THE THREE PARTNERS

By Bret Harte

PROLOGUE. 

The sun was going down on the Black Spur Range. The red light it hadkindled there was still eating its way along the serried crest, showingthrough gaps in the ranks of pines, etching out the interstices ofbroken boughs, fading away and then flashing suddenly out again likesparks in burnt-up paper. Then the night wind swept down the wholemountain side, and began its usual struggle with the shadows upclimbingfrom the valley, only to lose itself in the end and be absorbed in theall-conquering darkness. Yet for some time the pines on the long slopeof Heavy Tree Hill murmured and protested with swaying arms; but as theshadows stole upwards, and cabin after cabin and tunnel after tunnelwere swallowed up, a complete silence followed. Only the sky remainedvisible--a vast concave mirror of dull steel, in which the stars did notseem to be set, but only reflected. 

A single cabin door on the crest of Heavy Tree Hill had remained open tothe wind and darkness. Then it was slowly shut by an invisible figure, afterwards revealed by the embers of the fire it was stirring. At firstonly this figure brooding over the hearth was shown, but as the flamesleaped up, two other figures could be seen sitting motionless before it. When the door was shut, they acknowledged that interruption by slightlychanging their position; the one who had risen to shut the door sankback into an invisible seat, but the attitude of each man was one ofprofound reflection or reserve, and apparently upon some common subjectwhich made them respect each other's silence. However, this was at lastbroken by a laugh. It was a boyish laugh, and came from the youngest ofthe party. The two others turned their profiles and glanced inquiringlytowards him, but did not speak. 

"I was thinking, " he began in apologetic explanation, "how mighty queerit was that while we were working like niggers on grub wages, withoutthe ghost of a chance of making a strike, how we used to sit here, nightafter night, and flapdoodle and speculate about what we'd do if we everDID make one; and now, Great Scott! that we HAVE made it, and are justwallowing in gold, here we are sitting as glum and silent as if we'dhad a washout! Why, Lord! I remember one night--not so long ago, either--that you two quarreled over the swell hotel you were going tostop at in 'Frisco, and whether you wouldn't strike straight out forLondon and Rome and Paris, or go away to Japan and China and round byIndia and the Red Sea. "

"No, we didn't QUARREL over it, " said one of the figures gently; "therewas only a little discussion. "

"Yes, but you did, though, " returned the young fellow mischievously, "and you told Stacy, there, that we'd better learn something of theworld before we tried to buy it or even hire it, and that it was justas well to get the hayseed out of our hair and the slumgullion off ourboots before we mixed in polite society. "

"Well, I don't see what's the matter with that sentiment now, " returnedthe second speaker good-humoredly; "only, " he added gravely, "we didn'tquarrel--God forbid!"

There was something in the speaker's tone which seemed to touch a commonchord in their natures, and this was voiced by Barker with sudden andalmost pathetic earnestness. "I tell you what, boys, we ought to swearhere to-night to always stand by each other--in luck and out of it! Weought to hold ourselves always at each other's call. We ought to havea kind of password or signal, you know, by which we could summon eachother at any time from any quarter of the globe!"

"Come off the roof, Barker, " murmured Stacy, without lifting his eyesfrom the fire. But Demorest smiled and glanced tolerantly at the youngerman. 

"Yes, but look here, Stacy, " continued Barker, "comrades like us, inthe old days, used to do that in times of trouble and adventures. Whyshouldn't we do it in our luck?"

"There's a good deal in that, Barker boy, " said Demorest, "though, asa general thing, passwords butter no parsnips, and the ordinary, every-day, single yelp from a wolf brings the whole pack together forbusiness about as quick as a password. But you cling to that sentiment, and put it away with your gold-dust in your belt. "

"What I like about Barker is his commodiousness, " said Stacy. "Here heis, the only man among us that has his future fixed and his preemptionlines laid out and registered. He's already got a girl that he's goingto marry and settle down with on the strength of his luck. And I'd liketo know what Kitty Carter, when she's Mrs. Barker, would say to herhusband being signaled for from Asia or Africa. I don't seem to see hertumbling to any password. And when he and she go into a new partnership, I reckon she'll let the old one slide. "

"That's just where you're wrong!" said Barker, with quickly risingcolor. "She's the sweetest girl in the world, and she'd be sure tounderstand our feelings. Why, she thinks everything of you two; she wasjust eager for you to get this claim, which has put us where we are, when I held back, and if it hadn't been for her, by Jove! we wouldn'thave had it. "

"That was only because she cared for YOU, " returned Stacy, with ahalf-yawn; "and now that you've got YOUR share she isn't going to takea breathless interest in US. And, by the way, I'd rather YOU'D remind usthat we owe our luck to her than that SHE should ever remind YOU of it. "

"What do you mean?" said Barker quickly. But Demorest here rose lazily, and, throwing a gigantic shadow on the wall, stood between the two withhis back to the fire. "He means, " he said slowly, "that you're talkingrot, and so is he. However, as yours comes from the heart and his fromthe head, I prefer yours. But you're both making me tired. Let's have afresh deal. "

Nobody ever dreamed of contradicting Demorest. Nevertheless, Barkerpersisted eagerly: "But isn't it better for us to look at thischeerfully and happily all round? There's nothing criminal in our havingmade a strike! It seems to me, boys, that of all ways of making moneyit's the squarest and most level; nobody is the poorer for it; our luckbrings no misfortune to others. The gold was put there ages ago foranybody to find; we found it. It hasn't been tarnished by man's touchbefore. I don't know how it strikes you, boys, but it seems to methat of all gifts that are going it is the straightest. For whether wedeserve it or not, it comes to us first-hand--from God!"

The two men glanced quickly at the speaker, whose face flushed and thensmiled embarrassedly as if ashamed of the enthusiasm into which he hadbeen betrayed. But Demorest did not smile, and Stacy's eyes shone in thefirelight as he said languidly, "I never heard that prospecting was areligious occupation before. But I shouldn't wonder if you're right, Barker boy. So let's liquor up. "

Nevertheless he did not move, nor did the others. The fire leapedhigher, bringing out the rude rafters and sternly economic details ofthe rough cabin, and making the occupants in their seats before the firelook gigantic by contrast. 

"Who shut the door?" said Demorest after a pause. 

"I did, " said Barker. "I reckoned it was getting cold. "

"Better open it again, now that the fire's blazing. It will light theway if any of the men from below want to drop in this evening. "

Stacy stared at his companion. "I thought that it was understood thatwe were giving them that dinner at Boomville tomorrow night, so that wemight have the last evening here by ourselves in peace and quietness?"

"Yes, but if any one DID want to come it would seem churlish to shut himout, " said Demorest. 

"I reckon you're feeling very much as I am, " said Stacy, "that this goodfortune is rather crowding to us three alone. For myself, I know, " hecontinued, with a backward glance towards a blanketed, covered pilein the corner of the cabin, "that I feel rather oppressed by--by itsspecific gravity, I calculate--and sort of crampy and twitchy in thelegs, as if I ought to 'lite' out and do something, and yet it holdsme here. All the same, I doubt if anybody will come up--except fromcuriosity. Our luck has made them rather sore down the hill, for allthey're coming to the dinner to-morrow. "

"That's only human nature, " said Demorest. 

"But, " said Barker eagerly, "what does it mean? Why, only thisafternoon, when I was passing the 'Old Kentuck' tunnel, where thoseMarshalls have been grubbing along for four years without making asingle strike, I felt ashamed to look at them, and as they barely noddedto me I slinked by as if I had done them an injury. I don't understandit. "

"It somehow does not seem to square with this 'gift of God' idea ofyours, does it?" said Stacy. "But we'll open the door and give them ashow. "

As he did so it seemed as if the night were their only guest, and hadbeen waiting on the threshold to now enter bodily and pervade all thingswith its presence. With that cool, fragrant inflow of air they breathedfreely. The red edge had gone from Black Spur, but it was even moreclearly defined against the sky in its towering blackness. Thesky itself had grown lighter, although the stars still seemed merereflections of the solitary pin-points of light scattered along theconcave valley below. Mingling with the cooler, restful air of thesummit, yet penetratingly distinct from it, arose the stimulating breathof the pines below, still hot and panting from the day-long sun. Thesilence was intense. The far-off barking of a dog on the invisibleriver-bar nearly a mile beneath them came to them like a sound in adream. They had risen, and, standing in the doorway, by common consentturned their faces to the east. It was the frequent attitude of thehome-remembering miner, and it gave him the crowning glory of the view. For, beyond the pine-hearsed summits, rarely seen except against theevening sky, lay a thin, white cloud like a dropped portion of the MilkyWay. Faint with an indescribable pallor, remote yet distinct enough toassert itself above and beyond all surrounding objects, it was alwaysthere. It was the snow-line of the Sierras. 

They turned away and silently reseated themselves, the same thoughtin the minds of each. Here was something they could not take away, something to be left forever and irretrievably behind, --left with thehealthy life they had been leading, the cheerful endeavor, the undyinghopefulness which it had fostered and blessed. Was what they WERE takingaway worth it? And oddly enough, frank and outspoken as they had alwaysbeen to each other, that common thought remained unuttered. Even Barkerwas silent; perhaps he was also thinking of Kitty. 

Suddenly two figures appeared in the very doorway of the cabin. Theeffect was startling upon the partners, who had only just reseatedthemselves, and for a moment they had forgotten that the narrow bandof light which shot forth from the open door rendered the darkness oneither side of it more impenetrable, and that out of this darkness, although themselves guided by the light, the figures had just emerged. Yet one was familiar enough. It was the Hill drunkard, Dick Hall, or, as he was called, "Whiskey Dick, " or, indicated still more succinctly bythe Hill humorists, "Alky Hall. "

Everybody had seen that sodden, puffy, but good-humored face; everybodyhad felt the fiery exhalations of that enormous red beard, which alwaysseemed to be kept in a state of moist, unkempt luxuriance by liquor;everybody knew the absurd dignity of manner and attempted precision ofstatement with which he was wont to disguise his frequent excesses. Very few, however, knew, or cared to know, the pathetic weariness andchilling horror that sometimes looked out of those bloodshot eyes. 

He was evidently equally unprepared for the three silent seated figuresbefore the door, and for a moment looked at them blankly with the doubtsof a frequently deceived perception. Was he sure that they were quitereal? He had not dared to look at his companion for verification, butsmiled vaguely. 

"Good-evening, " said Demorest pleasantly. 

Whiskey Dick's face brightened. "Good-evenin', good-evenin' yourselves, boys--and see how you like it! Lemme interdrush my ole frien' WilliamJ. Steptoe, of Red Gulch. Stepsho--Steptoe--is shtay--ish stay--"He stopped, hiccupped, waved his hand gravely, and with an air ofreproachful dignity concluded, "sojourning for the present on the Bar. We wish to offer our congrashulashen and felish--felish--" He pausedagain, and, leaning against the door-post, added severely, "--itations. "

His companion, however, laughed coarsely, and, pushing past Dick, entered the cabin. He was a short, powerful man, with a closely croppedcrust of beard and hair that seemed to adhere to his round head likemoss or lichen. He cast a glance--furtive rather than curious aroundthe cabin, and said, with a familiarity that had not even good humorto excuse it, "So you're the gay galoots who've made the big strike?Thought I'd meander up the Hill with this old bloat Alky, and drop into see the show. And here you are, feeling your oats, eh? and not caringany particular G-d d--n if school keeps or not. "

"Show Mr. Steptoe--the whiskey, " said Demorest to Stacy. Then quietlyaddressing Dick, but ignoring Steptoe as completely as Steptoe hadignored his unfortunate companion, he said, "You quite startled us atfirst. We did not see you come up the trail. "

"No. We came up the back trail to please Steptoe, who wanted to seeround the cabin, " said Dick, glancing nervously yet with a forcedindifference towards the whiskey which Stacy was offering to thestranger. 

"What yer gettin' off there?" said Steptoe, facing Dick almost brutally. "YOU know your tangled legs wouldn't take you straight up the trail, and you had to make a circumbendibus. Gosh! if you hadn't scented thislicker at the top you'd have never found it. "

"No matter! I'm glad you DID find it, Dick, " said Demorest, "and I hopeyou'll find the liquor good enough to pay you for the trouble. "

Barker stared at Demorest. This extraordinary tolerance of the drunkardwas something new in his partner. But at a glance from Demorest he ledDick to the demijohn and tin cup which stood on a table in the corner. And in another moment Dick had forgotten his companion's rudeness. 

Demorest remained by the door, looking out into the darkness. 

"Well, " said Steptoe, putting down his emptied cup, "trot out yourstrike. I reckon our eyes are strong enough to bear it now. " Stacy drewthe blanket from the vague pile that stood in the corner, and discovereda deep tin prospecting-pan. It was heaped with several large fragmentsof quartz. At first the marble whiteness of the quartz and theglittering crystals of mica in its veins were the most noticeable, butas they drew closer they could see the dull yellow of gold filling thedecomposed and honeycombed portion of the rock as if still liquid andmolten. The eyes of the party sparkled like the mica--even those ofBarker and Stacy, who were already familiar with the treasure. 

"Which is the richest chunk?" asked Steptoe in a thickening voice. 

Stacy pointed it out. 

"Why, it's smaller than the others. "

"Heft it in your hand, " said Barker, with boyish enthusiasm. 

The short, thick fingers of Steptoe grasped it with a certain aquilinesuggestion; his whole arm strained over it until his face grew purple, but he could not lift it. 

"Thar useter be a little game in the 'Frisco Mint, " said Dick, restoredto fluency by his liquor, "when thar war ladies visiting it, and thatwas to offer to give 'em any of those little boxes of gold coin, thatcontained five thousand dollars, ef they would kindly lift it from thecounter and take it away! It wasn't no bigger than one of these chunks;but Jiminy! you oughter have seed them gals grip and heave on it, andthen hev to give it up! You see they didn't know anything about thepaci--(hic) the speshif--" He stopped with great dignity, and added withpainful precision, "the specific gravity of gold. "

"Dry up!" said Steptoe roughly. Then turning to Stacy he said abruptly, "But where's the rest of it? You've got more than that. "

"We sent it to Boomville this morning. You see we've sold out our claimto a company who take it up to-morrow, and put up a mill and stamps. In fact, it's under their charge now. They've got a gang of men on theclaim already. "

"And what mout ye hev got for it, if it's a fair question?" saidSteptoe, with a forced smile. 

Stacy smiled also. "I don't know that it's a business question, " hesaid. 

"Five hundred thousand dollars, " said Demorest abruptly from thedoorway, "and a treble interest. "

The eyes of the two men met. There was no mistaking the dull fire ofenvy in Steptoe's glance, but Demorest received it with a certain coldcuriosity, and turned away as the sound of arriving voices came fromwithout. 

"Five hundred thousand's a big figger, " said Steptoe, with a coarselaugh, "and I don't wonder it makes you feel so d----d sassy. But it WASa fair question. "

Unfortunately it here occurred to the whiskey-stimulated brain of Dickthat the friend he had introduced was being treated with scant courtesy, and he forgot his own treatment by Steptoe. Leaning against the wall hewaved a dignified rebuke. "I'm sashified my ole frien' is akshuated byonly businesh principles. " He paused, recollected himself, and addedwith great precision: "When I say he himself has a valuable claim inRed Gulch, and to my shertain knowledge has received offers--I have saidenough. "

The laugh that broke from Stacy and Barker, to whom the infelicitousreputation of Red Gulch was notorious, did not allay Steptoe'sirritation. He darted a vindictive glance at the unfortunate Dick, butjoined in the laugh. "And what was ye goin' to do with that?" he said, pointing to the treasure. 

"Oh, we're taking that with us. There's a chunk for each of us as amemento. We cast lots for the choice, and Demorest won, --that one whichyou couldn't lift with one hand, you know, " said Stacy. 

"Oh, couldn't I? I reckon you ain't goin' to give me the same chancethat they did at the Mint, eh?"

Although the remark was accompanied with his usual coarse, familiarlaugh, there was a look in his eye so inconsequent in its significancethat Stacy would have made some reply, but at this moment Demorestre-entered the cabin, ushering in a half dozen miners from the Barbelow. They were, although youngish men, some of the older locators inthe vicinity, yet, through years of seclusion and uneventful labors, they had acquired a certain childish simplicity of thought and mannerthat was alternately amusing and pathetic. They had never intruded uponthe reserve of the three partners of Heavy Tree Hill before; nothing butan infantine curiosity, a shy recognition of the partners' courtesy ininviting them with the whole population of Heavy Tree to the dinner thenext day, and the never-to-be-resisted temptation of an evening of "freeliquor" and forgetfulness of the past had brought them there now. Among them, and yet not of them, was a young man who, although speakingEnglish without accent, was distinctly of a different nationality andrace. This, with a certain neatness of dress and artificial suavityof address, had gained him the nickname of "the Count" and "Frenchy, "although he was really of Flemish extraction. He was the Union DitchCompany's agent on the Bar, by virtue of his knowledge of languages. 

Barker uttered an exclamation of pleasure when he saw him. Himself theincarnation of naturalness, he had always secretly admired this youngforeigner, with his lacquered smoothness, although a vague consciousnessthat neither Stacy nor Demorest shared his feelings had restricted theiracquaintance. Nevertheless, he was proud now to see the bow with whichPaul Van Loo entered the cabin as if it were a drawing-room, and perhapsdid not reflect upon that want of real feeling in an act which made theothers uncomfortable. 

The slight awkwardness their entrance produced, however, was quicklyforgotten when the blanket was again lifted from the pan of treasure. Singularly enough, too, the same feverish light came into the eyes ofeach as they all gathered around this yellow shrine. Even the politePaul rudely elbowed his way between the others, though his artificial"Pardon" seemed to Barker to condone this act of brutal instinct. But itwas more instructive to observe the manner in which the older locatorsreceived this confirmation of the fickle Fortune that had overlookedtheir weary labors and years of waiting to lavish her favors on the newand inexperienced amateurs. Yet as they turned their dazzled eyes uponthe three partners there was no envy or malice in their depths, noreproach on their lips, no insincerity in their wondering satisfaction. Rather there was a touching, almost childlike resumption of hope as theygazed at this conclusive evidence of Nature's bounty. The gold had beenthere--THEY had only missed it! And if there, more could be found! Wasit not a proof of the richness of Heavy Tree Hill? So strongly was thisreflected on their faces that a casual observer, contrasting them withthe thoughtful countenances of the real owners, would have thought themthe lucky ones. It touched Barker's quick sympathies, it puzzled Stacy, it made Demorest more serious, it aroused Steptoe's active contempt. Whiskey Dick alone remained stolid and impassive in a desperate attemptto pull himself once more together. Eventually he succeeded, even to theambitious achievement of mounting a chair and lifting his tin cup with adangerously unsteady hand, which did not, however, affect his precisionof utterance, and said:--

"Order, gentlemen! We'll drink success to--to"--

"The next strike!" said Barker, leaping impetuously on another chairand beaming upon the old locators--"and may it come to those who have solong deserved it!"

