day, but he had just received a letterannouncing an unexpected visit from his sister, who wished to join him. He had never told her the secret of their Indian paternity, as it hadbeen revealed to him from the scornful lips of Gray Eagle a year ago;he knew her strangely excitable nature; besides, she was a wife now, andthe secret would have to be shared with her husband. When he himselfhad recovered from the shock of the revelation, two things had impressedthemselves upon his reserved and gloomy nature: a horror of his previousclaim upon the Atherlys, and an infinite pity and sense of duty towardshis own race. He had devoted himself and his increasing wealth to thisone object; it seemed to him at times almost providential that hisposition as a legislator, which he had accepted as a whim or fancy, should have given him this singular opportunity. Yet it was not an easy task or an enviable position. He was obliged todivorce himself from his political party as well as keep clear of thewild schemes of impractical enthusiasts, too practical "contractors, "and the still more helpless bigotry of Christian civilizers, who wouldhave regenerated the Indian with a text which he did not understandand they were unable to illustrate by example. He had expected theopposition of lawless frontiersmen and ignorant settlers--as roughlyindicated in the conversation already recorded; indeed he had feltit difficult to argue his humane theories under the smoking roof ofa raided settler's cabin, whose owner, however, had forgotten hisown repeated provocations, or the trespass of which he was proud. ButAtherly's unaffected and unobtrusive zeal, his fixity of purpose, his undoubted courage, his self-abnegation, and above all the gentlemelancholy and half-philosophical wisdom of this new missionary, wonhim the respect and assistance of even the most callous or the mostskeptical of officials. The Secretary of the Interior had given himcarte blanche; the President trusted him, and it was said had grantedhim extraordinary powers. Oddly enough it was only his own Californianconstituency, who had once laughed at what they deemed his earlyaristocratic pretensions, who now found fault with his democraticphilanthropy. That a man who had been so well received in England--thenews of his visit to Ashley Grange had been duly recorded--should sinkso low as "to take up with the Injins" of his own country galled theirrepublican pride. A few of his personal friends regretted that he hadnot brought back from England more conservative and fashionable graces, and had not improved his opportunities. Unfortunately there was noessentially English policy of trusting aborigines that they knew of. In his gloomy self-scrutiny he had often wondered if he ought not toopenly proclaim his kinship with the despised race, but he was alwaysdeterred by the thought of his sister and her husband, as well as by thepersistent doubt whether his advocacy of Indian rights with his fellowcountrymen would be as well served by such a course. And here again hewas perplexed by a singular incident of his early missionary effortswhich he had at first treated with cold surprise, but to which laterreflection had given a new significance. After Gray Eagle's revelationhe had made a pilgrimage to the Indian country to verify the statementsregarding his dead father, --the Indian chief Silver Cloud. Despitethe confusion of tribal dialects he was amazed to find that the Indiantongue came back to him almost as a forgotten boyish memory, so thathe was soon able to do without an interpreter; but not until thatfunctionary, who knew his secret, appeared one day as a more significantambassador. "Gray Eagle says if you want truly to be a brother to hispeople you must take a wife among them. He loves you--take one of his!"Peter, through whose veins--albeit of mixed blood--ran that Puritan iceso often found throughout the Great West, was frigidly amazed. Invain did the interpreter assure him that the wife in question, LittleDaybreak, was a wife only in name, a prudent reserve kept by GrayEagle in the orphan daughter of a brother brave. But Peter was adamant. Whatever answer the interpreter returned to Gray Eagle he never knew. But to his alarm he presently found that the Indian maiden LittleDaybreak had been aware of Gray Eagle's offer, and had with patheticsimplicity already considered herself Peter's spouse. During his stayat the encampment he found her sitting before his lodge every morning. A girl of sixteen in years, a child of six in intellect, she flashedher little white teeth upon him when he lifted his tent flap, contentto receive his grave, melancholy bow, or patiently trotted at his sidecarrying things he did not want, which she had taken from the lodge. When he sat down to work, she remained seated at a distance, looking athim with glistening beady eyes like blackberries set in milk, and softlyscratching the little bare brown ankle of one foot with the turned-intoes of the other, after an infantine fashion. Yet after he had left--astill single man, solely though his interpreter's diplomacy, as healways believed--he was very worried as to the wisdom of his course. Why should he not in this way ally himself to his unfortunate raceirrevocably? Perhaps there was an answer somewhere in his consciousnesswhich he dared not voice to himself. Since his visit to the EnglishAtherlys, he had put resolutely aside everything that related to thatepisode, which he now considered was an unhappy imposture. But therewere times when a vision of Lady Elfrida, gazing at him with wondering, fascinated eyes, passed across his fancy; even the contact with his ownrace and his thoughts of their wrongs recalled to him the tomb of thesoldier Atherly and the carven captive savage supporter. He could notpass the upright supported bier of an Indian brave--slowly desiccatingin the desert air--without seeing in the dead warrior's paraphernalia ofarms and trophies some resemblance to the cross-legged crusader on whosemarble effigy SHE had girlishly perched herself as she told the story ofher ancestors. Yet only the peaceful gloom and repose of the old churchtouched him now; even she, too, with all her glory of English girlhood, seemed to belong to that remote past. She was part of the restful quietof the church; the yews in the quaint old churchyard might have wavedover her as well. Still, he was eager to see his sister, and if he should conclude toimpart to her his secret, she might advise him. At all events, hedecided to delay his departure until her arrival, a decision with whichthe commanding officer concurred, as a foraging party had that morningdiscovered traces of Indians in the vicinity of the fort, and the latelyarrived commissary train had reported the unaccountable but promptlyprevented stampede. Unfortunately, his sister Jenny appeared accompanied by her husband, whoseized an early opportunity to take Peter aside and confide to him hisanxiety about her health, and the strange fits of excitement under whichshe occasionally labored. Remembering the episode of the Californianwoods three years ago, Peter stared at this good-natured, good-lookingman, whose life he had always believed she once imperiled, and wonderedmore than ever at their strange union. "Do you ever quarrel?" asked Peter bluntly. "No, " said the good-hearted fellow warmly, "never! We have never had aharsh word; she's the dearest girl, --the best wife in the world to me, but"--he hesitated, "you know there are times when I think she confoundsme with somebody else, and is strange! Sometimes when we are in companyshe stands alone and stares at everybody, without saying a word, asif she didn't understand them. Or else she gets painfully excited anddances all night until she is exhausted. I thought, perhaps, " he addedtimidly, "that you might know, and would tell me if she had any singularexperience as a child, --any illness, or, " he went on still more gently, "if perhaps her mother or father"-- "No, " interrupted Peter almost brusquely, with the sudden convictionthat this was no time for revelation of his secret, "no, nothing. " "The doctor says, " continued Lascelles with that hesitating, almostmystic delicacy with which most gentlemen approach a subject upon whichtheir wives talk openly, "that it may be owing to Jenny's peculiar stateof health just now, you know, and that if--all went well, you know, andthere should be--don't you see--a little child"-- Peter interrupted him with a start. A child! Jenny's child! SilverCloud's grandchild! This was a complication he had not thought of. No! It was too late to tell his secret now. He only nodded his headabstractedly and said coldly, "I dare say he is right. " Nevertheless, Jenny was looking remarkably well. Perhaps it was theexcitement of travel and new surroundings; but her tall, lithe figure, nearly half a head taller than her husband's, was a striking one amongthe officers' wives in the commandant's sitting-room. Her olive cheekglowed with a faint illuminating color; there was something evenpatrician in her slightly curved nose and high cheek bones, and hersmile, rare even in her most excited moments, was, like her brother's, singularly fascinating. The officers evidently thought so too, and whenthe young lieutenant of the commissary escort, fresh from West Pointand Flirtation Walk, gallantly attached himself to her, the ladies wereslightly scandalized at the naive air of camaraderie with which Mrs. Lascelles received his attentions. Even Peter was a little disturbed. Only Lascelles, delighted with his wife's animation, and pleased at hersuccess, gazed at her with unqualified admiration. Indeed, he wasso satisfied with her improvement, and so sanguine of her ultimaterecovery, that he felt justified in leaving her with her brother andreturning to Omaha by the regular mail wagon next day. There was nodanger to be apprehended in her accompanying Peter; they would havea full escort; the reservation lay in a direction unfrequented bymarauding tribes; the road was the principal one used by the governmentto connect the fort with the settlements, and well traveled; theofficers' wives had often journeyed thither. The childish curiosity and high spirits which Jenny showed on thejourney to the reservation was increased when she reached it and drewup before the house of the Indian agent. Peter was relieved; he had beenanxious and nervous as to any instinctive effect which might be producedon her excitable nature by a first view of her own kinsfolk, althoughshe was still ignorant of her relationship. Her interest and curiosity, however, had nothing abnormal in it. But he was not prepared for theeffect produced upon THEM at her first appearance. A few of the bravesgathered eagerly around her, and one even addressed her in his ownguttural tongue, at which she betrayed a slight feeling of alarm; andPeter saw with satisfaction that she drew close to him. Knowing that hisold interpreter and Gray Eagle were of a different and hostile tribe ahundred miles away, and that his secret was safe with them, he simplyintroduced her as his sister. But he presently found that the braves hadadded to their curiosity a certain suspiciousness and sullen demeanor, and he was glad to resign his sister into the hands of the agent's wife, while he prosecuted his business of examination and inspection. Later, on his return to the cabin, he was met by the agent, who seemed to bewith difficulty suppressing a laugh. "Your sister is exciting quite a sensation here, " he said. "Do you knowthat some of these idiotic braves and the Medicine Man insist upon itthat she's A SQUAW, and that you're keeping her in captivity againstyour plighted faith to them! You'll excuse me, " he went on with anattempt to recover his gravity, "troubling you with their d--d fooltalk, and you won't say anything to HER about it, but I thought youought to know it on account of your position among 'em. You don't wantto lose their confidence, and you know how easily their skeery facultiesare stampeded with an idea!" "Where is she now?" demanded Peter, with a darkening face. "Somewhere with the squaws, I reckon. I thought she might be a littleskeered of the braves, and I've kept them away. SHE'S all right, youknow; only if you intend to stay here long I'd"-- But Peter was already striding away in the direction of a thicket ofcottonwood where he heard the ripple of women's and children's voices. When he had penetrated it, he found his sister sitting on a stump, surrounded by a laughing, gesticulating crowd of young girls and oldwomen, with a tightly swaddled papoose in her lap. Some of them hadalready half mischievously, half curiously possessed themselves of herdust cloak, hat, parasol, and gloves, and were parading before herin their grotesque finery, apparently as much to her childish excitedamusement as their own. She was even answering their gesticulations withequivalent gestures in her attempt to understand them, and trying amidstshouts of laughter to respond to the monotonous chant of the old womenwho were zigzagging a dance before her. With the gayly striped blanketslying on the ground, the strings of beads, wampum, and highly coloredfeathers hanging from the trees, and the flickering lights and shadows, it was an innocent and even idyllic picture, but the more experiencedPeter saw in the performances only the uncertain temper and want ofconsecutive idea of playing animals, and the stolid unwinking papoose inhis sister's lap gave his sentiment a momentary shock. Seeing him approach she ran to meet him, the squaws and childrenslinking away from his grave face. "I have had such a funny time, Peter!Only to think of it, I believe they've never seen men or women withdecent clothes before, --of course the settlers' wives don't dressmuch, --and I believe they'd have had everything I possess if you hadn'tcome. But they're TOO funny for anything. It was killing to see them puton my hat wrong side before, and try to make one out of my parasol. ButI like them a great deal better than those gloomy chiefs, and I think Iunderstand them almost. And do you know, Peter, somehow I seem to haveknown them all before. And those dear little papooses, aren't theyridiculously lovely. I only wish"--she stopped, for Peter had somewhathurriedly taken the Indian boy from her arms and restored it to thefrightened mother. A singular change came over her face, and she glancedat him quickly. But she resumed, with a heightened color, "I like itever so much better here than down at the fort. And ever so much betterthan New York. I don't wonder that you like them so much, Peter, andare so devoted to them. Don't be angry, dear, because I let them havemy things; I'm sure I never cared particularly for them, and I thinkit would be such fun to dress as they do. " Peter remembered keenly hissudden shock at her precipitate change to bright colors after leavingher novitiate at the Sacred Heart. "I do hope, " she went on eagerly, "that we are going to stay a long time here. " "We are leaving to-morrow, " he said curtly. "I find I have urgentbusiness at the fort. " And they did leave. None too soon, thought Peter and the Indian agent, as they glanced at the faces of the dusky chiefs who had gathered aroundthe cabin. Luckily the presence of their cavalry escort rendered anyoutbreak impossible, and the stoical taciturnity of the race keptPeter from any verbal insult. But Mrs. Lascelles noticed their loweringdissatisfaction, and her eyes flashed. "I wonder you don't punish them, "she said simply. For a few days after their return she did not allude to her visit, andPeter was beginning to think that her late impressions were as volatileas they were childlike. He devoted himself to his government report, andwhile he kept up his communications with the reservation and the agent, for the present domiciled himself at the fort. Colonel Bryce, the commandant though doubtful of civilians, was notslow to appreciate the difference of playing host to a man of Atherly'swealth and position and even found in Peter's reserve and melancholy anagreeable relief to the somewhat boisterous and material recreations ofgarrison life, and a gentle check upon the younger officers. For, whilePeter did not gamble or drink, there was yet an unobtrusive and gentledignity in his abstention that relieved him from the attitude of aprig or an "example. " Mrs. Lascelles was popular with the officers, and accepted more tolerantly by the wives, since they recognized herharmlessness. Once or twice she was found apparently interested inthe gesticulations of a few "friendlies" who had penetrated the paradeground of the fort to barter beads and wampum. The colonel was obligedat last to caution her against this, as it was found that in herinexperience she had given them certain articles that were contraband ofthe rules, and finally to stop them from an intrusion which was becomingmore frequent and annoying. Left thus to herself, she relieved herisolation by walks beyond the precincts of the garrison, where shefrequently met those "friendly" wanderers, chiefly squaws and children. Here she was again cautioned by the commander, -- "Don't put too much faith in those creatures, Mrs. Lascelles. " Jenny elevated her black brows and threw up her arched nose like acharger. "I'm not afraid of old women and children, " she said loftily. "But I am, " said the colonel gravely. "It's a horrible thing to thinkof, but these feeble old women and innocent children are always selectedto torture the prisoners taken by the braves, and, by Jove, they seem tolike it. " Thus restricted, Mrs. Lascelles fell back upon the attentions ofLieutenant Forsyth, whose gallantry was always as fresh as his smartcadet-like tunics, and they took some rides together. Whether it wasmilitary caution or the feminine discretion of the colonel's wife, --tothe quiet amusement of the other officers, --a trooper was added to theriding party by the order of the colonel, and thereafter it consistedof three. One night, however, the riders did not appear at dinner, andthere was considerable uneasiness mingled with some gossip throughoutthe garrison. It was already midnight before they arrived, and then withhorses blown and trembling with exhaustion, and the whole party bearingevery sign of fatigue and disturbance. The colonel said a few sharp, decisive words to the subaltern, who, pale and reticent, plucked at hislittle moustache, but took the whole blame upon himself. HE and Mrs. Lascelles had, he said, outridden the trooper and got lost; it was latewhen Cassidy (the trooper) found them, but it was no fault of HIS, andthey had to ride at the top of their speed to cover the ground betweenthem and the fort. It was noticed that Mrs. Lascelles scarcely spoke toForsyth, and turned abruptly away from the colonel's interrogations andwent to her room. Peter, absorbed in his report, scarcely noticed the incident, northe singular restraint that seemed to fall upon the little militaryhousehold for a day or two afterwards. He had accepted the lieutenant'sstory without comment or question; he knew his own sister too well tobelieve that she had lent herself to a flirtation with Forsyth; indeed, he had rather pitied the young officer when he remembered Lascelles'experience in his early courtship. But he was somewhat astonished oneafternoon to find the trooper Cassidy alone in his office. "Oi thought Oi'd make bould to have a word wid ye, sorr, " he said, recovering from a stiff salute with his fingers nipping the cord of histrousers. "It's not for meeself, sorr, although the ould man washarrd on me, nor for the leddy, your sister, but for the sake of theleftenant, sorr, who the ould man was harrdest on of all. Oi was of theparrty that rode with your sister. " "Yes, yes, I remember, I heard the story, " said Peter. "She and Mr. Forsyth got lost. " "Axin' your pardin, sorr, she didn't. Mr. Forsyth loid. Loid like anofficer and a jintleman--as he is, God bless him--to save a leddy, morebetoken your sister, sorr. They never got lost, sorr. We was all threetogether from the toime we shtarted till we got back, and it's the loveav God that we ever got back at all. And it's breaking me hearrt, sorr, to see HIM goin' round with the black looks of everybody upon him, andhe a-twirlin' his moustache and purtending not to mind. " "What do you mean?" said Peter, uneasily. "Oi mane to be tellin' you what happened, sorr, " said Cassidy stoutly. "When we shtarted out Oi fell three files to the rear, as became me, so as not to be in the way o' their colloguing, but sorra a bit o'stragglin' was there, and Oi kept them afore me all the toime. When wegot to Post Oak Bottom the leddy p'ints her whip off to the roight, and sez she: 'It's a fine bit of turf there, Misther Forsyth, ' invitin'like, and with that she gallops away to the right. The leftenant follysher, and Oi closed up the rear. So we rides away innoshent like amongstthe trees, me thinkin' only it wor a mighty queer place for manoovrin', until we seed, just beyond us in the hollow, the smoke of an Injin campand a lot of women and childer. And Mrs. Lascelles gets off and goesto discoursin' and blarneying wid 'em: and Oi sees Mr. Forsyth glancin'round and lookin' oneasy. Then he goes up and sez something to yoursister, and she won't give him a hearin'. And then he tells her she mustmount and be off. And she turns upon him, bedad, like a tayger, and bidshim be off himself. Then he comes to me and sez he, 'Oi don't like thelook o' this, Cassidy, ' sez he; 'the woods behind is full of braves, 'sez he. 'Thrue for you, leftenant, ' sez Oi, 'it's into a trap that theleddy hez led us, God save her!' 'Whisht, ' he sez, 'take my horse, it'sthe strongest. Go beside her, and when Oi say the word lift her up intothe saddle before ye, and gallop like blazes. Oi'll bring up the rearand the other horse. ' Wid that we changed horses and cantered up towhere she was standing, and he gives the word when she isn't lookin', and Oi grabs her up--she sthrugglin' like mad but not utterin' acry--and Oi lights out for the trail agin. And sure enough the bravesmade as if they would folly, but the leftenant throws the reins of herhorse over the horn of his saddle, and whips out his revolver and houlds'em back till I've got well away to the trail again. And then they letfly their arrows, and begorra the next thing a BULLET whizzes by him. And then he knows they have arrms wid 'em and are 'hostiles, ' and herowls the nearest one over, wheelin' and fightin' and coverin' ourretreat till we gets to the road agin. And they daren't folly us out ofcover. Then the lady gets more sinsible, and the leftenant pershuadesher to mount her horse agin. But before we comes to the fort, he sez tome: 'Cassidy, ' sez he, 'not a word o' this on account of the leddy. 'And I was mum, sorr, while he was shootin' off his mouth about him bein'lost and all that, and him bein' bully-ragged by the kernel, and meknowin' that but for him your sister wouldn't be between these wallshere, and Oi wouldn't be talkin' to ye. And shure, sorr, ye might betellin's the kernel as how the leddy was took by the hysterics, and wasthat loony that she didn't know whatever she was sayin', and so get theleftenant in favor again. " "I will speak with the colonel to-night, " said Peter gloomily. "Lord save yer honor, " returned the trooper gratefully, "and if ye couldbe sayin' that the LEDDY tould you, --it would only be the merest tasteof a loi ye'd be tellin', --and you'd save me from breakin' me word tothe leftenant. " "I shall of course speak to my sister first, " returned Peter, with aguilty consciousness that he had accepted the trooper's story mainlyfrom his previous knowledge of his sister's character. Nevertheless, inspite of this foregone conclusion, he DID speak to her. To hissurprise she did not deny it. Lieutenant Forsyth, --a vain and conceitedfool, --whose silly attentions she had accepted solely that she might getrecreation beyond the fort, --had presumed to tell her what SHE must do!As if SHE was one of those stupid officers' wives or sisters! Andit never would have happened if he--Peter--had let her remain at thereservation with the Indian agent's wife, or if "Charley" (the gentleLascelles) were here! HE would have let her go, or taken her there. Besides all the while she was among friends; HIS, Peter's ownfriends, --the people whose cause he was championing! In vain did Petertry to point out to her that these "people" were still children in mindand impulse, and capable of vacillation or even treachery. He rememberedhe was talking to a child in mind and impulse, who had shown the samequalities, and in trying to convince her of her danger he felt he wasonly voicing the common arguments of his opponents. He spoke also to the colonel, excusing her through her ignorance, hertrust in his influence with the savages, and the general derangement ofher health. The colonel, relieved of his suspicions of a promisingyoung officer, was gentle and sympathetic, but firm as to Peter's futurecourse. In a moment of caprice and willfulness she might imperil thegarrison as she had her escort, and, more than that, she was imperilingPeter's influence with the Indians. Absurd stories had come to his earsregarding the attitude of the reservation towards him. He thought sheought to return home as quickly as possible. Fortunately an opportunityoffered. The general commanding had advised him of the visit to the fortof a party of English tourists who had been shooting in the vicinity, and who were making the fort the farthest point of their westernexcursion. There were three or four ladies in the party, and as theywould be returning to the line of railroad under escort, she couldeasily accompany them. This, added Colonel Carter, was also Mrs. Carter's opinion, --she was a woman of experience, and had a marrieddaughter of her own. In the mean time Peter had better not broach thesubject to his sister, but trust to the arrival of the strangers, who would remain for a week, and who would undoubtedly divert Mrs. Lascelles' impressible mind, and eventually make the proposition morenatural and attractive. In the interval Peter revisited the reservation, and endeavored topacify the irritation that had sprung from his previous inspection. The outrage at Post Oak Bottom he was assured had no relation to theincident at the reservation, but was committed by some stragglers fromother tribes who had not yet accepted the government bounty, yet had notbeen thus far classified as "hostile. " There had been no "Ghost Dancing"nor other indication of disturbance. The colonel had not deemedit necessary to send out an exemplary force, or make a counterdemonstration. The incident was allowed to drop. At the reservationPeter had ignored the previous conduct of the chiefs towards him;had with quiet courage exposed himself fully--unarmed andunattended--amongst them, and had as fully let it be known that thisprevious incident was the reason that his sister had not accompanied himon his second visit. He left them at the close of the second day moresatisfied in his mind, and perhaps in a more enthusiastic attitudetowards his report. As he came within sound of the sunset bugles, he struck a narrower trailwhich led to the fort, through an oasis of oaks and cottonwoods anda small stream or "branch, " which afterwards lost itself in the dustyplain. He had already passed a few settler's cabins, a sutler's shop, and other buildings that had sprung up around this armed nucleus ofcivilization--which, in due season, was to become a frontier town. Butas yet the brief wood was wild and secluded; frequented only by thewomen and children of the fort, within whose protecting bounds itstood, and to whose formal "parade, " and trim white and green cottage"quarters, " it afforded an agreeable relief. As he rode abstractedlyforward under the low cottonwood vault he felt a strange influencestealing over him, an influence that was not only a present experiencebut at the same time a far-off memory. The concave vault above deepened;the sunset light from the level horizon beyond streamed through theleaves as through the chequers of stained glass windows; through the twoshafts before him stretched the pillared aisles of Ashley Church! Hewas riding as in a dream, and when a figure suddenly slipped across hispathway from a column-like tree trunk, he woke with the disturbance andsense of unreality of a dream. For he saw Lady Elfrida standing beforehim! It was not a mere memory conjured up by association, for although thefigure, face, and attitude were the same, there were certain changesof costume which the eye of recollection noticed. In place of the smartnarrow-brimmed sailor hat he remembered, she was wearing a slouchedcavalry hat with a gold cord around its crown, that, with all itsbecomingness and picturesque audacity, seemed to become characteristicand respectable, as a crest to her refined head, and as historic as aLely canvas. She wore a flannel shirt, belted in at her slight waistwith a band of yellow leather, defining her small hips, and shortstraight pleatless skirts that fell to her trim ankles and buckledleather shoes. She was fresh and cool, wholesome and clean, free andunfettered; indeed, her beauty seemed only an afterthought or accident. So much so that when Peter saw her afterwards, amidst the billowy, gauzy, and challenging graces of the officer's wives, who were dressedin their best and prettiest frocks to welcome her, the eye turnednaturally from that suggestion of enhancement to the girl who seemed todefy it. She was clearly not an idealized memory, a spirit or a ghost, but naturalistic and rosy; he thought a trifle rosier, as she laughinglyaddressed him:-- "I suppose it isn't quite fair to surprise you like that, " she said, with an honest girlish hand-shake, "for you see I know all about younow, and what you are doing here, and even when you were expected; andI dare say you thought we were still in England, if you remembered usat all. And we haven't met since that day at Ashley Church when I put myfoot in it, --or rather on your pet protege's, the Indian's: you rememberMajor Atherly's tomb? And to think that all the while we didn't knowthat you were a public man and a great political reformer, and had a fadlike this. Why, we'd have got up meetings for you, and my father wouldhave presided, --he's always fond of doing these things, --and we'd havepassed resolutions, and given you subscriptions, and Bibles, and flannelshirts, and revolvers--but I believe you draw the line at that. Mybrother was saying only the other day that you weren't half praisedenough for going in for this sort of thing when you were so rich, and needn't care. And so that's why you rushed away from AshleyGrange, --just to come here and work out your mission?" His whole life, his first wild Californian dream, his English visit, therevelation of Gray Eagle, the final collapse of his old beliefs, werewhirling through his brain to the music of this clear young voice. Andby some cruel irony of circumstance it seemed now to even mock his laterdreams of expiation as it also called back his unhappy experience of thelast week. "Have you--have you"--he stammered with a faint smile, "seen my sister?" "Not yet, " said Lady Elfrida. "I believe she is not well and is confinedto her room; you will introduce me, won't you?" she added eagerly. "Ofcourse, when we heard that there was an Atherly here we inquired aboutyou; and I told them you were a relation of ours, " she went on with ahalf-mischievous shyness, --"you remember the de Bracys, --and they seemedsurprised and rather curious. I suppose one does not talk so much aboutthese things over here, and I dare say you have so much to occupy yourmind you don't talk of us in England. " With the quickness of a refinedperception she saw a slight shade in his face, and changed the subject. "And we have had such a jolly time; we have met so many pleasant people;and they've all been so awfully good to us, from the officials andofficers down to the plainest working-man. And all so naturally too--sodifferent from us. I sometimes think we have to work ourselves up tobe civil to strangers. " "No, " she went on gayly, in answer to hisprotesting gesture, and his stammered reminder of his own reception. "No. You came as a sort of kinsman, and Sir Edward knew all about youbefore he asked you down to the Grange--or even sent over for me fromthe Towers. No! you Americans take people on their 'face value, ' asmy brother Reggy says, and we always want to know what are the'securities. ' And then American men are more gallant, though, " shedeclared mischievously, "I think you are an exception in that way. Indeed, " she went on, "the more I see of your countrymen the less youseem like them. You are more like us, --more like an Englishman--indeed, more like an Englishman than most Englishmen, --I mean in the matter ofreserve and all that sort of thing, you know. It's odd, --isn't it? Isyour sister like you?" "You shall judge for yourself, " said Peter with a gayety that was forcedin proportion as his forebodings became more gloomy. Would his sister'speculiarities--even her secret--be safe from the clear eyes of the younggirl? "I know I shall like her, " said Lady Elfrida, simply. "I mean to makefriends with her before we leave, and I hope to see a great deal of her;and, " she said with a naive non sequitur, that, however, had its painfulsignificance to Peter, "I do want you to show me some Indians--yourIndians, you know YOUR friends. I've seen some of them, of course; Iam afraid I am a little prejudiced, for I did not like them. You seemy taste has to be educated, I suppose; but I thought them so foolishlyvain and presuming. " "That is their perfect childishness, " said Peter quickly. "It is not, Ibelieve, considered a moral defect, " he added bitterly. Lady Elfrida laughed, and yet at the same moment a look of appeal thatwas in itself quite as childlike shone in her blue eyes. "There, Ihave blundered again, I know; but I told you I have such ridiculousprejudices! And I really want to like them as you do. Only, " she laughedagain, "it seems strange that YOU, of all men, should have interestedyourself in people so totally different to you. But what will be theresult if your efforts are successful? Will they remain a distinct race?Will you make citizens, soldiers, congressmen, governors of them? Willthey intermarry with the whites? Is that a part of your plan? I hopenot!" It was a part of Peter's sensitive excitement that even through theunconscious irony of this speech he was noticing the difference betweenthe young English girl's evident interest in a political problem and theutter indifference of his own countrywomen. Here was a girl scarcely outof her teens, with no pretension to being a blue stocking, with halfthe aplomb of an American girl of her own age, gravely consideringa question of political economy. Oddly enough, it added to his otherirritation, and he said almost abruptly, "Why not?" She took the question literally and with a little youthful timidity. "But these mixed races never attain to anything, do they? I thought thatwas understood. But, " she added with feminine quickness, "and I supposeit's again only a PERSONAL argument, YOU wouldn't like your sister tohave married an Indian, would you?" The irony of the situation had reached its climax to Peter. It didn'tseem to be his voice that said, "I can answer by an argument still morepersonal. I have even thought myself of marrying an Indian woman. " It seemed to him that what he said was irrevocable, but he wasdesperate. It seemed to him that in a moment more he would have told herhis whole secret. But the young girl drew back from him with a slightstart of surprise. There may have been something in the tone of hisvoice and in his manner that verged upon a seriousness she was nevercontemplating in her random talk; it may have been an uneasiness ofsome youthful imprudence in pressing the subject upon a man of hissuperiority, and that his abrupt climax was a rebuke. But it was onlyfor a moment; her youthful buoyancy, and, above all, a certain commonsense that was not incompatible to her high nature, came to her rescue. "But that, " she said with quick mischievousness, "would be a SACRIFICEtaken in the interest of these people, don't you see; and being asacrifice, it's no argument. " Peter saw his mistake, but there was something so innocent anddelightful in the youthful triumph of this red-lipped logician, thathe was forced to smile. I have said that his smile was rare andfascinating, a concession wrung from his dark face and calm beardlesslips that most people found irresistible, but it was odd, nevertheless, that Lady Elfrida now for the first time felt a sudden and notaltogether unpleasant embarrassment over the very subject she hadapproached with such innocent fearlessness. There was a new light in hereyes, a fresher color in her cheeks as she turned her face--she knew notwhy--away from him. But it enabled her to see a figure approaching themfrom the fort. And I grieve to say that, perhaps for the first time inher life, Lady Elfrida was guilty of an affected start. "Oh, here's Reggy coming to look for me. I'd quite forgotten, but I'mso glad. I want you to know my brother Reggy. He was always so sorry hemissed you at the Grange. " The tall, young, good-looking brown Englishman who had sauntered upbestowed a far more critical glance upon Peter's horse than upon Peter, but nevertheless grasped his hand heartily as his sister introduced him. Perhaps both men were equally undemonstrative, although the reserve ofone was from temperament and the other from education. Nevertheless LordReginald remarked, with a laugh, that it was awfully jolly to be there, and that it had been a beastly shame that he was in Scotland whenAtherly was at the Grange. That none of them had ever suspected tillthey came to the fort that he, Atherly, was one of those governmentchappies, and so awfully keen on Indian politics. "Friddy" had beenthe first to find it out, but they thought she was chaffing. At which"Friddy, " who had suddenly resolved herself into the youthfulest ofschoolgirls in the presence of her brother, put her parasol like anIndian club behind her back, and still rosy, beamed admiringly uponReggy. Then the three, Peter leading his horse, moved on towards thefort, presently meeting "Georgy, " the six-foot Guardsman cousin inextraordinary tweeds and flannel shirt; Lord Runnybroke, uncleof Friddy, middle-aged and flannel-shirted, a mighty hunter; LadyRunnybroke, in a brown duster, but with a stately head that suggestedostrich feathers; Moyler-Spence, M. P. , with an eyeglass, and the Hon. Evelyn Kayne, closely attended by the always gallant Lieutenant Forsyth. Peter began to feel a nervous longing to be alone on the burning plainand the empty horizon beyond them, until he could readjust himself tothese new conditions, and glanced half-wearily around him. But his eyemet Friddy's, who seemed to have evoked this gathering with a wave ofher parasol, like the fairy of a pantomime, and he walked on in silence. A day or two of unexpected pleasure passed for Peter. In these newsurroundings he found he could separate Lady Elfrida from his miserablepast, and the conventional restraint of Ashley Grange. Again, therevelation of her familiar name Friddy seemed to make her moreaccessible and human to him than her formal title, and suited thegirlish simplicity that lay at the foundation of her character, of whichhe had seen so little before. At least so he fancied, and so excusedhimself; it was delightful to find her referring to him as an olderfriend; pleasant, indeed, to see that her family tacitly recognized it, and frequently appealed to him with the introduction, "Friddy says youcan tell us, " or "You and Friddy had better arrange it between you. "Even the dreaded introduction of his sister was an agreeable surprise, owing to Lady Elfrida's frank and sympathetic prepossession, which Jennycould not resist. In a few moments they were walking together in seriousand apparently confidential conversation. For to Peter's wonder it wasthe "Lady Elfrida" side of the English girl's nature that seemed tohave attracted Jenny, and not the playfulness of "Friddy, " and he wasdelighted to see that the young girl had assumed a grave chaperonshipof the tall Mrs. Lascelles that would have done credit to Mrs. Carteror Lady Runnybroke. Had he been less serious he might have been amused, too, at the importance of his own position in the military outpost, through the arrival of the strangers. That this grave politicalenthusiast and civilian should be on familiar terms with a youngEnglishwoman of rank was at first inconceivable to the officers. And that he had never alluded to it before seemed to them still moreremarkable. Nevertheless, there was much liveliness and good fellowship at the fort. Captains and lieutenants down to the youngest "cub, " Forsyth, viedwith each other to please the Englishmen, supplied them with thatcharacteristic American humor and anecdote which it is an Englishman'sprivilege to bring away with him, and were picturesquely andchivalrously devoted in their attentions to the ladies, who were pleasedand amused by it, though it is to be doubted if it increased theirrespect for the giver, although they were more grateful for it thanthe average American woman. Lady Elfrida found the officers veryentertaining and gallant. Accustomed to the English officer, and hissomewhat bored way of treating his profession and his duties, she mayhave been amused at the zeal, earnestness, and enthusiasm of theseyouthful warriors, who aspired to appear as nothing but soldiers, whenshe contrasted them with her Guardsmen relatives who aspired tobe everything else but that; but she kept it to herself. It was arecognized, respectable, and even superior occupation for gentlemen inEngland; what it might be in America, --who knows? She certainly foundPeter, the civilian, more attractive, for there really was nothingEnglish to compare him with, and she had something of the same feelingin her friendship for Jenny, except the patronage which Jenny seemed tosolicit, and perhaps require, as a foreigner. One afternoon the English guests, accompanied by a few of their hostsand a small escort, were making a shooting expedition to the vicinity ofGreen Spring, when Peter, plunged in his report, looked up to find hissister entering his office. Her face was pale, and there was somethingin her expression which reawakened his old anxiety. Nevertheless hesmiled, and said gently:-- "Why are you not enjoying yourself with the others?" "I have a headache, " she said, languidly, "but, " lifting her eyessuddenly to his, "why are YOU not? You are their good friend, youknow, --even their relation. " "No more than you are, " he returned, with affected gayety. "But look atthe report--it is only half finished! I have already been shirking itfor them. " "You mustn't let your devotion to the Indians keep you from your olderfriends, " said Mrs. Lascelles, with an odd laugh. "But you never toldme about these people before, Peter; tell me now. They were very kind toyou, weren't they, on account of your relationship?" "Entirely on account of that, " said Peter, with a sudden bitterness hecould not repress. "But they are very pleasant, " he added quickly, "andvery simple and unaffected, in spite of their rank; perhaps I ought tosay, BECAUSE of it. " "You mean they are kind to us because they feel themselvessuperior, --just as you are kind to the Indians, Peter. " "I am afraid they have no such sense of political equality towards us, Jenny, as impels me to be just to the Indian, " he said with affectedlightness. "But Lady Elfrida sympathizes with the Indians--very much. " "She!" The emphasis which his sister put upon the personal pronoun wasunmistakable, but Peter ignored it, and so apparently did she, as shesaid the next moment in a different voice, "She's very pretty, don't youthink?" "Very, " said Peter coldly. There was a long pause. Peter slightly fingered one of the sheets of hisdelayed report on his desk. His sister looked up. "I'm afraid I'm as badas Lady Elfrida in keeping you from your Indians; but I had something tosay to you. No matter, another time will do when you're not so busy. " "Please go on now, " said Peter, with affected unconcern, yet with afeeling of uneasiness creeping over him. "It was only this, " said Jenny, seating herself with her elbow on thedesk and her chin in a cup-like hollow of her hand, "did you ever thinkthat in the interests of these poor Indians, you know, purely for thesake of your belief in them, and just to show that you were above vulgarprejudices, --did you ever think you could marry one of them?" Two thoughts flashed quickly on Peter's mind, --first, that Lady Elfridahad repeated something of their conversation to his sister; secondly, that some one had told her of Little Daybreak. Each was equallydisturbing. But he recovered himself quickly and said, "I might if Ithought it was required. But even a sacrifice is not always an example. " "Then you think it would be a sacrifice?" she said, slowly raising herdark eyes to his. "If I did something against received opinion, against precedent, andfor aught I know against even the prejudices of those I wish to serve, however lofty my intention was and however great the benefit to them inthe end, it would still be a sacrifice in the present. " He saw his ownmiserable logic and affected didactics, but he went on lightly, "Butwhy do you ask such a question? You haven't any one in your mind for me, have you?" She had risen thoughtfully and was moving towards the door. Suddenly sheturned with a quick, odd vivacity: "Perhaps I had. Oh, Peter, there wassuch a lovely little squaw I saw the last time I was at Oak Bottom! Shewas no darker than I am, but so beautiful. Even in her little cottongown and blanket, with only a string of beads around her throat, shewas as pretty as any one here. And I dare say she could be educated andappear as well as any white woman. I should so like to have you see her. I would have tried to bring her to the fort, but the braves are veryjealous of their wives or daughters seeing white men, you know, and Iwas afraid of the colonel. " She had spoken volubly and with a strange excitement, but even at themoment her face changed again, and as she left the office, with a quicklaugh and parting gesture, there were tears in her eyes. Accustomed to her moods and caprices, Peter thought little of theintrusion, relieved as he was of his first fears. She had come to himfrom loneliness and curiosity, and, perhaps, he thought with a sadsmile, from a little sisterly jealousy of the young girl who had evincedsuch an interest in him, and had known him before. He took up his penand continued the interrupted paragraph of his report. "I am satisfied that much of the mischievous and extravagant prejudiceagainst the half breed and all alliances of the white and redraces springs from the ignorance of the frontiersman and his hastygeneralization of facts. There is no doubt that an intermixture of bloodbrings out purely superficial contrasts the more strongly, and thatagainst the civilizing habits and even costumes of the half breed, certain Indian defects appear the more strongly as in the case of thecolor line of the quadroon and octoroon, but it must not be forgottenthat these are only the contrasts of specific improvement, and theinference that the borrowed defects of a half breed exceed the originaldefects of the full-blooded aborigine is utterly illogical. " He stoppedsuddenly and laid down his pen with a heightened color; the bugle hadblown, the guard was turning out to receive the commandant and hisreturning party, among whom was Friddy. ***** Through the illusions of depression and distance the "sink" of ButternutCreek seemed only an incrustation of blackish moss on the dull grayplain. It was not until one approached within half a mile of it that itresolved itself into a copse of butternut-trees sunken below the distantlevels. Here once, in geological story, the waters of Butternut Creek, despairing of ever crossing the leagues of arid waste before them, hadsuddenly disappeared in the providential interposition of an area oflooser soil, and so given up the effort and the ghost forever, theirgrave being marked by the butternut copse, chance-sown by bird or beastin the saturated ground. In Indian legend the "sink" commemorated theequally providential escape of a great tribe who, surrounded by enemies, appealed to the Great Spirit for protection, and was promptly conveyedby subterraneous passages to the banks of the Great River a hundredmiles away. Its outer edges were already invaded by the dust of theplain, but within them ran cool recesses, a few openings, and theashes of some long-forgotten camp-fires. To-day its sombre shadows wererelieved by bright colored dresses, the jackets of the drivers of alarge sutler's wagon, whose white canvas head marked the entrance of thecopse, and all the paraphernalia of a picnic. It was a party gotten upby the foreign guests to the ladies of the fort, prepared and arrangedby the active Lady Elfrida, assisted by the only gentleman of the party, Peter Atherly, who, from his acquaintance with the locality, was allowedto accompany them. The other gentlemen, who with a large party ofofficers and soldiers were shooting in the vicinity, were sufficientlynear for protection. They would rejoin the ladies later. "It does not seem in the least as if we were miles away from any townor habitation, " said Lady Runnybroke, complacently seating herself on astump, "and I shouldn't be surprised to see a church tower through thosetrees. It's very like the hazel copse at Longworth, you know. Not at allwhat I expected. " "For the matter of that neither are the Indians, " said the Hon. EvelynRayne. "Did you ever see such grotesque creatures in their cast-offboots and trousers? They're no better than gypsies. I wonder what Mr. Atherly can find in them. " "And he a rich man, too, --they say he's got a mine in California wortha million, --to take up a craze like this, " added the lively Mrs. CaptainJoyce, "that's what gets me! You know, " she went on confidentially, "that cranks and reformers are always poor--it's quite natural; butI don't see what he, a rich man, expects to make by his reforms, I'msure. " "He'll get over it in time, " said the Hon. Evelyn Kayne, "they all do. At least he expects to get the reforms he wants in a year, and then he'scoming over to England again. " "Indeed, how very nice, " responded Lady Runnybroke quickly. "Did he sayso?" "No. But Friddy says he is. " The two officers' wives glanced at each other. Lady Runnybroke put upher eyeglass in default of ostrich feathers, and said didactically, "I'msure Mr. Atherly is very much in earnest, and sincerely devoted to hiswork. And in a man of his wealth and position here it's most estimable. My dear, " she said, getting up and moving towards Mrs. Lascelles, "wewere just saying how good and unselfish your brother was in his work forthese poor people. " But Jenny Lascelles must have been in one of those abstracted moodswhich so troubled her husband, for she seemed to be staring straightbefore her into the recesses of the wood. In her there was a certainresemblance to the attitude of a listening animal. "I wish Mr. Atherly was a little more unselfish to US poor people, "said the Hon. Evelyn Kayne, "for he and Friddy have been nearly an hourlooking for a place to spread our luncheon baskets. I wish they'd leavethe future of the brown races to look after itself and look a littlemore after us. I'm famished. " "I fancy they find it difficult to select a clear space for so largea party as we will be when the gentlemen come in, " returned LadyRunnybroke, glancing in the direction of Jenny's abstracted eyes. "I suppose you must feel like chicken and salad, too, Lady Runnybroke, "suggested Mrs. Captain Joyce. "I don't think I quite know HOW chicken and salad feel, dear, " saidLady Runnybroke with a puzzled air, "but if that's one of your husband'sdelightful American stories, do tell us. I never CAN get Runnybroke totell me any, although he roars over them all. And I dare say he getsthem all wrong. But look, here comes our luncheon. " Peter and Lady Elfrida were advancing towards them. The scrutiny of adozen pairs of eyes--wondering, mischievous, critical, impertinent, orresentful--would have been a trying ordeal to any errant couple; butthere was little if any change in Peter's grave and gentle demeanor, albeit his dark eyes were shining with a peculiar light, and LadyElfrida had only the animation, color, and slight excitability thatbecame the responsible leader of the little party. They neitherapologized or alluded to their delay. They had selected a spot on theother side of the copse, and the baskets could be sent around by thewagon; they had seen a slight haze on the plain towards the east whichbetokened the vicinity of the rest of the party, and they were about topropose that as the gentlemen were so near they had better postponethe picnic until they came up. Lady Runnybroke smiled affably; the onlything she had noticed was that Lady Elfrida in joining them had gonedirectly to the side of the abstracted Jenny, and placed her arm aroundher waist. At which Lady Runnybroke airily joined them. The surmises of Peter and Friddy appeared to be correct. The transferof the provisions and the party to the other side was barely concludedbefore they could see the gentlemen coming; they were riding a littlemore rapidly than when they had set out, and were arriving fullythree hours before their time. They burst upon the ladies a littleboisterously but gayly; they had had a glorious time, but little sport;they had hurried back to join the ladies so as to be able to return withthem betimes. They were ravenously hungry; they wanted to fall to atonce. Only the officers' wives noticed that the two files of troopersDID NOT DISMOUNT, but filed slowly before the entrance to the woods. Lady Elfrida as hostess was prettily distressed by it, but was told byCaptain Joyce that it was "against rules, " and that she could "feed"them at the fort. The officers' wives put a few questions in whispers, and were promptly frowned down. Nevertheless, the luncheon was asuccessful festivity: the gentlemen were loud in the praises of theirgracious hostess; the delicacies she had provided by express fromdistant stations, and much that was distinctly English and despoiledfrom her own stores, were gratefully appreciated by the officers ofa remote frontier garrison. Lady Elfrida's health was toasted bythe gallant colonel in a speech that was the soul of chivalry. LordRunnybroke responded, perhaps without the American abandon, but withthe steady conscientiousness of an hereditary legislator, but the M. P. Summed up a slightly exaggerated but well meaning episode by pointingout that it was on occasions like this that the two nations showed theircommon ancestry by standing side by side. Only one thing troubled therosy, excited, but still clear-headed Friddy; the plates were whiskedaway like magic after each delicacy, by the military servants, andvanished; the tables were in the same mysterious way cleared as rapidlyas they were set, and any attempt to recall a dish was met by thedeclaration that it was already packed away in the wagon. As theyat last rose from the actually empty board, and saw even the tablesdisappear, Lady Elfrida plaintively protested that she felt as if shehad been presiding over an Arabian Nights entertainment, served bygenii, and she knew that they would all awaken hungry when they werewell on their way back. Nevertheless, in spite of this expedition, theofficers lounged about smoking until every trace of the festivity hadvanished. Reggy found himself standing near Peter. "You know, " he said, confidentially, "I don't think the colonel has a very high opinion ofyour pets, --the Indians. And, by Jove, if the 'friendlies' are as nastytowards you as they were to us this morning, I wonder what you call the'hostile' tribes. " "Did you have any difficulty with them?" said Peter quickly. "No, not exactly, don't you know--we were too many, I fancy; but, byJove, the beggars whenever we met them, --and we met one or two gypsybands of them, --you know, they seemed to look upon us as TRESPASSERS, don't you know. " "And you were, in point of fact, " said Peter, smiling grimly. "Oh, I say, come now!" said Reggy, opening his eyes. After a moment helaughed. "Oh, yes, I see--of course, looking at it from their pointof view. By Jove, I dare say the beggars were right, you know; all thesame, --don't you see, --YOUR people were poaching too. " "So we were, " said Peter gravely. But here, at a word from the major, the whole party debouched fromthe woods. Everything appeared to be awaiting them, --the large coveredcarryall for the guests, and the two saddle horses for Mrs. Lascellesand Lady Elfrida, who had ridden there together. Peter, also mounted, accompanied the carryall with two of the officers; the troopers andwagons brought up the rear. It was very hot, with little or no wind. On this part of the plain thedust seemed lighter and finer, and rose with the wheels of the carryalland the horses of the escort, trailing a white cloud over the cavalcadelike the smoke of an engine over a train. It was with difficulty thetroopers could be kept from opening out on both sides of the highway toescape it. The whole atmosphere seemed charged with it; it even appearedin a long bank to the right, rising and obscuring the declining sun. Butthey were already within sight of the fort and the little copse besideit. Then trooper Cassidy trotted up to the colonel, who was riding in adusty cloud beside the carryall, "Captain Fleetwood's compliments, sorr, and there are two sthragglers, --Mrs. Lascelles and the English lady. " Hepointed to the rapidly flying figures of Jenny and Friddy making towardsthe wood. The colonel made a movement of impatience. "Tell Mr. Forsyth to bringthem back at once, " he said. But here a feminine chorus of excuses and expostulations rose fromthe carryall. "It's only Mrs. Lascelles going to show Friddy where thesquaws and children bathe, " said Lady Runnybroke, "it's near the fort, and they'll be there as quick as we shall. " "One moment, colonel, " said Peter, with mortified concern. "It's anotherfolly of my sister's! pray let me take it upon myself to bring themback. " "Very well, but see you don't linger, and, " turning to Cassidy, as Petergalloped away, he added, "you follow him. " Peter kept the figures of the two women in view, but presently sawthem disappear in the wood. He had no fear for their safety, but he wasindignant at this last untimely caprice of his sister. He knew the ideahad originated with her, and that the officers knew it, and yet she hadmade Lady Elfrida bear an equal share of the blame. He reached the edgeof the copse, entered the first opening, but he had scarcely plungedinto its shadow and shut out the plain behind him before he felt hisarms and knees quickly seized from behind. So sudden and unexpected wasthe attack that he first thought his horse had stumbled against a coilof wild grapevine and was entangled, but the next moment he smelled therank characteristic odor and saw the brown limbs of the Indian who hadleaped on his crupper, while another rose at his horse's head. Then awarning voice in his ear said in the native tongue:-- "If the great white medicine man calls to his fighting men, thepale-faced girl and the squaw he calls his sister die! They are here, heunderstands. " But Peter had neither struggled nor uttered a cry. At that touch, andwith the accents of that tongue in his ears, all his own Indian bloodseemed to leap and tingle through his veins. His eyes flashed; pinionedas he was he drew himself erect and answered haughtily in his captor'sown speech:-- "Good! The great white medicine man obeys, for he and his sister haveno fear. But if the pale-face girl is not sent back to her people beforethe sun sets, then the yellow jackets will swarm the woods, and theywill follow her trail to the death. My brother is wise; let the girl go. I have spoken. " "My brother is very cunning too. He would call to his fighting menthrough the lips of the pale-face girl. " "He will not. The great white medicine man does not lie to his redbrother. He will tell the pale-face girl to say to the chief of theyellow jackets that he and his sister are with his brothers, and all ispeace. But the pale-face girl must not see the great white medicine manin these bonds, nor as a captive! I have spoken. " The two Indians fell back. There was so much of force and dignity in theman, so much of their own stoic calmness, that they at once mechanicallyloosened the thongs of plaited deer hide with which they had bound him, and side by side led him into the recesses of the wood. ***** There was some astonishment, although little alarm at the fort, whenLady Elfrida returned accompanied by the orderly who had followed Peterto the wood, but without Peter and his sister. The reason given wasperfectly natural and conceivable. Mrs. Lascelles had preceded LadyElfrida in entering the wood and taken another opening, so that LadyElfrida had found herself suddenly lost, and surrounded by two or threewarriors in dreadful paint. They motioned her to dismount, and saidsomething she did not understand, but she declined, knowing that she hadheard Mr. Atherly and the orderly following her, and feeling no fear. And sure enough Mr. Atherly presently came up with a couple of braves, apologized to her for their mistake, but begged her to return to thefort at once and assure the colonel that everything was right, and thathe and his sister were safe. He was perfectly cool and collected andlike himself; she blushed slightly, as she said she thought that hewished to impress upon her, for some reason she could not understand, that he did not want the colonel to send any assistance. She waspositive of that. She told her story unexcitedly; it was evident thatshe had not been frightened, but Lady Runnybroke noticed that there wasa shade of anxious abstraction in her face. When the officers were alone the colonel took hurried counsel of them. "I think, " said Captain Fleetwood, "that Lady Elfrida's story quiteexplains itself. I believe this affair is purely a local one, and hasnothing whatever to do with the suspicious appearances we noticed thisafternoon, or the presence of so large a body of Indians near Butternut. Had this been a hostile movement they would have scarcely allowed sovaluable a capture as Lady Elfrida to escape them. " "Unless they kept Atherly and his sister as a hostage, " said CaptainJoyce. "But Atherly is one of their friends; indeed he is their mediatorand apostle, a non-combatant, and has their confidence, " returned thecolonel. "It is much more reasonable to suppose that Atherly has noticedsome disaffection among these 'friendlies, ' and he fears that oursending a party to his assistance might precipitate a collision. Or hemay have reason to believe that this stopping of the two women underthe very walls of the fort is only a feint to draw our attention fromsomething more serious. Did he know anything of our suspicions of theconduct of those Indians this morning?" "Not unless he gathered it from what Lord Reginald foolishly toldhim. We said nothing, of course, " returned Captain Fleetwood, with asoldier's habitual distrust of the wisdom of the civil arm. "That will do, gentlemen, " said the colonel, as the officers dispersed;"send Cassidy here. " The colonel was alone on the veranda as Cassidy came up. "You followed Mr. Atherly to-day?" "Yes sorr. " "And you saw him when he gave the message to the young lady?" "Yes sorr. " "Did you form any opinion from anything else you saw, of his object insending that message?" "Only from what I saw of HIM. " "Well, what was that?" "I saw him look afther the young leddy as she rode away, and then wheelabout and go straight back into the wood. " "And what did you think of that?" said the colonel, with a half smile. "I thought it was shacrifice, sorr. " "What do you mean?" said the colonel sharply. "I mane, sorr, " said Cassidy stoutly, "that he was givin' up hisself andhis sister for that young leddy. " The colonel looked at the sergeant. "Ask Mr. Forsyth to come to meprivately, and return here with him. " As darkness fell, some half a dozen dismounted troopers, headed byForsyth and Cassidy, passed quietly out of the lower gate and enteredthe wood. An hour later the colonel was summoned from the dinner table, and the guests heard the quick rattle of a wagon turning out of the roadgate--but the colonel did not return. An indefinable uneasiness creptover the little party, which reached its climax in the summoning of theother officers, and the sudden flashing out of news. The reconnoitringparty had found the dead bodies of Peter Atherly and his sister on theplains at the edge of the empty wood. The women were gathered in the commandant's quarters, and for themoment seemed to have been forgotten. The officers' wives talked withprofessional sympathy and disciplined quiet; the English ladies wereequally sympathetic, but collected. Lady Elfrida, rather white, butpatient, asked a few questions in a voice whose contralto was ratherdeepened. One and all wished to "do something"--anything "to help"--andone and all rebelled that the colonel had begged them to remain withindoors. There was an occasional quick step on the veranda, or theclatter of a hoof on the parade, a continued but subdued murmur from thewhitewashed barracks, but everywhere a sense of keen restraint. When they emerged on the veranda again, the whole aspect of the garrisonseemed to have changed in that brief time. In the faint moonlight theycould see motionless files of troopers filling the parade, the officersin belted tunics and slouched hats, --but apparently not the same men;the half lounging ease and lazy dandyism gone, a grim tension in alltheir faces, a set abstraction in all their acts. Then there was therolling of heavy wheels in the road, and the two horses of the ambulanceappeared. The sentries presented arms; the colonel took off his hat;the officers uncovered; the wagon wheeled into the parade; the surgeonstepped out. He exchanged a single word with the colonel, and lifted thecurtain of the ambulance. As the colonel glanced within, a deep but embarrassed voice fellupon his ear. He turned quickly. It was Lord Reginald, flushed andsympathetic. "He was a friend, --a relation of ours, you know, " he stammered. "Mysister would like--to look at him again. " "Not now, " said the colonel in a low voice. The surgeon added somethingin a voice still lower, which scarcely reached the veranda. Lord Reginald turned away with a white face. "Fall back there!" Captain Fleetwood rode up. "All ready, sir. " "One moment, captain, " said the colonel quietly. "File your first halfcompany before that ambulance, and bid the men look in. " The singular order was obeyed. The men filed slowly forward, each inturn halting before the motionless wagon and its immobile freight. Theywere men inured to frontier bloodshed and savage warfare; some haltedand hurried on; others lingered, others turned to look again. One manburst into a short laugh, but when the others turned indignantly uponhim, they saw that in his face that held them in awe. What they saw inthe ambulance did not transpire; what they felt was not known. Strangelyenough, however, what they repressed themselves was mysteriouslycommunicated to their horses, who snorted and quivered with eagernessand impatience as they rode back again. The horse of the trooper whohad laughed almost leaped into the air. Only Sergeant Cassidy wascommunicative; he took a larger circuit in returning to his place, andmanaged to lean over and whisper hoarsely in the ear of a camp followerspectator, "Tell the young leddy that the torturin' divvils couldn'ttake the smile off him!" The little column filed out of the gateway into the road. As CaptainFleetwood passed Colonel Carter the two men's eyes met. The colonel saidquietly, "Good night, captain. Let us have a good report from you. " The captain replied only with his gauntleted hand against the brim ofhis slouched hat, but the next moment his voice was heard strong andclear enough in the road. The little column trotted away as evenly as onparade. But those who climbed the roof of the barracks a quarter of anhour later saw, in the moonlight, a white cloud drifting rapidly acrossthe plain towards the west. It was a small cloud in that bare, menacing, cruel, and illimitable waste; but in its breast was crammed athunderbolt. It fell thirty miles away, blasting and scattering a thousand warriorsand their camp, giving and taking no quarter, vengeful, exterminating, and complete. Later there were different opinions about it and thehorrible crime that had provoked it: the opposers of Peter's policyjubilant over the irony of the assassination of the Apostle ofPeace, Peter's disciples as actively deploring the merciless andindiscriminating vengeance of the military; and so the problem thatPeter had vainly attempted to solve was left an open question. Therewere those, too, who believed that Peter had never sacrificed himselfand his sister for the sake of another, but had provoked and incensedthe savages by the blind arrogance of a reformer. There were wildstories by scouts and interpreters how he had challenged his fate byan Indian bravado; how himself and his sister had met torture withan Indian stoicism, and how the Indian braves themselves at last in aturmoil of revulsion had dipped their arrows and lances in the heroicheart's blood of their victims, and worshiped their still palpitatingflesh. But there was one honest loyal little heart that carried back--threethousand miles--to England the man as it had known and loved him. LadyElfrida Runnybroke never married; neither did she go into retirement, but lived her life and fulfilled her duties in her usual clear-eyedfashion. She was particularly kind to all Americans, --barring, I fear, afew pretty-faced, finely-frocked title-hunters, --told stories of theFar West, and had theories of a people of which they knew little, caredless, and believed to be vulgar. But I think she found a new pleasure inthe old church at Ashley Grange, and loved to linger over the effigy ofthe old Crusader, --her kinsman, the swashbuckler De Bracy, --with a vaguebut pretty belief that devotion and love do not die with brave men, butlive and flourish even in lands beyond the seas. TWO AMERICANS Perhaps if there was anything important in the migration of the Maynardfamily to Europe it rested solely upon the singular fact that Mr. Maynard did not go there in the expectation of marrying his daughter toa nobleman. A Charleston merchant, whose house represented two honorablegenerations, had, thirty years ago, a certain self-respect which didnot require extraneous aid and foreign support, and it is exceedinglyprobable that his intention of spending a few years abroad had noulterior motive than pleasure seeking and the observation of manythings--principally of the past--which his own country did not possess. His future and that of his family lay in his own land, yet withpractical common sense he adjusted himself temporarily to his newsurroundings. In doing so, he had much to learn of others, and othershad something to learn of him; he found that the best people had ahigh simplicity equal to his own; he corrected their impressions that aSoutherner had more or less negro blood in his veins, and that, althougha slave owner, he did not necessarily represent an aristocracy. With adistinguishing dialect of which he was not ashamed, a frank familiarityof approach joined to an invincible courtesy of manner, which made evenhis republican "Sir" equal to the ordinary address to royalty, hewas always respected and seldom misunderstood. When he was--it wasunfortunate for those who misunderstood him. His type was as distinctiveand original as his cousin's, the Englishman, whom it was not thefashion then to imitate. So that, whether in the hotel of a capital, the Kursaal of a Spa, or the humbler pension of a Swiss village, he wasalways characteristic. Less so was his wife, who, with the chameleonquality of her transplanted countrywomen, was already Parisian indress; still less so his daughter, who had by this time absorbed thepeculiarities of her French, German, and Italian governesses. Yetneither had yet learned to evade their nationality--or apologize for it. Mr. Maynard and his family remained for three years in Europe, his stayhaving been prolonged by political excitement in his own State ofSouth Carolina. Commerce is apt to knock the insularity out of people;distance from one's own distinctive locality gives a wider range to thevision, and the retired merchant foresaw ruin in his State's politics, and from the viewpoint of all Europe beheld instead of the usualcollection of individual States--his whole country. But the excitementincreasing, he was finally impelled to return in a faint hope ofdoing something to allay it, taking his wife with him, but leavinghis daughter at school in Paris. At about this time, however, a singlecannon shot fired at the national flag on Fort Sumter shook the wholecountry, reverberated even in Europe, sending some earnest hearts backto do battle for State or country, sending others less earnest intoinglorious exile, but, saddest of all! knocking over the school benchof a girl at the Paris pensionnat. For that shot had also sunk Maynard'sships at the Charleston wharves, scattered his piled Cotton balesawaiting shipment at the quays, and drove him, a ruined man, into the"Home Guard" against his better judgment. Helen Maynard, like a goodgirl, had implored her father to let her return and share his risks. Butthe answer was "to wait" until this nine days' madness of an uprisingwas over. That madness lasted six years, outlived Maynard, whose gray, misdoubting head bit the dust at Ball's Bluff; outlived his colorlesswidow, and left Kelly a penniless orphan. Yet enough of her country was left in her to make her courageous andindependent of her past. They say that when she got the news she crieda little, and then laid the letter and what was left of her lastmonthly allowance in Madame Ablas' lap. Madame was devastated. "But you, impoverished and desolated angel, what of you?" "I shall get some ofit back, " said the desolated angel with ingenuous candor, "for I speakbetter French and English than the other girls, and I shall teach THEMuntil I can get into the Conservatoire, for I have a voice. You yourselfhave told papa so. " From such angelic directness there was no appeal. Madame Ablas had a heart, --more, she had a French manageress'sdiscriminating instinct. The American schoolgirl was installed in ateacher's desk; her bosom friends and fellow students became her pupils. To some of the richest, and they were mainly of her own country, shesold her smartest, latest dresses, jewels, and trinkets at a very goodfigure, and put the money away against the Conservatoire in the future. She worked hard, she endured patiently everything but commiseration. "I'd have you know, Miss, " she said to Miss de Laine, daughter of thefamous house of Musslin, de Laine & Co. , of New York, "that whatever myposition HERE may be, it is not one to be patronized by a tapeseller'sdaughter. My case is not such a very 'sad one, ' thank you, and I prefernot to be spoken of as having seen 'better days' by people who haven't. There! Don't rap your desk with your pencil when you speak to me, orI shall call out 'Cash!' before the whole class. " So regrettable anexhibition of temper naturally alienated certain of her compatriots whowere unduly sensitive of their origin, and as they formed a considerablecolony who were then reveling in the dregs of the Empire and the lastorgies of a tottering court, eventually cost her her place. A republicanso aristocratic was not to be tolerated by the true-born Americans whopaid court to De Morny for the phosphorescent splendors of St. Cloudand the Tuileries, and Miss Helen lost their favor. But she had alreadysaved enough money for the Conservatoire and a little attic in a verytall house in a narrow street that trickled into the ceaseless flowof the Rue Lafayette. Here for four years she trotted backwardsand forwards regularly to work with the freshness of youth and theinflexible set purpose of maturity. Here, rain or shine, summer orwinter, in the mellow season when the large cafes expanded under thewhite sunshine into an overflow of little tables on the pavement, orwhen the red glow of the Brasserie shone through frosty panes on theturned-up collars of pinched Parisians who hurried by, she was always tobe seen. Half Paris had looked into her clear, gray eyes and passed on; a smallerand not very youthful portion of Paris had turned and followed her withsmall advantage to itself and happily no fear to her. For even in heryoung womanhood she kept her child's loving knowledge of that greatcity; she even had an innocent camaraderie