His sincere and generous enthusiasm seemed to break the spell of silencethat had fallen upon them. Other toasts quickly followed. In the generalgood feeling Barker attached himself to Van Loo with his usual boyisheffusion, and in a burst of confidence imparted the secret of hisengagement to Kitty Carter. Van Loo listened with polite attention, formal congratulations, but inscrutable eyes, that occasionally wanderedto Stacy and again to the treasure. A slight chill of disappointmentcame over Barker's quick sensitiveness. Perhaps his enthusiasm had boredthis superior man of the world. Perhaps his confidences were in badtaste! With a new sense of his inexperience he turned sadly away. VanLoo took that opportunity to approach Stacy. 

"What's all this I hear of Barker being engaged to Miss Carter?" hesaid, with a faintly superior smile. "Is it really true?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't it be?" returned Stacy bluntly. 

Van Loo was instantly deprecating and smiling. "Why not, of course? Butisn't it sudden?"

"They have known each other ever since he's been on Heavy Tree Hill, "responded Stacy. 

"Ah, yes! True, " said Van Loo. "But now"--

"Well--he's got money enough to marry, and he's going to marry. "

"Rather young, isn't he?" said Van Loo, still deprecatingly. "Andshe's got nothing. Used to wait on the table at her father's hotel inBoomville, didn't she?"

"Yes. What of that? We all know it. "

"Of course. It's an excellent thing for her--and her father. He'll havea rich son-in-law. About two hundred thousand is his share, isn't it? Isuppose old Carter is delighted?"

Stacy had thought this before, but did not care to have it corroboratedby this superfine young foreigner. "And I don't reckon that Barker isoffended if he is, " he said curtly as he turned away. Nevertheless, hefelt irritated that one of the three superior partners of Heavy TreeHill should be thought a dupe. 

Suddenly the conversation dropped, the laughter ceased. Every one turnedround, and, by a common instinct, looked towards the door. Fromthe obscurity of the hill slope below came a wonderful tenor voice, modulated by distance and spiritualized by the darkness:--

 "When at some future day I shall be far away, Thou wilt be weeping, Thy lone watch keeping. "

The men looked at one another. "That's Jack Hamlin, " they said. "What'she doing here?"

"The wolves are gathering around fresh meat, " said Steptoe, with hiscoarse laugh and a glance at the treasure. "Didn't ye know he came overfrom Red Dog yesterday?"

"Well, give Jack a fair show and his own game, " said one of the oldlocators, "and he'd clean out that pile afore sunrise. "

"And lose it next day, " added another. 

"But never turn a hair or change a muscle in either case, " said a third. "Lord! I've heard him sing away just like that when he's been leavingthe board with five thousand dollars in his pocket, or going awaystripped of his last red cent. "

Van Loo, who had been listening with a peculiar smile, here said in hismost deprecating manner, "Yes, but did you never consider the influencethat such a man has on the hard-working tunnelmen, who are ready togamble their whole week's earnings to him? Perhaps not. But I know thedifficulties of getting the Ditch rates from these men when he has beenin camp. "

He glanced around him with some importance, but only a laugh followedhis speech. "Come, Frenchy, " said an old locator, "you only say thatbecause your little brother wanted to play with Jack like a grownman, and when Jack ordered him off the board and he became sassy, Jackscooted him outer the saloon. "

Van Loo's face reddened with an anger that had the apparent effect ofremoving every trace of his former polished repose, and leaving only ahard outline beneath. At which Demorest interfered:--

"I can't say that I see much difference in gambling by putting moneyinto a hole in the ground and expecting to take more from it than byputting it on a card for the same purpose. "

Here the ravishing tenor voice, which had been approaching, ceased, andwas succeeded by a heart-breaking and equally melodious whistling tofinish the bar of the singer's song. And the next moment Jack Hamlinappeared in the doorway. 

Whatever was his present financial condition, in perfect self-possessionand charming sang-froid he fully bore out his previous description. Hewas as clean and refreshing looking as a madrono-tree in the dust-blownforest. An odor of scented soap and freshly ironed linen was wafted fromhim; there was scarcely a crease in his white waistcoat, nor a speckupon his varnished shoes. He might have been an auditor of the previousconversation, so quickly and completely did he seem to take in thewhole situation at a glance. Perhaps there was an extra tilt to hisblack-ribboned Panama hat, and a certain dancing devilry in his browneyes--which might also have been an answer to adverse criticism. 

"When I, his truth to prove, would trifle with my love, " he warbledin general continuance from the doorway. Then dropping cheerfully intospeech, he added, "Well, boys, I am here to welcome the little stranger, and to trust that the family are doing as well as can be expected. Ah!there it is! Bless it!" he went on, walking leisurely to the treasure. "Triplets, too!--and plump at that. Have you had 'em weighed?"

Frankness was an essential quality of Heavy Tree Hill. "We were justsaying, Jack, " said an old locator, "that, giving you a fair showand your own game, you could manage to get away with that pile beforedaybreak. "

"And I'm just thinking, " said Jack cheerfully, "that there were some ofyou here that could do that without any such useless preliminary. " Hisbrown eyes rested for a moment on Steptoe, but turning quite abruptlyto Van Loo, he held out his hand. Startled and embarrassed before theothers, the young man at last advanced his, when Jack coolly put hisown, as if forgetfully, in his pocket. "I thought you might like to knowwhat that little brother of yours is doing, " he said to Van Loo, yetlooking at Steptoe. "I found him wandering about the Hill here quitedrunk. "

"I have repeatedly warned him"--began Van Loo, reddening. 

"Against bad company--I know, " suggested Jack gayly; "yet in spite ofall that, I think he owes some of his liquor to Steptoe yonder. "

"I never supposed the fool would get drunk over a glass of whiskeyoffered in fun, " said Steptoe harshly, yet evidently quite as muchdisconcerted as angry. 

"The trouble with Steptoe, " said Hamlin, thoughtfully spanning his slimwaist with both hands as he looked down at his polished shoes, "is thathe has such a soft-hearted liking for all weaknesses. Always wantingto protect chaps that can't look after themselves, whether it's WhiskeyDick there when he has a pull on, or some nigger when he's made a littlestrike, or that straying lamb of Van Loo's when he's puppy drunk. Butyou're wrong about me, boys. You can't draw me in any game to-night. This is one of my nights off, which I devote exclusively tocontemplation and song. But, " he added, suddenly turning to his threehosts with a bewildering and fascinating change of expression, "Icouldn't resist coming up here to see you and your pile, even if I neversaw the one or the other before, and am not likely to see either again. I believe in luck! And it comes a mighty sight oftener than a fellowthinks it does. But it doesn't come to stay. So I'd advise you to keepyour eyes skinned, and hang on to it while it's with you, like grimdeath. So long!"

Resisting all attempts of his hosts--who had apparently fallen assuddenly and unaccountably under the magic of his manner--to detain himlonger, he stepped lightly away, his voice presently rising again inmelody as he descended the hill. Nor was it at all remarkable that theothers, apparently drawn by the same inevitable magnetism, were impelledto follow him, naturally joining their voices with his, leaving Steptoeand Van Loo so markedly behind them alone that they were compelled atlast in sheer embarrassment to close up the rear of the procession. Inanother moment the cabin and the three partners again relapsed into thepeace and quiet of the night. With the dying away of the last voices onthe hillside the old solitude reasserted itself. 

But since the irruption of the strangers they had lost their formersluggish contemplation, and now busied themselves in preparation fortheir early departure from the cabin the next morning. They had arrangedto spend the following day and night at Boomville and Carter's Hotel, where they were to give their farewell dinner to Heavy Tree Hill. They talked but little together: since the rebuff his enthusiasticconfidences had received from Van Loo, Barker had been grave andthoughtful, and Stacy, with the irritating recollection of Van Loo'scriticisms in his mind, had refrained from his usual rallying of Barker. Oddly enough, they spoke chiefly of Jack Hamlin, --till then personallya stranger to them, on account of his infelix reputation, --and even thecritical Demorest expressed a wish they had known him before. "But younever know the real value of anything until you're quitting it or it'squitting you, " he added sententiously. 

Barker and Stacy both stared at their companion. It was unlike Demorestto regret anything--particularly a mere social diversion. 

"They say, " remarked Stacy, "that if you had known Jack Hamlin earlierand professionally, a great deal of real value would have quitted youbefore he did. "

"Don't repeat that rot flung out by men who have played Jack's game andlost, " returned Demorest derisively. "I'd rather trust him than"--Hestopped, glanced at the meditative Barker, and then concluded abruptly, "the whole caboodle of his critics. "

They were silent for a few moments, and then seemed to have fallen intotheir former dreamy mood as they relapsed into their old seats again. At last Stacy drew a long breath. "I wish we had sent those nuggets offwith the others this morning. "

"Why?" said Demorest suddenly. 

"Why? Well, d--n it all! they kind of oppress me, don't you see. I seemto feel 'em here, on my chest--all the three, " returned Stacy only halfjocularly. "It's their d----d specific gravity, I suppose. I don't likethe idea of sleeping in the same room with 'em. They're altogether toomuch for us three men to be left alone with. "

"You don't mean that you think that anybody would attempt"--saidDemorest. 

Stacy curled a fighting lip rather superciliously. "No; I don't thinkTHAT--I rather wish I did. It's the blessed chunks of solid gold thatseem to have got US fast, don't you know, and are going to stick to usfor good or ill. A sort of Frankenstein monster that we've picked out ofa hole from below. "

"I know just what Stacy means, " said Barker breathlessly, roundinghis gray eyes. "I've felt it, too. Couldn't we make a sort of cache ofit--bury it just outside the cabin for to-night? It would be sort ofputting it back into its old place, you know, for the time being. ITmight like it. "

The other two laughed. "Rather rough on Providence, Barker boy, " saidStacy, "handing back the Heaven-sent gift so soon! Besides, what's tokeep any prospector from coming along and making a strike of it? Youknow that's mining law--if you haven't preempted the spot as a claim. "

But Barker was too staggered by this material statement to make anyreply, and Demorest arose. "And I feel that you'd both better be turningin, as we've got to get up early. " He went to the corner of the cabin, and threw the blanket back over the pan and its treasure. "Therethat'll keep the chunks from getting up to ride astride of you like anightmare. " He shut the door and gave a momentary glance at its cheaphinges and the absence of bolt or bar. Stacy caught his eye. "We'll missthis security in San Francisco--perhaps even in Boomville, " he sighed. 

It was scarcely ten o'clock, but Stacy and Barker had begun to undressthemselves with intervals of yawning and desultory talk, Barkercontinuing an amusing story, with one stocking off and his trousershanging on his arm, until at last both men were snugly curled up intheir respective bunks. Presently Stacy's voice came from under theblankets:--

"Hallo! aren't you going to turn in too?"

"Not yet, " said Demorest from his chair before the fire. "You see it'sthe last night in the old shanty, and I reckon I'll see the rest of itout. "

"That's so, " said the impulsive Barker, struggling violently with hisblankets. "I tell you what, boys: we just ought to make a watch-night ofit--a regular vigil, you know--until twelve at least. Hold on! I'll getup, too!" But here Demorest arose, caught his youthful partner's barefoot which went searching painfully for the ground in one hand, tuckedit back under the blankets, and heaping them on the top of him, pattedthe bulk with an authoritative, paternal air. 

"You'll just say your prayers and go to sleep, sonny. You'll want to befresh as a daisy to appear before Miss Kitty to-morrow early, and youcan keep your vigils for to-morrow night, after dinner, in the backdrawing-room. I said 'Good-night, ' and I mean it!"

Protesting feebly, Barker finally yielded in a nestling shiver and asudden silence. Demorest walked back to his chair. A prolonged snorecame from Stacy's bunk; then everything was quiet. Demorest stirred upthe fire, cast a huge root upon it, and, leaning back in his chair, satwith half-closed eyes and dreamed. 

It was an old dream that for the past three years had come to himdaily, sometimes even overtaking him under the shade of a buckeye in hisnoontide rest on his claim, --a dream that had never yet failed to waitfor him at night by the fireside when his partners were at rest; a dreamof the past, but so real that it always made the present seem the dreamthrough which he was moving towards some sure awakening. 

It was not strange that it should come to him to-night, as it had oftencome before, slowly shaping itself out of the obscurity as the vision ofa fair young girl seated in one of the empty chairs before him. Alwaysthe same pretty, childlike face, fraught with a half-frightened, half-wondering trouble; always the same slender, graceful figure, but always glimmering in diamonds and satin, or spiritual in lace andpearls, against his own rude and sordid surroundings; always silent withparted lips, until the night wind smote some chord of recollection, and then mingled a remembered voice with his own. For at those timeshe seemed to speak also, albeit with closed lips, and an utteranceinaudible to all but her. 

"Well?" he said sadly. 

"Well?" the voice repeated, like a gentle echo blending with his own. 

"You know it all now, " he went on. "You know that it has come atlast, --all that I had worked for, prayed for; all that would have madeus happy here; all that would have saved you to me has come at last, andall too late!"

"Too late!" echoed the voice with his. 

"You remember, " he went on, "the last day we were together. You rememberyour friends and family would have you give me up--a penniless man. Youremember when they reproached you with my poverty, and told you that itwas only your wealth that I was seeking, that I then determined togo away and never to return to claim you until that reproach could beremoved. You remember, dearest, how you clung to me and bade me staywith you, even fly with you, but not to leave you alone with them. Youwore the same dress that day, darling; your eyes had the same wonderingchildlike fear and trouble in them; your jewels glittered on you asyou trembled, and I refused. In my pride, or rather in my weakness andcowardice, I refused. I came away and broke my heart among these rocksand ledges, yet grew strong; and you, my love, YOU, sheltered andguarded by those you loved, YOU"--He stopped and buried his face in hishands. The night wind breathed down the chimney, and from the stirredashes on the hearth came the soft whisper, "I died. "

"And then, " he went on, "I cared for nothing. Sometimes my heart awokefor this young partner of mine in his innocent, trustful love for a girlthat even in her humble station was far beyond his hopes, and I pitiedmyself in him. Home, fortune, friends, I no longer cared for--all wereforgotten. And now they are returning to me--only that I may see thehollowness and vanity of them, and taste the bitterness for which Ihave sacrificed you. And here, on this last night of my exile, Iam confronted with only the jealousy, the doubt, the meanness andselfishness that is to come. Too late! Too late!"

The wondering, troubled eyes that had looked into his here appeared toclear and brighten with a sweet prescience. Was it the wind moaning inthe chimney that seemed to whisper to him: "Too late, beloved, for ME, but not for you. I died, but Love still lives. Be happy, Philip. And inyour happiness I too may live again"?

He started. In the flickering firelight the chair was empty. The windthat had swept down the chimney had stirred the ashes with a sound likethe passage of a rustling skirt. There was a chill in the air and asmell like that of opened earth. A nervous shiver passed over him. Thenhe sat upright. There was no mistake; it was no superstitious fancy, but a faint, damp current of air was actually flowing across his feettowards the fireplace. He was about to rise when he stopped suddenly andbecame motionless. 

He was actively conscious now of a strange sound which had affected himeven in the preoccupation of his vision. It was a gentle brushing ofsome yielding substance like that made by a soft broom on sand, or thesweep of a gown. But to his mountain ears, attuned to every woodlandsound, it was not like the gnawing of gopher or squirrel, the scratchingof wildcat, nor the hairy rubbing of bear. Nor was it human; the long, deep respirations of his sleeping companions were distinct from thatmonotonous sound. He could not even tell if it were IN the cabin orwithout. Suddenly his eye fell upon the pile in the corner. The blanketthat covered the treasure was actually moving!

He rose quickly, but silently, alert, self-contained, and menacing. Forthis dreamer, this bereaved man, this scornful philosopher of riches haddisappeared with that midnight trespass upon the sacred treasure. Themovement of the blanket ceased; the soft, swishing sound recommenced. Hedrew a glittering bowie-knife from his boot-leg, and in three noiselessstrides was beside the pile. There he saw what he fully expected tosee, --a narrow, horizontal gap between the log walls of the cabin andthe adobe floor, slowly widening and deepening by the burrowing ofunseen hands from without. The cold outer air which he had felt beforewas now plainly flowing into the heated cabin through the opening. Theswishing sound recommenced, and stopped. Then the four fingers of ahand, palm downwards, were cautiously introduced between the bottomlog and the denuded floor. Upon that intruding hand the bowie-knife ofDemorest descended like a flash of lightning. There was no outcry. Even in that supreme moment Demorest felt a pang of admiration forthe stoicism of the unseen trespasser. But the maimed hand was quicklywithdrawn, and as quickly Demorest rushed to the door and dashed intothe outer darkness. 

For an instant he was dazed and bewildered by the sudden change. But thenext moment he saw a dodging, doubling figure running before him, andthrew himself upon it. In the shock both men fell, but even in thatcontact Demorest felt the tangled beard and alcoholic fumes of WhiskeyDick, and felt also that the hands which were thrown up against hisbreast, the palms turned outward with the instinctive movement of atimid, defenseless man, were unstained with soil or blood. With an oathhe threw the drunkard from him and dashed to the rear of the cabin. But too late! There, indeed, was the scattered earth, there the widenedburrow as it had been excavated apparently by that mutilated hand--butnothing else!

He turned back to Whiskey Dick. But the miserable man, although stillretaining a look of dazed terror in his eyes, had recovered his feetin a kind of angry confidence and a forced sense of injury. What didDemorest mean by attacking "innoshent" gentlemen on the trail outsidehis cabin? Yes! OUTSIDE his cabin, he would swear it!

"What were you doing here at midnight?" demanded Demorest. 

What was he doing? What was any gentleman doing? He wasn't anymolly-coddle to go to bed at ten o'clock! What was he doing? Well--he'dbeen with men who didn't shut their doors and turn the boys out justin the shank of the evening. He wasn't any Barker to be wet-nursed byDemorest. 