with street sweepers, kioskkeepers, and lemonade venders, and the sternness of conciergedommelted before her. In this wholesome, practical child's experience shenaturally avoided or overlooked what would not have interested a child, and so kept her freshness and a certain national shrewd simplicityinvincible. There is a story told of her girlhood that, one day playingin the Tuileries gardens, she was approached by a gentleman with a waxedmustache and a still more waxen cheek beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. There was an exchange of polite amenities. "And your name, ma petite?" "Helen, " responded the young girl naively. "What's yours?" "Ah, " said the kind gentleman, gallantly pulling at his mustache, "ifyou are Helen I am Paris. " The young girl raised her clear eyes to his and said gravely, "I reckonyour majesty is FRANCE!" She retained this childish fearlessness as the poor student of theConservatoire; went alone all over Paris with her maiden skirtsuntarnished by the gilded dust of the boulevards or the filth ofby-ways; knew all the best shops for her friends, and the cheapest forher own scant purchases; discovered breakfasts for a few sous with palesempstresses, whose sadness she understood, and reckless chorus girls, whose gayety she didn't; she knew where the earliest chestnut buds wereto be found in the Bois, when the slopes of the Buttes Chaumont weregreen, and which was the old woman who sold the cheapest flowers beforethe Madeleine. Alone and independent, she earned the affection ofMadame Bibelot, the concierge, and, what was more, her confidence. Heroutgoings and incomings were never questioned. The little American couldtake care of herself. Ah, if her son Jacques were only as reasonable!Miss Maynard might have made more friends had she cared; she might havejoined hands with the innocent and light-hearted poverty of the coterieof her own artistic compatriots, but something in her blood made herdistrust Bohemianism; her poverty was something to her too sacred forjest or companionship; her own artistic aim was too long and earnestfor mere temporary enthusiasms. She might have found friends in her ownprofession. Her professor opened the sacred doors of his family circleto the young American girl. She appreciated the delicacy, refinement, and cheerful equal responsibilities of that household, so widelydifferent from the accepted Anglo-Saxon belief, but there were certainrestrictions that rightly or wrongly galled her American habits ofgirlish freedom, and she resolutely tripped past the first etage four orfive flights higher to her attic, the free sky, and independence! Hereshe sometimes met another kind of independence in Monsieur Alphonse, aged twenty two, and she who ought to have been Madame Alphonse, agedseventeen, and they often exchanged greetings on the landing with greatrespect towards each other, and, oddly enough, no confusion or distrait. Later they even borrowed each other's matches without fear and withoutreproach, until one day Monsieur Alphonse's parents took him away, and the desolated soi-disant Madame Alphonse, in a cheerful burst ofconfidence, gave Helen her private opinion of monsieur, and from herseventeen years' experience warned the American infant of twenty againstpossible similar complications. One day--it was near the examination for prizes, and her funds wererunning low--she was obliged to seek one of those humbler restaurantsshe knew of for her frugal breakfast. But she was not hungry, and aftera few mouthfuls left her meal unfinished as a young man entered and halfabstractedly took a seat at her table. She had already moved towardsthe comptoir to pay her few sous, when, chancing to look up in a mirrorwhich hung above the counter, reflecting the interior of the cafe, shesaw the stranger, after casting a hurried glance around him, removefrom her plate the broken roll and even the crumbs she had left, andas hurriedly sweep them into his pocket-handkerchief. There was nothingvery strange in this; she had seen something like it before in thesehumbler cafes, --it was a crib for the birds in the Tuileries Gardens, or the poor artist's substitute for rubber in correcting his crayondrawing! But there was a singular flushing of his handsome face in theact that stirred her with a strange pity, made her own cheek hot withsympathy, and compelled her to look at him more attentively. The backthat was turned towards her was broad-shouldered and symmetrical, andshowed a frame that seemed to require stronger nourishment than thesimple coffee and roll he had ordered and was devouring slowly. Hisclothes, well made though worn, fitted him in a smart, soldier-like way, and accentuated his decided military bearing. The singular use of hisleft hand in lifting his cup made her uneasy, until a slight movementrevealed the fact that his right sleeve was empty and pinned to hiscoat. He was one-armed. She turned her compassionate eyes aside, yetlingered to make a few purchases at the counter, as he paid his bill andwalked away. But she was surprised to see that he tendered the waiterthe unexampled gratuity of a sou. Perhaps he was some eccentricEnglishman; he certainly did not look like a Frenchman. She had quite forgotten the incident, and in the afternoon had strolledwith a few fellow pupils into the galleries of the Louvre. It was"copying-day, " and as her friends loitered around the easels of thedifferent students with the easy consciousness of being themselves"artists, " she strolled on somewhat abstractedly before them. Her ownart was too serious to permit her much sympathy with another, and inthe chatter of her companions with the young painters a certain levitydisturbed her. Suddenly she stopped. She had reached a less frequentedroom; there was a single easel at one side, but the stool before it wasempty, and its late occupant was standing in a recess by the window, with his back towards her. He had drawn a silk handkerchief fromhis pocket. She recognized his square shoulders, she recognized thehandkerchief, and as he unrolled it she recognized the fragments of hermorning's breakfast as he began to eat them. It was the one-armed man. She remained so motionless and breathless that he finished his scantmeal without noticing her, and even resumed his place before the easelwithout being aware of her presence. The noise of approaching feetgave a fresh impulse to her own, and she moved towards him. But he wasevidently accustomed to these interruptions, and worked on steadilywithout turning his head. As the other footsteps passed her she wasemboldened to take a position behind him and glance at his work. Itwas an architectural study of one of Canaletto's palaces. Even herinexperienced eyes were struck with its vigor and fidelity. But she wasalso conscious of a sense of disappointment. Why was he not--like theothers--copying one of the masterpieces? Becoming at last aware ofa motionless woman behind him, he rose, and with a slight gesture ofcourtesy and a half-hesitating "Vous verrez mieux la, mademoiselle, "moved to one side. "Thank you, " said Miss Maynard in English, "but I did not want todisturb you. " He glanced quickly at her face for the first time. "Ah, you areEnglish!" he said. "No. I am American. " His face lightened. "So am I. " "I thought so, " she said. "From my bad French?" "No. Because you did not look up to see if the woman you were polite towas old or young. " He smiled. "And you, mademoiselle, --you did not murmur a compliment tothe copy over the artist's back. " She smiled, too, yet with a little pang over the bread. But she wasrelieved to see that he evidently had not recognized her. "You aremodest, " she said; "you do not attempt masterpieces. " "Oh, no! The giants like Titian and Corregio must be served with bothhands. I have only one, " he said half lightly, half sadly. "But you have been a soldier, " she said with quick intuition. "Not much. Only during our war, --until I was compelled to handle nothinglarger than a palette knife. Then I came home to New York, and, as I wasno use there, I came here to study. " "I am from South Carolina, " she said quietly, with a rising color. He put his palette down, and glanced at her black dress. "Yes, " she wenton doggedly, "my father lost all his property, and was killed in battlewith the Northerners. I am an orphan, --a pupil of the Conservatoire. " Itwas never her custom to allude to her family or her lost fortunes; sheknew not why she did it now, but something impelled her to rid her mindof it to him at once. Yet she was pained at his grave and pitying face. "I am very sorry, " he said simply. Then, after a pause, he added, witha gentle smile, "At all events you and I will not quarrel here under thewings of the French eagles that shelter us both. " "I only wanted to explain why I was alone in Paris, " she said, a littleless aggressively. He replied by unhooking his palette, which was ingeniously fastened by astrap over his shoulder under the missing arm, and opened a portfolio ofsketches at his side. "Perhaps they may interest you more than thecopy, which I have attempted only to get at this man's method. They aresketches I have done here. " There was a buttress of Notre Dame, a black arch of the Pont Neuf, partof an old courtyard in the Faubourg St. Germain, --all very fresh andstriking. Yet, with the recollection of his poverty in her mind, shecould not help saying, "But if you copied one of those masterpieces, youknow you could sell it. There is always a demand for that work. " "Yes, " he replied, "but these help me in my line, which is architecturalstudy. It is, perhaps, not very ambitious, " he added thoughtfully, "but, " brightening up again, "I sell these sketches, too. They are quitemarketable, I assure you. " Helen's heart sank again. She remembered now to have seen suchsketches--she doubted not they were his--in the cheap shops in theRue Poissoniere, ticketed at a few francs each. She was silent as hepatiently turned them over. Suddenly she uttered a little cry. He had just uncovered a little sketch of what seemed at first sight onlya confused cluster of roof tops, dormer windows, and chimneys, levelwith the sky-line. But it was bathed in the white sunshine of Paris, against the blue sky she knew so well. There, too, were the grittycrystals and rust of the tiles, the red, brown, and greenish mossesof the gutters, and lower down the more vivid colors of geraniums andpansies in flower-pots under the white dimity curtains which hid thesmall panes of garret windows; yet every sordid detail touched andtransfigured with the poetry and romance of youth and genius. "You have seen this?" she said. "Yes; it is a study from my window. One must go high for such effects. You would be surprised if you could see how different the air andsunshine"-- "No, " she interrupted gently, "I HAVE seen it. " "You?" he repeated, gazing at her curiously. Helen ran the point of her slim finger along the sketch until itreached a tiny dormer window in the left-hand corner, half-hidden by anirregular chimney-stack. The curtains were closely drawn. Keeping herfinger upon the spot, she said, interrogatively, "And you saw THATwindow?" "Yes, quite plainly. I remember it was always open, and the room seemedempty from early morning to evening, when the curtains were drawn. " "It is my room, " she said simply. Their eyes met with this sudden confession of their equal poverty. "Andmine, " he said gayly, "from which this view was taken, is in the rearand still higher up on the other street. " They both laughed as if some singular restraint had been removed; Heleneven forgot the incident of the bread in her relief. Then they comparednotes of their experiences, of their different concierges, of theirhousekeeping, of the cheap stores and the cheaper restaurants ofParis, --except one. She told him her name, and learned that his wasPhilip, or, if she pleased, Major Ostrander. Suddenly glancing at hercompanions, who were ostentatiously lingering at a little distance, she became conscious for the first time that she was talking quiteconfidentially to a very handsome man, and for a brief moment wished, she knew not why, that he had been plainer. This momentary restraint wasaccented by the entrance of a lady and gentleman, rather distingue indress and bearing, who had stopped before them, and were eyingequally the artist, his work, and his companion with somewhat insolentcuriosity. Helen felt herself stiffening; her companion drew himself upwith soldierly rigidity. For a moment it seemed as if, under that banalinfluence, they would part with ceremonious continental politeness, butsuddenly their hands met in a national handshake, and with a frank smilethey separated. Helen rejoined her companions. "So you have made a conquest of the recently acquired but unknownGreek statue?" said Mademoiselle Renee lightly. "You should take upa subscription to restore his arm, ma petite, if there is a modernsculptor who can do it. You might suggest it to the two Russiancognoscenti, who have been hovering around him as if they wanted to buyhim as well as his work. Madame La Princesse is rich enough to indulgeher artistic taste. " "It is a countryman of mine, " said Helen simply. "He certainly does not speak French, " said mademoiselle mischievously. "Nor think it, " responded Helen with equal vivacity. Nevertheless, shewished she had seen him alone. She thought nothing more of him that day in her finishing exercises. Butthe next morning as she went to open her window after dressing, shedrew back with a new consciousness, and then, making a peephole in thecurtain, looked over the opposite roofs. She had seen them many timesbefore, but now they had acquired a new picturesqueness, which as herview was, of course, the reverse of the poor painter's sketch, must havebeen a transfigured memory of her own. Then she glanced curiously alongthe line of windows level with hers. All these, however, with theiroccasional revelations of the menage behind them, were also familiar toher, but now she began to wonder which was his. A singular instinct atlast impelled her to lift her eyes. Higher in the corner house, and sonear the roof that it scarcely seemed possible for a grown man to standupright behind it, was an oeil de boeuf looking down upon the otherroofs, and framed in that circular opening like a vignette was thehandsome face of Major Ostrander. His eyes seemed to be turned towardsher window. Her first impulse was to open it and recognize him with afriendly nod. But an odd mingling of mischief and shyness made her turnaway quickly. Nevertheless, she met him the next morning walking slowly so near herhouse that their encounter might have been scarcely accidental on hispart. She walked with him as far as the Conservatoire. In the lightof the open street she thought he looked pale and hollow-cheeked;she wondered if it was from his enforced frugality, and was trying toconceive some elaborate plan of obliging him to accept her hospitalityat least for a single meal, when he said:-- "I think you have brought me luck, Miss Maynard. " Helen opened her eyes wonderingly. "The two Russian connoisseurs who stared at us so rudely were pleased, however, to also stare at my work. They offered me a fabulous sum forone or two of my sketches. It didn't seem to me quite the square thingto old Favel the picture-dealer, whom I had forced to take a lot at onefifteenth the price, so I simply referred them to him. " "No!" said Miss Helen indignantly; "you were not so foolish?" Ostrander laughed. "I'm afraid what you call my folly didn't avail, for they wanted whatthey saw in my portfolio. " "Of course, " said Helen. "Why, that sketch of the housetop alone wasworth a hundred times more than what you"--She stopped; she did not liketo reveal what he got for his pictures, and added, "more than what anyof those usurers would give. " "I am glad you think so well of it, for I do not mean to sell it, " hesaid simply, yet with a significance that kept her silent. She did not see him again for several days. The preparation for herexamination left her no time, and her earnest concentration in her workfully preoccupied her thoughts. She was surprised, but not disturbed, onthe day of the awards to see him among the audience of anxious parentsand relations. Miss Helen Maynard did not get the first prize, noryet the second; an accessit was her only award. She did not know untilafterwards that this had long been a foregone conclusion of her teacherson account of some intrinsic defect in her voice. She did not know untillong afterwards that the handsome painter's nervousness on that occasionhad attracted even the sympathy of some of those who were near him. Forshe herself had been calm and collected. No one else knew how crushingwas the blow which shattered her hopes and made her three years of laborand privation a useless struggle. Yet though no longer a pupil she couldstill teach; her master had found her a small patronage that saved herfrom destitution. That night she circled up quite cheerfully in herusual swallow flight to her nest under the eaves, and even twittered onthe landing a little over the condolences of the concierge--who knew, mon Dieu! what a beast the director of the Conservatoire was and how hecould be bribed; but when at last her brown head sank on her pillow shecried--just a little. But what was all this to that next morning--the glorious spring morningwhich bathed all the roofs of Paris with warmth and hope, rekindlingenthusiasm and ambition in the breast of youth, and gilding even muchof the sordid dirt below. It seemed quite natural that she should meetMajor Ostrander not many yards away as she sallied out. In that brightspring sunshine and the hopeful spring of their youth they even laughedat the previous day's disappointment. Ah! what a claque it was, afterall! For himself, he, Ostrander, would much rather see that satin-facedParisian girl who had got the prize smirking at the critics from theboards of the Grand Opera than his countrywoman! The Conservatoiresettled things for Paris, but Paris wasn't the world! America wouldcome to the fore yet in art of all kinds--there was a free academythere now--there should be a Conservatoire of its own. Of course, Parisschooling and Paris experience weren't to be despised in art; but, thankheaven! she had THAT, and no directors could take it from her! This andmuch more, until, comparing notes, they suddenly found that they wereboth free for that day. Why should they not take advantage of that rareweather and rarer opportunity to make a little suburban excursion? Butwhere? There was the Bois, but that was still Paris. Fontainebleau? Toofar; there were always artists sketching in the forest, and he wouldlike for that day to "sink the shop. " Versailles? Ah, yes! Versailles! Thither they went. It was not new to either of them. Ostrander knewit as an artist and as an American reader of that French historicromance--a reader who hurried over the sham intrigues of the Oeil deBoeuf, the sham pastorals of the Petit Trianon, and the sham heroics ofa shifty court, to get to Lafayette. Helen knew it as a child who haddodged these lessons from her patriotic father, but had enjoyed thewoods, the parks, the terraces, and particularly the restaurant at thepark gates. That day they took it like a boy and girl, --with the amused, omniscient tolerance of youth for a past so inferior to the present. Ostrander thought this gray-eyed, independent American-French girl farsuperior to the obsequious filles d'honneur, whose brocades had rustledthrough those quinquonces, and Helen vaguely realized the truth of herfellow pupil's mischievous criticism of her companion that day at theLouvre. Surely there was no classical statue here comparable to theone-armed soldier-painter! All this was as yet free from either sentiment or passion, and was onlythe frank pride of friendship. But, oddly enough, their mere presenceand companionship seemed to excite in others that tenderness they hadnot yet felt themselves. Family groups watched the handsome pair intheir innocent confidences, and, with French exuberant recognition ofsentiment, thought them the incarnation of Love. Something intheir manifest equality of condition kept even the vainest andmost susceptible of spectators from attempted rivalry or cynicalinterruption. And when at last they dropped side by side on a sun-warmedstone bench on the terrace, and Helen, inclining her brown head towardsher companion, informed him of the difficulty she had experienced ingetting gumbo soup, rice and chicken, corn cakes, or any of her favoritehome dishes in Paris, an exhausted but gallant boulevardier rose from acontiguous bench, and, politely lifting his hat to the handsome couple, turned slowly away from what he believed were tender confidences hewould not permit himself to hear. But the shadow of the trees began to lengthen, casting broad bars acrossthe alle, and the sun sank lower to the level of their eyes. They werequite surprised, on looking around a few moments later, to discover thatthe gardens were quite deserted, and Ostrander, on consulting his watch, found that they had just lost a train which the other pleasure-seekershad evidently availed themselves of. No matter; there was another trainan hour later; they could still linger for a few moments in the briefsunset and then dine at the local restaurant before they left. They bothlaughed at their forgetfulness, and then, without knowing why, suddenlylapsed into silence. A faint wind blew in their faces and trilled thethin leaves above their heads. Nothing else moved. The long windowsof the palace in that sunset light seemed to glisten again with theincendiary fires of the Revolution, and then went out blankly andabruptly. The two companions felt that they possessed the terrace andall its memories as completely as the shadows who had lived and diedthere. "I am so glad we have had this day together, " said the painter, witha very conscious breaking of the silence, "for I am leaving Paristo-morrow. " Helen raised her eyes quickly to his. "For a few days only, " he continued. "My Russian customers--perhaps Iought to say my patrons--have given me a commission to make a study ofan old chateau which the princess lately bought. " A swift recollection of her fellow pupil's raillery regarding theprincess's possible attitude towards the painter came over her and gavea strange artificiality to her response. "I suppose you will enjoy it very much, " she said dryly. "No, " he returned with the frankness that she had lacked. "I'd muchrather stay in Paris, but, " he added with a faint smile, "it's aquestion of money, and that is not to be despised. Yet I--I--somehowfeel that I am deserting you, --leaving you here all alone in Paris. " "I've been all alone for four years, " she said, with a bitterness shehad never felt before, "and I suppose I'm accustomed to it. " Nevertheless she leaned a little forward, with her fawn-colored lashesdropped over her eyes, which were bent upon the ground and the pointof the parasol she was holding with her little gloved hands between herknees. He wondered why she did not look up; he did not know that itwas partly because there were tears in her eyes and partly for anotherreason. As she had leaned forward his arm had quite unconsciously movedalong the back of the bench where her shoulders had rested, and shecould not have resumed her position except in his half embrace. He had not thought of it. He was lost in a greater abstraction. Thatinfinite tenderness, --far above a woman's, --the tenderness of strengthand manliness towards weakness and delicacy, the tenderness that looksdown and not up, was already possessing him. An instinct of protectiondrew him nearer this bowed but charming figure, and if he then noticedthat the shoulders were pretty, and the curves of the slim waistsymmetrical, it was rather with a feeling of timidity and ahalf-consciousness of unchivalrous thought. Yet why should he not try tokeep the brave and honest girl near him always? Why should he not claimthe right to protect her? Why should they not--they who were alone in astrange land--join their two lonely lives for mutual help and happiness? A sudden perception of delicacy, the thought that he should havespoken before her failure at the Conservatoire had made her feel herhelplessness, brought a slight color to his cheek. Would it not seemto her that he was taking an unfair advantage of her misfortune? Yetit would be so easy now to slip a loving arm around her waist, while hecould work for her and protect her with the other. THE OTHER! His eyefell on his empty sleeve. Ah, he had forgotten that! He had but ONE arm! He rose up abruptly, --so abruptly that Helen, rising too, almost touchedthe arm that was hurriedly withdrawn. Yet in that accidental contact, which sent a vague tremor through the young girl's frame, there wasstill time for him to have spoken. But he only said:-- "Perhaps we had better dine. " She assented quickly, --she knew not why, --with a feeling of relief. Theywalked very quietly and slowly towards the restaurant. Not a word oflove had been spoken; not even a glance of understanding had passedbetween them. Yet they both knew by some mysterious instinct that acrisis of their lives had come and gone, and that they never again couldbe to each other as they were but a brief moment ago. They talked verysensibly and gravely during their frugal meal; the previous spectatorof their confidences would have now thought them only simple friends andhave been as mistaken as before. They talked freely of their hopes andprospects, --all save one! They even spoke pleasantly of repeating theirlittle expedition after his return from the country, while in theirsecret hearts they had both resolved never to see each other again. Yet by that sign each knew that this was love, and were proud of eachother's pride, which kept it a secret. The train was late, and it was past ten o'clock when they at lastappeared before the concierge of Helen's home. During their journey, and while passing though the crowds at the station and in the streets, Ostrander had exhibited a new and grave guardianship over the younggirl, and, on the first landing, after a scrutinizing and an almostfierce glance at one or two of Helen's odd fellow lodgers, he hadextended his protection so far as to accompany her up the four flightsto the landing of her apartment. Here he took leave of her with a gravecourtesy that half pained, half pleased her. She watched his broadshoulders and dangling sleeve as he went down the stairs, and thenquickly turned, entered her room, and locked the door. The smile hadfaded from her lips. Going to the window, she pressed her hot foreheadagainst the cool glass and looked out upon the stars nearly level withthe black roofs around her. She stood there some moments until anotherstar appeared higher up against the roof ridge, the star she was lookingfor. But here the glass pane before her eyes became presently dim withmoisture; she was obliged to rub it out with her handkerchief; yet, somehow, it soon became clouded, at which she turned sharply away andwent to bed. But Miss Helen did not know that when she had looked after theretreating figure of her protector as he descended the stairs that nightthat he was really carrying away on those broad shoulders the charactershe had so laboriously gained during her four years' solitude. For whenshe came down the next morning the concierge bowed to her with an airof easy, cynical abstraction, the result of a long conversation with hiswife the night before. He had taken Helen's part with a kindlycynicism. "Ah! what would you--it was bound to come. The affair ofthe Conservatoire had settled that. The poor child could not starve;penniless, she could not marry. Only why consort with other swallowsunder the eaves when she could have had a gilded cage on the firstetage?" But girls were so foolish--in their first affair; then it wasalways LOVE! The second time they were wiser. And this maimed warriorand painter was as poor as she. A compatriot, too; well, perhapsthat saved some scandal; one could never know what the Americans wereaccustomed to do. The first floor, which had been inclined to be civilto the young teacher, was more so, but less respectful; one or two youngmen were tentatively familiar until they looked in her gray eyes andremembered the broad shoulders of the painter. Oddly enough, onlyMademoiselle Fifine, of her own landing, exhibited any sympathy withher, and for the first time Helen was frightened. She did not show it, however, only she changed her lodgings the next day. But before she leftshe had a few moments' conversation with the concierge and an exchangeof a word or two with some of her fellow lodgers. I have already hintedthat the young lady had great precision of statement; she had a prettyturn for handling colloquial French and an incisive knowledge of Frenchcharacter. She left No. 34, Rue de Frivole, working itself into a whiterage, but utterly undecided as to her real character. But all this and much more was presently blown away in the hot breaththat swept the boulevards at the outburst of the Franco-German War, and Miss Helen Maynard disappeared from Paris with many of her fellowcountrymen. The excitement reached even a quaint old chateau in Brittanywhere Major Ostrander was painting. The woman who was standing by hisside as he sat before his easel on the broad terrace observed that helooked disturbed. "What matters?" she said gently. "You have progressed so well in yourwork that you can finish it elsewhere. I have no great desire to stayin France with a frontier garrisoned by troops while I have a villain Switzerland where you could still be my guest. Paris can teach younothing more, my friend; you have only to create now--and be famous. " "I must go to Paris, " he said quietly. "I havefriends--countrymen--there, who may want me now. " "If you mean the young singer of the Rue de Frivole, you havecompromised her already. You can do her no good. " "Madame!" The pretty face which he had been familiar with for the past six weekssomehow seemed to change its character. Under the mask of dazzling skinhe fancied he saw the high cheek-bones and square Tartar angle; thebrilliant eyes were even brighter than before, but they showed more ofthe white than he had ever seen in them. Nevertheless she smiled, with an equally stony revelation of her whiteteeth, yet said, still gently, "Forgive me if I thought our friendshipjustified me in being frank, --perhaps too frank for my own good. " She stopped as if half expecting an interruption; but as he remainedlooking wonderingly at her, she bit her lip, and went on: "You havea great career before you. Those who help you must do so withoutentangling you; a chain of roses may be as impeding as lead. Until youare independent, you--who may in time compass everything yourself--willneed to be helped. You know, " she added with a smile, "you have but onearm. " "In your kindness and appreciation you have made me forget it, " hestammered. Yet he had a swift vision of the little bench at Versailleswhere he had NOT forgotten it, and as he glanced around the emptyterrace where they stood he was struck with a fateful resemblance to it. "And I should not remind you now of it, " she went on, "except to saythat money can always take its place. As in the fairy story, the princemust have a new arm made of gold. " She stopped, and then suddenly comingcloser to him said, hurriedly and almost fiercely, "Can you not see thatI am advising you against my interests, --against myself? Go, then, toParis, and go quickly, before I change my mind. Only if you do not findyour friends there, remember you have always ONE here. " Before he couldreply, or even understand that white face, she was gone. He left for Paris that afternoon. He went directly to the Rue deFrivole; his old resolution to avoid Helen was blown to the winds inthe prospect of losing her utterly. But the concierge only knew thatmademoiselle had left a day or two after monsieur had accompanied herhome. And, pointedly, there was another gentleman who had inquiredeagerly--and bountifully as far as money went--for any trace ofthe young lady. It was a Russe. The concierge smiled to himself atOstrander's flushed cheek. It served this one-armed, conceited Americanposeur right. Mademoiselle was wiser in this SECOND affair. Ostrander did not finish his picture. The princess sent him a cheque, which he coldly returned. Nevertheless he had acquired through hisRussian patronage a local fame which stood him well with the picturedealers, --in spite of the excitement of the war. But his heart was nolonger in his work; a fever of unrest seized him, which at another timemight have wasted itself in mere dissipation. Some of his fellow artistshad already gone into the army. After the first great reverses heoffered his one arm and his military experience to that Paris whichhad given him a home. The old fighting instinct returned to him with acertain desperation he had never known before. In the sorties fromParis the one-armed American became famous, until a few days before thecapitulation, when he was struck down by a bullet through the lung, andleft in a temporary hospital. Here in the whirl and terror of Communedays he was forgotten, and when Paris revived under the republic he haddisappeared as completely as his compatriot Helen. But Miss Helen Maynard had been only obscured and not extinguished. Atthe first outbreak of hostilities a few Americans had still kept giddystate among the ruins of the tottering empire. A day or two after sheleft the Rue de Frivole she was invited by one of her wealthy formerschoolmates to assist with her voice and talent at one of theirextravagant entertainments. "You will understand, dear, " said Miss deLaine, with ingenious delicacy, as she eyed her old comrade's well-worndress, "that Poppa expects to pay you professional prices, and it may bean opening for you among our other friends. " "I should not come otherwise, dear, " said Miss Helen with equalfrankness. But she played and sang very charmingly to the fashionableassembly in the Champs Elysees, --so charmingly, indeed, that Miss deLaine patronizingly expatiated upon her worth and her better days inconfidence to some of the guests. "A most deserving creature, " said Miss de Laine to the dowager duchessof Soho, who was passing through Paris on her way to England; "you wouldhardly believe that Poppa knew her father when he was one of the richestmen in South Carolina. " "Your father seems to have been very fortunate, " said the duchessquietly, "and so are YOU. Introduce me. " This not being exactly the reply that Miss de Laine expected, shemomentarily hesitated: but the duchess profited by it to walk over tothe piano and introduce herself. When she rose to go she invited Helento luncheon with her the next day. "Come early, my dear, and we'll havea long talk. " Helen pointed out hesitatingly that she was practicallya guest of the de Laines. "Ah, well, that's true, my dear; then you maybring one of them with you. " Helen went to the luncheon, but was unaccompanied. She had a long talkwith the dowager. "I am not rich, my dear, like your friends, and cannotafford to pay ten napoleons for a song. Like you I have seen 'betterdays. ' But this is no place for you, child, and if you can bear with anold woman's company for a while I think I can find you something todo. " That evening Helen left for England with the duchess, a piece of"ingratitude, indelicacy, and shameless snobbery, " which Miss de Lainewas never weary of dilating upon. "And to think I introduced her, thoughshe was a professional!" ***** It was three years after. Paris, reviving under the republic, hadforgotten Helen and the American colony; and the American colony, emigrating to more congenial courts, had forgotten Paris. It was a bleak day of English summer when Helen, standing by the windowof the breakfast-room at Hamley Court, and looking over the wonderfullawn, kept perennially green by humid English skies, heard thepractical, masculine voice of the duchess in her ear at the same momentthat she felt the gentle womanly touch of her hand on her shoulder. "We are going to luncheon at Moreland Hall to-day, my dear. " "Why, we were there only last week!" said Helen. "Undoubtedly, " returned the duchess dryly, "and we may luncheon therenext week and the next following. And, " she added, looking into hercompanion's gray eyes, "it rests with YOU to stay there if you choose. " Helen stared at her protector. "My dear, " continued the duchess, slipping her arm around Helen's waist, "Sir James has honored ME--as became my relations to YOU--with hisconfidences. As you haven't given me YOURS I suppose you have none, andthat I am telling you news when I say that Sir James wishes to marryyou. " The unmistakable astonishment in the girl's eye satisfied the duchesseven before her voice. "But he scarcely knows me or anything of me!" said the young girlquickly. "On the contrary, my dear, he knows EVERYTHING about you. I have beenparticular in telling him all I know--and some things even YOU don'tknow and couldn't tell him. For instance, that you are a very niceperson. Come, my dear, don't look so stupefied, or I shall really thinkthere's something in it that I don't know. It's not a laughing nor acrying matter yet--at present it's only luncheon again with a civilman who has three daughters and a place in the county. Don't make themistake, however, of refusing him before he offers--whatever you doafterwards. " "But"--stammered Helen. "But--you are going to say that you don't love him and have neverthought of him as a husband, " interrupted the duchess; "I read it inyour face, --and it's a very proper thing to say. " "It is so unexpected, " urged Helen. "Everything is unexpected from a man in these matters, " said theduchess. "We women are the only ones that are prepared. " "But, " persisted Helen, "if I don't want to marry at all?" "I should say, then, that it is a sign that you ought; if you wereeager, my dear, I should certainly dissuade you. " She paused, and thendrawing Helen closer to her, said, with a certain masculine tenderness, "As long as I live, dear, you know that you have a home here. But Iam an old woman living on the smallest of settlements. Death is asinevitable to me as marriage should be to you. " Nevertheless, they did not renew the conversation, and later receivedthe greetings of their host at Moreland Hall with a simplicity andfrankness that were, however, perfectly natural and unaffected in bothwomen. Sir James, --a tall, well-preserved man of middle age, withthe unmistakable bearing of long years of recognized and unchallengedposition, --however, exhibited on this occasion that slight consciousnessof weakness and susceptibility to ridicule which is apt to indicate theinvasion of the tender passion in the heart of the average Briton. Hisduty as host towards the elder woman of superior rank, however, coveredhis embarrassment, and for a moment left Helen quite undisturbed to gazeagain upon the treasures of the long drawing-room of Moreland Hall withwhich she was already familiar. There were the half-dozen old masters, whose respectability had been as recognized through centuries astheir owner's ancestors; there were the ancestors themselves, --wigged, ruffled, and white-handed, by Vandyke, Lely, Romney, and Gainsborough;there were the uniform, expressionless ancestresses in stiff brocadeor short-waisted, clinging draperies, but all possessing that brilliantcoloring which the gray skies outside lacked, and which seemed to havedeparted from the dresses of their descendants. The American girl hadsometimes speculated upon what might have been the appearance of thelime-tree walk, dotted with these gayly plumaged folk, and wondered ifthe tyranny of environment had at last subdued their brilliant colors. And a new feeling touched her. Like most of her countrywomen, she wasstrongly affected by the furniture of life; the thought that all thatshe saw there MIGHT BE HERS; that she might yet stand in succession tothese strange courtiers and stranger shepherdesses, and, like them, lookdown from the canvas upon the intruding foreigner, thrilled her for amoment with a half-proud, half-passive sense of yielding to what seemedto be her fate. A narrow-eyed, stiff-haired Dutch maid of honor beforewhom she was standing gazed at her with staring vacancy. Suddenlyshe started. Before the portrait upon a fanciful easel stood a smallelaborately framed sketch in oils. It was evidently some recentlyimported treasure. She had not seen it before. As she moved quicklyforward, she recognized at a glance that it was Ostrander's sketch fromthe Paris grenier. The wall, the room, the park beyond, even the gray sky, seemed to fadeaway before her. She was standing once more at her attic window lookingacross the roofs and chimney stacks upward to the blue sky of Paris. Through a gap in the roofs she could see the chestnut-trees trilling inthe little square; she could hear the swallows twittering in the leadentroughs of the gutter before her; the call of the chocolate venderor the cry of a gamin floated up to her from the street below, orthe latest song of the cafe chantant was whistled by the blue-blousedworkman on the scaffolding hard by. The breath of Paris, of youth, ofblended work and play, of ambition, of joyous freedom, again filled herand mingled with the scent of the mignonette that used to stand on theold window-ledge. "I am glad you like it. I have only just put it up. " It was the voice of Sir James--a voice that had regained a little ofits naturalness--a calm, even lazy English voice--confident from theexperience of years of respectful listeners. Yet it somehow jarred uponher nerves with its complacency and its utter incongruousness to herfeelings. Nevertheless, the impulse to know more about the sketch wasthe stronger. "Do you mean you have just bought it?" asked Helen. "It's not English?" "No, " said Sir James, gratified with his companion's interest. "I boughtit in Paris just after the Commune. " "From the artist?" continued Helen, in a slightly constrained voice. "No, " said Sir James, "although I knew the poor chap well enough. Youcan easily see that he was once a painter of great promise. I ratherthink it was stolen from him while he was in hospital by thoseincendiary wretches. I recognized it, however, and bought for a fewfrancs from them what I would have paid HIM a thousand for. " "In hospital?" repeated Helen dazedly. "Yes, " said Sir James. "The fact is it was the ending of the usualBohemian artist's life. Though in this case the man was a realartist, --and I believe, by the way, was a countryman of yours. " "In hospital?" again repeated Helen. "Then he was poor?" "Reckless, I should rather say; he threw himself into the fightingbefore Paris and was badly wounded. But it was all the result of theusual love affair--the girl, they say, ran off with the usual richerman. At all events, it ruined him for painting; he never did anythingworth having afterwards. " "And now?" said Helen in the same unmoved voice. Sir James shrugged his shoulders. "He disappeared. Probably he'll turnup some day on the London pavement--with chalks. That sketch, by theway, was one that had always attracted me to his studio--though he neverwould part with it. I rather fancy, don't you know, that the girl hadsomething to do with it. It's a wonderfully realistic sketch, don't yousee; and I shouldn't wonder if it was the girl herself who lived behindone of those queer little windows in the roof there. " "She did live there, " said Helen in a low voice. Sir James uttered a vague laugh. Helen looked around her. The duchesshad quietly and unostentatiously passed into the library, and in fullview, though out of hearing, was examining, with her glass to her eye, some books upon the shelves. "I mean, " said Helen, in a perfectly clear voice, "that the young girldid NOT run away from the painter, and that he had neither the right northe cause to believe her faithless or attribute his misfortunes to her. "She hesitated, not from any sense of her indiscretion, but to recoverfrom a momentary doubt if the girl were really her own self--but onlyfor a moment. "Then you knew the painter, as I did?" he said in astonishment. "Not as YOU did, " responded Helen. She drew nearer the picture, and, pointing a slim finger to the canvas, said:-- "Do you see that small window with the mignonette?" "Perfectly. " "That was MY room. His was opposite. He told me so when I first saw thesketch. I am the girl you speak of, for he knew no other, and I believehim to have been a truthful, honorable man. " "But what were you doing there? Surely you are joking?" said Sir James, with a forced smile. "I was a poor pupil at the Conservatoire, and lived where I could affordto live. " "Alone?" "Alone. " "And the man was"-- "Major Ostrander was my friend. I even think I have a better right tocall him that than you had. " Sir James coughed slightly and grasped the lapel of his coat. "Ofcourse; I dare say; I had no idea of this, don't you know, when Ispoke. " He looked around him as if to evade a scene. "Ah! suppose weask the duchess to look at the sketch; I don't think she's seen it. " Hebegan to move in the direction of the library. "She had better wait, " said Helen quietly. "For what?" "Until"--hesitated Helen smilingly. "Until? I am afraid I don't understand, " said Sir James stiffly, coloring with a slight suspicion. "Until you have APOLOGIZED. " "Of course, " said Sir James, with a half-hysteric laugh. "I do. Youunderstand I only repeated a story that was told me, and had no idea ofconnecting YOU with it. I beg your pardon, I'm sure. I er--er--in fact, "he added suddenly, the embarrassed smile fading from his face as helooked at her fixedly, "I remember now it must have been the conciergeof the house, or the opposite one, who told me. He said it was a Russianwho carried off that young girl. Of course it was some made-up story. " "I left Paris with the duchess, " said Helen quietly, "before the war. " "Of course. And she knows all about your friendship with this man. " "I don't think she does. I haven't told her. Why should I?" returnedHelen, raising her clear eyes to his. "Really, I don't know, " stammered Sir James. "But here she is. Of courseif you prefer it, I won't say anything of this to her. " Helen gave him her first glance of genuine emotion; it happened, however, to be scorn. "How odd!" she said, as the duchess leisurely approached them, her glassstill in her eye. "Sir James, quite unconsciously, has just been showingme a sketch of my dear old mansarde in Paris. Look! That little windowwas my room. And, only think of it, Sir James bought it of an old friendof mine, who painted it from the opposite attic, where he lived. Andquite unconsciously, too. " "How very singular!" said the duchess; "indeed, quite romantic!" "Very!" said Sir James. "Very!" said Helen. The tone of their voices was so different that the duchess looked fromone to the other. "But that isn't all, " said Helen with a smile, "Sir James actuallyfancied"-- "Will you excuse me for a moment?" said Sir James, interrupting, andturning hastily to the duchess with a forced smile and a somewhatheightened color. "I had forgotten that I had promised Lady Harriet todrive you over to Deep Hill after luncheon to meet that South Americanwho has taken such a fancy to your place, and I must send to thestables. " As Sir James disappeared, the duchess turned to Helen. "I see what hashappened, dear; don't mind me, for I frankly confess I shall now eat myluncheon less guiltily than I feared. But tell me, HOW did you refusehim?" "I didn't refuse him, " said Helen. "I only prevented his asking me. " "How?" Then Helen told her all, --everything except her first meeting withOstrander at the restaurant. A true woman respects the pride of thoseshe loves more even than her own, and while Helen felt that althoughthat incident might somewhat condone her subsequent romantic passion inthe duchess's eyes, she could not tell it. The duchess listened in silence. "Then you two incompetents have never seen each other since?" she asked. "No. " "But you hope to?" "I cannot speak for HIM, " said Helen. "And you have never written to him, and don't know whether he is aliveor dead?" "No. " "Then I have been nursing in my bosom for three years at one and thesame time a brave, independent, matter-of-fact young person and the mostidiotic, sentimental heroine that ever figured in a romantic opera or acountry ballad. " Helen did not reply. "Well, my dear, " said the duchessafter a pause, "I see that you are condemned to pass your days withme in some cheap hotel on the continent. " Helen looked up wonderingly. "Yes, " she continued, "I suppose I must now make up my mind to sell myplace to this gilded South American, who has taken a fancy to it. ButI am not going to spoil my day by seeing him NOW. No; we will excuseourselves from going to Deep Hill to-day, and we will go back homequietly after luncheon. It will be a mercy to Sir James. " "But, " said Helen earnestly, "I can go back to my old life, and earn myown living. " "Not if I can help it, " said the duchess grimly. "Your independence hasmade you a charming companion to me, I admit; but I shall see that itdoes not again spoil your chances of marrying. Here comes Sir James. Really, my dear, I don't know which one of you looks the more relieved. " On their way back through the park Helen again urged the duchess to giveup the idea of selling Hamley Court, and to consent to her taking upher old freedom and independence once more. "I shall never, neverforget your loving kindness and protection, " continued the young girl, tenderly. "You will let me come to you always when you want me; butyou will let me also shape my life anew, and work for my living. " Theduchess turned her grave, half humorous face towards her. "That meansyou have determined to seek HIM. Well! Perhaps if you give up your otherabsurd idea of independence, I may assist you. And now I really believe, dear, that there is that dreadful South American, " pointing to a figurethat was crossing the lawn at Hamley Court, "hovering round like avulture. Well, I can't see him to-day if he calls, but YOU may. By theway, they say he is not bad-looking, was a famous general in the SouthAmerican War, and is rolling in money, and comes here on a secretmission from his government. But I forget--the rest of our life is tobe devoted to seeking ANOTHER. And I begin to think I am not a goodmatchmaker. " Helen was in no mood for an interview with the stranger, whom, like theduchess, she was inclined to regard as a portent of fate and sacrifice. She knew her friend's straitened circumstances, which might make sucha sacrifice necessary to insure a competency for her old age, and, as Helen feared also, a provision for herself. She knew the strangetenderness of this masculine woman, which had survived a husband'sinfidelities and a son's forgetfulness, to be given to her, and herheart sank at the prospect of separation, even while her pride demandedthat she should return to her old life again. Then she wondered if theduchess was right; did she still cherish the hope of meeting Ostranderagain? The tears she had kept back all that day asserted themselvesas she flung open the library door and ran across the garden into themyrtle walk. "In hospital!" The words had been ringing in her earsthough Sir James's complacent speech, through the oddly constrainedluncheon, through the half-tender, half-masculine reasoning of hercompanion. He HAD loved her--he had suffered and perhaps thought herfalse. Suddenly she stopped. At the further end of the walk the ominousstranger whom she wished to avoid was standing looking towards thehouse. How provoking! She glanced again; he was leaning against a tree and wasobviously as preoccupied as she was herself. He was actually sketchingthe ivy-covered gable of the library. What presumption! And he wassketching with his left hand. A sudden thrill of superstition came overher. She moved eagerly forward for a better view of him. No! he had twoarms! But his quick eye had already caught sight of her, and before she couldretreat she could see that he had thrown away his sketch-book and washastening eagerly toward her. Amazed and confounded she would haveflown, but her limbs suddenly refused their office, and as he at lastcame near her with the cry of "Helen!" upon his lips, she felt herselfstaggering, and was caught in his arms. "Thank God, " he said. "Then she HAS let you come to me!" She disengaged herself slowly and dazedly from him and stood looking athim with wondering eyes. He was bronzed and worn; there was the secondarm: but still it was HE. And with the love, which she now knew he hadfelt, looking from his honest eyes! "SHE has let me come!" she repeated vacantly. "Whom do you mean?" "The duchess. " "The duchess?" "Yes. " He stopped suddenly, gazing at her blank face, while his own grewashy white. "Helen! For God's sake tell me! You have not accepted him?" "I have accepted no one, " she stammered, with a faint color rising toher cheeks. "I do not understand you. " A look of relief came over him. "But, " he said amazedly, "has not theduchess told you how I happen to be here? How, when you disappeared fromParis long ago--with my ambition crushed, and nothing left to me butmy old trade of the fighter--I joined a secret expedition to help theChilian revolutionists? How I, who might have starved as a painter, gained distinction as a partisan general, and was rewarded with anenvoyship in Europe? How I came to Paris to seek you? How I found thateven the picture--your picture, Helen--had been sold. How, in tracing ithere, I met the duchess at Deep Hill, and learning you were with her, ina moment of impulse told her my whole story. How she told me that thoughshe was your best friend, you had never spoken of me, and how she beggedme not to spoil your chance of a good match by revealing myself, and soawakening a past--which she believed you had forgotten. How she imploredme at least to let her make a fair test of your affections and yourmemory, and until then to keep away from you--and to spare you, Helen;and for your sake, I consented. Surely she has told this, NOW!" "Not a word, " said Helen blankly. "Then you mean to say that if I had not haunted the park to-day, in thehope of seeing you, believing that as you would not recognize me withthis artificial arm, I should not break my promise to her, --you wouldnot have known I was even living. " "No!--yes!--stay!" A smile broke over her pale face and left it rosy. "Isee it all now. Oh, Philip, don't you understand? She wanted only to tryus!" There was a silence in the lonely wood, broken only by the trills of afrightened bird whose retreat was invaded. "Not now! Please! Wait! Come with me!" The next moment she had seized Philip's left hand, and, dragging himwith her, was flying down the walk towards the house. But as they nearedthe garden door it suddenly opened on the duchess, with her glasses toher eyes, smiling. The General Don Felipe Ostrander did not buy Hamley Court, but he andhis wife were always welcome guests there. And Sir James, as became anEnglish gentleman, --amazed though he was at Philip's singular return, and more singular incognito, --afterwards gallantly presented Philip'swife with Philip's first picture. THE JUDGMENT OF BOLINAS PLAIN The wind was getting up on the Bolinas Plain. It had started the finealkaline dust along the level stage road, so that even that faint track, the only break in the monotony of the landscape, seemed fainter thanever. But the dust cloud was otherwise a relief; it took the semblanceof distant woods where there was no timber, of moving teams where therewas no life. And as Sue Beasley, standing in the doorway of One SpringHouse that afternoon, shading her sandy lashes with her small red hand, glanced along the desolate track, even HER eyes, trained to the drearyprospect, were once or twice deceived. "Sue!" It was a man's voice from within. Sue took no notice of it, but remainedwith her hand shading her eyes. "Sue! Wot yer yawpin' at thar?" "Yawpin'" would seem to have been the local expression for herabstraction, since, without turning her head, she answered slowly andlanguidly: "Reckoned I see'd som' un on the stage road. But 'tain'tnothin' nor nobody. " Both voices had in their accents and delivery something of the sadnessand infinite protraction of the plain. But the woman's had a musicalpossibility in its long-drawn cadence, while the man's was onlymonotonous and wearying. And as she turned back into the room again, and confronted her companion, there was the like difference in theirappearance. Ira Beasley, her husband, had suffered from the combinedeffects of indolence, carelessness, misadventure, and disease. Two ofhis fingers had been cut off by a scythe, his thumb and part of his leftear had been blown away by an overcharged gun; his knees were crippledby rheumatism, and one foot was lame from ingrowing nails, --deviationsthat, however, did not tend to correct the original angularities of hisframe. His wife, on the other hand, had a pretty figure, which stillretained--they were childless--the rounded freshness of maidenhood. Herfeatures were irregular, yet not without a certain piquancy of outline;her hair had the two shades sometimes seen in imperfect blondes, andher complexion the sallowness of combined exposure and alkalineassimilation. She had lived there since, an angular girl of fifteen, she had beenawkwardly helped by Ira from the tail-board of the emigrant wagon inwhich her mother had died two weeks before, and which was making itsfirst halt on the Californian plains, before Ira's door. On the secondday of their halt Ira had tried to kiss her while she was drawing water, and had received the contents of the bucket instead, --the girl knowingher own value. On the third day Ira had some conversation withher father regarding locations and stock. On the fourth day thisconversation was continued in the presence of the girl; on the fifth daythe three walked to Parson Davies' house, four miles away, where Iraand Sue were married. The romance of a week had taken place within theconfines of her present view from the doorway; the episode of her lifemight have been shut in in that last sweep of her sandy lashes. Nevertheless, at that moment some instinct, she knew not what, impelledher when her husband left the room to put down the dish she was washing, and, with the towel lapped over her bare pretty arms, to lean once moreagainst the doorpost, lazily looking down the plain. A cylindricalcloud of dust trailing its tattered skirt along the stage road suddenlyassaulted the house, and for an instant enveloped it. As it whirled awayagain something emerged, or rather dropped from its skirts behind thelittle cluster of low bushes which encircled the "One Spring. " It was aman. "Thar! I knew it was suthin', " she began aloud, but the words somehowdied upon her lips. Then she turned and walked towards the innerdoor, wherein her husband had disappeared, --but here stopped againirresolutely. Then she suddenly walked through the outer door into theroad and made directly for the spring. The figure of a man crouching, covered with dust, half rose from the bushes when she reached them. Shewas not frightened, for he seemed utterly exhausted, and there was asingular mixture of shame, hesitation, and entreaty in his broken voiceas he gasped out:-- "Look here!--I say! hide me somewhere, won't you? Just for a little. You see--the fact is--I'm chased! They're hunting me now, --they'rejust behind me. Anywhere will do till they go by! Tell you all about itanother time. Quick! Please do!" In all this there was nothing dramatic nor even startling to her. Nordid there seem to be any present danger impending to the man. He didnot look like a horse-thief nor a criminal. And he had tried to laugh, half-apologetically, half-bitterly, --the consciousness of a man who hadto ask help of a woman at such a moment. She gave a quick glance towards the house. He followed her eyes, and said hurriedly: "Don't tell on me. Don't let any one see me. I'mtrusting you. "Come, " she said suddenly. "Get on THIS side. " He understood her, and slipped to her side, half-creeping, half-crouching like a dog behind her skirts, but keeping her figurebetween him and the house as she moved deliberately towards the barn, scarce fifty yards away. When she reached it she opened the half-doorquickly, said: "In there--at the top--among the hay"--closed it, and wasturning away, when there came a faint rapping from within. She openedthe door again impatiently; the man said hastily: "Wanted to tellyou--it was a man who insulted a WOMAN! I went for him, you see--and"-- But she shut the door sharply. The fugitive had made a blunder. Theimportation of her own uncertain sex into the explanation did not helphim. She kept on towards the house, however, without the least traceof excitement or agitation in her manner, entered the front door again, walked quietly to the door of the inner room, glanced in, saw that herhusband was absorbed in splicing a riata, and had evidently not missedher, and returned quietly to her dish-washing. With this singulardifference: a few moments before she had seemed inattentive and carelessof what she was doing, as if from some abstraction; now, when shewas actually abstracted, her movements were mechanically perfect anddeliberate. She carefully held up a dish and examined it minutely forcracks, rubbing it cautiously with the towel, but seeing all the whileonly the man she had left in the barn. A few moments elapsed. Then therecame another rush of wind around the house, a drifting cloud of dustbefore the door, the clatter of hoofs, and a quick shout. Her husband reached the door, from the inner room, almost as quickly asshe did. They both saw in the road two armed mounted men--one of whomIra recognized as the sheriff's deputy. "Has anybody been here, just now?" he asked sharply. "No. " "Seen anybody go by?" he continued. "No. What's up?" "One of them circus jumpers stabbed Hal Dudley over the table in Doloresmonte shop last night, and got away this morning. We hunted him into theplain and lost him somewhere in this d----d dust. " "Why, Sue reckoned she saw suthin' just now, " said Ira, with a flash ofrecollection. "Didn't ye, Sue?" "Why the h-ll didn't she say it before?--I beg your pardon, ma'am;didn't see you; you'll excuse haste. " Both the men's hats were in their hands, embarrassed yet gratifiedsmiles on their faces, as Sue came forward. There was the faintest ofcolor in her sallow cheek, a keen brilliancy in her eyes; she lookedsingularly pretty. Even Ira felt a slight antenuptial stirring throughhis monotonously wedded years. The young woman walked out, folding the towel around her red hands andforearms--leaving the rounded whiteness of bared elbow and upper armin charming contrast--and looked gravely past the admiring figures thatnearly touched her own. "It was somewhar over thar, " she said lazily, pointing up the road in the opposite direction to the barn, "but I ain'tsure it WAS any one. " "Then he'd already PASSED the house afore you saw him?" said the deputy. "I reckon--if it WAS him, " returned Sue. "He must have got on, " said the deputy; "but then he runs like a deer;it's his trade. " "Wot trade?" "Acrobat. " "Wot's that?" The two men were delighted at this divine simplicity. "A man who runs, jumps, climbs--and all that sort, in the circus. " "But isn't he runnin', jumpin', and climbin' away from ye now?" shecontinued with adorable naivete. The deputy smiled, but straightened in the saddle. "We're bound to comeup with him afore he reaches Lowville; and between that and this houseit's a dead level, where a gopher couldn't leave his hole without yourspottin' him a mile off! Good-by!" The words were addressed to Ira, but the parting glance was directed to the pretty wife as the two mengalloped away. An odd uneasiness at this sudden revelation of his wife's prettiness andits evident effect upon his visitors came over Ira. It resulted in hisaddressing the empty space before his door with, "Well, ye won't ketchmuch if ye go on yawpin' and dawdlin' with women-folks like this;" andhe was unreasonably delighted at the pretty assent of disdain and scornwhich sparkled in his wife's eyes as she added:-- "Not much, I reckon!" "That's the kind of official trash we have to pay taxes to keep up, "said Ira, who somehow felt that if public policy was not amenable toprivate sentiment there was no value in free government. Mrs. Beasley, however, complacently resumed her dish-washing, and Ira returned to hisriata in the adjoining room. For quite an interval there was no soundbut the occasional click of a dish laid upon its pile, with fingersthat, however, were firm and untremulous. Presently Sue's low voice washeard. "Wonder if that deputy caught anything yet. I've a good mind to meanderup the road and see. " But the question brought Ira to the door with a slight return of hisformer uneasiness. He had no idea of subjecting his wife to anotheradmiring interview. "I reckon I'll go myself, " he said dubiously; "YOU'Dbetter stay and look after the house. " Her eyes brightened as she carried a pile of plates to the dresser;it was possible she had foreseen this compromise. "Yes, " she saidcheerfully, "you could go farther than me. " Ira reflected. He could also send them about their business if theythought of returning. He lifted his hat from the floor, took his rifledown carefully from its pegs, and slouched out into the road. Suewatched him until he was well away, then flew to the back door, stoppingonly an instant to look at her face in a small mirror on the wall, --yetwithout noticing her new prettiness, --then ran to the barn. Castinga backward glance at the diminishing figure of her husband in thedistance, she threw open the door and shut it quickly behind her. At first the abrupt change from the dazzling outer plain to the deepshadows of the barn bewildered her. She saw before her a bucket halffilled with dirty water, and a quantity of wet straw littering thefloor; then lifting her eyes to the hay-loft, she detected the figure ofthe fugitive, unclothed from the waist upward, emerging from the loosehay in which he had evidently been drying himself. Whether it was theexcitement of his perilous situation, or whether the perfect symmetryof his bared bust and arms--unlike anything she had ever seenbefore--clothed him with the cold ideality of a statue, she could notsay, but she felt no shock of modesty; while the man, accustomed tothe public half-exposure in tights and spangles, was more conscious ofdetected unreadiness than of shame. "Gettin' the dust off me, " he said, in hurried explanation; "be downin a second. " Indeed, in another moment he had resumed his shirt andflannel coat, and swung himself to the floor with a like grace anddexterity, that was to her the revelation of a descending god. She foundherself face to face with him, --his features cleansed of dirt and grime, his hair plastered in wet curls on his low forehead. It was a faceof cheap adornment, not uncommon in his profession--unintelligent, unrefined, and even unheroic; but she did not know that. Overcoming asudden timidity, she nevertheless told him briefly and concisely of thearrival and departure of his pursuers. His low forehead wrinkled. "Thar's no getting away until they comeback, " he said without looking at her. "Could ye keep me in hereto-night?" "Yes, " she returned simply, as if the idea had already occurred to her;"but you must lie low in the loft. " "And could you"--he hesitated, and went on with a forced smile--"yousee, I've eaten nothing since last night. Could you"-- "I'll bring you something, " she said quickly, nodding her head. "And if you had"--he went on more hesitatingly, glancing down at histravel-torn and frayed garments--"anything like a coat, or any otherclothing? It would disguise me also, you see, and put 'em off thetrack. " She nodded her head again rapidly: she had thought of that too; therewas a pair of doeskin trousers and a velvet jacket left by a Mexicanvaquero who had bought stock from them two years ago. Practical as shewas, a sudden conviction that he would look well in the velvet jackethelped her resolve. "Did they say"--he said, with his forced smile and uneasy glance--"didthey--tell you anything about me?" "Yes, " she said abstractedly, gazing at him. "You see, " he began hurriedly, "I'll tell you how it was. " "No, don't!" she said quickly. She meant it. She wanted no facts tostand between her and this single romance of her life. "I must go andget the things, " she added, turning away, "before he gets back. " "Who's HE?" asked the man. She was about to reply, "My husband, " but without knowing why stoppedand said, "Mr. Beasley, " and then ran off quickly to the house. She found the vaquero's clothes, took some provisions, filled a flask ofwhiskey in the cupboard, and ran back with them, her mouth expanded toa vague smile, and pulsating like a schoolgirl. She even repressedwith difficulty the ejaculation "There!" as she handed them to him. Hethanked her, but with eyes fixed and fascinated by the provisions. Sheunderstood it with a new sense of delicacy, and saying, "I'll come againwhen he gets back, " ran off and returned to the house, leaving him aloneto his repast. Meantime her husband, lounging lazily along the high road, hadprecipitated the catastrophe he wished to avoid. For his slouchingfigure, silhouetted against the horizon on that monotonous level, hadbeen the only one detected by the deputy sheriff and the constable, hiscompanion, and they had charged down within fifty yards of him beforethey discovered their mistake. They were not slow in making this anexcuse for abandoning their quest as far as Lowville: in fact, afterquitting the distraction of Mrs. Beasley's presence they had, without inthe least suspecting the actual truth, become doubtful if the fugitivehad proceeded so far. He might at that moment be snugly ensconced behindsome low wire-grass ridge, watching their own clearly defined figures, and waiting only for the night to evade them. The Beasley house seemed aproper place of operation in beating up the field. Ira's cold receptionof the suggestion was duly disposed of by the deputy. "I have the RIGHT, ye know, " he said, with a grim pleasantry, "to summon ye as my posseto aid and assist me in carrying out the law; but I ain't the man tobe rough on my friends, and I reckon it will do jest as well if I'requisition' your house. " The dreadful recollection that the deputy hadthe power to detail him and the constable to scour the plain while heremained behind in company with Sue stopped Ira's further objections. Yet, if he could only get rid of her while the deputy was in thehouse, --but then his nearest neighbor was five miles away! There wasnothing left for him to do but to return with the men and watch hiswife keenly. Strange to say, there was a certain stimulus in this whichstirred his monotonous pulses and was not without a vague pleasure. There is a revelation to some natures in newly awakened jealousy that isa reincarnation of love. As they came into the house a slight circumstance, which an hour agowould have scarcely touched his sluggish sensibilities, now appeared tocorroborate his fear. His wife had changed her cuffs and collar, takenoff her rough apron, and evidently redressed her hair. This, with theenhanced brightness of her eyes, which he had before noticed, convincedhim that it was due to the visit of the deputy. There was no doubt thatthe official was equally attracted and fascinated by her prettiness, andalthough her acceptance of his return was certainly not a cordial one, there was a kind of demure restraint and over-consciousness in hermanner that might be coquetry. Ira had vaguely observed this quality inother young women, but had never experienced it in his brief courtship. There had been no rivalry, no sexual diplomacy nor insincerity in hiscapture of the motherless girl who had leaped from the tail-board of herfather's wagon almost into his arms, and no man had since come betweenthem. The idea that Sue should care for any other than himself had beensimply inconceivable to his placid, matter-of-fact nature. That theirsacrament was final he had never doubted. If his two cows, boughtwith his own money or reared by him, should suddenly have developedan inclination to give milk to a neighbor, he would not have been moreastonished. But THEY could have been brought back with a rope, andwithout a heart throb. Passion of this kind, which in a less sincere society restricts itsexpression to innuendo or forced politeness, left the rustic Ira onlydumb and lethargic. He moved slowly and abstractedly around the room, accenting his slight lameness more than ever, or dropped helplessly intoa chair, where he sat, inanely conscious of the contiguity of hiswife and the deputy, and stupidly expectant of--he knew not what. The atmosphere of the little house seemed to him charged with someunwholesome electricity. It kindled his wife's eyes, stimulating thedeputy and his follower to coarse playfulness, enthralled his own limbsto the convulsive tightening of his fingers around the rungs of hischair. Yet he managed to cling to his idea of keeping his wife occupied, and of preventing any eyeshot between her and her guests, or theindulgence of dangerously flippant conversation, by ordering her tobring some refreshment. "What's gone o' the whiskey bottle?" he said, after fumbling in the cupboard. Mrs. Beasley did not blench. She only gave her head a slight toss. "Efyou men can't get along with the coffee and flapjacks I'm going to giveye, made with my own hands, ye kin just toddle right along to thefirst bar, and order your tangle-foot there. Ef it's a barkeeper you'relooking for, and not a lady, say so!" The novel audacity of this speech, and the fact that it suggestedthat preoccupation he hoped for, relieved Ira for a moment, while itenchanted the guests as a stroke of coquettish fascination. Mrs. Beasleytriumphantly disappeared in the kitchen, slipped off her cuffs and setto work, and in a few moments emerged with a tray bearing the cakes andsteaming coffee. As neither she nor her husband ate anything (possiblyowing to an equal preoccupation) the guests were obliged to confinetheir attentions to the repast before them. The sun, too, was alreadynearing the horizon, and although its nearly level beams acted like apowerful search-light over the stretching plain, twilight would soonput an end to the quest. Yet they lingered. Ira now foresaw a newdifficulty: the cows were to be brought up and fodder taken from thebarn; to do this he would be obliged to leave his wife and the deputytogether. I do not know if Mrs. Beasley divined his perplexity, but shecarelessly offered to perform that evening function herself. Ira's heartleaped and sank again as the deputy gallantly proposed to assist her. But here rustic simplicity seemed to be equal to the occasion. "Ef Ipropose to do Ira's work, " said Mrs. Beasley, with provocative archness, "it's because I reckon he'll do more good helpin' you catch yourman than you'll do helpin' ME! So clear out, both of ye!" A feminineaudacity that recalled the deputy to himself, and left him no choice butto accept Ira's aid. I do not know whether Mrs. Beasley felt a pang ofconscience as her husband arose gratefully and limped after the deputy;I only know that she stood looking at them from the door, smiling andtriumphant. Then she slipped out of the back door again, and ran swiftly to thebarn, fastening on her clean cuffs and collar as she ran. The fugitivewas anxiously awaiting her, with a slight touch of brusqueness in hiseagerness. "Thought you were never coming!" he said. She breathlessly explained, and showed him through the half-opened doorthe figures of the three men slowly spreading and diverging over theplain, like the nearly level sun-rays they were following. The sunlightfell also on her panting bosom, her electrified sandy hair, her red, half-opened mouth, and short and freckled upper lip. The relievedfugitive turned from the three remoter figures to the one beside him, and saw, for the first time, that it was fair. At which he smiled, andher face flushed and was irradiated. Then they fell to talk, --he grateful, boastful, --as the distant figuresgrew dim; she quickly assenting, but following his expression ratherthan his words, with her own girlish face and brightening eyes. But whathe said, or how he explained his position, with what speciousness hedwelt upon himself, his wrongs, and his manifold manly virtues, is notnecessary for us to know, nor was it, indeed, for her to understand. Enough for her that she felt she had found the one man of all the world, and that she was at that moment protecting him against all the world! Hewas the unexpected, spontaneous gift to her, the companion her childhoodhad never known, the lover she had never dreamed of, even the child ofher unsatisfied maternal yearnings. If