"Some one else was here!" said Demorest sternly, with his eyes fixed onWhiskey Dick. The dull glaze which seemed to veil the outer world fromthe drunkard's pupils shifted suddenly with such a look of direct horrorthat Demorest was fain to turn away his own. But the veil mercifullyreturned, and with it Dick's worked-up sense of injury. Nobody wasthere--not "a shole. " Did Demorest think if there had been any ofhis friends there they would have stood by like "dogsh" and seen himinsulted?

Demorest turned away and re-entered the cabin as Dick lurched heavilyforward, still muttering, down the trail. The excitement over, asickening repugnance to the whole incident took the place of Demorest'sresentment and indignation. There had been a cowardly attempt to robthem of their miserable treasure. He had met it and frustrated it inalmost as brutal a fashion: the gold was already tarnished with blood. To his surprise, yet relief, he found his partners unconscious of theoutrage, still sleeping with the physical immobility of over-excitedand tired men. Should he awaken them? No! He should have to awakenalso their suspicions and desire for revenge. There was no danger ofa further attack; there was no fear that the culprit would disclosehimself, and to-morrow they would be far away. Let oblivion rest uponthat night's stain on the honor of Heavy Tree Hill. 

He rolled a small barrel before the opening, smoothed the dislodgedearth, replaced the pan with its treasure, and trusted that in thebustle of the early morning departure his partners might not notice anychange. Stopping before the bunk of Stacy he glanced at the sleepingman. He was lying on his back, but breathing heavily, and his hands weremoving towards his chest as if, indeed, his strange fancy of the goldenincubus were being realized. Demorest would have wakened him, butpresently, with a sigh of relief, the sleeper turned over on his side. It was pleasanter to look at Barker, whose damp curls were matted overhis smooth, boyish forehead, and whose lips were parted in a smile underthe silken wings of his brown mustache. He, too, seemed to be trying tospeak, and remembering some previous revelations which had amused them, Demorest leaned over him fraternally with an answering smile, waitingfor the beloved one's name to pass the young man's lips. But he onlymurmured, "Three--hundred--thousand dollars!" The elder man turned awaywith a grave face. The influence of the treasure was paramount. 

When he had placed one of the chairs against the unprotected door atan angle which would prevent any easy or noiseless intrusion, Demorestthrew himself on his bunk without undressing, and turned his facetowards the single window of the cabin that looked towards the east. Hedid not apprehend another covert attempt against the gold. He did notfear a robbery with force and arms, although he was satisfied that therewas more than one concerned in it, but this he attributed only to theencumbering weight of their expected booty. He simply waited for thedawn. It was some time before his eyes were greeted with the vagueopaline brightness of the firmament which meant the vanishing of thepallid snow-line before the coming day. A bird twittered on the roof. The air was chill; he drew his blanket around him. Then he closed hiseyes, he fancied only for a moment, but when he opened them the doorwas standing open in the strong daylight. He sprang to his feet, butthe next moment he saw it was only Stacy who had passed out, and wasreturning fully dressed, bringing water from the spring to fill thekettle. But Stacy's face was so grave that, recalling his disturbedsleep, Demorest laughingly inquired if he had been haunted by thetreasure. But to his surprise Stacy put down the kettle, and, with ahurried glance at the still sleeping Barker, said in a low voice:--

"I want you to do something for me without asking why. Later I will tellyou. "

Demorest looked at him fixedly. "What is it?" he said. 

"The pack-mules will be here in a few moments. Don't wait to close up orput away anything here, but clap that gold in the saddle-bags, and takeBarker with you and 'lite' out for Boomville AT ONCE. I will overtakeyou later. "

"Is there no time to discuss this?" asked Demorest. 

"No, " said Stacy bluntly. "Call me a crank, say I'm in a blue funk"--hiscompressed lips and sharp black eyes did not lend themselves much tothat hypothesis--"only get out of this with that stuff, and take Barkerwith you! I'm not responsible for myself while it's here. "

Demorest knew Stacy to be combative, but practical. If he had not beenassured of his partner's last night slumbers he might have thought heknew of the attempt. Or if he had discovered the turned-up ground inthe rear of the cabin his curiosity would have demanded an explanation. Demorest paused only for a moment, and said, "Very well, I will go. "

"Good! I'll rouse out Barker, but not a word to him--except that he mustgo. "

The rousing out of Barker consisted of Stacy's lifting that younggentleman bodily from his bunk and standing him upright in the opendoorway. But Barker was accustomed to this Spartan process, and after amoment's balancing with closed lids like an unwrapped mummy, he satdown in the doorway and began to dress. He at first demurred to theirdeparture except all together--it was so unfraternal; but eventuallyhe allowed himself to be persuaded out of it and into his clothes. ForBarker had also had HIS visions in the night, one of which was that theyshould build a beautiful villa on the site of the old cabin and solemnlyagree to come every year and pass a week in it together. "I thought atfirst, " he said, sliding along the floor in search of different articlesof his dress, or stopping gravely to catch them as they were thrown tohim by his partners, "that we'd have it at Boomville, as being handierto get there; but I've concluded we'd better have it here, a littlehigher up the hill, where it could be seen over the whole Black SpurRange. When we weren't here we could use it as a Hut of Refuge forbroken-down or washed-out miners or weary travelers, like those hospicesin the Alps, you know, and have somebody to keep it for us. You see I'vethought even of THAT, and Van Loo is the very man to take charge of itfor us. You see he's got such good manners and speaks two languages. Lord! if a German or Frenchman came along, poor and distressed, Van Loowould just chip in his own language. See? You've got to think of allthese details, you see, boys. And we might call it 'The Rest of theThree Partners, ' or 'Three Partners' Rest. '"

"And you might begin by giving us one, " said Stacy. "Dry up and drinkyour coffee. "

"I'll draw out the plans. I've got it all in my head, " continued theenthusiastic Barker, unheeding the interruption. "I'll just run out andtake a look at the site, it's only right back of the cabin. " But hereStacy caught him by his dangling belt as he was flying out of the doorwith one boot on, and thrust him down in a chair with a tin cup ofcoffee in his hand. 

"Keep the plans in your head, Barker boy, " said Demorest, "for hereare the pack mules and packer. " This was quite enough to divert theimpressionable young man, who speedily finished his dressing, as a mulebearing a large pack-saddle and two enormous saddle-bags or pouchesdrove up before the door, led by a muleteer on a small horse. Thetransfer of the treasure to the saddle-bags was quickly made by theirunited efforts, as the first rays of the sun were beginning to paintthe hillside. Shading his keen eyes with his hand, Stacy stood in thedoorway and handed Demorest the two rifles. Demorest hesitated. "Hadn'tYOU better keep one?" he said, looking in his partner's eyes with hisfirst challenge of curiosity. The sun seemed to put a humorous twinkleinto Stacy's glance as he returned, "Not much! And you'd better takemy revolver with you, too. I'm feeling a little better now, " he said, looking at the saddlebags, "but I'm not fit to be trusted yet withcarnal weapons. When the other mule comes and is packed I'll overtakeyou on the horse. "

A little more satisfied, although still wondering and perplexed, Demorest shouldered one rifle, and with Barker, who was carrying theother, followed the muleteer and his equipage down the trail. For awhile he was a little ashamed of his part in this unusual spectacle oftwo armed men convoying a laden mule in broad daylight, but, luckily, it was too early for the Bar miners to be going to work, and as thetunnelmen were now at breakfast the trail was free of wayfarers. At thepoint where it crossed the main road Demorest, however, saw Steptoeand Whiskey Dick emerge from the thicket, apparently in earnestconversation. Demorest felt his repugnance and half-restrainedsuspicions suddenly return. Yet he did not wish to betray them beforeBarker, nor was he willing, in case of an emergency, to allow the youngman to be entirely unprepared. Calling him to follow, he ran quicklyahead of the laden mule, and was relieved to find that, lookingback, his companion had brought his rifle to a "ready, " through someinstinctive feeling of defense. As Steptoe and Whiskey Dick, a momentlater discovering them, were evidently surprised, there seemed, however, to be no reason for fearing an outbreak. Suddenly, at a whisper fromSteptoe, he and Whiskey Dick both threw up their hands, and stoodstill on the trail a few yards from them in a burlesque of the usualrecognized attitude of helplessness, while a hoarse laugh broke fromSteptoe. 

"D----d if we didn't think you were road-agents! But we see you're onlyguarding your treasure. Rather fancy style for Heavy Tree Hill, ain'tit? Things must be gettin' rough up thar to hev to take out your gunslike that!"

Demorest had looked keenly at the four hands thus exhibited, and wasmore concerned that they bore no trace of wounds or mutilation than atthe insult of the speech, particularly as he had a distinct impressionthat the action was intended to show him the futility of his suspicions. 

"I am glad to see that if you haven't any arms in your hands you're notincapable of handling them, " said Demorest coolly, as he passed by themand again fell into the rear of the muleteer. 

But Barker had thought the incident very funny, and laughed effusivelyat Whiskey Dick. "I didn't know that Steptoe was up to that kind offun, " he said, "and I suppose we DID look rather rough with these gunsas we ran on ahead of the mule. But then you know that when you calledto me I really thought you were in for a shindy. All the same, WhiskeyDick did that 'hands up' to perfection: how he managed it I don't know, but his knees seemed to knock together as if he was in a real funk. "

Demorest had thought so too, but he made no reply. How far thatmiserable drunkard was a forced or willing accomplice of the eventsof last night was part of a question that had become more and morerepugnant to him as he was leaving the scene of it forever. It hadcome upon him, desecrating the dream he had dreamt that last night andturning its hopeful climax to bitterness. Small wonder that Barker, walking by his side, had his quick sympathies aroused, and as he sawthat shadow, which they were all familiar with, but had never sought topenetrate, fall upon his companion's handsome face, even his youthfulspirits yielded to it. They were both relieved when the clatter ofhoofs behind them, as they reached the valley, announced the approach ofStacy. "I started with the second mule and the last load soon after youleft, " he explained, "and have just passed them. I thought it betterto join you and let the other load follow. Nobody will interfere withTHAT. "

"Then you are satisfied?" said Demorest, regarding him steadfastly. 

"You bet! Look!"

He turned in his saddle and pointed to the crest of the hill they hadjust descended. Above the pines circling the lower slope above the bareledges of rock and outcrop, a column of thick black smoke was risingstraight as a spire in the windless air. 

"That's the old shanty passing away, " said Stacy complacently. "I reckonthere won't be much left of it before we get to Boomville. "

Demorest and Barker stared. "You fired it?" said Barker, trembling withexcitement. 

"Yes, " said Stacy. "I couldn't bear to leave the old rookery for coyotesand wild-cats to gather in, so I touched her off before I left. "

"But"--said Barker. 

"But, " repeated Stacy composedly. "Hallo! what's the matter with thatnew plan of 'The Rest' that you're going to build, eh? You don't wantthem BOTH. "

"And you did this rather than leave the dear old cabin to strangers?"said Barker, with kindling eyes. "Stacy, I didn't think you had thatpoetry in you!"

"There's heaps in me, Barker boy, that you don't know, and I don'texactly sabe myself. "

"Only, " continued the young fellow eagerly, "we ought to have ALL beenthere! We ought to have made a solemn rite of it, you know, --a kind ofsacrifice. We ought to have poured a kind of libation on the ground!"

"I did sprinkle a little kerosene over it, I think, " returned Stacy, "just to help things along. But if you want to see her flaming, Barker, you just run back to that last corner on the road beyond the big redwood. That's the spot for a view. "

As Barker--always devoted to a spectacle--swiftly disappeared the twomen faced each other. "Well, what does it all mean?" said Demorestgravely. 

"It means, old man, " said Stacy suddenly, "that if we hadn't had niggerluck, the same blind luck that sent us that strike, you and I and thatBarker over there would have been swirling in that smoke up to thesky about two hours ago!" He stopped and added in a lower, but earnestvoice, "Look here, Phil! When I went out to fetch water this morning Ismelt something queer. I went round to the back of the cabin and founda hole dug under the floor, and piled against the corner wall a lot ofbrush-wood and a can of kerosene. Some of the kerosene had been alreadypoured on the brush. Everything was ready to light, and only my comingout an hour earlier had frightened the devils away. The idea was to setthe place on fire, suffocate us in the smoke of the kerosene poured intothe hole, and then to rush in and grab the treasure. It was a systematicplan!"

"No!" said Demorest quietly. 

"No?" repeated Stacy. "I told you I saw the whole thing and took awaythe kerosene, which I hid, and after you had gone used it to fire thecabin with, to see if the ones I suspected would gather to watch theirwork. "

"It was no part of their FIRST plan"' said Demorest, "which was onlyrobbery. Listen!" He hurriedly recounted his experience of the precedingnight to the astonished Stacy. "No, the fire was an afterthought andrevenge, " he added sternly. 

"But you say you cut the robber in the hand; there would be nodifficulty in identifying him by that. "

"I wounded only a HAND, " said Demorest. "But there was a HEAD in thatattempt that I never saw. " He then revealed his own half-suspicions, buthow they were apparently refuted by the bravado of Steptoe and WhiskeyDick. 

"Then that was the reason THEY didn't gather at the fire, " said Stacyquickly. 

"Ah!" said Demorest, "then YOU too suspected them?"

Stacy hesitated, and then said abruptly, "Yes. "

Demorest was silent for a moment. 

"Why didn't you tell me this this morning?" he said gently. 

Stacy pointed to the distant Barker. "I didn't want you to tell him. Ithought it better for one partner to keep a secret from two than for thetwo to keep it from one. Why didn't you tell me of your experience lastnight?"

"I am afraid it was for the same reason, " said Demorest, with a faintsmile. "And it sometimes seems to me, Jim, that we ought to imitateBarker's frankness. In our dread of tainting him with our own knowledgeof evil we are sending him out into the world very poorly equipped, forall his three hundred thousand dollars. "

"I reckon you're right, " said Stacy briefly, extending his hand. "Shakeon that!"

The two men grasped each other's hands. 

"And he's no fool, either, " continued Demorest. "When we met Steptoe onthe road, without a word from me, he closed up alongside, with his handon the lock of his rifle. And I hadn't the heart to praise him or laughit off. "

Nevertheless they were both silent as the object of their criticismbounded down the trail towards them. He had seen the funeral pyre. Itwas awfully sad, it was awfully lovely, but there was something grandin it! Who could have thought Stacy could be so poetic? But he wanted totell them something else that was mighty pretty. 

"What was it?" said Demorest. 

"Well, " said Barker, "don't laugh! But you know that Jack Hamlin? Well, boys, he's been hovering around us on his mustang, keeping us and thatpack-mule in sight ever since we left. Sometimes he's on a side trailoff to the right, sometimes off to the left, but always at the samedistance. I didn't like to tell you, boys, for I thought you'd laughat me; but I think, you know, he's taken a sort of shine to us since hedropped in last night. And I fancy, you see, he's sort of hanging roundto see that we get along all right. I'd have pointed him out beforeonly I reckoned you and Stacy would say he was making up to us for ourmoney. "

"And we'd have been wrong, Barker boy, " said Stacy, with a heartinessthat surprised Demorest, "for I reckon your instinct's the right one. "

"There he is now, " said the gratified Barker, "just abreast of us on thecut-off. He started just after we did, and he's got a horse that couldhave brought him into Boomville hours ago. It's just his kindness. "

He pointed to a distant fringe of buckeye from which Jack Hamlin hadjust emerged. Although evidently holding in a powerful mustang, nothingcould be more unconscious and utterly indifferent than his attitude. Hedid not seem to know of the proximity of any other traveler, and to careless. His handsome head was slightly thrown back, as if he was carolingafter his usual fashion, but the distance was too great to make hismelody audible to them, or to allow Barker's shout of invitation toreach him. Suddenly he lowered his tightened rein, the mustang sprangforward, and with a flash of silver spurs and bridle fripperies he haddisappeared. But as the trail he was pursuing crossed theirs a milebeyond, it seemed quite possible that they should again meet him. 

They were now fairly into the Boomville valley, and were entering anarrow arroyo bordered with dusky willows which effectually excluded theview on either side. It was the bed of a mountain torrent that in winterdescended the hillside over the trail by which they had just come, butwas now sunk into the thirsty plain between banks that varied fromtwo to five feet in height. The muleteer had advanced into the narrowchannel when he suddenly cast a hurried glance behind him, uttered a"Madre de Dios!" and backed his mule and his precious freight againstthe bank. The sound of hoofs on the trail in their rear had caught hisquicker ear, and as the three partners turned they beheld three horsementhundering down the hill towards them. They were apparently Mexicanvaqueros of the usual common swarthy type, their faces made still darkerby the black silk handkerchief tied round their heads under their stiffsombreros. Either they were unable or unwilling to restrain their horsesin their headlong speed, and a collision in that narrow passage wasimminent, but suddenly, before reaching its entrance, they divergedwith a volley of oaths, and dashing along the left bank of the arroyo, disappeared in the intervening willows. Divided between relief at theirescape and indignation at what seemed to be a drunken, feast-day freakof these roystering vaqueros, the little party re-formed, when a cryfrom Barker arrested them. He had just perceived a horseman motionlessin the arroyo who, although unnoticed by them, had evidently been seenby the Mexicans. He had apparently leaped into it from the bank, and hadhalted as if to witness this singular incident. As the clatter ofthe vaqueros' hoofs died away he lightly leaped the bank again anddisappeared. But in that single glimpse of him they recognized JackHamlin. When they reached the spot where he had halted, they could seethat he must have approached it from the trail where they had previouslyseen him, but which they now found crossed it at right angles. Barkerwas right. He had really kept them at easy distance the whole length ofthe journey. 

But they were now reaching its end. When they issued at last fromthe arroyo they came upon the outskirts of Boomville and the greatstage-road. Indeed, the six horses of the Pioneer coach were justpanting along the last half mile of the steep upgrade as theyapproached. They halted mechanically as the heavy vehicle swayedand creaked by them. In their ordinary working dress, sunburnt withexposure, covered with dust, and carrying their rifles still in theirhands, they, perhaps, presented a sufficiently characteristic appearanceto draw a few faces--some of them pretty and intelligent--to the windowsof the coach as it passed. The sensitive Barker was quickest to feelthat resentment with which the Pioneer usually met the wide-eyedcriticism of the Eastern tourist or "greenhorn, " and reddened under thebold scrutiny of a pair of black inquisitive eyes behind an eyeglass. That annoyance was communicated, though in a lesser degree, even to thebearded Demorest and Stacy. It was an unexpected contact with that greatworld in which they were so soon to enter. They felt ashamed oftheir appearance, and yet ashamed of that feeling. They felt a secretsatisfaction when Barker said, "They'd open their eyes wider if theyknew what was in that pack-saddle, " and yet they corrected him for whatthey were pleased to call his "snobbishness. " They hurried a littlefaster as the road became more frequented, as if eager to shorten theirdistance to clean clothes and civilization. 