she could not comprehend all hisselfish incoherences, she felt it was her own fault; if she could notfollow his ignorant assumptions, she knew it was SHE who was deficient;if she could not translate his coarse speech, it was because it was thelanguage of a larger world from which she had been excluded. To thisworld belonged the beautiful limbs she gazed on, --a very differentworld from that which had produced the rheumatic deformities and uselessmayhem of her husband, or the provincially foppish garments of thedeputy. Sitting in the hayloft together, where she had mounted forgreater security, they forgot themselves in his monologue of cheapvaporing, broken only by her assenting smiles and her half-checkedsighs. The sharp spices of the heated pine-shingles over their headsand the fragrance of the clover-scented hay filled the close air aroundthem. The sun was falling with the wind, but they heeded it not; untilthe usual fateful premonition struck the woman, and saying "I must gonow, " she only half-unconsciously precipitated the end. For, as sherose, he caught first her hand and then her waist, and attempted toraise the face that was suddenly bending down as if seeking to hideitself in the hay. It was a brief struggle, ending in a submission assudden, and their lips met in a kiss, so eager that it might have beenimpending for days instead of minutes. "Oh, Sue! where are ye?" It was her husband's voice, out of a darkness that they only thenrealized. The man threw her aside with a roughness that momentarilyshocked her above any sense of surprise or shame: SHE would haveconfronted her husband in his arms, --glorified and translated, --had hebut kept her there. Yet she answered, with a quiet, level voice thatastonished her lover, "Here! I'm just coming down!" and walked coollyto the ladder. Looking over, and seeing her husband with the deputystanding in the barnyard, she quickly returned, put her finger to herlips, made a gesture for her companion to conceal himself in the hayagain, and was turning away, when, perhaps shamed by her superiorcalmness, he grasped her hand tightly and whispered, "Come againtonight, dear; do!" She hesitated, raised her hand suddenly to her lips, and then quickly disengaging it, slipped down the ladder. "Ye haven't done much work yet as I kin see, " said Ira wearily. "Whiteyand Red Tip [the cows] are hangin' over the corral, just waitin'. " "The yellow hen we reckoned was lost is sittin' in the hayloft, andmustn't be disturbed, " said Mrs. Beasley, with decision; "and ye'll haveto take the hay from the stack to-night. And, " with an arch glance atthe deputy, "as I don't see that you two have done much either, you'rejust in time to help fodder down. " Setting the three men to work with the same bright audacity, the taskwas soon completed--particularly as the deputy found no opportunity forexclusive dalliance with Mrs. Beasley. She shut the barn door herself, and led the way to the house, learning incidentally that the deputy hadabandoned the chase, was to occupy a "shake-down" on the kitchen-floorthat night with the constable, and depart at daybreak. The gloom ofher husband's face had settled into a look of heavy resignation andalternate glances of watchfulness, which only seemed to inspire herwith renewed vivacity. But the cooking of supper withdrew her disturbingpresence for a time from the room, and gave him some relief. Whenthe meal was ready he sought further surcease from trouble in copiousdraughts of whiskey, which she produced from a new bottle, and evenpressed upon the deputy in mischievous contrition for her previousinhospitality. "Now I know that it wasn't whiskey only ye came for, I'll show you thatSue Beasley is no slouch of a barkeeper either, " she said. Then, rolling her sleeves above her pretty arms, she mixed a cocktail insuch delightful imitation of the fashionable barkeeper's dexterity thather guests were convulsed with admiration. Even Ira was struck withthis revelation of a youthfulness that five years of household care hadchecked, but never yet subdued. He had forgotten that he had married achild. Only once, when she glanced at the cheap clock on the mantel, had he noticed another change, more remarkable still from its veryinconsistency with her burst of youthful spirits. It was another facethat he saw, --older and matured with an intensity of abstraction thatstruck a chill to his heart. It was not HIS Sue that was standing there, but another Sue, wrought, as it seemed to his morbid extravagance, bysome one else's hand. Yet there was another interval of relief when his wife, declaring shewas tired, and even jocosely confessing to some effect of the liquor shehad pretended to taste, went early to bed. The deputy, not finding thegloomy company of the husband to his taste, presently ensconced himselfon the floor, before the kitchen fire, in the blankets that she hadprovided. The constable followed his example. In a few moments the housewas silent and sleeping, save for Ira sitting alone, with his head sunkon his chest and his hands gripping the arms of his chair before thedying embers of his hearth. He was trying, with the alternate quickness and inaction of aninexperienced intellect and an imagination morbidly awakened, to graspthe situation before him. The common sense that had hitherto governedhis life told him that the deputy would go to-morrow, and that there wasnothing in his wife's conduct to show that her coquetry and aberrationwould not pass as easily. But it recurred to him that she had nevershown this coquetry or aberration to HIM during their own briefcourtship, --that she had never looked or acted like this before. If thiswas love, she had never known it; if it was only "women's ways, " as hehad heard men say, and so dangerously attractive, why had she not shownit to him? He remembered that matter-of-fact wedding, the bride withouttimidity, without blushes, without expectation beyond the transferenceof her home to his. Would it have been different with another man?--withthe deputy, who had called this color and animation to her face? Whatdid it all mean? Were all married people like this? There were theWestons, their neighbors, --was Mrs. Weston like Sue? But he rememberedthat Mrs. Weston had run away with Mr. Weston from her father's house. It was what they called "a love match. " Would Sue have run away withhim? Would she now run away with--? The candle was guttering as he rose with a fierce start--his firstimpulse of anger--from the table. He took another gulp of whiskey. Ittasted like water; its fire was quenched in the greater heat of hisblood. He would go to bed. Here a new and indefinable timidity tookpossession of him; he remembered the strange look in his wife's face. Itseemed suddenly as if the influence of the sleeping stranger in the nextroom had not only isolated her from him, but would make his presencein her bedroom an intrusion on their hidden secrets. He had to pass theopen door of the kitchen. The head of the unconscious deputy was closeto Ira's heavy boot. He had only to lift his heel to crush that ruddy, good-looking, complacent face. He hurried past him, up the creakingstairs. His wife lay still on one side of the bed, apparently asleep, her face half-hidden in her loosened, fluffy hair. It was well; for inthe vague shyness and restraint that was beginning to take possessionof him he felt he could not have spoken to her, or, if he had, it wouldhave been only to voice the horrible, unformulated things that seemed tochoke him. He crept softly to the opposite side of the bed, and began toundress. As he pulled off his boots and stockings, his eye fell uponhis bare, malformed feet. This caused him to look at his maimed hand, to rise, drag himself across the floor to the mirror, and gaze upon hislacerated ear. She, this prettily formed woman lying there, must haveseen it often; she must have known all these years that he was not likeother men, --not like the deputy, with his tight riding-boots, his softhand, and the diamond that sparkled vulgarly on his fat little finger. A cold sweat broke over him. He drew on his stockings again, lifted theouter counterpane, and, half undressed, crept under it, wrapping itscorner around his maimed hand, as if to hide it from the light. Yet hefelt that he saw things dimly; there was a moisture on his cheeks andeyelids he could not account for; it must be the whiskey "coming out. " His wife lay very still; she scarcely seemed to breathe. What if sheshould never breathe again, but die as the old Sue he knew, the lankygirl he had married, unchanged and uncontaminated? It would be betterthan this. Yet at the same moment the picture was before him of herpretty simulation of the barkeeper, of her white bared arms and laughingeyes, all so new, so fresh to him! He tried to listen to the slowticking of the clock, the occasional stirring of air through the house, and the movement, like a deep sigh, which was the regular, inarticulatespeech of the lonely plain beyond, and quite distinct from the eveningbreeze. He had heard it often, but, like so many things he had learnedthat day, he never seemed to have caught its meaning before. Then, perhaps, it was his supine position, perhaps some cumulative effect ofthe whiskey he had taken, but all this presently became confused andwhirling. Out of its gyrations he tried to grasp something, to hearvoices that called him to "wake, " and in the midst of it he fell into aprofound sleep. The clock ticked, the wind sighed, the woman at his side lay motionlessfor many minutes. Then the deputy on the kitchen floor rolled over with an appallingsnort, struggled, stretched himself, and awoke. A healthy animal, he hadshaken off the fumes of liquor with a dry tongue and a thirst for waterand fresh air. He raised his knees and rubbed his eyes. The water bucketwas missing from the corner. Well, he knew where the spring was, and aturn out of the close and stifling kitchen would do him good. Heyawned, put on his boots softly, opened the back door, and stepped out. Everything was dark, but above and around him, to the very level of hisfeet, all apparently pricked with bright stars. The bulk of the barnrose dimly before him on the right, to the left was the spring. Hereached it, drank, dipped his head and hands in it, and arose refreshed. The dry, wholesome breath that blew over this flat disk around him, rimmed with stars, did the rest. He began to saunter slowly back, the only reminiscence of his evening's potations being the figure herecalled of his pretty hostess, with bare arms and lifted glasses, imitating the barkeeper. A complacent smile straightened his yellowmustache. How she kept glancing at him and watching him, the littlewitch! Ha! no wonder! What could she find in the surly, slinking, stupidbrute yonder? (The gentleman here alluded to was his host. ) But thedeputy had not been without a certain provincial success with the fair. He was true to most men, and fearless to all. One may not be too hardupon him at this moment of his life. For as he was passing the house he stopped suddenly. Above the dry, dusty, herbal odors of the plain, above the scent of the new-mown haywithin the barn, there was distinctly another fragrance, --the smell ofa pipe. But where? Was it his host who had risen to take the outer air?Then it suddenly flashed upon him that Beasley did NOT smoke, northe constable either. The smell seemed to come from the barn. Had hefollowed out the train of ideas thus awakened, all might have been well;but at this moment his attention was arrested by a far more excitingincident to him, --the draped and hooded figure of Mrs. Beasley was justemerging from the house. He halted instantly in the shadow, and heldhis breath as she glided quickly across the intervening space anddisappeared in the half-opened door of the barn. Did she know hewas there? A keen thrill passed over him; his mouth broadened into abreathless smile. It was his last! for, as he glided forward to thedoor, the starry heavens broke into a thousand brilliant fragmentsaround him, the earth gave way beneath his feet, and he fell forwardwith half his skull shot away. Where he fell there he lay without an outcry, with only onemovement, --the curved and grasping fingers of the fighter's hand towardshis guarded hip. Where he fell there he lay dead, his face downwards, his good right arm still curved around across his back. Nothing of himmoved but his blood, --broadening slowly round him in vivid color, andthen sluggishly thickening and darkening until it stopped too, and sankinto the earth, a dull brown stain. For an instant the stillness ofdeath followed the echoless report, then there was a quick and feverishrustling within the barn, the hurried opening of a window in the loft, scurrying footsteps, another interval of silence, and then out of thefarther darkness the sounds of horse-hoofs in the muffled dust of theroad. But not a sound or movement in the sleeping house beyond. The stars at last paled slowly, the horizon lines came back, --a thinstreak of opal fire. A solitary bird twittered in the bush beside thespring. Then the back door of the house opened, and the constable cameforth, half-awakened and apologetic, and with the bewildered haste of abelated man. His eyes were level, looking for his missing leader as hewent on, until at last he stumbled and fell over the now cold and rigidbody. He scrambled to his feet again, cast a hurried glance aroundhim, --at the half-opened door of the barn, at the floor littered withtrampled hay. In one corner lay the ragged blouse and trousers of thefugitive, which the constable instantly recognized. He went back to thehouse, and reappeared in a few moments with Ira, white, stupefied, andhopelessly bewildered; clear only in his statement that his wife hadjust fainted at the news of the catastrophe, and was equally helpless inher own room. The constable--a man of narrow ideas but quick action--sawit all. The mystery was plain without further evidence. The deputy hadbeen awakened by the prowling of the fugitive around the house in searchof a horse. Sallying out, they had met, and Ira's gun, which stood inthe kitchen, and which the deputy had seized, had been wrested from himand used with fatal effect at arm's length, and the now double assassinhad escaped on the sheriff's horse, which was missing. Turning the bodyover to the trembling Ira, he saddled his horse and galloped to Lowvillefor assistance. These facts were fully established at the hurried inquest which met thatday. There was no need to go behind the evidence of the constable, theonly companion of the murdered man and first discoverer of the body. Thefact that he, on the ground floor, had slept through the struggle andthe report, made the obliviousness of the couple in the room abovea rational sequence. The dazed Ira was set aside, after half a dozencontemptuous questions; the chivalry of a Californian jury excused theattendance of a frightened and hysterical woman confined to her room. By noon they had departed with the body, and the long afternoon shadowssettled over the lonely plain and silent house. At nightfall Iraappeared at the door, and stood for some moments scanning the plain; hewas seen later by two packers, who had glanced furtively at the sceneof the late tragedy, sitting outside his doorway, a mere shadow in thedarkness; and a mounted patrol later in the night saw a light in thebedroom window where the invalid Mrs. Beasley was confined. But no onesaw her afterwards. Later, Ira explained that she had gone to visit arelative until her health was restored. Having few friends and fewerneighbors, she was not missed; and even the constable, the solesurviving guest who had enjoyed her brief eminence of archness andbeauty that fatal night, had quite forgotten her in his vengeful questof the murderer. So that people became accustomed to see this lonely manworking in the fields by day, or at nightfall gazing fixedly from hisdoorway. At the end of three months he was known as the recluse or"hermit" of Bolinas Plain; in the rapid history-making of that epoch itwas forgotten that he had ever been anything else. But Justice, which in those days was apt to nod over the affairs of theaverage citizen, was keenly awake to offenses against its own officers;and it chanced that the constable, one day walking through the streetsof Marysville, recognized the murderer and apprehended him. He wasremoved to Lowville. Here, probably through some modest doubt of theability of the County Court, which the constable represented, to dealwith purely circumstantial evidence, he was not above dropping a hint tothe local Vigilance Committee, who, singularly enough, in spite of hisresistance, got possession of the prisoner. It was the rainy season, andbusiness was slack; the citizens of Lowville were thus enabled togive so notorious a case their fullest consideration, and to assistcheerfully at the ultimate hanging of the prisoner, which seemed to be aforegone conclusion. But herein they were mistaken. For when the constable had given hisevidence, already known to the county, there was a disturbance in thefringe of humanity that lined the walls of the assembly room where thecommittee was sitting, and the hermit of Bolinas Plain limped painfullyinto the room. He had evidently walked there: he was soaked with rainand plastered with mud; he was exhausted and inarticulate. But as hestaggered to the witness-bench, and elbowed the constable aside, hearrested the attention of every one. A few laughed, but werepromptly silenced by the court. It was a reflection upon its onlyvirtue, --sincerity. "Do you know the prisoner?" asked the judge. Ira Beasley glanced at the pale face of the acrobat, and shook his head. "Never saw him before, " he said faintly. "Then what are you doing here?" demanded the judge sternly. Ira collected himself with evident effort, and rose to his halting feet. First he moistened his dry lips, then he said, slowly and distinctly, "Because I killed the deputy of Bolinas. " With the thrill which ran through the crowded room, and the relief thatseemed to come upon him with that utterance, he gained strength and evena certain dignity. "I killed him, " he went on, turning his head slowly around the circle ofeager auditors with the rigidity of a wax figure, "because he madelove to my wife. I killed him because he wanted to run away with her. Ikilled him because I found him waiting for her at the door of the barnat the dead o' night, when she'd got outer bed to jine him. He hadn't nogun. He hadn't no fight. I killed him in his tracks. That man, " pointingto the prisoner, "wasn't in it at all. " He stopped, loosened his collar, and, baring his rugged throat below his disfigured ear, said: "Now takeme out and hang me!" "What proof have we of this? Where's your wife? Does she corroborateit?" A slight tremor ran over him. "She ran away that night, and never came back again. Perhaps, " he addedslowly, "because she loved him and couldn't bear me; perhaps, as I'vesometimes allowed to myself, gentlemen, it was because she didn't wantto bear evidence agin me. " In the silence that followed the prisoner was heard speaking to one thatwas near him. Then he rose. All the audacity and confidence that thehusband had lacked were in HIS voice. Nay, there was even a certainchivalry in his manner which, for the moment, the rascal reallybelieved. "It's true!" he said. "After I stole the horse to get away, I found thatwoman running wild down the road, cryin' and sobbin'. At first I thoughtshe'd done the shooting. It was a risky thing for me to do, gentlemen;but I took her up on the horse and got her away to Lowville. It was thatmuch dead weight agin my chances, but I took it. She was a woman and--Iain't a dog!" He was so exalted and sublimated by his fiction that for the first timethe jury was impressed in his favor. And when Ira Beasley limped acrossthe room, and, extending his maimed hand to the prisoner, said, "Shake!"there was another dead silence. It was broken by the voice of the judge addressing the constable. "What do you know of the deputy's attentions to Mrs. Beasley? Were theyenough to justify the husband's jealousy? Did he make love to her?" The constable hesitated. He was a narrow man, with a crude sense ofthe principles rather than the methods of justice. He remembered thedeputy's admiration; he now remembered, even more strongly, the objectof that admiration, simulating with her pretty arms the gestures ofthe barkeeper, and the delight it gave them. He was loyal to hisdead leader, but he looked up and down, and then said, slowly andhalf-defiantly: "Well, judge, he was a MAN. " Everybody laughed. That the strongest and most magic of all humanpassions should always awake levity in any public presentment of orallusion to it was one of the inconsistencies of human nature which evena lynch judge had to admit. He made no attempt to control the titteringof the court, for he felt that the element of tragedy was no longerthere. The foreman of the jury arose and whispered to the judge amidanother silence. Then the judge spoke:-- "The prisoner and his witness are both discharged. The prisoner to leavethe town within twenty-four hours; the witness to be conducted to hisown house at the expense of, and with the thanks of, the Committee. " They say that one afternoon, when a low mist of rain had settled overthe sodden Bolinas Plain, a haggard, bedraggled, and worn-out womanstepped down from a common "freighting wagon" before the doorway whereBeasley still sat; that, coming forward, he caught her in his arms andcalled her "Sue;" and they say that they lived happily together everafterwards. But they say--and this requires some corroboration--thatmuch of that happiness was due to Mrs. Beasley's keeping forever in herhusband's mind her own heroic sacrifice in disappearing as a witnessagainst him, her own forgiveness of his fruitless crime, and thegratitude he owed to the fugitive. THE STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF ALKALI DICK He was a "cowboy. " A reckless and dashing rider, yet mindful of hishorse's needs; good-humored by nature, but quick in quarrel; independentof circumstance, yet shy and sensitive of opinion; abstemious byeducation and general habit, yet intemperate in amusement; self-centred, yet possessed of a childish vanity, --taken altogether, a characteristicproduct of the Western plains, which he never should have left. But reckless adventure after adventure had brought him intodifficulties, from which there was only one equally adventurous escape:he joined a company of Indians engaged by Buffalo Bill to simulatebefore civilized communities the sports and customs of the uncivilized. In divers Christian arenas of the nineteenth century he rode as anorthern barbarian of the first might have disported before the Romanpopulace, but harmlessly, of his own free will, and of some littleprofit to himself. He threw his lasso under the curious eyes of languidmen and women of the world, eager for some new sensation, with admiringplaudits from them and a half contemptuous egotism of his own. Butoutside of the arena he was lonely, lost, and impatient for excitement. An ingenious attempt to "paint the town red" did not commend itself as aspectacle to the householders who lived in the vicinity of Earl's Court, London, and Alkali Dick was haled before a respectable magistrate by aserious policeman, and fined as if he had been only a drunken coster. Alater attempt at Paris to "incarnadine" the neighborhood of the Champsde Mars, and "round up" a number of boulevardiers, met with a moredisastrous result, --the gleam of steel from mounted gendarmes, and amandate to his employers. So it came that one night, after the conclusion of the performance, Alkali Dick rode out of the corral gate of the Hippodrome with hislast week's salary in his pocket and an imprecation on his lips. He hadshaken the sawdust of the sham arena from his high, tight-fitting boots;he would shake off the white dust of France, and the effeminate soilof all Europe also, and embark at once for his own country and the FarWest! A more practical and experienced man would have sold his horse at thenearest market and taken train to Havre, but Alkali Dick felt himselfincomplete on terra firma without his mustang, --it would be hard enoughto part from it on embarking, --and he had determined to ride to theseaport. The spectacle of a lithe horseman, clad in a Rembrandt sombrero, velvetjacket, turnover collar, almost Van Dyke in its proportions, whitetrousers and high boots, with long curling hair falling over hisshoulders, and a pointed beard and mustache, was a picturesque one, butstill not a novelty to the late-supping Parisians who looked up underthe midnight gas as he passed, and only recognized one of those men whomParis had agreed to designate as "Booflo-bils, " going home. At three o'clock he pulled up at a wayside cabaret, preferring it tothe publicity of a larger hotel, and lay there till morning. The slightconsternation of the cabaret-keeper and his wife over this long-hairedphantom, with glittering, deep-set eyes, was soothed by a royally-flunggold coin, and a few words of French slang picked up in the arena, which, with the name of Havre, comprised Dick's whole knowledge ofthe language. But he was touched with their ready and intelligentcomprehension of his needs, and their genial if not so comprehensiveloquacity. Luckily for his quick temper, he did not know that they hadtaken him for a traveling quack-doctor going to the Fair of Yvetot, andthat madame had been on the point of asking him for a magic balsam toprevent migraine. He was up betimes and away, giving a wide berth to the larger towns;taking byways and cut-offs, yet always with the Western pathfinder'sinstinct, even among these alien, poplar-haunted plains, low-bankedwillow-fringed rivers, and cloverless meadows. The white sun shiningeverywhere, --on dazzling arbors, summer-houses, and trellises; on lightgreen vines and delicate pea-rows; on the white trousers, jackets, andshoes of smart shopkeepers or holiday makers; on the white headdressesof nurses and the white-winged caps of the Sisters of St. Vincent, --allthis grew monotonous to this native of still more monotonous wastes. Thelong, black shadows of short, blue-skirted, sabotted women and short, blue-bloused, sabotted men slowly working in the fields, with slow oxen, or still slower heavy Norman horses; the same horses gayly bedecked, dragging slowly not only heavy wagons, but their own apparently moremonstrous weight over the white road, fretted his nervous Westernenergy, and made him impatient to get on. At the close of the second day he found some relief on entering atrackless wood, --not the usual formal avenue of equidistant trees, leading to nowhere, and stopping upon the open field, --but apparentlya genuine forest as wild as one of his own "oak bottoms. " Gnarled rootsand twisted branches flung themselves across his path; his mustang'shoofs sank in deep pits of moss and last year's withered leaves;trailing vines caught his heavy-stirruped feet, or brushed his broadsombrero; the vista before him seemed only to endlessly repeat the samesylvan glade; he was in fancy once more in the primeval Western forest, and encompassed by its vast, dim silences. He did not know that he hadin fact only penetrated an ancient park which in former days resoundedto the winding fanfare of the chase, and was still, on stated occasions, swept over by accurately green-coated Parisians and green-plumedDianes, who had come down by train! To him it meant only unfettered andunlimited freedom. He rose in his stirrups, and sent a characteristic yell ringing downthe dim aisles before him. But, alas! at the same moment, his mustang, accustomed to the firmer grip of the prairie, in lashing out, steppedupon a slimy root, and fell heavily, rolling over his clinging and stillunlodged rider. For a few moments both lay still. Then Dick extricatedhimself with an oath, rose giddily, dragged up his horse, --who, after the fashion of his race, was meekly succumbing to his recliningposition, --and then became aware that the unfortunate beast was badlysprained in the shoulder, and temporarily lame. The sudden recollectionthat he was some miles from the road, and that the sun was sinking, concentrated his scattered faculties. The prospect of sleeping out inthat summer woodland was nothing to the pioneer-bred Dick; he couldmake his horse and himself comfortable anywhere--but he was delaying hisarrival at Havre. He must regain the high road, --or some wayside inn. He glanced around him; the westering sun was a guide for his generaldirection; the road must follow it north or south; he would find a"clearing" somewhere. But here Dick was mistaken; there seemed nointerruption of, no encroachment upon this sylvan tract, as in hiswestern woods. There was no track or trail to be found; he missed eventhe ordinary woodland signs that denoted the path of animals to water. For the park, from the time a Northern Duke had first alienated it fromthe virgin forest, had been rigidly preserved. Suddenly, rising apparently from the ground before him, he saw the highroof-ridges and tourelles of a long, irregular, gloomy building. A fewsteps further showed him that it lay in a cup-like depression of theforest, and that it was still a long descent from where he had wanderedto where it stood in the gathering darkness. His mustang was movingwith great difficulty; he uncoiled his lariat from the saddle-horn, and, selecting the most open space, tied one end to the trunk of a largetree, --the forty feet of horsehair rope giving the animal a sufficientdegree of grazing freedom. Then he strode more quickly down the forest side towards the building, which now revealed its austere proportions, though Dick could see thatthey were mitigated by a strange, formal flower-garden, with quaintstatues and fountains. There were grim black allees of clipped trees, acuriously wrought iron gate, and twisted iron espaliers. On one side theedifice was supported by a great stone terrace, which seemed to him asbroad as a Parisian boulevard. Yet everywhere it appeared sleeping inthe desertion and silence of the summer twilight. The evening breezeswayed the lace curtains at the tall windows, but nothing else moved. Tothe unsophisticated Western man it looked like a scene on the stage. His progress was, however, presently checked by the first sight ofpreservation he had met in the forest, --a thick hedge, which interferedbetween him and a sloping lawn beyond. It was up to his waist, yet hebegan to break his way through it, when suddenly he was arrested by thesound of voices. Before him, on the lawn, a man and woman, evidentlyservants, were slowly advancing, peering into the shadows of the woodwhich he had just left. He could not understand what they were saying, but he was about to speak and indicate by signs his desire to find theroad when the woman, turning towards her companion, caught sight of hisface and shoulders above the hedge. To his surprise and consternation, he saw the color drop out of her fresh cheeks, her round eyes fix intheir sockets, and with a despairing shriek she turned and fledtowards the house. The man turned at his companion's cry, gave thesame horrified glance at Dick's face, uttered a hoarse "Sacre!" crossedhimself violently, and fled also. Amazed, indignant, and for the first time in his life humiliated, Dick gazed speechlessly after them. The man, of course, was a sneakingcoward; but the woman was rather pretty. It had not been Dick'sexperience to have women run from him! Should he follow them, knock thesilly fellow's head against a tree, and demand an explanation? Alas, he knew not the language! They had already reached the house anddisappeared in one of the offices. Well! let them go--for a mean"lowdown" pair of country bumpkins:--HE wanted no favors from them! He turned back angrily into the forest to seek his unlucky beast. Thegurgle of water fell on his ear; hard by was a spring, where at least hecould water the mustang. He stooped to examine it; there was yet lightenough in the sunset sky to throw back from that little mirror thereflection of his thin, oval face, his long, curling hair, and hispointed beard and mustache. Yes! this was his face, --the face thatmany women in Paris had agreed was romantic and picturesque. Had thosewretched greenhorns never seen a real man before? Were they idiots, or insane? A sudden recollection of the silence and seclusion of thebuilding suggested certainly an asylum, --but where were the keepers? It was getting darker in the wood; he made haste to recover his horse, to drag it to the spring, and there bathe its shoulder in the watermixed with whiskey taken from his flask. His saddle-bag contained enoughbread and meat for his own supper; he would camp for the night where hewas, and with the first light of dawn make his way back through thewood whence he came. As the light slowly faded from the wood he rolledhimself in his saddle-blanket and lay down. But not to sleep. His strange position, the accident to his horse, an unusual irritation over the incident of the frightenedservants, --trivial as it might have been to any other man, --and, aboveall, an increasing childish curiosity, kept him awake and restless. Presently he could see also that it was growing lighter beyond theedge of the wood, and that the rays of a young crescent moon, while itplunged the forest into darkness and impassable shadow, evidently wasilluminating the hollow below. He threw aside his blanket, and made hisway to the hedge again. He was right; he could see the quaint, formallines of the old garden more distinctly, --the broad terrace, the queer, dark bulk of the house, with lights now gleaming from a few of its openwindows. Before one of these windows opening on the terrace was a small, white, draped table with fruits, cups, and glasses, and two or three chairs. Ashe gazed curiously at these new signs of life and occupation, he becameaware of a regular and monotonous tap upon the stone flags of theterrace. Suddenly he saw three figures slowly turn the corner of theterrace at the further end of the building, and walk towards the table. The central figure was that of an elderly woman, yet tall and statelyof carriage, walking with a stick, whose regular tap he had heard, supported on the one side by an elderly Cure in black soutaine, and onthe other by a tall and slender girl in white. They walked leisurely to the other end of the terrace, as if performinga regular exercise, and returned, stopping before the open Frenchwindow; where, after remaining in conversation a few moments, theelderly lady and her ecclesiastical companion entered. The young girlsauntered slowly to the steps of the terrace, and leaning against a hugevase as she looked over the garden, seemed lost in contemplation. Herface was turned towards the wood, but in quite another direction fromwhere he stood. There was something so gentle, refined, and graceful in her figure, yetdominated by a girlish youthfulness of movement and gesture, that AlkaliDick was singularly interested. He had probably never seen an ingenuebefore; he had certainly never come in contact with a girl of that casteand seclusion in his brief Parisian experience. He was sorely temptedto leave his hedge and try to obtain a nearer view of her. There was afringe of lilac bushes running from the garden up the slope; if he couldgain their shadows, he could descend into the garden. What he should doafter his arrival he had not thought; but he had one idea--he knew notwhy--that if he ventured to speak to her he would not be met with theabrupt rustic terror he had experienced at the hands of the servants. SHE was not of that kind! He crept through the hedge, reached thelilacs, and began the descent softly and securely in the shadow. But atthe same moment she arose, called in a youthful voice towards the openwindow, and began to descend the steps. A half-expostulating replycame from the window, but the young girl answered it with the laughing, capricious confidence of a spoiled child, and continued her way into thegarden. Here she paused a moment and hung over a rose-tree, from whichshe gathered a flower, afterwards thrust into her belt. Dick paused, too, half-crouching, half-leaning over a lichen-stained, cracked stonepedestal from which the statue had long been overthrown and forgotten. To his surprise, however, the young girl, following the path to thelilacs, began leisurely to ascend the hill, swaying from side to sidewith a youthful movement, and swinging the long stalk of a lily at herside. In another moment he would be discovered! Dick was frightened; hisconfidence of the moment before had all gone; he would fly, --and yet, anexquisite and fearful joy kept him motionless. She was approaching him, full and clear in the moonlight. He could see the grace of her delicatefigure in the simple white frock drawn at the waist with broad satinribbon, and its love-knots of pale blue ribbons on her shoulders; hecould see the coils of her brown hair, the pale, olive tint of her ovalcheek, the delicate, swelling nostril of her straight, clear-cut nose;he could even smell the lily she carried in her little hand. Then, suddenly, she lifted her long lashes, and her large gray eyes met his. Alas! the same look of vacant horror came into her eyes, and fixedand dilated their clear pupils. But she uttered no outcry, --there wassomething in her blood that checked it; something that even gave adignity to her recoiling figure, and made Dick flush with admiration. She put her hand to her side, as if the shock of the exertion of herascent had set her heart to beating, but she did not faint. Then herfixed look gave way to one of infinite sadness, pity, and patheticappeal. Her lips were parted; they seemed to be moving, apparently inprayer. At last her voice came, wonderingly, timidly, tenderly: "MonDieu! c'est donc vous? Ici? C'est vous que Marie a crue voir! Quevenez-vous faire ici, Armand de Fontonelles? Repondez!" Alas, not a word was comprehensible to Dick; nor could he think ofa word to say in reply. He made an uncouth, half-irritated, half-despairing gesture towards the wood he had quitted, as if toindicate his helpless horse, but he knew it was meaningless to thefrightened yet exalted girl before him. Her little hand crept to herbreast and clutched a rosary within the folds of her dress, as her softvoice again arose, low but appealingly: "Vous souffrez! Ah, mon Dieu! Peuton vous secourir? Moi-meme--mesprieres pourraient elles interceder pour vous? Je supplierai le ciel deprendre en pitie l'ame de mon ancetre. Monsieur le Cure est la, --je luiparlerai. Lui et ma mere vous viendront en aide. " She clasped her hands appealingly before him. Dick stood bewildered, hopeless, mystified; he had not understood aword; he could not say a word. For an instant he had a wild idea ofseizing her hand and leading her to his helpless horse, and then camewhat he believed was his salvation, --a sudden flash of recollection thathe had seen the word he wanted, the one word that would explain all, ina placarded notice at the Cirque of a bracelet that had been LOST, --yes, the single word "PERDU. " He made a step towards her, and in a voicealmost as faint as her own, stammered, "PERDU!" With a little cry, that was more like a sigh than an outcry, the girl'sarms fell to her side; she took a step backwards, reeled, and faintedaway. Dick caught her as she fell. What had he said!