Only Demorest began to linger in the rear. This contact with thestagecoach had again brought him face to face with his buried past. Hefelt his old dream revive, and occasionally turned to look back uponthe dark outlines of Black Spur, under whose shadow it had returned sooften, and wondered if he had left it there forever, and it were nowslowly exhaling with the thinned and dying smoke of their burning cabin. 

His companions, knowing his silent moods, had preceded him at somedistance, when he heard the soft sound of ambling hoofs on the thickdust, and suddenly the light touch of Jack Hamlin's gauntlet on hisshoulder. The mustang Jack bestrode was reeking with grime and sweat, but Jack himself was as immaculate and fresh as ever. With a delightfulaffectation of embarrassment and timidity he began flicking the sidebuttons of his velvet vaquero trousers with the thong of his riata. "I reckoned to sling a word along with you before you went, " he said, looking down, "but I'm so shy that I couldn't do it in company. So Ithought I'd get it off on you while you were alone. "

"We've seen you once or twice before, this morning, " said Demorestpleasantly, "and we were sorry you didn't join us. "

"I reckon I might have, " said Jack gayly, "if my horse had only made uphis mind whether he was a bird or a squirrel, and hadn't been so variousand promiscuous about whether he wanted to climb a tree or fly. He'snot a bad horse for a Mexican plug, only when he thinks there isany devilment around he wants to wade in and take a hand. However, Ireckoned to see the last of you and your pile into Boomville. And I DID. When I meet three fellows like you that are clean white all through Isort of cotton to 'em, even if I'M a little of a brunette myself. AndI've got something to give you. "

He took from a fold of his scarlet sash a small parcel neatly folded inwhite paper as fresh and spotless as himself. Holding it in his fingers, he went on: "I happened to be at Heavy Tree Hill early this morningbefore sun-up. In the darkness I struck your cabin, and I reckon--Istruck somebody else! At first I thought it was one of you chaps down onyour knees praying at the rear of the cabin, but the way the fellow litout when he smelt me coming made me think it wasn't entirely fasting andprayer. However, I went to the rear of the cabin, and then I reckonedsome kind friend had been bringing you kindlings and firewood for yourearly breakfast. But that didn't satisfy me, so I knelt down as he hadknelt, and then I saw--well, Mr. Demorest, I reckon I saw JUST WHAT YOUHAVE SEEN! But even then I wasn't quite satisfied, for that man had beengrubbing round as if searching for something. So I searched too--and Ifound IT. I've got it here. I'm going to give it to you, for it may someday come in handy, and you won't find anything like it among the folkswhere you're going. It's something unique, as those fine-art-collectingsharps in 'Frisco say--something quite matchless, unless you try tomatch it one day yourself! Don't open the paper until I run on and say'So long' to your partners. Good-by. "

He grasped Demorest's hand and then dropped the little packet into hispalm, and ambled away towards Stacy and Barker. Holding the packet inhis hand with an amused yet puzzled smile, Demorest watched the gamblergive Stacy's hand a hearty farewell shake and a supplementary slap onthe back to the delighted Barker, and then vanish in a flash of redsash and silver buttons. At which Demorest, walking slowly towards hispartners, opened the packet, and stood suddenly still. It contained thedried and bloodless second finger of a human hand cut off at the firstjoint!

For an instant he held it at arm's length, as if about to cast it away. Then he grimly replaced it in the paper, put it carefully in his pocket, and silently walked after his companions. 

CHAPTER I

A strong southwester was beating against the windows and doors ofStacy's Bank in San Francisco, and spreading a film of rain between theregular splendors of its mahogany counters and sprucely dressed clerksand the usual passing pedestrian. For Stacy's new banking-house hadlong since received the epithet of "palatial" from an enthusiasticlocal press fresh from the "opening" luncheon in its richly decorateddirectors' rooms, and it was said that once a homely would-be depositorfrom One Horse Gulch was so cowed by its magnificence that his heartfailed him at the last moment, and mumbling an apology to the elegantreceiving teller, fled with his greasy chamois pouch of gold-dust todeposit his treasure in the dingy Mint around the corner. Perhaps therewas something of this feeling, mingled with a certain simple-mindedfascination, in the hesitation of a stranger of a higher class whoentered the bank that rainy morning and finally tendered his card to theimportant negro messenger. 

The card preceded him through noiselessly swinging doors and acrossheavily carpeted passages until it reached the inner core of Mr. JamesStacy's private offices, and was respectfully laid before him. He wasnot alone. At his side, in an attitude of polite and studied expectancy, stood a correct-looking young man, for whom Mr. Stacy was evidentlywriting a memorandum. The stranger glanced furtively at the card with acuriosity hardly in keeping with his suggested good breeding; but Stacydid not look at it until he had finished his memorandum. 

"There, " he said, with business decision, "you can tell your people thatif we carry their new debentures over our limit we will expect a largermargin. Ditches are not what they were three years ago when miners werewilling to waste their money over your rates. They don't gamble THAT WAYany more, and your company ought to know it, and not gamble themselvesover that prospect. " He handed the paper to the stranger, who bowed overit with studied politeness, and backed towards the door. Stacy took upthe waiting card, read it, said to the messenger, "Show him in, " andin the same breath turned to his guest: "I say, Van Loo, it's GeorgeBarker! You know him. "

"Yes, " said Van Loo, with a polite hesitation as he halted at the door. "He was--I think--er--in your employ at Heavy Tree Hill. "

"Nonsense! He was my partner. And you must have known him since atBoomville. Come! He got forty shares of Ditch stock--through you--at110, which were worth about 80! SOMEBODY must have made money enough byit to remember him. "

"I was only speaking of him socially, " said Van Loo, with a deprecatingsmile. "You know he married a young woman--the hotel-keeper's daughter, who used to wait at the table--and after my mother and sister came outto keep house for me at Boomville it was quite impossible for me to seemuch of him, for he seldom went out without his wife, you know. "

"Yes, " said Stacy dryly, "I think you didn't like his marriage. But I'mglad your disinclination to see him isn't on account of that deal instocks. "

"Oh no, " said Van Loo. "Good-by. "

But, unfortunately, in the next passage he came upon Barker, who with acry of unfeigned pleasure, none the less sincere that he was feeling alittle alien in these impressive surroundings, recognized him. Nothingcould exceed Van Loo's protest of delight at the meeting; nothinghis equal desolation at the fact that he was hastening to anotherengagement. "But your old partner, " he added, with a smile, "is waitingfor you; he has just received your card, and I should be only keepingyou from him. So glad to see you; you're looking so well. Good-by!Good-by!"

Reassured, Barker no longer hesitated, but dashed with his oldimpetuousness into his former partner's room. Stacy, already deeplyabsorbed in other business, was sitting with his back towards him, andBarker's arms were actually encircling his neck before the astonishedand half-angry man looked up. But when his eyes met the laughing grayones of Barker above him he gently disengaged himself with a quickreturn of the caress, rose, shut the door of an inner office, andreturning pushed Barker into an armchair in quite the old suppressivefashion of former days. Yes; it was the same Stacy that Barker lookedat, albeit his brown beard was now closely cropped around his determinedmouth and jaw in a kind of grave decorum, and his energetic limbsalready attuned to the rigor of clothes of fashionable cut and stillmore rigorous sombreness of color. 

"Barker boy, " he began, with the familiar twinkle in his keen eyes whichthe younger partner remembered, "I don't encourage stag dancing among myyoung men during bank hours, and you'll please to remember that we arenot on Heavy Tree Hill"--

"Where, " broke in Barker enthusiastically, "we were only overlooked bythe Black Spur Range and the Sierran snow-line; where the nearest voicethat came to you was quarter of a mile away as the crow flies and nearlya mile by the trail. "

"And was generally an oath!" said Stacy. "But you're in San FranciscoNOW. Where are you stopping?" He took up a pencil and held it over amemorandum pad awaitingly. 

"At the Brook House. It's"--

"Hold on! 'Brook House, '" Stacy repeated as he jotted it down. "And forhow long?"

"Oh, a day or two. You see, Kitty"--

Stacy checked him with a movement of his pencil in the air, and thenwrote down, "'Day or two. ' Wife with you?"

"Yes; and oh, Stacy, our boy! Ah!" he went on, with a laugh, knockingaside the remonstrating pencil, "you must listen! He's just thesweetest, knowingest little chap living. Do you know what we're going tochristen him? Well, he'll be Stacy Demorest Barker. Good names, aren'tthey? And then it perpetuates the dear old friendship. "

Stacy picked up the pencil again, wrote "Wife and child S. D. B. , " andleaned back in his chair. "Now, Barker, " he said briefly, "I'm comingto dine with you tonight at 7. 30 sharp. THEN we'll talk Heavy Tree Hill, wife, baby, and S. D. B. But here I'm all for business. Have you anywith me?"

Barker, who was easily amused, had extracted a certain entertainment outof Stacy's memorandum, but he straightened himself with a look of eagerconfidence and said, "Certainly; that's just what it is--business. Lord!Stacy, I'm ALL business now. I'm in everything. And I bank with you, though perhaps you don't know it; it's in your Branch at Marysville. Ididn't want to say anything about it to you before. But Lord! youdon't suppose that I'd bank anywhere else while you are in thebusiness--checks, dividends, and all that; but in this matter I felt youknew, old chap. I didn't want to talk to a banker nor to a bank, but toJim Stacy, my old partner. "

"Barker, " said Stacy curtly, "how much money are you short of?"

At this direct question Barker's always quick color rose, but, with anequally quick smile, he said, "I don't know yet that I'm short at all. "

"But I do!"

"Look here, Jim: why, I'm just overloaded with shares and stocks, " saidBarker, smiling. 

"Not one of which you could realize on without sacrifice. Barker, threeyears ago you had three hundred thousand dollars put to your account atSan Francisco. "

"Yes, " said Barker, with a quiet reminiscent laugh. "I remember I wantedto draw it out in one check to see how it would look. "

"And you've drawn out all in three years, and it looks d----d bad. "

"How did you know it?" asked Barker, his face beaming only withadmiration of his companion's omniscience. 

"How did I know it?" retorted Stacy. "I know YOU, and I know the kind ofpeople who have unloaded to you. "

"Come, Stacy, " said Barker, "I've only invested in shares and stockslike everybody else, and then only on the best advice I could get:like Van Loo's, for instance, --that man who was here just now, thenew manager of the Empire Ditch Company; and Carter's, my own Kitty'sfather. And when I was offered fifty thousand Wide West Extensions, and was hesitating over it, he told me YOU were in it too--and that wasenough for me to buy it. "

"Yes, but we didn't go into it at his figures. "

"No, " said Barker, with an eager smile, "but you SOLD at his figures, for I knew that when I found that YOU, my old partner, was in it; don'tyou see, I preferred to buy it through your bank, and did at 110. Ofcourse, you wouldn't have sold it at that figure if it wasn't worth itthen, and neither I nor you are to blame if it dropped the next week to60, don't you see?"

Stacy's eyes hardened for a moment as he looked keenly into his formerpartner's bright gray ones, but there was no trace of irony in Barker's. On the contrary, a slight shade of sadness came over them. "No, " he saidreflectively, "I don't think I've ever been foolish or followed out myOWN ideas, except once, and that was extravagant, I admit. That wasmy idea of building a kind of refuge, you know, on the site of our oldcabin, where poor miners and played-out prospectors waiting for a strikecould stay without paying anything. Well, I sunk twenty thousanddollars in that, and might have lost more, only Carter--Kitty'sfather--persuaded me--he's an awful clever old fellow--into turning itinto a kind of branch hotel of Boomville, while using it as a hotel totake poor chaps who couldn't pay, at half prices, or quarter prices, PRIVATELY, don't you see, so as to spare their pride, --awfully pretty, wasn't it?--and make the hotel profit by it. "

"Well?" said Stacy as Barker paused. 

"They didn't come, " said Barker. 

"But, " he added eagerly, "it shows that things were better than I hadimagined. Only the others did not come, either. "

"And you lost your twenty thousand dollars, " said Stacy curtly. 

"FIFTY thousand, " said Barker, "for of course it had to be a largerhotel than the other. And I think that Carter wouldn't have gone into itexcept to save me from losing money. "

"And yet made you lose fifty thousand instead of twenty. For I don'tsuppose HE advanced anything. "

"He gave his time and experience, " said Barker simply. 

"I don't think it worth thirty thousand dollars, " said Stacy dryly. "Butall this doesn't tell me what your business is with me to-day. "

"No, " said Barker, brightening up, "but it is business, you know. Something in the old style--as between partner and partner--and that'swhy I came to YOU, and not to the 'banker. ' And it all comes out ofsomething that Demorest once told us; so you see it's all us threeagain! Well, you know, of course, that the Excelsior Ditch Company haveabandoned the Bar and Heavy Tree Hill. It didn't pay. "

"Yes; nor does the company pay any dividends now. You ought to know, with fifty thousand of their stock on your hands. "

Barker laughed. "But listen. I found that I could buy up their wholeplant and all the ditching along the Black Spur Range for ten thousanddollars. "

"And Great Scott! you don't think of taking up their business?" saidStacy, aghast. 

Barker laughed more heartily. "No. Not their business. But I rememberthat once Demorest told us, in the dear old days, that it cost nearlyas much to make a water ditch as a railroad, in the way of surveying andengineering and levels, you know. And here's the plant for a railroad. Don't you see?"

"But a railroad from Black Spur to Heavy Tree Hill--what's the good ofthat?"

"Why, Black Spur will be in the line of the new Divide Railroad they'retrying to get a bill for in the legislature. "

"An infamous piece of wildcat jobbing that will never pass, " said Stacydecisively. 

"They said BECAUSE it was that, it would pass, " said Barker simply. "They say that Watson's Bank is in it, and is bound to get it through. And as that is a rival bank of yours, don't you see, I thought that ifWE could get something real good or valuable out of it, --something thatwould do the Black Spur good, --it would be all right. "

"And was your business to consult me about it?" said Stacy bluntly. 

"No, " said Barker, "it's too late to consult you now, though I wish Ihad. I've given my word to take it, and I can't back out. But I haven'tthe ten thousand dollars, and I came to you. "

Stacy slowly settled himself back in his chair, and put both hands inhis pockets. "Not a cent, Barker, not a cent. "

"I'm not asking it of the BANK, " said Barker, with a smile, "for I couldhave gone to the bank for it. But as this was something between us, I amasking you, Stacy, as my old partner. "

"And I am answering you, Barker, as your old partner, but also as thepartner of a hundred other men, who have even a greater right to ask me. And my answer is, not a cent!"

Barker looked at him with a pale, astonished face and slightly partedlips. Stacy rose, thrust his hands deeper in his pockets, and standingbefore him went on:--

"Now look here! It's time you should understand me and yourself. Threeyears ago, when our partnership was dissolved by accident, or mutualconsent, we will say, we started afresh, each on our own hook. Throughfoolishness and bad advice you have in those three years hopelesslyinvolved yourself as you never would have done had we been partners, andyet in your difficulty you ask me and my new partners to help you out ofa difficulty in which they have no concern. "

"Your NEW partners?" stammered Barker. 

"Yes, my new partners; for every man who has a share, or a deposit, oran interest, or a dollar in this bank is my PARTNER--even you, with yoursecurities at the Branch, are one; and you may say that in THIS I amprotecting you against yourself. "

"But you have money--you have private means. "

"None to speculate with as you wish me to--on account of my position;none to give away foolishly as you expect me to--on account of precedentand example. I am a soulless machine taking care of capital intrusted tome and my brains, but decidedly NOT to my heart nor my sentiment. So myanswer is, not a cent!"

Barker's face had changed; his color had come back, but with an olderexpression. Presently, however, his beaming smile returned, with theadditional suggestion of an affectionate toleration which puzzled Stacy. 

"I believe you're right, old chap, " he said, extending his hand to thebanker, "and I wish I had talked to you before. But it's too late now, and I've given my word. "

"Your WORD!" said Stacy. "Have you no written agreement?"

"No. My word was accepted. " He blushed slightly as if conscious of agreat weakness. 

"But that isn't legal nor business. And you couldn't even hold the DitchCompany to it if THEY chose to back out. "

"But I don't think they will, " said Barker simply. "And you see my wordwasn't given entirely to THEM. I bought the thing through my wife'scousin, Henry Spring, a broker, and he makes something by it, from thecompany, on commission. And I can't go back on HIM. What did you say?"

Stacy had only groaned through his set teeth. "Nothing, " he saidbriefly, "except that I'm coming, as I said before, to dine with youto-night; but no more BUSINESS. I've enough of that with others, andthere are some waiting for me in the outer office now. "

Barker rose at once, but with the same affectionate smile and tendergravity of countenance, and laid his hand caressingly on Stacy'sshoulder. "It's like you to give up so much of your time to me and myfoolishness and be so frank with me. And I know it's mighty rough onyou to have to be a mere machine instead of Jim Stacy. Don't you botherabout me. I'll sell some of my Wide West Extension and pull the thingthrough myself. It's all right, but I'm sorry for you, old chap. " Heglanced around the room at the walls and rich paneling, and added, "Isuppose that's what you have to pay for all this sort of thing?"

Before Stacy could reply, a waiting visitor was announced for the secondtime, and Barker, with another hand-shake and a reassuring smile to hisold partner, passed into the hall, as if the onus of any infelicity inthe interview was upon himself alone. But Stacy did not seem to be in aparticularly accessible mood to the new caller, who in his turn appearedto be slightly irritated by having been kept waiting over some irksomebusiness. "You don't seem to follow me, " he said to Stacy after recitinghis business perplexity. "Can't you suggest something?"

"Well, why don't you get hold of one of your board of directors?"said Stacy abstractedly. "There's Captain Drummond; you and he are oldfriends. You were comrades in the Mexican War, weren't you?"