--but, more than all, whatshould he do now? He could not leave her alone and helpless, --yet howcould he justify another disconcerting intrusion? He touched her hands;they were cold and lifeless; her eyes were half closed; her face as paleand drooping as her lily. Well, he must brave the worst now, and carryher to the house, even at the risk of meeting the others and terrifyingthem as he had her. He caught her up, --he scarcely felt her weightagainst his breast and shoulder, --and ran hurriedly down the slope tothe terrace, which was still deserted. If he had time to place her onsome bench beside the window within their reach, he might still flyundiscovered! But as he panted up the steps of the terrace with hisburden, he saw that the French window was still open, but the lightseemed to have been extinguished. It would be safer for her if he couldplace her INSIDE the house, --if he but dared to enter. He was desperate, and he dared! He found himself alone, in a long salon of rich but faded white and goldhangings, lit at the further end by two tall candles on either side ofthe high marble mantel, whose rays, however, scarcely reached the windowwhere he had entered. He laid his burden on a high-backed sofa. Inso doing, the rose fell from her belt. He picked it up, put it inhis breast, and turned to go. But he was arrested by a voice from theterrace:-- "Renee!" It was the voice of the elderly lady, who, with the Cure at her side, had just appeared from the rear of the house, and from the further endof the terrace was looking towards the garden in search of the younggirl. His escape in that way was cut off. To add to his dismay, theyoung girl, perhaps roused by her mother's voice, was beginning to showsigns of recovering consciousness. Dick looked quickly around him. There was an open door, opposite the window, leading to a hall which, nodoubt, offered some exit on the other side of the house. It was his onlyremaining chance! He darted through it, closed it behind him, andfound himself at the end of a long hall or picture-gallery, strangelyilluminated through high windows, reaching nearly to the roof, by themoon, which on that side of the building threw nearly level bars oflight and shadows across the floor and the quaint portraits on the wall. But to his delight he could see at the other end a narrow, lance-shapedopen postern door showing the moonlit pavement without--evidently thedoor through which the mother and the Cure had just passed out. He ranrapidly towards it. As he did so he heard the hurried ringing of bellsand voices in the room he had quitted--the young girl had evidentlybeen discovered--and this would give him time. He had nearly reached thedoor, when he stopped suddenly--his blood chilled with awe! It was histurn to be terrified--he was standing, apparently, before HIMSELF! His first recovering thought was that it was a mirror--so accuratelywas every line and detail of his face and figure reflected. But a secondscrutiny showed some discrepancies of costume, and he saw it was apanelled portrait on the wall. It was of a man of his own age, height, beard, complexion, and features, with long curls like his own, fallingover a lace Van Dyke collar, which, however, again simulated theappearance of his own hunting-shirt. The broad-brimmed hat in thepicture, whose drooping plume was lost in shadow, was scarcelydifferent from Dick's sombrero. But the likeness of the face to Dick wasmarvelous--convincing! As he gazed at it, the wicked black eyes seemedto flash and kindle at his own, --its lip curled with Dick's own sardonichumor! He was recalled to himself by a step in the gallery. It was the Cure whohad entered hastily, evidently in search of one of the servants. Partly because it was a man and not a woman, partly from a feeling ofbravado--and partly from a strange sense, excited by the picture, thathe had some claim to be there, he turned and faced the pale priest witha slight dash of impatient devilry that would have done credit to theportrait. But he was sorry for it the next moment! The priest, looking up suddenly, discovered what seemed to him to be theportrait standing before its own frame and glaring at him. Throwingup his hands with an averted head and an "EXORCIS--!" he wheeled andscuffled away. Dick seized the opportunity, darted through the narrowdoor on to the rear terrace, and ran, under cover of the shadow ofthe house, to the steps into the garden. Luckily for him, this new andunexpected diversion occupied the inmates too much with what was goingon in the house to give them time to search outside. Dick reached thelilac hedge, tore up the hill, and in a few moments threw himself, panting, on his blanket. In the single look he had cast behind, he hadseen that the half-dark salon was now brilliantly lighted--where nodoubt the whole terrified household was now assembled. He had no fearof being followed; since his confrontation with his own likeness inthe mysterious portrait, he understood everything. The apparentlysupernatural character of his visitation was made plain; his ruffledvanity was soothed--his vindication was complete. He laughed to himselfand rolled about, until in his suppressed merriment the rose fell fromhis bosom, and--he stopped! Its freshness and fragrance recalledthe innocent young girl he had frightened. He remembered her gentle, pleading voice, and his cheek flushed. Well, he had done the best hecould in bringing her back to the house--at the risk of being taken fora burglar--and she was safe now! If that stupid French parson didn'tknow the difference between a living man and a dead and painted one, itwasn't his fault. But he fell asleep with the rose in his fingers. He was awake at the first streak of dawn. He again bathed his horse'sshoulder, saddled, but did not mount him, as the beast, although better, was still stiff, and Dick wished to spare him for the journey to stilldistant Havre, although he had determined to lie over that night at thefirst wayside inn. Luckily for him, the disturbance at the chateau hadnot extended to the forest, for Dick had to lead his horse slowly andcould not have escaped; but no suspicion of external intrusion seemed tohave been awakened, and the woodland was, evidently, seldom invaded. By dint of laying his course by the sun and the exercise of a littlewoodcraft, in the course of two hours he heard the creaking of ahay-cart, and knew that he was near a traveled road. But to hisdiscomfiture he presently came to a high wall, which had evidentlyguarded this portion of the woods from the public. Time, however, hadmade frequent breaches in the stones; these had been roughly filled inwith a rude abatis of logs and treetops pointing towards the road. Butas these were mainly designed to prevent intrusion into the park ratherthan egress from it, Dick had no difficulty in rolling them aside andemerging at last with his limping steed upon the white high-road. The creaking cart had passed; it was yet early for traffic, and Dickpresently came upon a wine-shop, a bakery, a blacksmith's shop, laundry, and a somewhat pretentious cafe and hotel in a broader space whichmarked the junction of another road. Directly before it, however, to his consternation, were the massive, buttimeworn, iron gates of a park, which Dick did not doubt was the onein which he had spent the previous night. But it was impossible to gofurther in his present plight, and he boldly approached the restaurant. As he was preparing to make his usual explanatory signs, to his greatdelight he was addressed in a quaint, broken English, mixed withforgotten American slang, by the white-trousered, black-alpaca coatedproprietor. More than that--he was a Social Democrat and an enthusiasticlover of America--had he not been to "Bos-town" and New York, andpenetrated as far west as "Booflo, " and had much pleasure in thatbeautiful and free country? Yes! it was a "go-a-'ed" country--you"bet-your-lif'. " One had reason to say so: there was yourelectricity--your street cars--your "steambots"--ah! such steambots--andyour "r-rail-r-roads. " Ah! observe! compare your r-rail-r-roads and thebuffet of the Pullman with the line from Paris, for example--and whereis one? Nowhere! Actually, positively, without doubt, nowhere! Later, at an appetizing breakfast--at which, to Dick's greatsatisfaction, the good man had permitted and congratulated himself tosit at table with a free-born American--he was even more loquacious. For what then, he would ask, was this incompetence, this imbecility, ofFrance? He would tell. It was the vile corruption of Paris, the graspingof capital and companies, the fatal influence of the still clingingnoblesse, and the insidious Jesuitical power of the priests. As forexample, Monsieur "the Booflo-bil" had doubtless noticed the great gatesof the park before the cafe? It was the preserve, --the hunting-park ofone of the old grand seigneurs, still kept up by his descendants, theComtes de Fontonelles--hundreds of acres that had never been tilled, and kept as wild waste wilderness, --kept for a day's pleasure in a year!And, look you! the peasants starving around its walls in their smallgarden patches and pinched farms! And the present Comte de Fontonellescascading gold on his mistresses in Paris; and the Comtesse, his mother, and her daughter living there to feed and fatten and pension a broodof plotting, black-cowled priests. Ah, bah! where was your RepublicanFrance, then? But a time would come. The "Booflo-bil" had, withoutdoubt, noticed, as he came along the road, the breaches in the wall ofthe park? Dick, with a slight dry reserve, "reckoned that he had. " "They were made by the scythes and pitchforks of the peasants in theRevolution of '93, when the count was emigre, as one says with reason'skedadelle, ' to England. Let them look the next time that they burn notthe chateau, --'bet your lif'!'" "The chateau, " said Dick, with affected carelessness. "Wot's the blamedthing like?" It was an old affair, --with armor and a picture-gallery, --and bricabrac. He had never seen it. Not even as a boy, --it was kept very secludedthen. As a man--you understand--he could not ask the favor. The Comtesde Fontonelles and himself were not friends. The family did not like acafe near their sacred gates, --where had stood only the huts of theirretainers. The American would observe that he had not called it "Cafe deChateau, " nor "Cafe de Fontonelles, "--the gold of California would notinduce him. Why did he remain there? Naturally, to goad them! It was aprinciple, one understood. To GOAD them and hold them in check! One kepta cafe, --why not? One had one's principles, --one's conviction, --that wasanother thing! That was the kind of "'air-pin"--was it not?--that HE, Gustav Ribaud, was like! Yet for all his truculent socialism, he was quick, obliging, andcharmingly attentive to Dick and his needs. As to Dick's horse, heshould have the best veterinary surgeon--there was an incomparable onein the person of the blacksmith--see to him, and if it were an affair ofdays, and Dick must go, he himself would be glad to purchase thebeast, his saddle, and accoutrements. It was an affair of business, --anadvertisement for the cafe! He would ride the horse himself before thegates of the park. It would please his customers. Ha! he had learned atrick or two in free America. Dick's first act had been to shave off his characteristic beard andmustache, and even to submit his long curls to the village barber'sshears, while a straw hat, which he bought to take the place of hisslouched sombrero, completed his transformation. His host saw in thechange only the natural preparation of a voyager, but Dick had reallymade the sacrifice, not from fear of detection, for he had recovered hisold swaggering audacity, but from a quick distaste he had taken to hisresemblance to the portrait. He was too genuine a Westerner, and toovain a man, to feel flattered at his resemblance to an aristocraticbully, as he believed the ancestral De Fontonelles to be. Even hismomentary sensation as he faced the Cure in the picture-gallery wasmore from a vague sense that liberties had been taken with his, Dick's, personality, than that he had borrowed anything from the portrait. But he was not so clear about the young girl. Her tender, appealingvoice, although he knew it had been addressed only to a vision, stillthrilled his fancy. The pluck that had made her withstand her fearso long--until he had uttered that dreadful word--still excited hisadmiration. His curiosity to know what mistake he had made--for he knewit must have been some frightful blunder--was all the more keen, as hehad no chance to rectify it. What a brute she must have thought him--orDID she really think him a brute even then?--for her look was one moreof despair and pity! Yet she would remember him only by that last word, and never know that he had risked insult and ejection from her friendsto carry her to her place of safety. He could not bear to go across theseas carrying the pale, unsatisfied face of that gentle girl ever beforehis eyes! A sense of delicacy--new to Dick, but always the accompanimentof deep feeling--kept him from even hinting his story to his host, though he knew--perhaps BECAUSE he knew--that it would gratify hisenmity to the family. A sudden thought struck Dick. He knew her house, and her name. He would write her a note. Somebody would be sure totranslate it for her. He borrowed pen, ink, and paper, and in the clean solitude of his freshchintz bedroom, indited the following letter:-- DEAR MISS FONTONELLES, --Please excuse me for having skeert you. I hadn'tany call to do it, I never reckoned to do it--it was all jest myderned luck; I only reckoned to tell you I was lost--in them blamedwoods--don't you remember?--"lost"--PERDOO!--and then you up andfainted! I wouldn't have come into your garden, only, you see, I'd justskeered by accident two of your helps, reg'lar softies, and I wanted toexplain. I reckon they allowed I was that man that that picture in thehall was painted after. I reckon they took ME for him--see? But he ain'tMY style, nohow, and I never saw the picture at all until after I'dtoted you, when you fainted, up to your house, or I'd have made mykalkilations and acted according. I'd have laid low in the woods, andgot away without skeerin' you. You see what I mean? It was mighty meanof me, I suppose, to have tetched you at all, without saying, "Excuseme, miss, " and toted you out of the garden and up the steps into yourown parlor without asking your leave. But the whole thing tumbled sosuddent. And it didn't seem the square thing for me to lite out andleave you lying there on the grass. That's why! I'm sorry I skeert thatold preacher, but he came upon me in the picture hall so suddent, thatit was a mighty close call, I tell you, to get off without a shindy. Please forgive me, Miss Fontonelles. When you get this, I shall be goingback home to America, but you might write to me at Denver City, sayingyou're all right. I liked your style; I liked your grit in standing upto me in the garden until you had your say, when you thought I wasthe Lord knows what--though I never understood a word you got off--notknowing French. But it's all the same now. Say! I've got your rose! Yours very respectfully, RICHARD FOUNTAINS. Dick folded the epistle and put it in his pocket. He would post ithimself on the morning before he left. When he came downstairs he foundhis indefatigable host awaiting him, with the report of the veterinaryblacksmith. There was nothing seriously wrong with the mustang, but itwould be unfit to travel for several days. The landlord repeated hisformer offer. Dick, whose money was pretty well exhausted, was fain toaccept, reflecting that SHE had never seen the mustang and would notrecognize it. But he drew the line at the sombrero, to which his hosthad taken a great fancy. He had worn it before HER! Later in the evening Dick was sitting on the low veranda of the cafe, overlooking the white road. A round white table was beside him, hisfeet were on the railing, but his eyes were resting beyond on the high, mouldy iron gates of the mysterious park. What he was thinking of didnot matter, but he was a little impatient at the sudden appearance ofhis host--whom he had evaded during the afternoon--at his side. Theman's manner was full of bursting loquacity and mysterious levity. Truly, it was a good hour when Dick had arrived at Fontonelles, --"justin time. " He could see now what a world of imbeciles was France. Whatstupid ignorance ruled, what low cunning and low tact could achieve, --ineffect, what jugglers and mountebanks, hypocritical priests andlicentious and lying noblesse went to make up existing society. Ah, there had been a fine excitement, a regular coup d'theatre atFontonelles, --the chateau yonder; here at the village, where the newswas brought by frightened grooms and silly women! He had been in thethick of it all the afternoon! He had examined it, --interrogated themlike a juge d'instruction, --winnowed it, sifted it. And what was itall? An attempt by these wretched priests and noblesse to revive in thenineteenth century--the age of electricity and Pullman cars--a miserablemediaeval legend of an apparition, a miracle! Yes; one is asked tobelieve that at the chateau yonder was seen last night three times theapparition of Armand de Fontonelles! Dick started. "Armand de Fontonelles!" He remembered that she hadrepeated that name. "Who's he?" he demanded abruptly. "The first Comte de Fontonelles! When monsieur knows that the firstcomte has been dead three hundred years, he will see the imbecility ofthe affair!" "Wot did he come back for?" growled Dick. "Ah! it was a legend. Consider its artfulness! The Comte Armand had beena hard liver, a dissipated scoundrel, a reckless beast, but a mightyhunter of the stag. It was said that on one of these occasions he hadbeen warned by the apparition of St. Hubert; but he had laughed, --for, observe, HE always jeered at the priests too; hence this story!--andhad declared that the flaming cross seen between the horns of the sacredstag was only the torch of a poacher, and he would shoot it! Good! thebody of the comte, dead, but without a wound, was found in the wood thenext day, with his discharged arquebus in his hand. The Archbishop ofRouen refused his body the rites of the Church until a number of masseswere said every year and--paid for! One understands! one sees their'little game;' the count now appears, --he is in purgatory! Moremasses, --more money! There you are. Bah! One understands, too, thatthe affair takes place, not in a cafe like this, --not in a publicplace, --but at a chateau of the noblesse, and is seen by--theproprietor checked the characters on his fingers--TWO retainers; oneyoung demoiselle of the noblesse, daughter of the chatelaine herself;and, my faith, it goes without saying, by a fat priest, the Cure! Ineffect, two interested ones! And the priest, --his lie is magnificent!Superb! For he saw the comte in the picture-gallery, --in effect, stepping into his frame!" "Oh, come off the roof, " said Dick impatiently; "they must have seenSOMETHING, you know. The young lady wouldn't lie!" Monsieur Ribaud leaned over, with a mysterious, cynical smile, andlowering his voice said:-- "You have reason to say so. You have hit it, my friend. There WAS asomething! And if we regard the young lady, you shall hear. The story ofMademoiselle de Fontonelles is that she has walked by herself alone inthe garden, --you observe, ALONE--in the moonlight, near the edge of thewood. You comprehend? The mother and the Cure are in the house, --for thetime effaced! Here at the edge of the wood--though why she continues, a young demoiselle, to the edge of the wood does not make itselfclear--she beholds her ancestor, as on a pedestal, young, pale, but veryhandsome and exalte, --pardon!" "Nothing, " said Dick hurriedly; "go on!" "She beseeches him why! He says he is lost! She faints away, on theinstant, there--regard me!--ON THE EDGE OF THE WOOD, she says. But hermother and Monsieur le Cure find her pale, agitated, distressed, ONTHE SOFA IN THE SALON. One is asked to believe that she is transportedthrough the air--like an angel--by the spirit of Armand de Fontonelles. Incredible!" "Well, wot do YOU think?" said Dick sharply. The cafe proprietor looked around him carefully, and then lowered hisvoice significantly:-- "A lover!" "A what?" said Dick, with a gasp. "A lover!" repeated Ribaud. "You comprehend! Mademoiselle hasno dot, --the property is nothing, --the brother has everything. AMademoiselle de Fontonelles cannot marry out of her class, and thenoblesse are all poor. Mademoiselle is young, --pretty, they say, ofher kind. It is an intolerable life at the old chateau; mademoiselleconsoles herself!" Monsieur Ribaud never knew how near he was to the white road below therailing at that particular moment. Luckily, Dick controlled himself, andwisely, as Monsieur Ribaud's next sentence showed him. "A romance, --an innocent, foolish liaison, if you like, --but, all thesame, if known of a Mademoiselle de Fontonelles, a compromising, a fatalentanglement. There you are. Look! for this, then, all this story ofcock and bulls and spirits! Mademoiselle has been discovered with herlover by some one. This pretty story shall stop their mouths!" "But wot, " said Dick brusquely, "wot if the girl was really skeertat something she'd seen, and fainted dead away, as she said shedid, --and--and"--he hesitated--"some stranger came along and picked herup?" Monsieur Ribaud looked at him pityingly. "A Mademoiselle de Fontonelle is picked up by her servants, by herfamily, but not by the young man in the woods, alone. It is even morecompromising!" "Do you mean to say, " said Dick furiously, "that the ragpickers andsneaks that wade around in the slumgallion of this country would dare tospatter that young gal?" "I mean to say, yes, --assuredly, positively yes!" said Ribaud, rubbing his hands with a certain satisfaction at Dick's fury. "For youcomprehend not the position of la jeune fille in all France! Ah! inAmerica the young lady she go everywhere alone; I have seen her--pretty, charming, fascinating--alone with the young man. But here, no, never!Regard me, my friend. The French mother, she say to her daughter'sfiance, 'Look! there is my daughter. She has never been alone with ayoung man for five minutes, --not even with you. Take her for your wife!'It is monstrous! it is impossible! it is so!" There was a silence of a few minutes, and Dick looked blankly at theiron gates of the park of Fontonelles. Then he said: "Give me a cigar. " Monsieur Ribaud instantly produced his cigar case. Dick took a cigar, but waved aside the proffered match, and entering the cafe, took fromhis pocket the letter to Mademoiselle de Fontonelles, twisted it in aspiral, lighted it at a candle, lit his cigar with it, and returningto the veranda held it in his hand until the last ashes dropped on thefloor. Then he said, gravely, to Ribaud:-- "You've treated me like a white man, Frenchy, and I ain't goin' backon yer--though your ways ain't my ways--nohow; but I reckon in this yermatter at the shotto you're a little too previous! For though I don'tas a gin'ral thing take stock in ghosts, I BELIEVE EVERY WORD THAT THEMFOLK SAID UP THAR. And, " he added, leaning his hand somewhat heavily onRibaud's shoulder, "if you're the man I take you for, you'll believe ittoo! And if that chap, Armand de Fontonelles, hadn't hev picked up thatgal at that moment, he would hev deserved to roast in hell another threehundred years! That's why I believe her story. So you'll let these yerFontonelles keep their ghosts for all they're worth; and when you nextfeel inclined to talk about that girl's LOVER, you'll think of me, andshut your head! You hear me, Frenchy, I'm shoutin'! And don't you forgetit!" Nevertheless, early the next morning, Monsieur Ribaud accompanied hisguest to the railway station, and parted from him with great effusion. On his way back an old-fashioned carriage with a postilion passed him. At a sign from its occupant, the postilion pulled up, and MonsieurRibaud, bowing to the dust, approached the window, and the pale, sternface of a dignified, white-haired woman of sixty that looked from it. "Has he gone?" said the lady. "Assuredly, madame; I was with him at the station. " "And you think no one saw him?" "No one, madame, but myself. " "And--what kind of a man was he?" Monsieur Ribaud lifted his shoulders, threw out his hands despairingly, yet with a world of significance, and said:-- "An American. " "Ah!" The carriage drove on and entered the gates of the chateau. And MonsieurRibaud, cafe proprietor and Social Democrat, straightened himself in thedust and shook his fist after it. A NIGHT ON THE DIVIDE With the lulling of the wind towards evening it came on tosnow--heavily, in straight, quickly succeeding flakes, dropping likewhite lances from the sky. This was followed by the usual Sierranphenomenon. The deep gorge, which, as the sun went down, had lapsed intodarkness, presently began to reappear; at first the vanished trail cameback as a vividly whitening streak before them; then the larches andpines that ascended from it like buttresses against the hillsidesglimmered in ghostly distinctness, until at last the two slopes curvedout of the darkness as if hewn in marble. For the sudden storm, whichextended scarcely two miles, had left no trace upon the steep graniteface of the high cliffs above; the snow, slipping silently from them, left them still hidden in the obscurity of night. In the vanishedlandscape the gorge alone stood out, set in a chaos of cloud and stormthrough which the moonbeams struggled ineffectually. It was this unexpected sight which burst upon the occupants of a largecovered "station wagon" who had chanced upon the lower end of the gorge. Coming from a still lower altitude, they had known nothing of the storm, which had momentarily ceased, but had left a record of its intensityin nearly two feet of snow. For some moments the horses floundered andstruggled on, in what the travelers believed to be some old forgottendrift or avalanche, until the extent and freshness of the fall becameapparent. To add to their difficulties, the storm recommenced, and notcomprehending its real character and limit, they did not dare to attemptto return the way they came. To go on, however, was impossible. In thisquandary they looked about them in vain for some other exit from thegorge. The sides of that gigantic white furrow terminated in darkness. Hemmed in from the world in all directions, it might have been theirtomb. But although THEY could see nothing beyond their prison walls, theythemselves were perfectly visible from the heights above them. And JackTenbrook, quartz miner, who was sinking a tunnel in the rocky ledge ofshelf above the gorge, stepping out from his cabin at ten o'clockto take a look at the weather before turning in, could observe quitedistinctly the outline of the black wagon, the floundering horses, andthe crouching figures by their side, scarcely larger than pygmies on thewhite surface of the snow, six hundred feet below him. Jack had courageand strength, and the good humor that accompanies them, but hecontented himself for a few moments with lazily observing the travelers'discomfiture. He had taken in the situation with a glance; he would havehelped a brother miner or mountaineer, although he knew that it couldonly have been drink or bravado that brought HIM into the gorge in asnowstorm, but it was very evident that these were "greenhorns, " oreastern tourists, and it served their stupidity and arrogance right! Heremembered also how he, having once helped an Eastern visitor catch themustang that had "bucked" him, had been called "my man, " and presentedwith five dollars; he recalled how he had once spread the humbleresources of his cabin before some straying members of the San Franciscoparty who were "opening" the new railroad, and heard the audible wonderof a lady that a civilized being could live so "coarsely"? With theserecollections in his mind, he managed to survey the distant strugglinghorses with a fine sense of humor, not unmixed with self-righteousness. There was no real danger in the situation; it meant at the worst a delayand a camping in the snow till morning, when he would go down to theirassistance. They had a spacious traveling equipage, and were, no doubt, well supplied with furs, robes, and provisions for a several hours'journey; his own pork barrel was quite empty, and his blankets worn. Hehalf smiled, extended his long arms in a decided yawn, and turned backinto his cabin to go to bed. Then he cast a final glance around theinterior. Everything was all right; his loaded rifle stood against thewall; he had just raked ashes over the embers of his fire to keep itintact till morning. Only one thing slightly troubled him; a grizzlybear, two-thirds grown, but only half tamed, which had been given to himby a young lady named "Miggles, " when that charming and historic girlhad decided to accompany her paralytic lover to the San Franciscohospital, was missing that evening. It had been its regular habit tocome to the door every night for some sweet biscuit or sugar beforegoing to its lair in the underbrush behind the cabin. Everybody knew italong the length and breadth of Hemlock Ridge, as well as the factof its being a legacy from the fair exile. No rifle had ever yet beenraised against its lazy bulk or the stupid, small-eyed head and ruffof circling hairs made more erect by its well-worn leather collar. Consoling himself with the thought that the storm had probably delayedits return, Jack took off his coat and threw it on his bunk. But fromthinking of the storm his thoughts naturally returned again to theimpeded travelers below him, and he half mechanically stepped out in hisshirt-sleeves for a final look at them. But here something occurred that changed his resolution entirely. He hadpreviously noticed only the three foreshortened, crawling figuresaround the now stationary wagon bulk. They were now apparently makingarrangements to camp for the night. But another figure had been addedto the group, and as it stood perched upon a wagon seat laid on the snowJack could see that its outline was not bifurcated like the others. But even that general suggestion was not needed! the little head, thesymmetrical curves visible even at that distance, were quite enough toindicate that it was a woman! The easy smile faded from Jack's face, andwas succeeded by a look of concern and then of resignation. He had nochoice now; he MUST go! There was a woman there, and that settled it. Yet he had arrived at this conclusion from no sense of gallantry, nor, indeed, of chivalrous transport, but as a matter of simple duty to thesex. He was giving up his sleep, was going down six hundred feet ofsteep trail to offer his services during the rest of the night as muchas a matter of course as an Eastern man would have offered his seat inan omnibus to a woman, and with as little expectation of return for hiscourtesy. Having resumed his coat, with a bottle of whiskey thrust into itspocket, he put on a pair of india-rubber boots reaching to his thighs, and, catching the blanket from his bunk, started with an axe and shovelon his shoulder on his downward journey. When the distance was halfcompleted he shouted to the travelers below; the cry was joyouslyanswered by the three men; he saw the fourth figure, now unmistakablythat of a slender youthful woman, in a cloak, helped back into thewagon, as if deliverance was now sure and immediate. But Jack onarriving speedily dissipated that illusive hope; they could only getthrough the gorge by taking off the wheels of the wagon, placingthe axle on rude sledge-runners of split saplings, which, with theirassistance, he would fashion in a couple of hours at his cabin and bringdown to the gorge. The only other alternative would be for them tocome to his cabin and remain there while he went for assistance to thenearest station, but that would take several hours and necessitate adouble journey for the sledge if he was lucky enough to find one. Theparty quickly acquiesced in Jack's first suggestion. "Very well, " said Jack, "then there's no time to be lost; unhitch yourhorses and we'll dig a hole in that bank for them to stand in out ofthe snow. " This was speedily done. "Now, " continued Jack, "you'll justfollow me up to my cabin; it's a pretty tough climb, but I'll want yourhelp to bring down the runners. " Here the man who seemed to be the head of the party--of middle age and asuperior, professional type--for the first time hesitated. "I forgotto say that there is a lady with us, --my daughter, " he began, glancingtowards the wagon. "I reckoned as much, " interrupted Jack simply, "and I allowed to carryher up myself the roughest part of the way. She kin make herself warmand comf'ble in the cabin until we've got the runners ready. " "You hear what our friend says, Amy?" suggested the gentleman, appealingly, to the closed leather curtains of the wagon. There was a pause. The curtain was suddenly drawn aside, and a charminglittle head and shoulders, furred to the throat and topped with abewitching velvet cap, were thrust out. In the obscurity little couldbe seen of the girl's features, but there was a certain willfulness andimpatience in her attitude. Being in the shadow, she had the advantageof the others, particularly of Jack, as his figure was fully revealed inthe moonlight against the snowbank. Her eyes rested for a moment on hishigh boots, his heavy mustache, so long as to mingle with the unkemptlocks which fell over his broad shoulders, on his huge red handsstreaked with black grease from the wagon wheels, and some blood, stanched with snow, drawn from bruises in cutting out brambles in thebrush; on--more awful than all--a monstrous, shiny "specimen" gold ringencircling one of his fingers, --on the whiskey bottle that shamelesslybulged from his side pocket, and then--slowly dropped her dissatisfiedeyelids. "Why can't I stay HERE?" she said languidly. "It's quite nice andcomfortable. " "Because we can't leave you alone, and we must go with this gentleman tohelp him. " Miss Amy let the tail of her eye again creep shudderingly over thisimpossible Jack. "I thought the--the gentleman was going to help US, "she said dryly. "Nonsense, Amy, you don't understand, " said her father impatiently. "This gentleman is kind enough to offer to make some sledge-runners forus at his cabin, and we must help him. " "But I can stay here while you go. I'm not afraid. " "Yes, but you're ALONE here, and something might happen. " "Nothing could happen, " interrupted Jack, quickly and cheerfully. He hadflushed at first, but he was now considering that the carrying of a ladyas expensively attired and apparently as delicate and particular as thisone might be somewhat difficult. "There's nothin' that would hurt yehere, " he continued, addressing the velvet cap and furred throat in thedarkness, "and if there was it couldn't get at ye, bein', so tospeak, in the same sort o' fix as you. So you're all right, " he addedpositively. Inconsistently enough, the young lady did not accept this as gratefullyas might have been imagined, but Jack did not see the slight flash ofher eye as, ignoring him, she replied markedly to her father, "I'd muchrather stop here, papa. " "And, " continued Jack, turning also to her father, "you can keep thewagon and the whole gorge in sight from the trail all the way up. So youcan see that everything's all right. Why, I saw YOU from the first. "He stopped awkwardly, and added, "Come along; the sooner we're off thequicker the job's over. " "Pray don't delay the gentleman and--the job, " said Miss Amy sweetly. Reassured by Jack's last suggestion, her father followed him withthe driver and the second man of the party, a youngish and somewhatundistinctive individual, but to whose gallant anxieties Miss Amyresponded effusively. Nevertheless, the young lady had especially notedJack's confession that he had seen them when they first entered thegorge. "And I suppose, " she added to herself mentally, "that hesat there with his boozing companions, laughing and jeering at ourstruggles. " But when the sound of her companions' voices died away, and theirfigures were swallowed up in the darkness behind the snow, sheforgot all this, and much else that was mundane and frivolous, in theimpressive and majestic solitude which seemed to descend upon her fromthe obscurity above. At first it was accompanied with a slight thrill of vague fear, but thispassed presently into that profound peace which the mountains alone cangive their lonely or perturbed children. It seemed to her that Naturewas never the same, on the great plains where men and cities alwaysloomed into such ridiculous proportions, as when the Great Mother raisedherself to comfort them with smiling hillsides, or encompassed them anddrew them closer in the loving arms of her mountains. The long whitecanada stretched before her in a purity that did not seem of the earth;the vague bulk of the mountains rose on either side of her in a mysterythat was not of this life. Yet it was not oppressive; neither was itsrestfulness and quiet suggestive of obliviousness and slumber; on thecontrary, the highly rarefied air seemed to give additional keennessto her senses; her hearing had become singularly acute; her eyesightpierced the uttermost extremity of the gorge, lit by the full moon thatoccasionally shone through slowly drifting clouds. Her nerves thrilledwith a delicious sense of freedom and a strange desire to run or climb. It seemed to her, in her exalted fancy, that these solitudes should bepeopled only by a kingly race, and not by such gross and material churlsas this mountaineer who helped them. And, I grieve to say, --writingof an idealist that WAS, and a heroine that IS to be, --she was gettingoutrageously hungry. There were a few biscuits in her traveling-bag, and she remembered thatshe had been presented with a small jar of California honey at San Jose. This she took out and opened on the seat before her, and spreading thehoney on the biscuits, ate them with a keen schoolgirl relish and apleasant suggestion of a sylvan picnic in spite of the cold. It was allvery strange; quite an experience for her to speak of afterwards. Peoplewould hardly believe that she had spent an hour or two, all alone, in adeserted wagon in a mountain snow pass. It was an adventure such asone reads of in the magazines. Only something was lacking whichthe magazines always supplied, --something heroic, something done bysomebody. If that awful-looking mountaineer--that man with the long hairand mustache, and that horrible gold ring, --why such a ring?--was onlydifferent! But he was probably gorging beefsteak or venison with herfather and Mr. Waterhouse, --men were always such selfish creatures!--andhad quite forgotten all about her. It would have been only decent forthem to have brought her down something hot; biscuits and honey werecertainly cloying, and somehow didn't agree with the temperature. Shewas really half starved! And much they cared! It would just serve themright if something DID happen to her, --or SEEM to happen to her, --ifonly to frighten them. And the pretty face that was turned up in themoonlight wore a charming but decided pout. Good gracious, what was that? The horses were either struggling orfighting in their snow shelters. Then one with a frightened neigh brokefrom its halter and dashed into the road, only to be plunged snortingand helpless into the drifts. Then the other followed. How silly!Something had frightened them. Perhaps only a rabbit or a mole; horseswere such absurdly nervous creatures! However, it is just as well;somebody would see them or hear them, --that neigh was quite humanand awful, --and they would hurry down to see what was the matter. SHEcouldn't be expected to get out and look after the horses in the snow. Anyhow, she WOULDN'T! She was a good deal safer where she was; it mighthave been rats or mice about that frightened them! Goodness! She was still watching with curious wonder the continued fright of theanimals, when suddenly she felt the wagon half bumped, half lifted frombehind. It was such a lazy, deliberate movement that for a moment shethought it came from the party, who had returned noiselessly with therunners. She scrambled over to the back seat, unbuttoned the leathercurtain, lifted it, but nothing was to be seen. Consequently, with feminine quickness, she said, "I see you perfectly, Mr. Waterhouse--don't be silly!" But at this moment there was another shockto the wagon, and from beneath it arose what at first seemed to her tobe an uplifting of the drift itself, but, as the snow was shaken awayfrom its heavy bulk, proved to be the enormous head and shoulders of abear! Yet even then she was not WHOLLY frightened, for the snout thatconfronted her had a feeble inoffensiveness; the small eyes were brightwith an eager, almost childish curiosity rather than a savage ardor, and the whole attitude of the creature lifted upon its hind legs wascircus-like and ludicrous rather than aggressive. She was enabled to saywith some dignity, "Go away! Shoo!" and to wave her luncheon basket atit with exemplary firmness. But here the creature laid one paw on theback seat as if to steady itself, with the singular effect of collapsingthe whole side of the wagon, and then opened its mouth as if in somesort of inarticulate reply. But the revelation of its red tongue, its glistening teeth, and, above all, the hot, suggestive fume of itsbreath, brought the first scream from the lips of Miss Amy. It was realand convincing; the horses joined in it; the three screamed together!The bear hesitated for an instant, then, catching sight of the honey-poton the front seat, which the shrinking-back of the young girl haddisclosed, he slowly reached forward his other paw and attempted tograsp it. This exceedingly simple movement, however, at once doubledup the front seat, sent the honey-pot a dozen feet into the air, anddropped Miss Amy upon her knees in the bed of the wagon. The combinedmental and physical shock was too much for her; she instantly andsincerely fainted; the last thing in her ears amidst this wreck ofmatter being the "wheep" of a bullet and the sharp crack of a rifle. ***** She recovered her consciousness in the flickering light of a fire ofbark, that played upon the rafters of a roof thatched with bark and upona floor of strewn and shredded bark. She even suspected she was lyingupon a mattress of bark underneath the heavy bearskin she could feeland touch. She had a delicious sense of warmth, and, mingled with thisstrange spicing of woodland freedom, even a sense of home protection. And surely enough, looking around, she saw her father at her side. He briefly explained the situation. They had been at first attracted bythe cry of the frightened horses and their plunging, which they couldsee distinctly, although they saw nothing else. "But, Mr. Tenbrook"-- "Mr. Who?" said Amy, staring at the rafters. "The owner of this cabin--the man who helped us--caught up his gun, and, calling us to follow, ran like lightning down the trail. At first wefollowed blindly, and unknowingly, for we could only see the strugglinghorses, who, however, seemed to be ALONE, and the wagon from which youdid not seem to have stirred. Then, for the first time, my dear child, we suddenly saw your danger. Imagine how we felt as that hideous bruterose up in the road and began attacking the wagon. We called on Tenbrookto fire, but for some inconceivable reason he did not, although he stillkept running at the top of his speed. Then we heard you shriek--" "I didn't shriek, papa; it was the horses. " "My child, I knew your voice. " "Well, it was only a VERY LITTLE scream--because I had tumbled. " Thecolor was coming back rapidly to her pink cheeks. "And, then, at your scream, Tenbrook fired!--it was a wonderful shot forthe distance, so everybody says--and killed the bear, though Tenbrooksays it oughtn't to. I believe he wanted to capture the creature alive. They've queer notions, those hunters. And then, as you were unconscious, he brought you up here. " "WHO brought me?" "Tenbrook; he's as strong as a horse. Slung you up on his shoulders likea feather pillow. " "Oh!" "And then, as the wagon required some repairing from the brute's attack, we concluded to take it leisurely, and let you rest here for a while. " "And where is--where are THEY?" "At work on the wagon. I determined to stay with you, though you areperfectly safe here. " "I suppose I ought--to thank--this man, papa?" "Most certainly, though of course, I have already done so. But he wasrather curt in reply. These half-savage men have such singular ideas. He said the beast would never have attacked you except for the honey-potwhich it scented. That's absurd. " "Then it's all my fault?" "Nonsense! How could YOU know?" "And I've made all this trouble. And frightened the horses. And spoiltthe wagon. And made the man run down and bring me up here when he didn'twant to!" "My dear child! Don't be idiotic! Amy! Well, really!" For the idiotic one was really wiping two large tears from her lovelyblue eyes. She subsided into an ominous silence, broken by a singlesniffle. "Try to go to sleep, dear; you've had quite a shock to yournerves, added her father soothingly. She continued silent, but notsleeping. "I smell coffee. " "Yes, dear. " "You've been having coffee, papa?" "We DID have some, I think, " said the wretched man apologetically, though why he could not determine. "Before I came up? while the bear was trying to eat me?" "No, after. " "I've a horrid taste in my mouth. It's the honey. I'll never eat honeyagain. Never!" "Perhaps it's the whiskey. " "What?" "The whiskey. You were quite faint and chilled, you know. We gave yousome. " "Out of--that--black--bottle?" "Yes. " Another silence. "I'd like some coffee. I don't think he'd begrudge me that, if he didsave my life. " "I dare say there's some left. " Her father at once bestirred himselfand presently brought her some coffee in a tin cup. It was part of MissAmy's rapid convalescence, or equally of her debilitated condition, that she made no comment on the vessel. She lay for some moments lookingcuriously around the cabin; she had no doubt it had a worse look in thedaylight, but somehow the firelight brought out a wondrous luxury ofcolor in the bark floor and thatching. Besides, it was not "smelly, " asshe feared it would be; on the contrary the spicy aroma of the woodswas always dominant. She remembered that it was this that always made agreasy, oily picnic tolerable. She raised herself on her elbow, seeingwhich her father continued confidently, "Perhaps, dear, if you sat upfor a few moments you might be strong enough presently to walk down withme to the wagon. It would save time. " Amy instantly lay down again. "I don't know what you can be thinking of, papa. After this shock really I don't feel as if I could STAND alone, much less WALK. But, of course, " with pathetic resignation, "if youand Mr. Waterhouse supported me, perhaps I might crawl a few steps at atime. " "Nonsense, Amy. Of course, this man Tenbrook will carry you down as hebrought you up. Only I thought, --but there are steps, they're comingnow. No!--only HE. " The sound of crackling in the underbrush was followed by a momentarydarkening of the open door of the cabin. It was the tall figure of themountaineer. But he did not even make the pretense of entering; standingat the door he delivered his news to the interior generally. It was tothe effect that everything was ready, and the two other men were eventhen harnessing the horses. Then he drew back into the darkness. "Papa, " said Amy, in a sudden frightened voice, "I've lost my bracelet. " "Haven't you dropped it somewhere there in the bunk?" asked her father. "No. It's on the floor of the wagon. I remember now it fell off when Itumbled! And it will be trodden upon and crushed! Couldn't you run down, ahead of me, and warn them, papa, dear? Mr. Tenbrook will have to goso slowly with me. " She tumbled out of the bunk with singular alacrity, shook herself and her skirts into instantaneous gracefulness, and fittedthe velvet cap on her straying hair. Then she said hurriedly, "Runquick, papa dear, and as you go, call him in and say I am quite ready. " Thus adjured, the obedient parent disappeared in the darkness. With himalso disappeared Miss Amy's singular alacrity. Sitting down carefullyagain on the edge of the bunk, she leaned against the post with acertain indefinable languor that was as touching as it was graceful. Ineed not tell any feminine readers that there was no dissimulation inall this, --no coquetry, no ostentation, --and that the young girl wasperfectly sincere! But the masculine reader might like to know that thesimple fact was that, since she had regained consciousness, she hadbeen filled with remorse for her capricious and ungenerous rejection ofTenbrook's proffered service. More than that, she felt she had periledher life in that moment of folly, and that this man--this hero--hadsaved her. For hero he was, even if he did not fulfill her ideal, --itwas only SHE that was not a heroine. Perhaps if he had been more likewhat she wished she would have felt this less keenly; love leaves littleroom for the exercise of moral ethics. So Miss Amy Forester, being agood girl at bottom, and not exactly loving this man, felt towards him afrank and tender consideration which a more romantic passion would haveshrunk from showing. Consequently, when Tenbrook entered a momentlater, he found Amy paler and more thoughtful, but, as he fancied, much prettier than before, looking up at him with eyes of the sincerestsolicitude. Nevertheless, he remained standing near the door, as if indicating apossible intrusion, his face wearing a look of lowering abstraction. Itstruck her that this might be the effect of his long hair and generaluncouthness, and this only spurred her to a fuller recognition of hisother qualities. "I am afraid, " she began, with a charming embarrassment, "that insteadof resting satisfied with your kindness in carrying me up here, I willhave to burden you again with my dreadful weakness, and ask you to carryme down also. But all this seems so little after what you have just doneand for which I can never, NEVER hope to thank you!" She clasped her twolittle hands together, holding her gloves between, and brought them downupon her lap in a gesture as prettily helpless as it was unaffected. "I have done scarcely anything, " he said, glancing away towards thefire, "and--your father has thanked me. " "You have saved my life!" "No! no!" he said quickly. "Not that! You were in no danger, except frommy rifle, had I missed. " "I see, " she said eagerly, with a little posthumous thrill at havingbeen after all a kind of heroine, "and it was a wonderful shot, for youwere so careful not to touch me. " "Please don't say any more, " he said, with a slight movement of halfawkwardness, half impatience. "It was a rough job, but it's over now. " He stopped and chafed his red hands abstractedly together. She could seethat he had evidently just washed them--and the glaring ring was more inevidence than ever. But the thought gave her an inspiration. "You'll at least let me shake hands with you!" she said, extending bothher own with childish frankness. "Hold on, Miss Forester, " he said, with sudden desperation. "It ain'tthe square thing! Look here! I can't play this thing on you!--I can'tlet you play it on me any longer! You weren't in any danger, --you NEVERwere! That bear was only a half-wild thing I helped to ra'r myself! It'staken sugar from my hand night after night at the door of this cabinas it might have taken it from yours here if it was alive now. It sleptnight after night in the brush, not fifty yards away. The morning'snever come yet--till now, " he said hastily, to cover an odd break inhis voice, "when it didn't brush along the whole side of this cabinto kinder wake me up and say 'So long, ' afore it browsed away into thecanyon. Thar ain't a man along the whole Divide who didn't know it;thar ain't a man along the whole Divide that would have drawn a bead orpulled a trigger on it till now. It never had an enemy but the bees; itnever even knew why horses and cattle were frightened of it. It wasn'tmuch of a pet, you'd say, Miss Forester; it wasn't much to meet a lady'seye; but we of the woods must take our friends where we find 'em and ofour own kind. It ain't no fault of yours, Miss, that you didn't knowit; it ain't no fault of yours what happened; but when it comes to yourTHANKING me for it, why--it's--it's rather rough, you see--and gets me. "He stopped short as desperately and as abruptly as he had begun, andstared blankly at the fire. A wave of pity and shame swept over the young girl and left its hightide on her cheek. But even then it was closely followed by the feminineinstinct of defence and defiance. The REAL hero--the GENTLEMAN--shereasoned bitterly, would have spared her all this knowledge. "But why, " she said, with knitted brows, "why, if you knew it was soprecious and so harmless--why did you fire upon it?" "Because, " he said almost fiercely, turning upon her, "because youSCREAMED, and THEN I KNEW IT HAD FRIGHTENED YOU!" He stopped instantlyas she momentarily recoiled from him, but the very brusqueness of hisaction had dislodged a tear from his dark eyes that fell warm on theback of her hand, and seemed to blot out the indignity. "Listen, Miss, "he went on hurriedly, as if to cover up his momentary unmanliness. "I knew the bear was missing to-night, and when I heard the horsesscurrying about I reckoned what was up. I knew no harm could come toyou, for the horses were unharnessed and away from the wagon. I pelteddown that trail ahead of them all like grim death, calkilatin' to getthere before the bear; they wouldn't have understood me; I was too highup to call to the creature when he did come out, and I kinder hopedyou wouldn't see him. Even when he turned towards the wagon, I knew itwasn't YOU he was after, but suthin' else, and I kinder hoped, Miss, that you, being different and quicker-minded than the rest, would seeit too. All the while them folks were yellin' behind me to fire--as ifI didn't know my work. I was half-way down--and then you screamed! Andthen I forgot everything, --everything but standing clear of hittingyou, --and I fired. I was that savage that I wanted to believe that he'dgone mad, and would have touched you, till I got down there and foundthe honey-pot lying alongside of him. But there, --it's all over now!I wouldn't have let on a word to you only I couldn't bear to take YOURTHANKS for it, and I couldn't bear to have you thinking me a brutefor dodgin' them. " He stopped, walked to the fire, leaned against thechimney under the shallow pretext of kicking the dull embers intoa blaze, which, however, had only the effect of revealing his twoglistening eyes as he turned back again and came towards her. "Well, "he said, with an ineffectual laugh, "it's all over now, it's all in theday's work, I reckon, --and now, Miss, if you're ready, and will justfix yourself your own way so as to ride easy, I'll carry you down. " Andslightly bending his strong figure, he dropped on one knee beside herwith extended arms. Now it is one thing to be carried up a hill in temperate, unconsciousblood and practical business fashion by a tall, powerful man withsteadfast, glowering eyes, but quite another thing to be carried downagain by the same man, who has been crying, and when you are consciousthat you are going to cry too, and your tears may be apt to mingle. SoMiss Amy Forester said: "Oh, wait, please! Sit down a moment. Oh, Mr. Tenbrook, I am so very, very sorry, " and, clapping her hand to her eyes, burst into tears. "Oh, please, please don't, Miss Forester, " said Jack, sitting down onthe end of the bunk with frightened eyes, "please don't do that! Itain't worth it. I'm only a brute to have said anything. " "No, no! You are SO noble, SO forgiving!" sobbed Miss Forester, "andI have made you go and kill the only thing you cared for, that was allyour own. " "No, Miss, --not all my own, either, --and that makes it so rough. For itwas only left in trust with me by a friend. It was her only companion. " "HER only companion?" echoed Miss Forester, sharply lifting her bowedhead. "Except, " said Jack hurriedly, miscomprehending the emphasis withmasculine fatuity, --"except the dying man for whom she lived andsacrificed her whole life. She gave me this ring, to always remind me ofmy trust. I suppose, " he added ruefully, looking down upon it, "it's nouse now. I'd better take it off. " Then Amy eyed the monstrous object with angelic simplicity. "I certainlyshould, " she said with infinite sweetness; "it would only remind you ofyour loss. But, " she added, with a sudden, swift, imploring look of herblue eyes, "if you could part with it to me, it would be such a reminderand token of--of your forgiveness. " Jack instantly handed it to her. "And now, " he said, "let me carry youdown. " "I think, " she said hesitatingly, "that--I had better try to walk, " andshe rose to her feet. "Then I shall know that you have not forgiven me, " said Jack sadly. "But I have no right to trouble"-- Alas! she had no time to finish her polite objection, for the nextmoment she felt herself lifted in the air, smelled the bark thatchwithin an inch of her nose, saw the firelight vanish behind her, andsubsiding into his curved arms as in a hammock, the two passed forthinto the night together. "I can't find, your bracelet anywhere, Amy, " said her father, when theyreached the wagon. "It was on the floor in the lint, " said Amy reproachfully. "But, ofcourse, you never thought of that!" ***** My pen halts with some diffidence between two conclusions to thisveracious chronicle. As they agree in result, though not in theory orintention, I may venture to give them both. To one coming from the lipsof the charming heroine herself I naturally yield the precedence. "Oh, the bear story! I don't really remember whether that was before I wasengaged to John or after. But I had known him for some time; fatherintroduced him at the Governor's ball at Sacramento. Let me see!--Ithink it was in the winter of '56. Yes! it was very amusing; I alwaysused to charge John with having trained that bear to attack our carriageso that he might come in as a hero! Oh, of course, there are a hundredabsurd stories about him, --they used to say that he lived all alone ina cabin like a savage, and all that sort of thing, and was a friend ofa dubious woman in the locality, whom the common people made a heroineof, --Miggles, or Wiggles, or some such preposterous name. But lookat John there; can you conceive it?" The listener, glancing at a veryhandsome, clean-shaven fellow, faultlessly attired, could not conceivesuch an absurdity. So I therefore simply give the opinion of JoshuaBixley, Superintendent of the Long Divide Tunnel Company, for what it isworth: "I never took much stock in that bear story, and its captivatingold Forester's daughter. Old Forester knew a thing or two, and when hewas out here consolidating tunnels, he found out that Jack Tenbrook wasabout headed for the big lead, and brought him out and introduced himto Amy. You see, Jack, clear grit as he was, was mighty rough style, andabout as simple as they make 'em, and they had to get up something toaccount for that girl's taking a shine to him. But they seem to be happyenough--and what are you going to do about it?" And I transfer this philosophic query to the reader. THE YOUNGEST PROSPECTOR IN CALAVERAS He was scarcely eight when it was believed that he could have reasonablylaid claim to the above title. But he never did. He was a small boy, intensely freckled to the roots of his tawny hair, with even a suspicionof it in his almond-shaped but somewhat full eyes, which were thegreenish hue of a ripe gooseberry. All this was very unlike his parents, from whom he diverged in resemblance in that fashion so often seen inthe Southwest of America, as if the youth of the boundless West hadstruck a new note of independence and originality, overriding allconservative and established rules of heredity. Something of thiswas also shown in a singular and remarkable reticence and firmness ofpurpose, quite unlike his family or schoolfellows. His mother wasthe wife of a teamster, who had apparently once "dumped" his family, consisting of a boy and two girls, on the roadside at Burnt Spring, with the canvas roof of his wagon to cover them, while he proceeded todeliver other freight, not so exclusively his own, at other stationsalong the road, returning to them on distant and separate occasions withslight additions to their stock, habitation, and furniture. In this waythe canvas roof was finally shingled and the hut enlarged, and, underthe quickening of a smiling California sky and the forcing of a teemingCalifornia soil, the chance-sown seed took root and became known asMedliker's Ranch, or "Medliker's, " with its bursting garden patch andits three sheds or "lean-to's. " The girls helped their mother in a childish, imitative way; the boy, John Bunyan, after a more desultory and original fashion--when he wasnot "going to" or ostensibly "coming from" school, for he was seldomactually there. Something of this fear was in the mind of Mrs. Medlikerone morning as she looked up from the kettle she was scrubbing, withpremonition of "more worriting, " to behold the Reverend Mr. Staples, thelocal minister, hale John Bunyan Medliker into the shanty with one hand. Letting Johnny go, he placed his back against the door and wiped hisface with a red handkerchief. Johnny dropped into a chair, furtivelyglancing at the arm by which Mr. Staples had dragged him, and feeling itwith the other hand to see if it was really longer. "I've been requested by the schoolmaster, " said the Rev. Mr. Staples, putting his handkerchief back into his broad felt hat with a gaspingsmile, "to bring our young friend before you for a matter of counsel anddiscipline. I have done so, Sister Medliker, with some difficulty, "--helooked down at John Bunyan, who again felt his arm and was satisfiedthat it WAS longer--"but we must do our dooty, even with difficultyto ourselves, and, perhaps, to others. Our young friend, John Bunyan, stands on a giddy height--on slippery places, and, " continued Mr. Staples, with a lofty disregard to consecutive metaphor, "his feetare taking fast hold of destruction. " Here the child drew a breath ofrelief, possibly at the prospect of being on firm ground of any kindat last; but Sister Medliker, to whom the Staples style of exordium hadonly a Sabbath significance, turned to her offspring abruptly:-- "And what's these yer doin's now, John? and me a slavin' to send ye toschool?" Thus appealed to, Johnny looked for a reply at his feet, at his arm, andat the kettle. Then he said: "I ain't done nothin', but he"--indicatingStaples--"hez been nigh onter pullin' off my arm. " "It's now almost a week ago, " continued Mr. Staples, waving aside theinterruption with a smile of painful Christian tolerance, "or perhapsten days--I won't be too sure--that the schoolmaster discoveredthat Johnny had in his possession two or three flakes of fine rivergold--each of the value of half a dollar, or perhaps sixty-two and onehalf cents. On being questioned where he got them he refused to say;although subsequently he alleged that he had 'found' them. It being asingle instance, he was given the benefit of the doubt, and nothing morewas said about it. But a few days after he was found trying to pass off, at Mr. Smith's store, two other flakes of a different size, and a smallnugget of the value of four or five dollars. At this point I was calledin; he repeated to me, I grieve to say, the same untruthfulness, andwhen I suggested to him the obvious fact that he had taken it from oneof the miner's sluice boxes and committed the grievous sin of theft, he wickedly denied it--so that we are prevented from carrying out theChristian command of restoring it even ONE fold, instead of four or fivefold as the Mosaic Law might have required. We were, alas! unable toascertain anything from the miners themselves, though I grieve to saythey one and all agreed that their 'take' that week was not at all whatthey had expected. I even went so far as to admit the possibility of hisown statement, and besought him at least to show me where he had foundit. He at first refused with great stubbornness of temper, but laterconsented to accompany me privately this afternoon to the spot. " Mr. Staples paused, and sinking his voice gloomily, and with his eyes fixedupon Johnny, continued slowly: "When I state that, after several timestrying to evade me on the way, he finally led me to the top of BaldHill, where there is not a scrap of soil, and not the slightestindication, and still persisted that he found it THERE, you willunderstand, Sister Medliker, the incorrigibility of his conduct, andhow he has added the sin of 'false witness' to his breaking the EighthCommandment. But I leave him to your Christian discipline! Let us hopethat if, through his stiff-necked obduracy, he has haply escaped thevengeance of man's law, he will not escape the rod of the domestictabernacle. " "Ye kin leave him to me, " said Mrs. Medliker, in her anxiety to get ridof the parson, assuming a confidence she was far from feeling. "So be it, Sister Medliker, " said Staples, drawing a long, satisfactorybreath; "and let us trust that when you have rastled with his fleshand spirit, you will bring us joyful tidings to Wednesday's Mother'sMeeting. " He clapped his soft hat on his head, cast another glance at the wickedJohnny, opened the door with his hand behind him, and backed himselfinto the road. "Now, Johnny, " said Mrs. Medliker, setting her lips together as the doorclosed, "look me right in the face, and say where you stole that gold. " But Johnny evidently did not think that his mother's face at that momentoffered any moral support, for he did not look at her; but, after gazingat the kettle, said slowly, "I didn't steal no gold. " "Then, " said Mrs. Medliker triumphantly, "if ye didn't steal it, you'dsay right off HOW ye got it. " Children are often better logicians than their elders. To John Bunyanthe stealing of gold and the mere refusal to say where he got it weretwo distinct and separate things; that the negation of the secondproposition meant the affirmation of the first he could not accept. Butthen children are also imitative, and fearful of the older intellect. Itstruck Johnny that his mother might be right, and that to her it reallymeant the same thing. So, after a moment's silence he replied moreconfidently, "I suppose I stoled it. " But he was utterly unprepared for the darkening change in his mother'sface, and her furious accents. "You stole it?--you STOLE it, you limb!And you sit there and brazenly tell me! Who did you steal it from? Tellme quick, afore I wring it out of you!" Completely astounded and bewildered at this new turn of affairs, Johnnyagain fell back upon the dreadful truth, and gasped, "I don't know. " "You don't know, you devil! Did you take it from Frazer's?" "No. " "From the Simmons Brothers?" "No. " "From the Blazing Star Company?" "No. " "From a store?" "No. " "Then, in created goodness!--WHERE did you get it?" Johnny raised his brown-gooseberry eyes for a single instant to hismother's and said, "I found it. " Mrs. Medliker gasped again and stared hopelessly at the ceiling. Yet shewas conscious of a certain relief. After all, it was POSSIBLE that hehad found it--liar as he undoubtedly was. "Then why don't you say where, you awful child?" "Don't want to!" Johnny would have liked to add that he saw no reason why he should tell. Other people who found gold were not obliged to tell. There was JimBrody, who had struck a lead and kept the locality secret. Nobody forcedhim to tell. Nobody called him a thief; nobody had dragged him about bythe arm until he showed it. Why was it wrong that a little boy shouldfind gold? It wasn't agin the Commandments. Mr. Staples had never got upand said, "Thou shalt not find gold!" His mother had never made him praynot to find it! The schoolmaster had never read him awful stories ofboys who found gold and never said anything about it, and so came to ahorrid end. All this crowded his small boy's mind, and, crowding, chokedhis small boy's utterance. "You jest wait till your father comes home, " said Mrs. Medliker, "andhe'll see whether you 'want to' or not. And now get yourself off to bedand stay there. " Johnny knew that his father--whose teams had increased to five wagons, and whose route extended forty miles further--was not due for a week, and that the catastrophe was yet remote. His present punishment he hadexpected. He went into the adjoining bedroom, which he occupied withhis sister, and began to undress. He lingered for some time over onestocking, and finally cautiously removed from it a small piece of flakegold which he had kept concealed all day under his big toe, to thegreat discomfort of that member. But this was only a small, ordinaryself-martyrdom of boyhood. He scratched a boyish hieroglyphic on themetal, and when his mother's back was turned scraped a small hole in theadobe wall, inserted the gold in it, and covered it up with a plastermade of the moistened debris. It was safe--so was his secret--for itneed not, perhaps, be stated here that Johnny HAD told the truth and HADhonestly found the gold! But where?--yes, that was his own secret! Andnow, Johnny, with the instinct of all young animals, dismissed the wholesubject from his mind, and, reclining comfortably upon his arm, fellinto an interesting study of the habits of the red ant as exemplified ina crack of the adobe wall, and with the aid of a burnt match succeededin diverting for the rest of the afternoon the attention of a wholelaborious colony. The next morning, however, brought trouble to him in the curiosity ofhis sisters, heightened by their belief that he could at any moment betaken off to prison--which was their understanding of their mother'sstory. I grieve to say that to them this invested him with a certainromantic heroism, from the gratification of which the hero himself wasnot exempt. Nevertheless, he successfully evaded their questioning, andon broader impersonal grounds. As girls, it was none of their business!He wasn't a-going to tell them HIS secrets! And what did they know aboutgold, anyway? They couldn't tell it from brass! The attitude of hismother was, however, still perplexing. She was no longer activelyindignant, but treated him with a mysterious reserve that was themore appalling. The fact was that she no longer believed in histheft, --indeed, she had never seriously accepted it, --but his strangereticence and secretiveness piqued her curiosity, and even made her alittle afraid of him. The capacity for keeping a secret she believed wasmanlike, and reminded her--for no reason in the world--of Jim Medliker, her husband, whom she feared. Well, she would let them fight it outbetween them. More than that, she was finally obliged to sink herreserve in employing him in the necessary "chores" for the house, andhe was sent on an errand to the country store at the cross-roads. But hefirst extracted his gold-flake from the wall, and put it in his pocket. On arriving at the store, it was plain even to his boyish perceptionsthat the minister had circulated his miserable story. Two or three ofthe customers spoke to each other in a whisper, and looked at him. Morethan that, when he began his homeward journey he saw that two of theloungers were evidently following him. Half in timidity and half inboyish mischief he once or twice strayed from the direct road, andsnatched a fearful joy in observing their equal divergence. As he passedMr. Staples's house he saw that reverend gentleman sneak out of hisback gate, and, without seeing the two others, join in the inquisitorialprocession. But the events of the past day had had their quickeningeffect upon Johnny's intellect. A brilliantly wicked thought struck him. As he was passing a perfectly bare spot on the road he managed, withoutbeing noticed, to cast his glittering flake of gold on the sterileground at the other side of the road, where the minister's path wouldlie. Then, at a point where the road turned, he concealed himself in thebrush. The Reverend Mr. Staples hurried forward as he lost sight ofthe boy in the sweep of the road, but halted suddenly. Johnny's heartleaped. The minister looked around him, stooped, picked up the pieceof gold, thrust it hurriedly in his waistcoat pocket, and continued hisway. When he reached the turn of the road, before passing it, he availedhimself of his solitude to pause and again examine the treasure, andagain return it to his pocket. But, to Johnny's surprise, he hereturned back, walked quickly to the spot where he had found it, carefullyexamined the locality, kicking the loose soil and stones around with hisfeet until he had apparently satisfied himself that there was no more, and no gold-bearing indications in the soil. At this moment, however, the two other inquisitors came in sight, and Mr. Staples turnedquickly and hurried on. Before he had passed the brush where Johnny wasconcealed, the two men overtook him and exchanged greetings. They bothspoke of "Johnny" and his crime; of having followed him with a view offinding out where he went to procure his gold, and of his having againevaded them. Mr. Staples agreed with their purpose, but, to Johnny'sintense astonishment, SAID NOTHING ABOUT HIS OWN FIND! When they hadpassed on, the boy slipped from his place of concealment and followedthem at a distance until his own house came in view. Here the two mendiverged, but the minister continued on towards the other "store" andpost-office on the main road. He would have told his mother what he had seen, and his surprise thatthe minister had not spoken of finding the gold to the other men, buthe was checked, first by his mother's attitude towards him, which wasclearly the same as the minister's, and, second, by the knowledgethat she would have condemned his dropping the gold in the minister'spath, --though he knew not WHY, --or asked his reason for it, which he wasequally sure he could not formulate, though he also knew not why. Butthat evening, as he was returning from the spring with water, he heardthe minister's voice in the kitchen. It had been a day of surprises andrevelations to Johnny, but the climax seemed to be reached as he enteredthe room; and he now stood transfixed and open-mouthed as he heard Mr. Staples say:-- "It's all very well, Sister Medliker, to comfort your heart with vainhopes and delusions. A mother's leanin's is the soul's deceivin's, --andyer leanin' on a broken reed. If the boy truly found that gold he'd havecome to ye and said: 'Behold, mother, I have found gold in the highwaysand byways; rejoice and be exceedin' glad!' and hev poured it inter yerlap. Yes, " continued Mr. Staples aggressively to the boy, as he saw himstagger back with his pail in hand, "yes, sir, THAT would have been thecourse of a Christian child!" For a moment Johnny felt the blood boiling in his ears, and a thousandwords seemed crowding in his throat. "Then"--he gasped and choked. "Then"--he began again, and stopped with the suffocation of indignation. But Mr. Staples saw in his agitation only an awakened conscience, and, nudging Mrs. Medliker, leaned eagerly forward for a reply. "Then, " herepeated, with suave encouragement, "go on, Johnny! Speak it out!" "Then, " said Johnny, in a high, shrill falsetto that startled them, "then wot for did YOU pick up that piece o' gold in the road thisarternoon, and say nothin' of it to the men who followed ye? Ye did;I seed yer! And ye didn't say nothin' of it to anybody; and ye ain'tsayin' nothin' of it now ter maw! and ye've got it in yer vest! And it'smine, and I dropped it! Gimme it. " Astonishment, confusion, and rage swelled and empurpled Staples' face. It was HIS turn to gasp for breath. Yet in the same moment he madean angry dash at the boy. But Mrs. Medliker interfered. This was anentirely new feature in