"That be d----d!" said his visitor bitterly. "All his interests arethe other way, and in a trade of this kind, you know, Stacy, that a manwould sacrifice his own brother. Do you suppose that he'd let up on asure thing that he's got just because he and I fought side by side atCerro Gordo? Come! what are you giving us? You're the last man I everexpected to hear that kind of flapdoodle from. If it's because your bankhas got some other interest and you can't advise me, why don't you sayso?" Nevertheless, in spite of Stacy's abrupt disclaimer, he left a fewminutes later, half convinced that Stacy's lukewarmness was due to someadverse influence. Other callers were almost as quickly disposed of, andat the end of an hour Stacy found himself again alone. 

But not apparently in a very satisfied mood. After a few moments ofpurely mechanical memoranda-making, he rose abruptly and opened a smalldrawer in a cabinet, from which he took a letter still in its envelope. It bore a foreign postmark. Glancing over it hastily, his eyes atlast became fixed on a concluding paragraph. "I hope, " wrote hiscorrespondent, "that even in the rush of your big business you willsometimes look after Barker. Not that I think the dear old chap willever go wrong--indeed, I often wish I was as certain of myself as ofhim and his insight; but I am afraid we were more inclined to be merelyamused and tolerant of his wonderful trust and simplicity than to reallyunderstand it for his own good and ours. I know you did not like hismarriage, and were inclined to believe he was the victim of a ratherunscrupulous father and a foolish, unequal girl; but are you satisfiedthat he would have been the happier without it, or lived his perfectlife under other and what you may think wiser conditions? If he WROTEthe poetry that he LIVES everybody would think him wonderful; for beingwhat he is we never give him sufficient credit. " Stacy smiled grimly, and penciled on his memorandum, "He wants it to the amount of tenthousand dollars. " "Anyhow, " continued the writer, "look after him, Jim, for his sake, your sake, and the sake of--PHIL DEMOREST. "

Stacy put the letter back in its envelope, and tossing it grimly asidewent on with his calculations. Presently he stopped, restored the letterto his cabinet, and rang a bell on his table. "Send Mr. North here, "he said to the negro messenger. In a few moments his chief book-keeperappeared in the doorway. 

"Turn to the Branch ledger and bring me a statement of Mr. GeorgeBarker's account. "

"He was here a moment ago, " said North, essaying a confidential looktowards his chief. 

"I know it, " said Stacy coolly, without looking up. 

"He's been running a good deal on wildcat lately, " suggested North. 

"I asked for his account, and not your opinion of it, " said Stacyshortly. 

The subordinate withdrew somewhat abashed but still curious, andreturned presently with a ledger which he laid before his chief. Stacyran his eyes over the list of Barker's securities; it seemed to him thatall the wildest schemes of the past year stared him in the face. Hisfinger, however, stopped on the Wide West Extension. "Mr. Barker will bewanting to sell some of this stock. What is it quoted at now?"

"Sixty. "

"But I would prefer that Mr. Barker should not offer in the open marketat present. Give him seventy for it--private sale; that will be tenthousand dollars paid to his credit. Advise the Branch of this at once, and to keep the transaction quiet. "

"Yes, sir, " responded the clerk as he moved towards the door. But hehesitated, and with another essay at confidence said insinuatingly, "Ialways thought, sir, that Wide West would recover. "

Stacy, perhaps not displeased to find what had evidently passed in hissubordinate's mind, looked at him and said dryly, "Then I would adviseyou also to keep that opinion to yourself. " But, clever as he was, hehad not anticipated the result. Mr. North, though a trusted employee, was human. On arriving in the outer office he beckoned to one of thelounging brokers, and in a low voice said, "I'll take two shares of WideWest, if you can get it cheap. "

The broker's face became alert and eager. "Yes, but I say, is anythingup?"

"I'm not here to give the business of the bank away, " retorted Northseverely; "take the order or leave it. "

The man hurried away. Having thus vindicated his humanity by alsopassing the snub he had received from Stacy to an inferior, he turnedaway to carry out his master's instructions, yet secure in the beliefthat he had profited by his superior discernment of the real reasonof that master's singular conduct. But when he returned to the privateroom, in hopes of further revelations, Mr. Stacy was closeted withanother financial magnate, and had apparently divested his mind of thewhole affair. 

CHAPTER II. 

When George Barker returned to the outer ward of the financialstronghold he had penetrated, with its curving sweep of counters, brassrailings, and wirework screens defended by the spruce clerks behindthem, he was again impressed with the position of the man he had justquitted, and for a moment hesitated, with an inclination to go back. It was with no idea of making a further appeal to his old comrade, but--what would have been odd in any other nature but his--he wasaffected by a sense that HE might have been unfair and selfish in hismanner to the man panoplied by these defenses, and who was in a measureforced to be a part of them. He would like to have returned and condoledwith him. The clerks, who were heartlessly familiar with the anxiousbearing of the men who sought interviews with their chief, both beforeand after, smiled with the whispered conviction that the fresh andingenuous young stranger had been "chucked" like others until theymet his kindly, tolerant, and even superior eyes, and were puzzled. Meanwhile Barker, who had that sublime, natural quality of abstractionover small impertinences which is more exasperating than studiedindifference, after his brief hesitation passed out unconcernedlythrough the swinging mahogany doors into the blowy street. Here the windand rain revived him; the bank and its curt refusal were forgotten; hewalked onward with only a smiling memory of his partner as in the olddays. He remembered how Stacy had burned down their old cabin ratherthan have it fall into sordid or unworthy hands--this Stacy who was nowcondemned to sink his impulses and become a mere machine. He had neverknown Stacy's real motive for that act, --both Demorest and Stacyhad kept their knowledge of the attempted robbery from their youngerpartner, --it always seemed to him to be a precious revelation of Stacy'sinner nature. Facing the wind and rain, he recalled how Stacy, thoughnever so enthusiastic about his marriage as Demorest, had taken up VanLoo sharply for some foolish sneer about his own youthfulness. He wasaffectionately tolerant of even Stacy's dislike to his wife's relations, for Stacy did not know them as he did. Indeed, Barker, whose own fatherand mother had died in his infancy, had accepted his wife's relationswith a loving trust and confidence that was supreme, from the fact thathe had never known any other. 

At last he reached his hotel. It was a new one, the latest creation of afeverish progress in hotel-building which had covered five years and asmany squares with large showy erections, utterly beyond the needs of thecommunity, yet each superior in size and adornment to its predecessor. It struck him as being the one evidence of an abiding faith in thefuture of the metropolis that he had seen in nothing else. As he enteredits frescoed hall that afternoon he was suddenly reminded, by itschallenging opulency, of the bank he had just quitted, without knowingthat the bank had really furnished its capital and its original design. The gilded bar-rooms, flashing with mirrors and cut glass; the saloons, with their desert expanse of Turkey carpet and oasis of clustered divansand gilded tables; the great dining-room, with porphyry columns, andwalls and ceilings shining with allegory--all these things which hadattracted his youthful wonder without distracting his correct simplicityof taste he now began to comprehend. It was the bank's money "at work. "In the clatter of dishes in the dining-room he even seemed to hear againthe chinking of coin. 

It was a short cut to his apartments to pass through a smaller publicsitting-room popularly known as "Flirtation Camp, " where eight or tencouples generally found refuge on chairs and settees by the windows, half concealed by heavy curtains. But the occupants were by no meansyouthful spinsters or bachelors; they were generally married women, guests of the hotel, receiving other people's husbands whose wives were"in the States, " or responsible middle-aged leaders of the town. Inthe elaborate toilettes of the women, as compared with the less formalbusiness suits of the men, there was an odd mingling of the socialattitude with perhaps more mysterious confidences. The idle gossip aboutthem had never affected Barker; rather he had that innate respect forthe secrets of others which is as inseparable from simplicity as it isfrom high breeding, and he scarcely glanced at the different couples inhis progress through the room. He did not even notice a rather strikingand handsome woman, who, surrounded by two or three admirers, yet lookedup at Barker as he passed with self-conscious lids as if seeking areturn of her glance. But he moved on abstractedly, and only stoppedwhen he suddenly saw the familiar skirt of his wife at a further window, and halted before it. 

"Oh, it's YOU, " said Mrs. Barker, with a half-nervous, half-impatientlaugh. "Why, I thought you'd certainly stay half the afternoon with yourold partner, considering that you haven't met for three years. "

There was no doubt she HAD thought so; there was equally no doubt thatthe conversation she was carrying on with her companion--a good-looking, portly business man--was effectually interrupted. But Barker did notnotice it. "Captain Heath, my husband, " she went on, carelessly risingand smoothing her skirts. The captain, who had risen too, bowed vaguelyat the introduction, but Barker extended his hand frankly. "I foundStacy busy, " he said in answer to his wife, "but he is coming to dinewith us to-night. "

"If you mean Jim Stacy, the banker, " said Captain Heath, brighteninginto greater ease, "he's the busiest man in California. I've seenmen standing in a queue outside his door as in the old days at thepost-office. And he only gives you five minutes and no extension. Soyou and he were partners once?" he said, looking curiously at the stillyouthful Barker. 

But it was Mrs. Barker who answered, "Oh yes! and always such goodfriends. I was awfully jealous of him. " Nevertheless, she did notrespond to the affectionate protest in Barker's eyes nor to the laugh ofCaptain Heath, but glanced indifferently around the room as if toleave further conversation to the two men. It was possible that she wasbeginning to feel that Captain Heath was as de trop now as her husbandhad been a moment before. Standing there, however, between them both, idly tracing a pattern on the carpet with the toe of her slipper, shelooked prettier than she had ever looked as Kitty Carter. Her slightfigure was more fully developed. That artificial severity coveringa natural virgin coyness with which she used to wait at table in herfather's hotel at Boomville had gone, and was replaced by a satisfiedconsciousness of her power to please. Her glance was freer, but notas frank as in those days. Her dress was undoubtedly richer and morestylish; yet Barker's loyal heart often reverted fondly to the chintzgown, coquettishly frilled apron, and spotless cuffs and collar in whichshe had handed him his coffee with a faint color that left his own facecrimson. 

Captain Heath's tact being equal to her indifference, he had excusedhimself, although he was becoming interested in this youthful husband. But Mrs. Barker, after having asserted her husband's distinction asthe equal friend of the millionaire, was by no means willing that thecaptain should be further interested in Barker for himself alone, anddid not urge him to stay. As he departed she turned to her husband, and, indicating the group he had passed the moment before, said:--

"That horrid woman has been staring at us all the time. I don't see whatyou see in her to admire. "

Poor Barker's admiration had been limited to a few words of civility inthe enforced contact of that huge caravansary and in his quiet, youthfulrecognition of her striking personality. But he was just then toopreoccupied with his interview with Stacy to reply, and perhaps he didnot quite understand his wife. It was odd how many things he did notquite understand now about Kitty, but that he knew must be HIS fault. But Mrs. Barker apparently did not require, after the fashion of hersex, a reply. For the next moment, as they moved towards their rooms, she said impatiently, "Well, you don't tell what Stacy said. Did you getthe money?"

I grieve to say that this soul of truth and frankness lied--only to hiswife. Perhaps he considered it only lying to HIMSELF, a thing of whichhe was at times miserably conscious. "It wasn't necessary, dear, " hesaid; "he advised me to sell my securities in the bank; and if you onlyknew how dreadfully busy he is. "

Mrs. Barker curled her pretty lip. "It doesn't take very long to lendten thousand dollars!" she said. "But that's what I always tell you. You have about made me sick by singing the praises of those wonderfulpartners of yours, and here you ask a favor of one of them and he tellsyou to sell your securities! And you know, and he knows, they're worthnext to nothing. "

"You don't understand, dear"--began Barker. 

"I understand that you've given your word to poor Harry, " saidMrs. Barker in pretty indignation, "who's responsible for the Ditchpurchase. "

"And I shall keep it. I always do, " said Barker very quietly, but withthat same singular expression of face that had puzzled Stacy. ButMrs. Barker, who, perhaps, knew her husband better, said in an alteredvoice:--

"But HOW can you, dear?"

"If I'm short a thousand or two I'll ask your father. "

Mrs. Barker was silent. "Father's so very much harried now, George. Whydon't you simply throw the whole thing up?"

"But I've given my word to your cousin Henry. "

"Yes, but only your WORD. There was no written agreement. And youcouldn't even hold him to it. "

Barker opened his frank eyes in astonishment. Her own cousin, too! Andthey were Stacy's very words!

"Besides, " added Mrs. Barker audaciously, "he could get rid of itelsewhere. He had another offer, but he thought yours the best. So don'tbe silly. "

By this time they had reached their rooms. Barker, apparently dismissingthe subject from his mind with characteristic buoyancy, turned into thebedroom and walked smilingly towards a small crib which stood in thecorner. "Why, he's gone!" he said in some dismay. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Barker a little impatiently, "you didn't expect me totake him into the public parlor, where I was seeing visitors, did you?I sent him out with the nurse into the lower hall to play with the otherchildren. "

A shade momentarily passed over Barker's face. He always looked forwardto meeting the child when he came back. He had a belief, based on nogrounds whatever, that the little creature understood him. And he had afather's doubt of the wholesomeness of other people's children whowere born into the world indiscriminately and not under the exceptionalconditions of his own. "I'll go and fetch him, " he said. 

"You haven't told me anything about your interview; what you did andwhat your good friend Stacy said, " said Mrs. Barker, dropping languidlyinto a chair. "And really if you are simply running away again afterthat child, I might just as well have asked Captain Heath to staylonger. "

"Oh, as to Stacy, " said Barker, dropping beside her and taking her hand;"well, dear, he was awfully busy, you know, and shut up in the innermostoffice like the agate in one of the Japanese nests of boxes. But, " hecontinued, brightening up, "just the same dear old Jim Stacy of HeavyTree Hill, when I first knew you. Lord! dear, how it all came back tome! That day I proposed to you in the belief that I was unexpectedlyrich and even bought a claim for the boys on the strength of it, and howI came back to them to find that they had made a big strike on the veryclaim. Lord! I remember how I was so afraid to tell them about you--andhow they guessed it--that dear old Stacy one of the first. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Barker, "and I hope your friend Stacy remembered thatbut for ME, when you found out that you were not rich, you'd have givenup the claim, but that I really deceived my own father to make you keepit. I've often worried over that, George, " she said pensively, turninga diamond bracelet around her pretty wrist, "although I never saidanything about it. "

"But, Kitty darling, " said Barker, grasping his wife's hand, "I gave mynote for it; you know you said that was bargain enough, and I had betterwait until the note was due, and until I found I couldn't pay, before Igave up the claim. It was very clever of you, and the boys all said so, too. But you never deceived your father, dear, " he said, looking at hergravely, "for I should have told him everything. "

"Of course, if you look at it in that way, " said his wife languidly, "it's nothing; only I think it ought to be remembered when people goabout saying papa ruined you with his hotel schemes. "

"Who dares say that?" said Barker indignantly. 

"Well, if they don't SAY it they look it, " said Mrs. Barker, with atoss of her pretty head, "and I believe that's at the bottom of Stacy'srefusal. "

"But he never said a word, Kitty, " said Barker, flushing. 

"There, don't excite yourself, George, " said Mrs. Barker resignedly, "but go for the baby. I know you're dying to go, and I suppose it's timeNorah brought it upstairs. "

At any other time Barker would have lingered with explanations, but justthen a deeper sense than usual of some misunderstanding made him anxiousto shorten this domestic colloquy. He rose, pressed his wife's hand, andwent out. But yet he was not entirely satisfied with himself for leavingher. "I suppose it isn't right my going off as soon as I come in, " hemurmured reproachfully to himself, "but I think she wants the baby backas much as I; only, womanlike, she didn't care to let me know it. "

He reached the lower hall, which he knew was a favorite promenade forthe nurses who were gathered at the farther end, where a large windowlooked upon Montgomery Street. But Norah, the Irish nurse, was not amongthem; he passed through several corridors in his search, but in vain. At last, worried and a little anxious, he turned to regain his roomsthrough the long saloon where he had found his wife previously. Itwas deserted now; the last caller had left--even frivolity had itsprescribed limits. He was consequently startled by a gentle murmurfrom one of the heavily curtained window recesses. It was a woman'svoice--low, sweet, caressing, and filled with an almost pathetictenderness. And it was followed by a distinct gurgling satisfied crow. 

Barker turned instantly in that direction. A step brought him to thecurtain, where a singular spectacle presented itself. 

Seated on a lounge, completely absorbed and possessed by her treasure, was the "horrid woman" whom his wife had indicated only a little whileago, holding a baby--Kitty's sacred baby--in her wanton lap! The childwas feebly grasping the end of the slender jeweled necklace which thewoman held temptingly dangling from a thin white jeweled finger aboveit. But its eyes were beaming with an intense delight, as if trying torespond to the deep, concentrated love in the handsome face that wasbent above it. 

At the sudden intrusion of Barker she looked up. There was a faint risein her color, but no loss of sell-possession. 

"Please don't scold the nurse, " she said, "nor say anything to Mrs. Barker. It is all my fault. I thought that both the nurse and childlooked dreadfully bored with each other, and I borrowed the littlefellow for a while to try and amuse him. At least I haven't madehim cry, have I, dear?" The last epithet, it is needless to say, was addressed to the little creature in her lap, but in its tendermodulation it touched the father's quick sympathies as if he had sharedit with the child. "You see, " she said softly, disengaging the babyfingers from her necklace, "that OUR sex is not the only one tempted byjewelry and glitter. "

Barker hesitated; the Madonna-like devotion of a moment ago was gone;it was only the woman of the world who laughingly looked up at him. Nevertheless he was touched. "Have you--ever--had a child, Mrs. Horncastle?" he asked gently and hesitatingly. He had a vaguerecollection that she passed for a widow, and in his simple eyes allwomen were virgins or married saints. 

"No, " she said abruptly. Then she added with a laugh, "Or perhapsI should not admire them so much. I suppose it's the same feelingbachelors have for other people's wives. But I know you're dying totake that boy from me. Take him, then, and don't be ashamed to carry himyourself just because I'm here; you know you would delight to do it if Iweren't. "

Barker bent over the silken lap in which the child was comfortablynestling, and in that attitude had a faint consciousness that Mrs. Horncastle was mischievously breathing into his curls a silent laugh. Barker lifted his firstborn with proud skillfulness, but that sagaciousinfant evidently knew when he was comfortable, and in a paroxysm ofobjection caught his father's curls with one fist, while with the otherhe grasped Mrs. Horncastle's brown braids and brought their heads intocontact. Upon which humorous situation Norah, the nurse, entered. 