the case. Great is the power of gold. A singleglance at the minister's confusion had convinced her that Johnny'saccusation was true, and it was Johnny's MONEY--constructivelyHERS--that the minister was concealing. His mere possession of that goldhad more effect in straightening out her loose logic than any sense ofhypocrisy. "You leave the boy be, Brother Staples, " said Mrs. Medliker sharply. "Ireckon wot's his is hisn, spite of whar he got it. " Mr. Staples saw his mistake, and smiled painfully as he fumbled in hiswaistcoat pocket. "I believe I DID pick up something, " he said, "thatmay or may not have been gold, but I have dropped it again or thrownit away; and really it is of little concern in our moral lesson. For wehave only HIS word that it was really his! How do we KNOW it?" "Cos it has my marks on it, " said Johnny quickly; "it had a criss-crossI scratched on it. I kin tell it good enuf. " Mr. Staples turned suddenly pale and rose. "Of course, " he said to Mrs. Medliker with painful dignity, "if you set so much value upon a mereworldly trifle, I will endeavor to find it. It may be in my otherpocket. " He backed out of the door in his usual fashion, but instantlywent over to the post-office, where, as he afterwards alleged, he hadchanged the ore for coin in a moment of inadvertence. But Johnny'shieroglyphics were found on it, and in some mysterious way the story gotabout. It had two effects that Johnny did not dream of. It had forcedhis mother into an attitude of complicity with him; it had raised up forhim a single friend. Jake Stielitzer, quartz miner, had declared thatBurnt Spring was "playing it low down" on Johnny! That if they reallybelieved that the boy took gold from their sluice boxes, it was theirduty to watch their CLAIMS and not the boy. That it was only theirexcuse for "snooping" after him, and they only wanted to find his"strike, " which was as much his as their claims were their own! Allthis with great proficiency of epithet, but also a still more recognizedproficiency with the revolver, which made the former respected. "That's the real nigger in the fence, Johnny, " said Jake, twirling hishuge mustache, "and they only want to know where your lead is, --anddon't yer tell 'em! Let 'em bile over with waitin' first, and that'llput the fire out. Does yer pop know?" "No, " said Johnny. "Nor yer mar?" "No. " Jake whistled. "Then it's only YOU, yourself?" Johnny nodded violently, and his brown eyes glistened. "It's a heap of information to be packed away in a chap of your size, Johnny. Makes you feel kinder crowded inside, eh? MUST keep it toyourself, eh?" "Have to, " said Johnny with a gasp that was a little like a sigh. It caused Jake to look at him attentively. "See here, Johnny, " he said, "now ef ye wanted to tell somebody about it, --somebody as was a friendof yours, --ME, f'r instance?" Johnny slowly withdrew the freckled, warty little hand that had beenresting confidingly in Jake's and gently sidled away from him. Jakeburst into a loud laugh. "All right, Johnny boy, " he said with a hearty slap upon the boy's back, "keep yer head shut ef yer wanter! Only ef anybody else comes bummin'round ye, like this, jest turn him over TO ME, and I'll lift him outerhis boots!" Jake kept his word, and his distance thereafter. Indeed, it was afterthis first and last conversation with him that the influence of hispowerful protection was so strong that all active criticisms of Johnnyceased, and only a respectful surveillance of his movements lingered inthe settlement. I do not know that this was altogether distasteful tothe child; it would have been strange, indeed, if he had not feltat times exalted by this mysterious influence that he seemed tohave acquired over his fellow creatures. If he were merely huntingblackberries in the brush, he was always sure, sooner or later, to finda ready hand offered to help and accompany him; if he trapped a squirrelor tracked down a wild bees' hoard, he generally found a smiling facewatching him. Prospectors sometimes stopped him with: "Well, Johnny, asa chipper and far-minded boy, now WHAR would YOU advise us to dig?" Igrieve to say that Johnny was not above giving his advice, --and that itwas invariably of not the smallest use to the recipient. And so the days passed. Mr. Medliker's absence was protracted, andthe hour of retribution and punishment still seemed far away. Theblackberries ripened and dried upon the hillside, and the squirrelshad gathered their hoards; the bees no longer came and went throughthe thicket, but Johnny was still in daily mysterious possession ofhis grains of gold! And then one day--after the fate of all heroichumanity--his secret was imperilled by the blandishments andmachinations of the all-powerful sex. Florry Fraser was a little playmate of Johnny's. Why, with his doubts ofhis elder sister's intelligence and integrity, he should have selected achild two years younger, and of singular simplicity, was, like his othersecret, his own. What SHE saw in him to attract her was equally strange;possibly it may have been his brown-gooseberry eyes or his warts; butshe was quite content to trot after him, like a young squaw, carryinghis "bow-arrow, " or his "trap, " supremely satisfied to share hiswoodland knowledge or his scanter confidences. For nobody who knewJohnny suspected that she was privy to his great secret. Howbeit, wherever his ragged straw hat, thatched with his tawny hair, wasdetected in the brush, the little nankeen sunbonnet of Florry was sureto be discerned not far behind. For two weeks they had not seen eachother. A fell disease, nurtured in ignorance, dirt, and carelessness, was striking right and left through the valleys of the foothills, and Florry, whose sister had just recovered from an attack, had beensequestered with her. But one morning, as Johnny was bringing his woodfrom the stack behind the house, he saw, to his intense delight, apicket of the road fence slipped aside by a small red hand, and a momentafter Florry squeezed herself through the narrow opening. Her roundcheeks were slightly flushed, and there was a scrap of red flannelaround her plump throat that heightened the whiteness of her skin. "My!" said Johnny, with half-real, half-affected admiration, "howsplendiferous!" "Sore froat, " said Florry, in a whisper, trying to insert her two chubbyfingers between the bandage and her chin. "I mussent go outer the gardenpatch! I mussent play in the woods, for I'll be seed! I mussent staylong, for they'll ketch me outer bed!" "Outer bed?" repeated Johnny, with intense admiration, as he perceivedfor the first time that Florry was in a flannel nightgown, with barelegs and feet. "Ess. " Whereupon these two delightful imps chuckled and wagged their heads witha sincere enjoyment that this mere world could not give! Johnny slippedoff his shoes and stockings and hurriedly put them on the infant Florry, securing them from falling off with a thick cord. This added to theirenjoyment. "We can play cubby house in the stone heap, " whispered Florry. "Hol' on till I tote in this wood, " said Johnny. "You hide till I comeback. " Johnny swiftly delivered his load with an alacrity he had never shownbefore. Then they played "cubby house"--not fifty feet from the cabin, with a hushed but guilty satisfaction. But presently it palled. Theirdomain was too circumscribed for variety. "Robinson Crusoe up the tree"was impossible, as being visible from the house windows. Johnny was athis wits' end. Florry was fretful and fastidious. Then a great thoughtstruck him and left him cold. "If I show you a show, you won't tell?" hesaid suddenly. "No. " "Wish yer-ma-die?" "Ess. " "Got any penny?" "No. " "Got any slate pencil?" "No. " "Ain't got any pins nor nuthin'? You kin go in for a pin. " But Florry had none of childhood's fluctuating currency with her, having, so to speak, no pockets. "Well, " said Johnny, brightening up, "ye kin go in for luv. " The child clipped him with her small arms and smiled, and, Johnnyleading the way, they crept on all fours through the thick ferns untilthey paused before a deep fissure in the soil half overgrown withbramble. In its depths they could hear the monotonous trickle of water. It was really the source of the spring that afterwards reappeared fiftyyards nearer the road, and trickled into an unfailing pool known as theBurnt Spring, from the brown color of the surrounding bracken. Itwas the water supply of the ranch, and the reason for Mr. Medliker'soriginal selection of that site. Johnny lingered for an instant, lookedcarefully around, and then lowered himself into the fissure. A momentlater he reached up his arms to Florry, lowered her also, and bothdisappeared from view. Yet from time to time their voices came faintlyfrom below--with the gurgle of water--as of festive gnomes at play. At the end of ten minutes they reappeared, a little muddy, a littlebedraggled, but flushed and happy. There were two pink spots on Florry'scheeks, and she clasped something tightly in her little red fist. "There, " said Johnny, when they were seated in the straw again, "nowmind you don't tell. " But here suddenly Florry's lips began to quiver, and she gave vent to asmall howl of anguish. "You ain't bit by a trant'ler nor nuthin'?" said Johnny anxiously. "Hushup!" "N--o--o! But"-- "But what?" said Johnny. "Mar said I MUST tell! Mar said I was to fin' out where you get thetruly gold! Mar said I was to get you to take me, " howled Florry, in anagony of remorse. Johnny gasped. "You Injin!" he began. "But I won't--Johnny!" said Florry, clutching his leg frantically. "Iwon't and I sha'n't! I ain't no Injin!" Then, between her sobs, she told him how her mother and Mr. Staples hadsaid that she was to ask Johnny the next time they met to take her wherethey found the "truly gold, " and she was to remember where it was andto tell them. And they were going to give her a new dolly and a hunk ofgingerbread. "But I won't--and I sha'n't!" she said passionately. Shewas quite pale again. Johnny was convinced, but thoughtful. "Tell 'em, " he said hoarsely, "tell 'em a big whopper! They won't know no better. They'll never guesswhere. " And he briefly recounted the wild-goose chase he had given theminister. "And get the dolly and the cake, " said Florry, her eyes shining throughher tears. "In course, " said Johnny. "They'll get the dolly back, but you kin haveeated the cake first. " They looked at each other, and their eyes dancedtogether over this heaven-sent inspiration. Then Johnny took off hershoes and stockings, rubbed her cold feet with his dirty handkerchief, and said: "Now you trot over to your mar!" He helped her through the loose picket of the fence and was turning awaywhen her faint voice again called him. "Johnny!" He turned back; she was standing on the other side of the fence holdingout her arms to him. He went to her with shining eyes, lifted her up, and from her hot but loving little lips took a fatal kiss. For only an hour later Mrs. Fraser found Florry in her bed, tossing witha high fever and a light head. She was talking of "Johnny" and "gold, "and had a flake of the metal in her tiny fist. When Mr. Staples was sentfor, and with the mother and father, hung anxiously above her bed, totheir eager questioning they could only find out that Florry had been toa high mountain, ever so far away, and on the top of it there was goldlying around, and a shining figure was giving it away to the people. "And who were the people, Florry dear, " said Mr. Staples persuasively;"anybody ye know here?" "They woz angels, " said Florry, with a frightened glance over hershoulder. I grieve to say that Mr. Staples did not look as pleased at thecelestial vision as he might have, and poor Mrs. Fraser probably sawthat in her child's face which drove other things from her mind. Yet Mr. Staples persisted:-- "And who led you to this beautiful mountain? Was it Johnny?" "No. " "Who then?" Florry opened her eyes on the speaker. "I fink it was Dod, " she said, and closed them again. But here Dr. Duchesne hurried in, and after a single glance at the childhustled Mr. Staples from the room. For there were grave complicationsthat puzzled him, Florry seemed easier and quieter under his kindlyvoice and touch, but did not speak again, --and so, slowly sinking, passed away that night in a dreamless sleep. This was followed by a madpanic at Burnt Spring the next day, and Mrs. Medliker fled with her twogirls to Sacramento, leaving Johnny, ostensibly strong and active, tokeep house until his father's return. But Mr. Medliker's return wasagain delayed, and in the epidemic, which had now taken a fast hold ofthe settlement, Johnny's secret--and indeed the boy himself--was quiteforgotten. It was only on Mr. Medliker's arrival it was known that hehad been lying dangerously ill, alone, in the abandoned house. In hisstrange reticence and firmness of purpose he had kept his sufferings tohimself, --as he had his other secret, --and they were revealed only inthe wasted, hollow figure that feebly opened the door to his father. On which intelligence Mr. Staples was, as usual, promptly on the spotwith his story of Johnny's secret to the father, and his usual eagerquestioning to the fast-sinking boy. "And now, Johnny, " he said, leaningover the bed, "tell us ALL. There is One from whom no secrets are hid. Remember, too, that dear Florry, who is now with the angels, has alreadyconfessed. " Perhaps it was because Johnny, even at that moment, hated the man;perhaps it was because at that moment he loved and believed in Florry, or perhaps it was only that because at that moment he was nearer thegreater Truth than his questioner, but he said, in a husky voice, "Youlie!" Staples drew back with a flushed face, but lips that writhed in apained and still persistent eagerness. "But, Johnny, at least tell uswhere--wh--wow--wow. " I am obliged to admit that these undignified accents came from Mr. Staples' own lips, and were due to the sudden pressure of Mr. Medliker'sarm around his throat. The teamster was irascible and prompt throughmuch mule-driving, and his arm was, from the same reason, strong andsinewy. Mr. Staples felt himself garroted and dragged from the room, and only came to under the stars outside, with the hoarse voice of Mr. Medliker in his ears:-- "You're a minister of the gospel, I know, but ef ye say another word tomy Johnny, I'll knock the gospel stuffin' out of ye. Ye hear me! I'VEDRIVEN MULES AFORE!" He then strode back into the room. "Ye needn't answer, Johnny, he'sgone. " But so, too, had Johnny, for he never answered the question in thisworld, nor, please God, was he required to in the next. He lay still anddead. The community was scandalized the next day when Mr. Medliker sentfor a minister from Sacramento to officiate at his child's funeral, inplace of Mr. Staples, and then the subject was dropped. ***** But the influence of Johnny's hidden treasure still remained as asuperstition in the locality. Prospecting parties were continually madeup to discover the unknown claim, but always from evidence and dataaltogether apocryphal. It was even alleged that a miner had one nightseen the little figures of Johnny and Florry walking over the hilltop, hand in hand, but that they had vanished among the stars at the verymoment he thought he had discovered their secret. And then it wasforgotten; the prosperous Mr. Medliker, now the proprietor of astage-coach route, moved away to Sacramento; Medliker's Ranch became astation for changing horses, and, as the new railway in time supersededeven that, sank into a blacksmith's shop on the outskirts of the newtown of Burnt Spring. And then one day, six years after, news fell as abolt from the blue! It was thus recorded in the county paper: "A piece of rare good fortune, involving, it is said, the development of a lead of extraordinaryvalue, has lately fallen to the lot of Mr. John Silsbee, the popularblacksmith, on the site of the old Medliker Ranch. In clearing out thefailing water-course known as Burnt Spring, Mr. Silsbee came upon a richledge or pocket at the actual source of the spring, --a fissure in theground a few rods from the road. The present yield has been estimatedto be from eight to ten thousand dollars. But the event is consideredas one of the most remarkable instances of the vagaries of 'prospecting'ever known, as this valuable 'pot-hole' existed undisturbed for EIGHTYEARS not FIFTY YARDS from the old cabin that was in former times theresidence of J. Medliker, Esq. , and the station of the Pioneer StageCompany, and was utterly unknown and unsuspected by the previousinhabitants! Verily truth is stranger than fiction!" A TALE OF THREE TRUANTS The schoolmaster at Hemlock Hill was troubled that morning. Three of hisboys were missing. This was not only a notable deficit in a roll-call oftwenty, but the absentees were his three most original and distinctivescholars. He had received no preliminary warning or excuse. Nor could heattribute their absence to any common local detention or difficulty oftravel. They lived widely apart and in different directions. Neitherwere they generally known as "chums, " or comrades, who might haveentered into an unhallowed combination to "play hookey. " He looked at the vacant places before him with a concern which his otherscholars little shared, having, after their first lively curiosity, notunmixed with some envy of the derelicts, apparently forgotten them. Hemissed the cropped head and inquisitive glances of Jackson Tribbs onthe third bench, the red hair and brown eyes of Providence Smith inthe corner, and there was a blank space in the first bench where JulianFleming, a lanky giant of seventeen, had sat. Still, it would not doto show his concern openly, and, as became a man who was at least threeyears the senior of the eldest, Julian Fleming, he reflected that theywere "only boys, " and that their friends were probably ignorant of thegood he was doing them, and so dismissed the subject. Nevertheless, itstruck him as wonderful how the little world beneath him got on withoutthem. Hanky Rogers, bully, who had been kept in wholesome check byJulian Fleming, was lively and exuberant, and his conduct was quietlyaccepted by the whole school; Johnny Stebbins, Tribbs's bosom friend, consorted openly with Tribbs's particular enemy; some of the girlswere singularly gay and conceited. It was evident that some superiormasculine oppression had been removed. He was particularly struck by this last fact, when, the next morning, no news coming of the absentees, he was impelled to question his flocksomewhat precisely concerning them. There was the usual shy silencewhich follows a general inquiry from the teacher's desk; the childrenlooked at one another, giggled nervously, and said nothing. "Can you give me any idea as to what might have kept them away?" saidthe master. Hanky Rogers looked quickly around, began, "Playin' hook--" in a loudvoice, but stopped suddenly without finishing the word, and becameinaudible. The master saw fit to ignore him. "Bee-huntin', " said Annie Roker vivaciously. "Who is?" asked the master. "Provy Smith, of course. Allers bee-huntin'. Gets lots o' honey. Got twofull combs in his desk last week. He's awful on bees and honey. Ain'the, Jinny?" This in a high voice to her sister. The younger Miss Roker, thus appealed to, was heard to murmur that ofall the sneakin' bee-hunters she had ever seed, Provy Smith was theworst. "And squirrels--for nuts, " she added. The master became attentive, --a clue seemed probable here. "Would Tribbsand Fleming be likely to go with him?" he asked. A significant silence followed. The master felt that the childrenrecognized a doubt of this, knowing the boys were not "chums;"possibly they also recognized something incriminating to them, and withcharacteristic freemasonry looked at one another and were dumb. He asked no further questions, but, when school was dismissed, mountedhis horse and started for the dwelling of the nearest culprit, JacksonTribbs, four miles distant. He had often admired the endurance of theboy, who had accomplished the distance, including the usual meanderingsof a country youth, twice a day, on foot, in all weathers, with nodiminution of spirits or energy. He was still more surprised when hefound it a mountain road, and that the house lay well up on the ascentof the pass. Autumn was visible only in a few flaming sumacs setamong the climbing pines, and here, in a little clearing to the right, appeared the dwelling he was seeking. "Tribbses, " or "Tribbs's Run, " was devoted to the work of cuttingdown the pines midway on a long regularly sloping mountain-side, whichallowed the trunks, after they were trimmed and cut into suitablelengths, to be slid down through rude runs, or artificial channels, intothe valley below, where they were collected by teams and conveyed to thenearest mills. The business was simple in the extreme, and was carriedon by Tribbs senior, two men with saws and axes, and the natural laws ofgravitation. The house was a long log cabin; several sheds roofed withbark or canvas seemed consistent with the still lingering summer and theheated odors of the pines, but were strangely incongruous to those whitepatches on the table-land and the white tongue stretching from the ridgeto the valley. But the master was familiar with those Sierran contrasts, and as he had never ascended the trail before, it might be only theusual prospect of the dwellers there. At this moment Mr. Tribbs appearedfrom the cabin, with his axe on his shoulder. Nodding carelessly to themaster, he was moving away, when the latter stopped him. "Is Jackson here?" he asked. "No, " said the father, half impatiently, still moving on. "Hain't seenhim since yesterday. " "Nor has he been at school, " said the master, "either yesterday orto-day. " Mr. Tribbs looked puzzled and grieved. "Now I reckoned you had kep' himin for some devilment of his'n, or lessons. " "Not ALL NIGHT!" said the master, somewhat indignant at this presumptionof his arbitrary functions. "Humph!" said Mr. Tribbs. "Mariar!" Mrs. Tribbs made her appearance inthe doorway. "The schoolmaster allows that Jackson ain't bin to schoolat all. " Then, turning to the master, he added, "Thar! you settle itbetween ye, " and quietly walked away. Mrs. Tribbs looked by no means satisfied with or interested in theproposed tete-a-tete. "Hev ye looked in the bresh" (i. E. , brush orunderwood) "for him?" she said querulously. "No, " said the master, "I came here first. There are two other boysmissing, --Providence Smith and Julian Fleming. Did either of them"-- But Mrs. Tribbs had interrupted him with a gesture of impatient relief. "Oh, that's all, is it? Playin' hookey together, in course. 'Scuse me, I must go back to my bakin'. " She turned away, but stopped suddenly, touched, as the master fondly believed, by some tardy maternalsolicitude. But she only said: "When he DOES come back, you just givehim a whalin', will ye?" and vanished into her kitchen. The master rode away, half ashamed of his foolish concern for thederelicts. But he determined to try Smith's father, who owned a smallrancho lower down on a spur of the same ridge. But the spur was reallynearer Hemlock Hill, and could have been reached more directly by a roadfrom there. He, however, kept along the ridge, and after half an hour'sride was convinced that Jackson Tribbs could have communicated withProvy Smith without coming nearer Hemlock Hill, and this revived hisformer belief that they were together. He found the paternal Smithengaged in hoeing potatoes in a stony field. The look of languidcuriosity with which he had regarded the approach of the master changedto one of equally languid aggression as he learned the object of hisvisit. "Wot are ye comin' to ME for? I ain't runnin' your school, " he saidslowly and aggressively. "I started Providence all right for it mornin'afore last, since when I never set eyes on him. That lets ME out. Mybusiness, young feller, is lookin' arter the ranch. Yours, I reckon, islookin' arter your scholars. " "I thought it my business to tell you your son was absent from school, "said the master coldly, turning away. "If you are satisfied, I havenothing more to say. " Nevertheless, for the moment he was so startledby this remarkable theory of his own responsibility in the case thathe quite accepted the father's callousness, --or rather it seemed to himthat his unfortunate charges more than ever needed his protection. Therewas still the chance of his hearing some news from Julian Fleming'sfather; he lived at some distance, in the valley on the opposite sideof Hemlock Hill; and thither the master made his way. Luckily he had notgone far before he met Mr. Fleming, who was a teamster, en route. Likethe fathers of the other truants, he was also engaged in his vocation. But, unlike the others, Fleming senior was jovial and talkative. Hepulled up his long team promptly, received the master's news with amusedinterest, and an invitation to spirituous refreshment from a demijohn inhis wagon. "Me and the ole woman kind o' spekilated that Jule might hev been overwith Aunt Marthy; but don't you worry, Mr. Schoolmaster. They're limbs, every one o' them, but they'll fetch up somewhere, all square! Justyou put two fingers o' that corn juice inside ye, and let 'em slide. Yedidn't hear what the 'lekshun news was when ye was at Smith's, did ye?" The master had not inquired. He confessed he had been worried about theboys. He had even thought that Julian might have met with an accident. Mr. Fleming wiped his mouth, with a humorous affectation of concern. "Met with an ACCIDENT? Yes, I reckon not ONE accident, but TWO of 'em. These yer accidents Jule's met with had two legs, and were mighty livelyaccidents, you bet, and took him off with 'em; or mebbe they had fourlegs, and he's huntin' 'em yet. Accidents! Now I never thought o' that!Well, when you come across him and THEM ACCIDENTS, you just whale 'em, all three! And ye won't take another drink? Well, so long, then! Geeup!" He rolled away, with a laugh, in the heavy dust kicked up by hisplunging mules, and the master made his way back to the schoolhouse. Hisquest for that day was ended. But the next morning he was both astounded and relieved, at theassembling of school, to find the three truants back in their places. His urgent questioning of them brought only the one and same responsefrom each: "Got lost on the ridge. " He further gathered that they hadslept out for two nights, and were together all the time, but nothingfurther, and no details were given. The master was puzzled. Theyevidently expected punishment; that was no doubt also the wish of theirparents; but if their story was true, it was a serious question if heought to inflict it. There was no means of testing their statement;there was equally none by which he could controvert it. It was evidentthat the whole school accepted it without doubt; whether they were inpossession of details gained from the truants themselves which theyhad withheld from him, or whether from some larger complicity with theculprits, he could not say. He told them gravely that he should withholdequally their punishment and their pardon until he could satisfy himselfof their veracity, and that there had been no premeditation in theiract. They seemed relieved, but here, again, he could not tell whetherit sprang from confidence in their own integrity or merely from youthfulhopefulness that delayed retribution never arrived! It was a month before their secret was fully disclosed. It was slowlyevolved from corroborating circumstances, but always with a shyreluctance from the boys themselves, and a surprise that any one shouldthink it of importance. It was gathered partly from details picked up atrecess or on the playground, from the voluntary testimony of teamstersand packers, from a record in the county newspaper, but always shapingitself into a consecutive and harmonious narrative. It was a story so replete with marvelous escape and adventure that themaster hesitated to accept it in its entirety until after it hadlong become a familiar history, and was even forgotten by the actorsthemselves. And even now he transcribes it more from the circumstancesthat surrounded it than from a hope that the story will be believed. WHAT HAPPENED Master Provy Smith had started out that eventful morning with theintention of fighting Master Jackson Tribbs for the "Kingship" ofTable Ridge--a trifling territory of ten leagues square--Tribbs havinginfringed on his boundaries and claimed absolute sovereignty overthe whole mountain range. Julian Fleming was present as referee andbottle-holder. The battle ground selected was the highest part of theridge. The hour was six o'clock, which would allow them time to reachschool before its opening, with all traces of their conflict removed. The air was crisp and cold, --a trifle colder than usual, --and there wasa singular thickening of the sun's rays on the ridge, which made thedistant peaks indistinct and ghostlike. However, the two combatantsstripped "to the buff, " and Fleming patronizingly took position at the"corner, " leaning upon a rifle, which, by reason of his superior years, and the wilderness he was obliged to traverse in going to school, hisfather had lent him to carry. It was that day a providential weapon. Suddenly, Fleming uttered the word, "Sho!" The two combatants paused intheir first "squaring off" to see, to their surprise, that their refereehad faced round, with his gun in his hand, and was staring in anotherdirection. "B'ar!" shouted the three voices together. A huge bear, followed by itscubs, was seen stumbling awkwardly away to the right, making for thetimber below. In an instant the boys had hurried into their jacketsagain, and the glory of fight was forgotten in the fever of the chase. Why should they pound each other when there was something to reallyKILL? They started in instant pursuit, Julian leading. But the wind was now keen and bitter in their faces, and that peculiarthickening of the air which they had noticed had become first a darkblue and then a whitening pall, in which the bear was lost. They stillkept on. Suddenly Julian felt himself struck between the eyes by whatseemed a snowball, and his companions were as quickly spattered by goutsof monstrous clinging snowflakes. Others as quickly followed--it wasnot snowing, it was snowballing. They at first laughed, affectingto retaliate with these whirling, flying masses shaken like clingingfeathers from a pillow; but in a few seconds they were covered from headto foot by snow, their limbs impeded or pinioned against them by itsweight, their breath gone. They stopped blindly, breathlessly. Then, with a common instinct, they turned back. But the next moment they heardJulian cry, "Look out!" Coming towards them out of the storm wasthe bear, who had evidently turned back by the same instinct. Anungovernable instinct seized the younger boys, and they fled. But Julianstopped with leveled rifle. The bear stopped too, with sullen, staringeyes. But the eyes that glanced along the rifle were young, true, andsteady. Julian fired. The hot smoke was swept back by the gale into hisface, but the bear turned and disappeared in the storm again. Julian ranon to where his companions had halted at the report, a little ashamed oftheir cowardice. "Keep on that way!" he shouted hoarsely. "No use tryin'to go where the b'ar couldn't. Keep on!" "Keep on--whar? There ain't no trail--no nuthin'!" said Jacksonquerulously, to hold down a rising fear. It was true. The trail had longsince disappeared; even their footprints of a moment before were filledup by the piling snow; they were isolated in this stony upland, high inair, without a rock or tree to guide them across its vast white level. They were bitterly cold and benumbed. The stimulus of the storm andchase had passed, but Julian kept driving them before him, himselfdriven along by the furious blast, yet trying to keep some vaguecourse along the waste. So an hour passed. Then the wind seemed to havechanged, or else they had traveled in a circle--they knew not which, butthe snow was in their faces now. But, worst of all, the snow had changedtoo; it no longer fell in huge blue flakes, but in millions of stinginggray granules. Julian's face grew hard and his eyes bright. He knew itwas no longer a snow-squall, but a lasting storm. He stopped; the boystumbled against him. He looked at them with a strange smile. "Hev you two made up?" he said. "No--o!" "Make up, then. " "What?" "Shake hands. " They clasped each other's red, benumbed fingers and laughed, albeit alittle frightened at Julian. "Go on!" he said, curtly. They went on dazedly, stupidly, for another hour. Suddenly Provy Smith's keen eyes sparkled. He pointed to a singularirregular mound of snow before them, plainly seen above the drearylevel. Julian ran to it with a cry, and began wildly digging. "I knew Ihit him, " he cried, as he brushed the snow from a huge and hairy leg. It was the bear--dead, but not yet cold. He had succumbed with his hugeback to the blast, the snow piling a bulwark behind him, where it hadslowly roofed him in. The half-frozen lads threw themselves fearlesslyagainst his furry coat and crept between his legs, nestling themselvesbeneath his still warm body with screams of joy. The snow they hadthrown back increased the bulwark, and drifting over it, in a fewmoments inclosed them in a thin shell of snow. Thoroughly exhausted, after a few grunts of satisfaction, a deep sleep fell upon them, fromwhich they were awakened only by the pangs of hunger. Alas! theirdinners--the school dinners--had been left on the ingloriousbattlefield. Nevertheless, they talked of eating the bear if it came tothe worst. They would have tried it even then, but they were far abovethe belt of timber; they had matches--what boy has not?--but no WOOD. Still, they were reassured, and even delighted, with this prospect, andso fell asleep again, stewing with the dead bear in the half-impervioussnow, and woke up in the morning ravenous, yet to see the sun shining intheir faces through the melted snow, and for Jackson Tribbs to quicklydiscover, four miles away as the crow flies, the cabin of his fatheramong the flaming sumacs. They started up in the glare of the sun, which at first almost blindedthem. They then discovered that they were in a depression of thetable-land that sloped before them to a deep gully in the mountainside, which again dropped into the canyon below. The trail they had lost, theynow remembered, must be near this edge. But it was still hidden, andin seeking it there was danger of some fatal misstep in the treacheroussnow. Nevertheless, they sallied out bravely, although they would fainhave stopped to skin the bear, but Julian's mandate was peremptory. Theyspread themselves along the ridge, at times scraping the loose snow awayin their search for the lost trail. Suddenly they all slipped and fell, but rose again quickly, laughing. Then they slipped and fell again, but this time with the startlingconsciousness that it was not THEY who had slipped, but THE SNOW! Asthey regained their feet they could plainly see now that a large crackon the white field, some twenty feet in width, extended between them andthe carcass of the bear, showing the glistening rock below. Againthey were thrown down with a sharp shock. Jackson Tribbs, who had beenshowing a strange excitement, suddenly gave a cry of warning. "Lie flat, fellers! but keep a-crawlin' and jumpin'. We're goin' down a slide!" Andthe next moment they were sliding and tossing, apparently with the wholesnow-field, down towards the gullied precipice. What happened after this, and how long it lasted, they never knew. For, hurried along with increasing momentum, but always mechanicallyclutching at the snow, and bounding from it as they swept on, theysometimes lost breath, and even consciousness. At times they were halfsuffocated in rolling masses of drift, and again free and skimming overits arrested surface, but always falling, as it seemed to them, almostperpendicularly. In one of these shocks they seemed to be going througha thicket of underbrush; but Provy Smith knew that they were the tops ofpine-trees. At last there was one shock longer and lasting, followed bya deepening thunder below them. The avalanche had struck a ledge in themountain side, and precipitated its lower part into the valley. Then everything was still, until Provy heard Julian's voice calling. Heanswered, but there was no response from Tribbs. Had he gone overinto the valley? They set up a despairing shout! A voice--a smotheredone--that might be his, came apparently from the snow beneath them. Theyshouted again; the voice, vague and hollow, responded, but it was nowsurely his. "Where are you?" screamed Provy. "Down the chimbley. " There was a black square of adobe sticking out of the snow near them. They ran to it. There was a hole. They peered down, but could seenothing at first but a faint glimmer. "Come down, fellows! It ain't far!" said Tribbs's voice. "Wot yer got there?" asked Julian cautiously. "Suthin' to eat. " That was enough. In another instant Julian and Provy went down thechimney. What was a matter of fifteen feet after a thousand? Tribbs hadalready lit a candle by which they could see that they were in the cabinof some tunnel-man at work on the ridge. He had probably been in thetunnel when the avalanche fell, and escaped, though his cabin wasburied. The three discoverers helped themselves to his larder. Theylaughed and ate as at a picnic, played cards, pretended it was arobber's cave, and finally, wrapping themselves in the miner's blankets, slept soundly, knowing where they were, and confident also that theycould find the trail early the next morning. They did so, and withoutgoing to their homes came directly to school--having been absent aboutfifty hours. They were in high spirits, except for the thoughtof approaching punishment, never dreaming to evade it by anythingmiraculous in their adventures. Such was briefly their story. Its truth was corroborated by thediscovery of the bear's carcass, by the testimony of the tunnel-man, whofound his larder mysteriously ransacked in his buried cabin, and, aboveall, by the long white tongue that for many months hung from the ledgeinto the valley. Nobody thought the lanky Julian a hero, --least of allhimself. Nobody suspected that Jackson Tribbs's treatment of a "slide"had been gathered from experiments in his father's "runs"--and he wasglad they did not. The master's pardon obtained, the three truants caredlittle for the opinion of Hemlock Hill. They knew THEMSELVES, that wasenough.