"It's all right, Norah, " said Mrs. Horncastle, laughing, as shedisengaged herself from the linking child. "Mr. Barker has claimedthe baby, and has agreed to forgive you and me and say nothing to Mrs. Barker. " Norah, with the inscrutable criticism of her sex on her sex, thought it extremely probable, and halted with exasperating discretion. "There, " continued Mrs. Horncastle, playfully evading the child'sfurther advances, "go with papa, that's a dear. Mr. Barker prefers tocarry him back, Norah. "

"But, " said the ingenuous and persistent Barker, still lingeringin hopes of recalling the woman's previous expression, "you DO lovechildren, and you think him a bright little chap for his age?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Horncastle, putting back her loosened braid, "so roundand fat and soft. And such a discriminating eye for jewelry. Really youought to get a necklace like mine for Mrs. Barker--it would please both, you know. " She moved slowly away, the united efforts of Norah and Barkerscarcely sufficing to restrain the struggling child from leaping afterher as she turned at the door and blew him a kiss. 

When Barker regained his room he found that Mrs. Barker had dismissedStacy from her mind except so far as to invoke Norah's aid in layingout her smartest gown for dinner. "But why take all this trouble, dear?"said her simple-minded husband; "we are going to dine in a private roomso that we can talk over old times all by ourselves, and any dress wouldsuit him. And, Lord, dear!" he added, with a quick brightening at thefancy, "if you could only just rig yourself up in that pretty lilac gownyou used to wear at Boomville--it would be too killing, and just likeold times. I put it away myself in one of our trunks--I couldn't bearto leave it behind; I know just where it is. I'll"--But Mrs. Barker'srestraining scorn withheld him. 

"George Barker, if you think I am going to let you throw away andutterly WASTE Mr. Stacy on us, alone, in a private room with closeddoors--and I dare say you'd like to sit in your dressing-gown andslippers--you are entirely mistaken. I know what is due, not to your oldpartner, but to the great Mr. Stacy, the financier, and I know what isdue FROM HIM TO US! No! We dine in the great dining-room, publicly, and, if possible, at the very next table to those stuck-up Peterburys andtheir Eastern friends, including that horrid woman, which, I'm sure, ought to satisfy you. Then you can talk as much as you like, and asloud as you like, about old times, --and the louder and the more thebetter, --but I don't think HE'LL like it. "

"But the baby!" expostulated Barker. "Stacy's just wild to see him--andwe can't bring him down to the table--though we MIGHT, " he added, momentarily brightening. 

"After dinner, " said Mrs. Barker severely, "we will walk through the bigdrawing-rooms, and THEN Mr. Stacy may come upstairs and see him in hiscrib; but not before. And now, George, I do wish that to-night, FORONCE, you would not wear a turn-down collar, and that you would go tothe barber's and have him cut your hair and smooth out the curls. And, for Heaven's sake! let him put some wax or gum or SOMETHING on yourmustache and twist it up on your cheek like Captain Heath's, for itpositively droops over your mouth like a girl's ringlet. It's quiteenough for me to hear people talk of your inexperience, but really Idon't want you to look as if I had run away with a pretty schoolboy. And, considering the size of that child, it's positively disgraceful. And, one thing more, George. When I'm talking to anybody, please don'tsit opposite to me, beaming with delight, and your mouth open. And don'troar if by chance I say something funny. And--whatever you do--don'tmake eyes at me in company whenever I happen to allude to you, as I didbefore Captain Heath. It is positively too ridiculous. "

Nothing could exceed the laughing good humor with which her husbandreceived these cautions, nor the evident sincerity with which hepromised amendment. Equally sincere was he, though a little morethoughtful, in his severe self-examination of his deficiencies, when, later, he seated himself at the window with one hand softly encompassinghis child's chubby fist in the crib beside him, and, in the instinctivefashion of all loneliness, looked out of the window. The southerntrades were whipping the waves of the distant bay and harbor into yeastycrests. Sheets of rain swept the sidewalks with the regularity of afusillade, against which a few pedestrians struggled with flappingwaterproofs and slanting umbrellas. He could look along the desertedlength of Montgomery Street to the heights of Telegraph Hill and itslong-disused semaphore. It seemed lonelier to him than the mile-longsweep of Heavy Tree Hill, writhing against the mountain wind andits aeolian song. He had never felt so lonely THERE. In his rigidself-examination he thought Kitty right in protesting against theeffect of his youthfulness and optimism. Yet he was also right in beinghimself. There is an egoism in the highest simplicity; and Barker, whilewilling to believe in others' methods, never abandoned his own aims. He was right in loving Kitty as he did; he knew that she was better andmore lovable than she could believe herself to be; but he was willing tobelieve it pained and discomposed her if he showed it before company. He would not have her change even this peculiarity--it was part ofherself--no more than he would have changed himself. And behind what hehad conceived was her clear, practical common sense, all this time hadbeen her belief that she had deceived her father! Poor dear, dear Kitty!And she had suffered because stupid people had conceived that her fatherhad led him away in selfish speculations. As if he--Barker--wouldnot have first discovered it, and as if anybody--even dear Kittyherself--was responsible for HIS convictions and actions but himself. Nevertheless, this gentle egotist was unusually serious, and when thechild awoke at last, and with a fretful start and vacant eyes pushed hiscaressing hand away, he felt lonelier than before. It was with a slightsense of humiliation, too, that he saw it stretch its hands to the merehireling, Norah, who had never given it the love that he had seen evenin the frivolous Mrs. Horncastle's eyes. Later, when his wife came in, looking very pretty in her elaborate dinner toilette, he had the sameconflicting emotions. He knew that they had already passed that phaseof their married life when she no longer dressed to please him, andthat the dictates of fashion or the rivalry of another woman she heldsuperior to his tastes; yet he did not blame her. But he was a littlesurprised to see that her dress was copied from one of Mrs. Horncastle'smost striking ones, and that it did not suit her. That which adornedthe maturer woman did not agree with the demure and slightly austereprettiness of the young wife. 

But Barker forgot all this when Stacy--reserved and somewhatsevere-looking in evening dress--arrived with business punctuality. Hefancied that his old partner received the announcement that they woulddine in the public room with something of surprise, and he saw himglance keenly at Kitty in her fine array, as if he had suspected it washer choice, and understood her motives. Indeed, the young husband hadfound himself somewhat nervous in regard to Stacy's estimate of Kitty;he was conscious that she was not looking and acting like the old Kittythat Stacy had known; it did not enter his honest heart that Stacy had, perhaps, not appreciated her then, and that her present quality mightaccord more with his worldly tastes and experience. It was, therefore, with a kind of timid delight that he saw Stacy apparently enter into hermood, and with a still more timorous amusement to notice that heseemed to sympathize not only with her, but with her half-rallying, half-serious attitude towards his (Barker's) inexperience andsimplicity. He was glad that she had made a friend of Stacy, even inthis way. Stacy would understand, as he did, her pretty willfulness atlast; she would understand what a true friend Stacy was to him. It waswith unfeigned satisfaction that he followed them in to dinner as sheleaned upon his guest's arm, chatting confidentially. He was only uneasybecause her manner had a slight ostentation. 

The entrance of the little party produced a quick sensation throughoutthe dining-room. Whispers passed from table to table; all heads wereturned towards the great financier as towards a magnet; a few guestseven shamelessly faced round in their chairs as he passed. Mrs. Barkerwas pink, pretty, and voluble with excitement; Stacy had a slight maskof reserve; Barker was the only one natural and unconscious. 

As the dinner progressed Barker found that there was little chance forhim to invoke his old partner's memories of the past. He found, however, that Stacy had received a letter from Demorest, and that he was cominghome from Europe. His letters were still sad; they both agreed uponthat. And then for the first time that day Stacy looked intently atBarker with the look that he had often worn on Heavy Tree Hill. 

"Then you think it is the same old trouble that worries him?" saidBarker in an awed and sympathetic voice. 

"I believe it is, " said Stacy, with an equal feeling. Mrs. Barkerpricked up her pretty ears; her husband's ready sympathy was familiarenough; but that this cold, practical Stacy should be moved at anythingpiqued her curiosity. 

"And you believe that he has never got over it?" continued Barker. 

"He had one chance, but he threw it away, " said Stacy energetically. "If, instead of going off to Europe by himself to brood over it, he hadjoined me in business, he'd have been another man. "

"But not Demorest, " said Barker quickly. 

"What dreadful secret is this about Demorest?" said Mrs. Barkerpetulantly. "Is he ill?"

Both men were silent by their old common instinct. But it was Stacywho said "No" in a way that put any further questioning at an end, andBarker was grateful and for the moment disloyal to his Kitty. 

It was with delight that Mrs. Barker had seen that the attention ofthe next table was directed to them, and that even Mrs. Horncastle hadglanced from time to time at Stacy. But she was not prepared for theevident equal effect that Mrs. Horncastle had created upon Stacy. Hiscold face warmed, his critical eye softened; he asked her name. Mrs. Barker was voluble, prejudiced, and, it seemed, misinformed. 

"I know it all, " said Stacy, with didactic emphasis. "Her husband was asbad as they make them. When her life had become intolerable WITH HIM, hetried to make it shameful WITHOUT HIM by abandoning her. She could get adivorce a dozen times over, but she won't. "

"I suppose that's what makes her so very attractive to gentlemen, " saidMrs. Barker ironically. 

"I have never seen her before, " continued Stacy, with businessprecision, "although I and two other men are guardians of her property, and have saved it from the clutches of her husband. They told me she washandsome--and so she is. "

Pleased with the sudden human weakness of Stacy, Barker glanced at hiswife for sympathy. But she was looking studiously another way, and theyoung husband's eyes, still full of his gratification, fell uponMrs. Horncastle's. She looked away with a bright color. Whereuponthe sanguine Barker--perfectly convinced that she returned Stacy'sadmiration--was seized with one of his old boyish dreams of the future, and saw Stacy happily united to her, and was only recalled to the dinnerbefore him by its end. Then Stacy duly promenaded the great saloon withMrs. Barker on his arm, visited the baby in her apartments, and took aneasy leave. But he grasped Barker's hand before parting in quite his oldfashion, and said, "Come to lunch with me at the bank any day, and we'lltalk of Phil Demorest, " and left Barker as happy as if the appointmentwere to confer the favor he had that morning refused. But Mrs. Barker, who had overheard, was more dubious. 

"You don't suppose he asks you to talk with you about Demorest and hisstupid secret, do you?" she said scornfully. 

"Perhaps not only about that, " said Barker, glad that she had notdemanded the secret. 

"Well, " returned Mrs. Barker as she turned away, "he might just as welllunch here and talk about HER--and see her, too. "

Meantime Stacy had dropped into his club, only a few squares distant. His appearance created the same interest that it had produced at thehotel, but with less reserve among his fellow members. 

"Have you heard the news?" said a dozen voices. Stacy had not; he hadbeen dining out. 

"That infernal swindle of a Divide Railroad has passed the legislature. "

Stacy instantly remembered Barker's absurd belief in it and his reasons. He smiled and said carelessly, "Are you quite sure it's a swindle?"

There was a dead silence at the coolness of the man who had been mostoutspoken against it. 

"But, " said a voice hesitatingly, "you know it goes nowhere and to nopurpose. "

"But that does not prevent it, now that it's a fact, from going anywhereand to some purpose, " said Stacy, turning away. He passed into thereading-room quietly, but in an instant turned and quickly descendedby another staircase into the hall, hurriedly put on his overcoat, andslipping out was a moment later re-entering the hotel. Here he hastilysummoned Barker, who came down, flushed and excited. Laying his hand onBarker's arm in his old dominant way, he said:--

"Don't delay a single hour, but get a written agreement for that Ditchproperty. "

Barker smiled. "But I have. Got it this afternoon. "

"Then you know?" ejaculated Stacy in surprise. 

"I only know, " said Barker, coloring, "that you said I could back out ofit if it wasn't signed, and that's what Kitty said, too. And I thoughtit looked awfully mean for me to hold a man to that kind of a bargain. And so--you won't be mad, old fellow, will you?--I thought I'd putit beyond any question of my own good faith by having it in blackand white. " He stopped, laughing and blushing, but still earnest andsincere. "You don't think me a fool, do you?" he said pathetically. 

Stacy smiled grimly. "I think, Barker boy, that if you go to the Branchyou'll have no difficulty in paying for the Ditch property. Good-night. "

In a few moments he was back at the club again before any one knew hehad even left the building. As he again re-entered the smoking-room hefound the members still in eager discussion about the new railroad. Onewas saying, "If they could get an extension, and carry the road throughHeavy Tree Hill to Boomville they'd be all right. "

"I quite agree with you, " said Stacy. 

CHAPTER III. 

The swaying, creaking, Boomville coach had at last reached the levelridge, and sank forward upon its springs with a sigh of relief and theslow precipitation of the red dust which had hung in clouds aroundit. The whole coach, inside and out, was covered with this impalpablepowder; it had poured into the windows that gaped widely in theinsufferable heat; it lay thick upon the novel read by the passenger whohad for the third or fourth time during the ascent made a gutter ofthe half-opened book and blown the dust away in a single puff, like thesmoke from a pistol. It lay in folds and creases over the yellow silkduster of the handsome woman on the back seat, and when she endeavoredto shake it off enveloped her in a reddish nimbus. It grimed thehandkerchiefs of others, and left sanguinary streaks on their moppedforeheads. But as the coach had slowly climbed the summit the sunwas also sinking behind the Black Spur Range, and with its ultimatedisappearance a delicious coolness spread itself like a wave across theridge. The passengers drew a long breath, the reader closed his book, the lady lifted the edge of her veil and delicately wiped herforehead, over which a few damp tendrils of hair were clinging. Even adistinguished-looking man who had sat as impenetrable and remote as astatue in one of the front seats moved and turned his abstracted face tothe window. His deeply tanned cheek and clearly cut features harmonizedwith the red dust that lay in the curves of his brown linen dust-cloak, and completed his resemblance to a bronze figure. Yet it was Demorest, changed only in coloring. Now, as five years ago, his abstraction had acertain quality which the most familiar stranger shrank from disturbing. But in the general relaxation of relief the novel-reader addressed him. 

"Well, we ain't far from Boomville now, and it's all down-grade the restof the way. I reckon you'll be as glad to get a 'wash up' and a 'shake'as the rest of us. "

"I am afraid I won't have so early an opportunity, " said Demorest, witha faint, grave smile, "for I get off at the cross-road to Heavy TreeHill. "

"Heavy Tree Hill!" repeated the other in surprise. "You ain't goin' toHeavy Tree Hill? Why, you might have gone there direct by railroad, and have been there four hours ago. You know there's a branch from theDivide Railroad goes there straight to the hotel at Hymettus. "

"Where?" said Demorest, with a puzzled smile. 

"Hymettus. That's the fancy name they've given to the watering-place onthe slope. But I reckon you're a stranger here?"

"For five years, " said Demorest. "I fancy I've heard of the railroad, although I prefer to go to Heavy Tree this way. But I never heard of awatering-place there before. "

"Why, it's the biggest boom of the year. Folks that are tired of thefogs of 'Frisco and the heat of Sacramento all go there. It's fourthousand feet up, with a hotel like Saratoga, dancing, and a band playsevery night. And it all sprang out of the Divide Railroad and a cranknamed George Barker, who bought up some old Ditch property and ran abranch line along its levels, and made a junction with the Divide. Youcan come all the way from 'Frisco or Sacramento by rail. It's a mightybig thing!"

"Yet, " said Demorest, with some animation, "you call the man whooriginated this success a crank. I should say he was a genius. "

The other passenger shook his head. "All sheer nigger luck. He boughtthe Ditch plant afore there was a ghost of a chance for the DivideRailroad, just out o' pure d----d foolishness. He expected so littlefrom it that he hadn't even got the agreement done in writin', andhadn't paid for it, when the Divide Railroad passed the legislature, asit never oughter done! For, you see, the blamedest cur'ous thing aboutthe whole affair was that this 'straw' road of a Divide, all purewildcat, was only gotten up to frighten the Pacific Railroad sharps intobuying it up. And the road that nobody ever calculated would ever have arail of it laid was pushed on as soon as folks knew that the Ditch planthad been bought up, for they thought there was a big thing behind it. Even the hotel was, at first, simply a kind of genteel alms-house thatthis yer Barker had built for broken-down miners!"

"Nevertheless, " continued Demorest, smiling, "you admit that it is agreat success?"

"Yes, " said the other, a little irritated by some complacency inDemorest's smile, "but the success isn't HIS'N. Fools has ideas, andwise men profit by them, for that hotel now has Jim Stacy's bank behindit, and is even a kind of country branch of the Brook House in 'Frisco. Barker's out of it, I reckon. Anyhow, HE couldn't run a hotel, for allthat his wife--she that's one of the big 'Frisco swells now--used tohelp serve in her father's. No, sir, it's just a fool's luck, gettin'the first taste and leavin' the rest to others. "

"I'm not sure that it's the worst kind of luck, " returned Demorest, with persistent gravity; "and I suppose he's satisfied with it. " But soheterodox an opinion only irritated his antagonist the more, especiallyas he noticed that the handsome woman in the back seat appeared to beinterested in the conversation, and even sympathetic with Demorest. Theman was in the main a good-natured fellow and loyal to his friends; butthis did not preclude any virulent criticism of others, and for a momenthe hated this bronze-faced stranger, and even saw blemishes in thehandsome woman's beauty. "That may be YOUR idea of an Eastern man, "he said bluntly, "but I kin tell ye that Californy ain't run on thoselines. No, sir. " Nevertheless, his curiosity got the better of his illhumor, and as the coach at last pulled up at the cross-road for Demorestto descend he smiled affably at his departing companion. 

"You allowed just now that you'd bin five years away. Whar mout ye havebin?"

"In Europe, " said Demorest pleasantly. 

"I reckoned ez much, " returned his interrogator, smiling significantlyat the other passengers. "But in what place?"

"Oh, many, " said Demorest, smiling also. 

"But what place war ye last livin' at?"

"Well, " said Demorest, descending the steps, but lingering for a momentwith his hand on the door of the coach, "oddly enough, now you remind meof it--at Hymettus!"

He closed the door, and the coach rolled on. The passenger reddened, glanced indignantly after the departing figure of Demorest andsuspiciously at the others. The lady was looking from the window with afaint smile on her face. 

"He might hev given me a civil answer, " muttered the passenger, andresumed his novel. 

When the coach drew up before Carter's Hotel the lady got down, and thecuriosity of her susceptible companions was gratified to the extent oflearning from the register that her name was Horncastle. 

She was shown to a private sitting-room, which chanced to be the onewhich had belonged to Mrs. Barker in the days of her maidenhood, andwas the sacred, impenetrable bower to which she retired when her dailyduties of waiting upon her father's guests were over. But the breath ofcustom had passed through it since then, and but little remained of itsformer maiden glories, except a few schoolgirl crayon drawings onthe wall and an unrecognizable portrait of herself in oil, done by awandering artist and still preserved as a receipt for his unpaidbill. Of these facts Mrs. Horncastle knew nothing; she was evidentlypreoccupied, and after she had removed her outer duster and entered theroom, she glanced at the clock on the mantel-shelf and threw herselfwith an air of resigned abstraction in an armchair in the corner. Hertraveling-dress, although unostentatious, was tasteful and well-fitting;a slight pallor from her fatiguing journey, and, perhaps, from someabsorbing thought, made her beauty still more striking. She gave even anair of elegance to the faded, worn adornments of the room, which it isto be feared it never possessed in Miss Kitty's occupancy. Again sheglanced at the clock. There was a tap at the door. 

"Come in. "

The door opened to a Chinese servant bearing a piece of torn paper witha name written on it in lieu of a card. 

Mrs. Horncastle took it, glanced at the name, and handed the paper back. 

"There must be some mistake, " she said, "it do not know Mr. Steptoe. "

"No, but you know ME all the same, " said a voice from the doorway as aman entered, coolly took the Chinese servant by the elbows and thrusthim into the passage, closing the door upon him. "Steptoe and Horncastleare the same man, only I prefer to call myself Steptoe HERE. And I seeYOU'RE down on the register as 'Horncastle. ' Well, it's plucky of you, and it's not a bad name to keep; you might be thankful that I havealways left it to you. And if I call myself Steptoe here it's a goodblind against any of your swell friends knowing you met your HUSBANDhere. "

In the half-scornful, half-resigned look she had given him when heentered there was no doubt that she recognized him as the man she hadcome to see. He had changed little in the five years that had elapsedsince he entered the three partners' cabin at Heavy Tree Hill. His shorthair and beard still clung to his head like curled moss or the crispflocculence of Astrakhan. He was dressed more pretentiously, but stillgave the same idea of vulgar strength. She listened to him withoutemotion, but said, with even a deepening of scorn in her manner:--

"What new shame is this?"

"Nothing NEW, " he replied. "Only five years ago I was livin' over on theBar at Heavy Tree Hill under the name of Steptoe, and folks here mightrecognize me. I was here when your particular friend, Jim Stacy, who only knew me as Steptoe, and doesn't know me as Horncastle, yourHUSBAND, --for all he's bound up my property for you, --made his bigstrike with his two partners. I was in his cabin that very night, anddrank his whiskey. Oh, I'm all right there! I left everything all rightbehind me--only it's just as well he doesn't know I'm Horncastle. Andas the boy happened to be there with me"--He stopped, and looked at hersignificantly. 

The expression of her face changed. Eagerness, anxiety, and even fearcame into it in turn, but always mingling with some scorn that dominatedher. "The boy!" she said in a voice that had changed too; "well, whatabout him? You promised to tell me all, --all!"

"Where's the money?" he said. "Husband and wife are ONE, I know, "he went on with a coarse laugh, "but I don't trust MYSELF in thesematters. "

She took from a traveling-reticule that lay beside her a roll of notesand a chamois leather bag of coin, and laid them on the table beforehim. He examined both carefully. 

"All right, " he said. "I see you've got the checks made out 'to bearer. 'Your head's level, Conny. Pity you and me can't agree. "

"I went to the bank across the way as soon as I arrived, " she said, withcontemptuous directness. "I told them I was going over to Hymettus andmight want money. "

He dropped into a chair before her with his broad heavy hands upon hisknees, and looked at her with an equal, though baser, contempt: for hiswas mingled with a certain pride of mastery and possession. 

"And, of course, you'll go to Hymettus and cut a splurge as you alwaysdo. The beautiful Mrs. Horncastle! The helpless victim of a wretched, dissipated, disgraced, gambling husband. So dreadfully sad, you know, and so interesting! Could get a divorce from the brute if she wanted, but won't, on account of her religious scruples. And so while the bruteis gambling, swindling, disgracing himself, and dodging a shot hereand a lynch committee there, two or three hundred miles away, you'resplurging round in first-class hotels and watering-places, doing theinjured and abused, and run after by a lot of men who are ready to takemy place, and, maybe, some of my reputation along with it. "

"Stop!" she said suddenly, in a voice that made the glass chandelierring. He had risen too, with a quick, uneasy glance towards the door. But her outbreak passed as suddenly, and sinking back into her chair, she said, with her previous scornful resignation, "Never mind. Go on. You KNOW you're lying!"

He sat down again and looked at her critically. "Yes, as far as you'reconcerned I WAS lying! I know your style. But as you know, too, thatI'd kill you and the first man I suspected, and there ain't a judge ora jury in all Californy that wouldn't let me go free for it, and evenconsider, too, that it had wiped off the whole slate agin me--it's to mycredit!"

"I know what you men call chivalry, " she said coldly, "but I did notcome here to buy a knowledge of that. So now about the child?" she endedabruptly, leaning forward again with the same look of eager solicitudein her eyes. 

"Well, about the child--our child--though, perhaps, I prefer to say MYchild, " he began, with a certain brutal frankness. "I'll tell you. Butfirst, I don't want you to talk about BUYING your information of me. If I haven't told you anything before, it's because I didn't think yououghter know. If I didn't trust the child to YOU, it's because I didn'tthink you could go shashaying about with a child that was three yearsold when I"--he stopped and wiped his mouth with the back of hishand--"made an honest woman of you--I think that's what they call it. "

"But, " she said eagerly, ignoring the insult, "I could have hidden itwhere no one but myself would have known it. I could have sent it toschool and visited it as a relation. "

"Yes, " he said curtly, "like all women, and then blurted it out some dayand made it worse. "

"But, " she said desperately, "even THEN, suppose I had been willing totake the shame of it! I have taken more!"

"But I didn't intend that you should, " he said roughly. 

"You are very careful of my reputation, " she returned scornfully. 

"Not by a d----d sight, " he burst out; "but I care for HIS! I'm notgoin' to let any man call him a bastard!"

Callous as she had become even under this last cruel blow, she could notbut see something in his coarse eyes she had never seen before; couldnot but hear something in his brutal voice she had never heard before!Was it possible that somewhere in the depths of his sordid nature he hadhis own contemptible sense of honor? A hysterical feeling came over herhitherto passive disgust and scorn, but it disappeared with his nextsentence in a haze of anxiety. "No!" he said hoarsely, "he had enoughwrong done him already. "

"What do you mean?" she said imploringly. "Or are you again lying? Yousaid, four years ago, that he had 'got into trouble;' that was yourexcuse for keeping him from me. Or was that a lie, too?"

His manner changed and softened, but not for any pity for his companion, but rather from some change in his own feelings. "Oh, that, " he said, with a rough laugh, "that was only a kind o' trouble any sassy kid likehim was likely to get into. You ain't got no call to hear that, for, " headded, with a momentary return to his previous manner, "the wrong thatwas done him is MY lookout! You want to know what I did with him, howhe's been looked arter, and where he is? You want the worth of yourmoney. That's square enough. But first I want you to know, though youmayn't believe it, that every red cent you've given me to-night goes toHIM. And don't you forget it. "

For all his vulgar frankness she knew he had lied to her many timesbefore, --maliciously, wantonly, complacently, but never evasively; yetthere was again that something in his manner which told her he was nowtelling the truth. 

"Well, " he began, settling himself back in his chair, "I told you Ibrought him to Heavy Tree Hill. After I left you I wasn't going to trusthim to no school; he knew enough for me; but when I left those partswhere nobody knew you, and got a little nearer 'Frisco, where peoplemight have known us both, I thought it better not to travel round with akid o' that size as his FATHER. So I got a young fellow here to pass himoff as HIS little brother, and look after him and board him; and I paidhim a big price for it, too, you bet! You wouldn't think it was a manwho's now swelling around here, the top o' the pile, that ever tookmoney from a brute like me, and for such schoolmaster work, too; but hedid, and his name was Van Loo, a clerk of the Ditch Company. "

"Van Loo!" said the woman, with a movement of disgust; "THAT man!"

"What's the matter with Van Loo?" he said, with a coarse laugh, enjoyinghis wife's discomfiture. "He speaks French and Spanish, and you oughterhear the kid roll off the lingo he's got from him. He's got style, andknows how to dress, and you ought to see the kid bow and scrape, and howhe carries himself. Now, Van Loo wasn't exactly my style, and I reckon Idon't hanker after him much, but he served my purpose. "

"And this man knows"--she said, with a shudder. 

"He knows Steptoe and the boy, but he don't know Horncastle nor YOU. Don't you be skeert. He's the last man in the world who would hanker tosee me or the kid again, or would dare to say that he ever had! Lord!I'd like to see his fastidious mug if me and Eddy walked in upon him andhis high-toned mother and sister some arternoon. " He threw himself backand laughed a derisive, spasmodic, choking laugh, which was so far frombeing genial that it even seemed to indicate a lively appreciation ofpain in others rather than of pleasure in himself. He had often laughedat her in the same way. 

"And where is he now?" she said, with a compressed lip. 

"At school. Where, I don't tell you. You know why. But he's looked afterby me, and d----d well looked after, too. "

She hesitated, composed her face with an effort, parted her lips, andlooked out of the window into the gathering darkness. Then after amoment she said slowly, yet with a certain precision:--

"And his mother? Do you ever talk to him of HER? Does--does he everspeak of ME?"

"What do you think?" he said comfortably, changing his position in thechair, and trying to read her face in the shadow. "Come, now. You don'tknow, eh? Well--no! NO! You understand. No! He's MY friend--MINE! He'sstood by me through thick and thin. Run at my heels when everybody elsefled me. Dodged vigilance committees with me, laid out in the brush withme with his hand in mine when the sheriff's deputies were huntin' me;shut his jaw close when, if he squealed, he'd have been called anothervictim of the brute Horncastle, and been as petted and canoodled asyou. "

It would have been difficult for any one but the woman who knew the manbefore her to have separated his brutish delight in paining her fromanother feeling she had never dreamt him capable of, --an intenseand fierce pride in his affection for his child. And it was the morehopeless to her that it was not the mere sentiment of reciprocation, but the material instinct of paternity in its most animal form. And itseemed horrible to her that the only outcome of what had been her ownwild, youthful passion for this brute was this love for the flesh of herflesh, for she was more and more conscious as he spoke that heryearning for the boy was the yearning of an equally dumb and unreasoningmaternity. They had met again as animals--in fear, contempt, and angerof each other; but the animal had triumphed in both. 

When she spoke again it was as the woman of the world, --the woman whohad laughed two years ago at the irrepressible Barker. "It's a newthing, " she said, languidly turning her rings on her fingers, "to seeyou in the role of a doting father. And may I ask how long you have hadthis amiable weakness, and how long it is to last?"

To her surprise and the keen retaliating delight of her sex, a consciousflush covered his face to the crisp edges of his black and matted beard. For a moment she hoped that he had lied. But, to her greater surprise, he stammered in equal frankness: "It's growed upon me for the last fiveyears--ever since I was alone with him. " He stopped, cleared his throat, and then, standing up before her, said in his former voice, but with amore settled and intense deliberation: "You wanter know how long itwill last, do ye? Well, you know your special friend, Jim Stacy--the bigmillionaire--the great Jim of the Stock Exchange--the man that pinchesthe money market of Californy between his finger and thumb and makes itsqueal in New York--the man who shakes the stock market when he sneezes?Well, it will go on until that man is a beggar; until he has to borrowa dime for his breakfast, and slump out of his lunch with a cent'sworth of rat poison or a bullet in his head! It'll go on until his oldpartner--that softy George Barker--comes to the bottom of his d----dfool luck and is a penny-a-liner for the papers and a hanger-round atfree lunches, and his scatter-brained wife runs away with another man!It'll go on until the high-toned Demorest, the last of those threelittle tin gods of Heavy Tree Hill, will have to climb down, and willknow what I feel and what he's made me feel, and will wish himself inhell before he ever made the big strike on Heavy Tree! That's me! Youhear me! I'm shoutin'! It'll last till then! It may be next week, nextmonth, next year. But it'll come. And when it does come you'll see meand Eddy just waltzin' in and takin' the chief seats in the synagogue!And you'll have a free pass to the show!"

Either he was too intoxicated with his vengeful vision, or the shadowsof the room had deepened, but he did not see the quick flush thathad risen to his wife's face with this allusion to Barker, nor theafter-settling of her handsome features into a dogged determinationequal to his own. His blind fury against the three partners did nottouch her curiosity; she was only struck with the evident depth of hisemotion. He had never been a braggart; his hostility had always beenlazy and cynical. Remembering this, she had a faint stirring of respectfor the undoubted courage and consciousness of strength shown inthis wild but single-handed crusade against wealth and power; rather, perhaps, it seemed to her to condone her own weakness in her youthfuland inexplicable passion for him. No wonder she had submitted. 

"Then you have nothing more to tell me?" she said after a pause, risingand going towards the mantel. 

"You needn't light up for me, " he returned, rising also. "I am going. Unless, " he added, with his coarse laugh, "you think it wouldn't lookwell for Mrs. Horncastle to have been sitting in the dark with--astranger!" He paused as she contemptuously put down the candlestick andthrew the unlit match into the grate. "No, I've nothing more to tell. He's a fancy-looking pup. You'd take him for twenty-one, though he'sonly sixteen--clean-limbed and perfect--but for one thing"--He stopped. He met her quick look of interrogation, however, with a lowering silencethat, nevertheless, changed again as he surveyed her erect figure bythe faint light of the window with a sardonic smile. "He favors you, Ithink, and in all but one thing, too. "

"And that?" she queried coldly, as he seemed to hesitate. 

"He ain't ashamed of ME, " he returned, with a laugh. 

The door closed behind him; she heard his heavy step descend thecreaking stairs; he was gone. She went to the window and threw itopen, as if to get rid of the atmosphere charged with his presence, --apresence still so potent that she now knew that for the last fiveminutes she had been, to her horror, struggling against its magnetism. She even recoiled now at the thought of her child, as if, in these newconfidences over it, it had revived the old intimacy in this linkof their common flesh. She looked down from her window on the squareshoulders, thick throat, and crisp matted hair of her husband as hevanished in the darkness, and drew a breath of freedom, --a freedom notso much from him as from her own weakness that he was bearing away withhim into the exonerating night. 

She shut the window and sank down in her chair again, but in theencompassing and compassionate obscurity of the room. And this was theman she had loved and for whom she had wrecked her young life! Or WASit love? and, if NOT, how was she better than he? Worse; for he wasmore loyal to that passion that had brought them together and itsresponsibilities than she was. She had suffered the perils and pangs ofmaternity, and yet had only the mere animal yearning for her offspring, while he had taken over the toil and duty, and even the devotion, ofparentage himself. But then she remembered also how he had fascinatedher--a simple schoolgirl--by his sheer domineering strength, and how theobjections of her parents to this coarse and common man had forced herinto a clandestine intimacy that ended in her complete subjection tohim. She remembered the birth of an infant whose concealment from herparents and friends was compassed by his low cunning; she remembered thelate atonement of marriage preferred by the man she had already begunto loathe and fear, and who she now believed was eager only for herinheritance. She remembered her abject compliance through the greaterfear of the world, the stormy scenes that followed their ill-omenedunion, her final abandonment of her husband, and the efforts of herfriends and family who had rescued the last of her property from him. She was glad she remembered it; she dwelt upon it, upon his cruelty, hiscoarseness and vulgarity, until she saw, as she honestly believed, thehidden springs of his affection for their child. It was HIS child innature, however it might have favored her in looks; it was HIS ownbrutal SELF he was worshiping in his brutal progeny. How else could ithave ignored HER--its own mother? She never doubted the truth of whathe had told her--she had seen it in his own triumphant eyes. And yet shewould have made a kind mother; she remembered with a smile and a slightrising of color the affection of Barker's baby for her; she rememberedwith a deepening of that color the thrill of satisfaction she had feltin her husband's fulmination against Mrs. Barker, and, more than all, she felt in his blind and foolish hatred of Barker himself a deliciouscondonation of the strange feeling that had sprung up in her heart forBarker's simple, straightforward nature. How could HE understand, how could THEY understand (by the plural she meant Mrs. Barker andHorncastle), a character so innately noble. In her strange attractiontowards him she had felt a charming sense of what she believed was asuperior and even matronly protection; in the utter isolation of herlife now--and with her husband's foolish abuse of him ringing in herears--it seemed a sacred duty. She had lost a son. Providence had senther an ideal friend to replace him. And this was quite consistent, too, with a faint smile that began to play about her mouth as she recalledsome instances of Barker's delightful and irresistible youthfulness. 

There was a clatter of hoofs and the sound of many voices from thestreet. Mrs. Horncastle knew it was the down coach changing horses; itwould be off again in a few moments, and, no doubt, bearing her husbandaway with it. A new feeling of relief came over her as she at last heardthe warning "All aboard!" and the great vehicle clattered and rolledinto the darkness, trailing its burning lights across her walls andceiling. But now she heard steps on the staircase, a pause before herroom, a whisper of voices, the opening of the door, the rustle of askirt, and a little feminine cry of protest as a man apparently tried tofollow the figure into the room. "No, no! I tell you NO!" remonstratedthe woman's voice in a hurried whisper. "It won't do. Everybody knowsme here. You must not come in now. You must wait to be announced by theservant. Hush! Go!"

There was a slight struggle, the sound of a kiss, and the womansucceeded in finally shutting the door. Then she walked slowly, but witha certain familiarity towards the mantel, struck a match and lit thecandle. The light shone upon the bright eyes and slightly flushed faceof Mrs. Barker. But the motionless woman in the chair had recognized hervoice and the voice of her companion at once. And then their eyes met. 

Mrs. Barker drew back, but did not utter a cry. Mrs. Horncastle, witheyes even brighter than her companion's, smiled. The red deepened inMrs. Barker's cheek. 

"This is my room!" she said indignantly, with a sweeping gesture aroundthe walls. 

"I should judge so, " said Mrs. Horncastle, following the gesture; "but, "she added quietly, "they put ME into it. It appears, however, they didnot expect you. "

Mrs. Barker saw her mistake. "No, no, " she said apologetically, "ofcourse not. " Then she added, with nervous volubility, sitting down andtugging at her gloves, "You see, I just ran down from Marysville to takea look at my father's old house on my way to Hymettus. I hope I haven'tdisturbed you. Perhaps, " she said, with sudden eagerness, "you wereasleep when I came in!"

"No, " said Mrs. Horncastle, "I was not sleeping nor dreaming. I heardyou come in. "

"Some of these men are such idiots, " said Mrs. Barker, with ahalf-hysterical laugh. "They seem to think if a woman accepts the leastcourtesy from them they've a right to be familiar. But I fancy thatfellow was a little astonished when I shut the door in his face. "

"I fancy he WAS, " returned Mrs. Horncastle dryly. "But I shouldn't callMr. Van Loo an idiot. He has the reputation of being a cautious businessman. "

Mrs. Barker bit her lip. Her companion had been recognized. She rosewith a slight flirt of her skirt. "I suppose I must go and get a room;there was nobody in the office when I came. Everything is badly managedhere since my father took away the best servants to Hymettus. " Shemoved with affected carelessness towards the door, when Mrs. Horncastle, without rising from her seat, said:--

"Why not stay here?"

Mrs. Barker brightened for a moment. "Oh, " she said, with politedeprecation, "I couldn't think of turning you out. "

"I don't intend you shall, " said Mrs. Horncastle. "We will stay heretogether until you go with me to Hymettus, or until Mr. Van Loo leavesthe hotel. He will hardly attempt to come in here again if I remain. "

Mrs. Barker, with a half-laugh, sat down irresolutely. Mrs. Horncastlegazed at her curiously; she was evidently a novice in this sort ofthing. But, strange to say, --and I leave the ethics of this for the sexto settle, --the fact did not soften Mrs. Horncastle's heart, nor in theleast qualify her attitude towards the younger woman. After anawkward pause Mrs. Barker rose again. "Well, it's very good of you, and--and---I'll just run out and wash my hands and get the dust off me, and come back. "

"No, Mrs. Barker, " said Mrs. Horncastle, rising and approaching her, "you will first wash your hands of this Mr. Van Loo, and get some of thedust of the rendezvous off you before you do anything else. You CAN doit by simply telling him, SHOULD YOU MEET HIM IN THE HALL, that I wassitting here when he came in, and heard EVERYTHING! Depend upon it, hewon't trouble you again. "

But Mrs. Barker, though inexperienced in love, was a good fighter. The best of the sex are. She dropped into the rocking-chair, and beganrocking backwards and forwards while still tugging at her gloves, andsaid, in a gradually warming voice, "I certainly shall not magnify Mr. Van Loo's silliness to that importance. And I have yet to learn what youmean by talking about a rendezvous! And I want to know, " she continued, suddenly stopping her rocking and tilting the rockers impertinentlybehind her, as, with her elbows squared on the chair arms, she tiltedher own face defiantly up into Mrs. Horncastle's, "how a woman in yourposition--who doesn't live with her husband--dares to talk to ME!"

There was a lull before the storm. Mrs. Horncastle approached nearer, and, laying her hand on the back of the chair, leaned over her, and, with a white face and a metallic ring in her voice, said: "It is justbecause I am a woman IN MY POSITION that I do! It is because I don'tlive with my husband that I can tell you what it will be when you nolonger live with yours--which will be the inevitable result of what youare now doing. It is because I WAS in this position that the very manwho is pursuing you, because he thinks you are discontented with YOURhusband, once thought he could pursue me because I had left MINE. Youare here with him alone, without the knowledge of your husband; call itfolly, caprice, vanity, or what you like, it can have but one end--toput you in my place at last, to be considered the fair game afterwardsfor any man who may succeed him. You can test him and the truth of whatI say by telling him now that I heard all. "

"Suppose he doesn't care what you have heard, " said Mrs. Barker sharply. "Suppose he says nobody would believe you, if 'telling' is your game. Suppose he is a friend of my husband and he thinks him a much betterguardian of my reputation than a woman like you. Suppose he should bethe first one to tell my husband of the foul slander invented by you!"

For an instant Mrs. Horncastle was taken aback by the audacity of thewoman before her. She knew the simple confidence and boyish trust ofBarker in his wife in spite of their sometimes strained relations, andshe knew how difficult it would be to shake it. And she had no idea ofbetraying Mrs. Barker's secret to him, though she had made this scenein his interest. She had wished to save Mrs. Barker from a compromisingsituation, even if there was a certain vindictiveness in her exposingher to herself. Yet she knew it was quite possible now, if Mrs. Barkerhad immediate access to her husband, that she would convince him of herperfect innocence. Nevertheless, she had still great confidence in VanLoo's fear of scandal and his utter unmanliness. She knew he was notin love with Mrs. Barker, and this puzzled her when she considered theevident risk he was running now. Her face, however, betrayed nothing. She drew back from Mrs. Barker, and, with an indifferent and gracefulgesture towards the door, said, as she leaned against the mantel, "Go, then, and see this much-abused gentleman, and then go together with himand make peace with your husband--even on those terms. If I have savedyou from the consequences of your folly I shall be willing to bear evenHIS blame. "

"Whatever I do, " said Mrs. Barker, rising hotly, "I shall not stay hereany longer to be insulted. " She flounced out of the room and swept downthe staircase into the office. Here she found an overworked clerk, andwith crimson cheeks and flashing eyes wanted to know why in her ownfather's hotel she had found her own sitting-room engaged, and had beenobliged to wait half an hour before she could be shown into a decentapartment to remove her hat and cloak in; and how it was that eventhe gentleman who had kindly escorted her had evidently been unableto procure her any assistance. She said this in a somewhat high voice, which might have reached the ears of that gentleman had he been in thevicinity. But he was not, and she was forced to meet the somewhat dazedapologies of the clerk alone, and to accompany the chambermaid to a roomonly a few paces distant from the one she had quitted. Here she hastilyremoved her outer duster and hat, washed her hands, and consulted herexcited face in the mirror, with the door ajar and an ear sensitivelyattuned to any step in the corridor. But all this was effected sorapidly that she was at last obliged to sit down in a chair near thehalf-opened door, and wait. She waited five minutes--ten--but still nofootstep. Then she went out into the corridor and listened, and then, smoothing her face, she slipped downstairs, past the door of thathateful room, and reappeared before the clerk with a smiling butsomewhat pale and languid face. She had found the room very comfortable, but it was doubtful whether she would stay over night or go on toHymettus. Had anybody been inquiring for her? She expected to meetfriends. No! And her escort--the gentleman who came with her--waspossibly in the billiard-room or the bar?

"Oh no! He was gone, " said the clerk. 

"Gone!" echoed Mrs. Barker. "Impossible! He was--he was here only amoment ago. "

The clerk rang a bell sharply. The stableman appeared. 

"That tall, smooth-faced man, in a high hat, who came with the lady, "said the clerk severely and concisely, --"didn't you tell me he wasgone?"

"Yes, sir, " said the stableman. 

"Are you sure?" interrupted Mrs. Barker, with a dazzling smile that, however, masked a sudden tightening round her heart. 

"Quite sure, miss, " said the stableman, "for he was in the yard whenSteptoe came, after missing the coach. He wanted a buggy to take himover to the Divide. We hadn't one, so he went over to the other stables, and he didn't come back, so I reckon he's gone. I remember it, becauseSteptoe came by a minute after he'd gone, in another buggy, and as hewas going to the Divide, too, I wondered why the gentleman hadn't gonewith him. "

"And he left no message for me? He said nothing?" asked Mrs. Barker, quite breathless, but still smiling. 

"He said nothin' to me but 'Isn't that Steptoe over there?' when Steptoecame in. And I remember he said it kinder suddent--as if he was remindedo' suthin' he'd forgot; and then he asked for a buggy. Ye see, miss, " added the man, with a certain rough consideration for herdisappointment, "that's mebbe why he clean forgot to leave a message. "

Mrs. Barker turned away, and ascended the stairs. Selfishness is quickto recognize selfishness, and she saw in a flash the reason of Van Loo'sabandonment of her. Some fear of discovery had alarmed him; perhapsSteptoe knew her husband; perhaps he had heard of Mrs. Horncastle'spossession of the sitting-room; perhaps--for she had not seen him sincetheir playful struggle at the door--he had recognized the woman who wasthere, and the selfish coward had run away. Yes; Mrs. Horncastle wasright: she had been only a miserable dupe. 

Her cheeks blazed as she entered the room she had just quitted, and threw herself in a chair by the window. She bit her lip as sheremembered how for the last three months she had been slowly yieldingto Van Loo's cautious but insinuating solicitation, from a flirtation inthe San Francisco hotel to a clandestine meeting in the street; from aride in the suburbs to a supper in a fast restaurant after the theatre. Other women did it who were fashionable and rich, as Van Loo had pointedout to her. Other fashionable women also gambled in stocks, and hadtheir private broker in a "Charley" or a "Jack. " Why should not Mrs. Barker have business with a "Paul" Van Loo, particularly as this fastcraze permitted secret meetings?--for business of this kind could not beconducted in public, and permitted the fair gambler to call at privateoffices without fear and without reproach. Mrs. Barker's vanity, Mrs. Barker's love of ceremony and form, Mrs. Barker's snobbishness, wereflattered by the attentions of this polished gentleman with a foreignname, which even had the flavor of nobility, who never picked up her fanand handed it to her without bowing, and always rose when she enteredthe room. Mrs. Barker's scant schoolgirl knowledge was touched by thisgentleman, who spoke French fluently, and delicately explained to herthe libretto of a risky opera bouffe. And now she had finally yieldedto a meeting out of San Francisco--and an ostensible visit--still as aspeculator--to one or two mining districts--with HER BROKER. Thiswas the boldest of her steps--an original idea of the fashionable VanLoo--which, no doubt, in time would become a craze, too. But it was along step--and there was a streak of rustic decorum in Mrs. Barker'snature--the instinct that made Kitty Carter keep a perfectly secludedand distinct sitting-room in the days when she served her father'sguests--that now had impelled her to make it a proviso that the firststep of her journey should be from her old home in her father's hotel. It was this instinct of the proprieties that had revived in her suddenlyat the door of the old sitting-room. 

Then a new phase of the situation flashed upon her. It was hard for hervanity to accept Van Loo's desertion as voluntary and final. What ifthat hateful woman had lured him away by some trick or artfully designedmessage? She was capable of such meanness to insure the fulfillment ofher prophecy. Or, more dreadful thought, what if she had some hold onhis affections--she had said that he had pursued her; or, more infamousstill, there were some secret understanding between them, and thatshe--Mrs. Barker--was the dupe of them both! What was she doing in thehotel at such a moment? What was her story of going to Hymettus but alie as transparent as her own? The tortures of jealousy, which is asoften the incentive as it is the result of passion, began to rack her. She had probably yet known no real passion for this man; but with thethought of his abandoning her, and the conception of his faithlessness, came the wish to hold and keep him that was dangerously near it. Whatif he were even then in that room, the room where she had said she wouldnot stay to be insulted, and they, thus secured against her intrusion, were laughing at her now? She half rose at the thought, but a sound ofa horse's hoofs in the stable-yard arrested her. She ran to the windowwhich gave upon it, and, crouching down beside it, listened eagerly. Theclatter of hoofs ceased; the stableman was talking to some one;suddenly she heard the stableman say, "Mrs. Barker is here. " Her heartleaped, --Van Loo had returned. 

But here the voice of the other man which she had not yet heard arosefor the first time clear and distinct. "Are you quite sure? I didn'tknow she left San Francisco. "

The room reeled around her. The voice was George Barker's, her husband!"Very well, " he continued. "You needn't put up my horse for the night. Imay take her back a little later in the buggy. "

In another moment she had swept down the passage, and burst into theother room. Mrs. Horncastle was sitting by the table with a book in herhand. She started as the half-maddened woman closed the door, locked itbehind her, and cast herself on her knees at her feet. 

"My husband is here, " she gasped. "What shall I do? In heaven's namehelp me!"

"Is Van Loo still here?" said Mrs. Horncastle quickly. 

"No; gone. He went when I came. "

Mrs. Horncastle caught her hand and looked intently into her frightenedface. "Then what have you to fear from your husband?" she said abruptly. 

"You don't understand. He didn't know I was here. He thought me in SanFrancisco. "

"Does he know it now?"

"Yes. I heard the stableman tell him. Couldn't you say I came here withyou; that we were here together; that it was just a little freak ofours? Oh, do!"

Mrs. Horncastle thought a moment. "Yes, " she said, "we'll see him heretogether. "

"Oh no! no!" said Mrs. Barker suddenly, clinging to her dress andlooking fearfully towards the door. "I couldn't, COULDN'T see him now. Say I'm sick, tired out, gone to my room. "

"But you'll have to see him later, " said Mrs. Horncastle wonderingly. 

"Yes, but he may go first. I heard him tell them not to put up hishorse. "

"Good!" said Mrs. Horncastle suddenly. "Go to your room and lock thedoor, and I'll come to you later. Stop! Would Mr. Barker be likely todisturb you if I told him you would like to be alone?"

"No, he never does. I often tell him that. "

Mrs. Horncastle smiled faintly. "Come, quick, then, " she said, "for hemay come HERE first. "

Opening the door she passed into the half-dark and empty hall. "Nowrun!" She heard the quick rustle of Mrs. Barker's skirt die away in thedistance, the opening and shutting of a door--silence--and then turnedback into her own room. 

She was none too soon. Presently she heard Barker's voice saying, "Thankyou, I can find the way, " his still buoyant step on the staircase, andthen saw his brown curls rising above the railing. The light streamingthrough the open door of the sitting room into the half-lit hall hadpartially dazzled him, and, already bewildered, he was still moredazzled at the unexpected apparition of the smiling face and bright eyesof Mrs. Horncastle standing in the doorway. 

"You have fairly caught us, " she said, with charming composure; "but Ihad half a mind to let you wander round the hotel a little longer. Comein. " Barker followed her in mechanically, and she closed the door. "Now, sit down, " she said gayly, "and tell me how you knew we were here, andwhat you mean by surprising us at this hour. "

Barker's ready color always rose on meeting Mrs. Horncastle, for whomhe entertained a respectful admiration, not without some fear of herworldly superiority. He flushed, bowed, and stared somewhat blanklyaround the room, at the familiar walls, at the chair from which Mrs. Horncastle had just risen, and finally at his wife's glove, which Mrs. Horncastle had a moment before ostentatiously thrown on the table. Seeing which she pounced upon it with assumed archness, and pretended toconceal it. 

"I had no idea my wife was here, " he said at last, "and I was quitesurprised when the man told me, for she had not written to me about it. "As his face was brightening, she for the first time noticed that hisfrank gray eyes had an abstracted look, and there was a faint line ofcontraction on his youthful forehead. "Still less, " he added, "did Ilook for the pleasure of meeting you. For I only came here to inquireabout my old partner, Demorest, who arrived from Europe a few days ago, and who should have reached Hymettus early this afternoon. But now Ihear he came all the way by coach instead of by rail, and got off at thecross-road, and we must have passed each other on the different trails. So my journey would have gone for nothing, only that I now shall havethe pleasure of going back with you and Kitty. It will be a lovely driveby moonlight. "

Relieved by this revelation, it was easy work for Mrs. Horncastle tolaunch out into a playful, tantalizing, witty--but, I grieve to say, entirely imaginative--account of her escapade with Mrs. Barker. How, left alone at the San Francisco hotel while their gentlemen friendswere enjoying themselves at Hymettus, they resolved upon a little trip, partly for the purpose of looking into some small investments of theirown, and partly for the fun of the thing. What funny experiences theyhad! How, in particular, one horrid inquisitive, vulgar wretch had beenboring a European fellow passenger who was going to Hymettus, finallyasking him where he had come from last, and when he answered "Hymettus, "thought the man was insulting him--

"But, " interrupted the laughing Barker, "that passenger may have beenDemorest, who has just come from Greece, and surely Kitty would haverecognized him. "

Mrs. Horncastle instantly saw her blunder, and not only retrieved it, but turned it to account. Ah, yes! but by that time poor Kitty, unusedto long journeys and the heat, was utterly fagged out, was asleep, andperfectly unrecognizable in veils and dusters on the back seat of thecoach. And this brought her to the point--which was, that she was sorryto say, on arriving, the poor child was nearly wild with a headache fromfatigue and had gone to bed, and she had promised not to disturb her. 

The undisguised amusement, mingled with relief, that had overspreadBarker's face during this lively recital might have pricked theconscience of Mrs. Horncastle, but for some reason I fear it did not. But it emboldened her to go on. "I said I promised her that I would seeshe wasn't disturbed; but, of course, now that YOU, her HUSBAND, havecome, if"--

"Not for worlds, " interrupted Barker earnestly. "I know poor Kitty'sheadaches, and I never disturb her, poor child, except when I'mthoughtless. " And here one of the most thoughtful men in the world inhis sensitive consideration of others beamed at her with such frankand wonderful eyes that the arch hypocrite before him with difficultysuppressed a hysterical desire to laugh, and felt the conscious bloodflush her to the root of her hair. "You know, " he went on, with a sigh, half of relief and half of reminiscence, "that I often think I'm a greatbother to a clear-headed, sensible girl like Kitty. She knows people somuch better than I do. She's wonderfully equipped for the world, and, you see, I'm only 'lucky, ' as everybody says, and I dare say part ofmy luck was to have got her. I'm very glad she's a friend of yours, youknow, for somehow I fancied always that you were not interested in her, or that you didn't understand each other until now. It's odd that nicewomen don't always like nice women, isn't it? I'm glad she was with you;I was quite startled to learn she was here, and couldn't make it out. Ithought at first she might have got anxious about our little Sta, whois with me and the nurse at Hymettus. But I'm glad it was only a lark. Ishouldn't wonder, " he added, with a laugh, "although she always declaresshe isn't one of those 'doting, idiotic mothers, ' that she found it alittle dull without the boy, for all she thought it was better for ME totake him somewhere for a change of air. "

The situation was becoming more difficult for Mrs. Horncastle than shehad conceived. There had been a certain excitement in its first directappeal to her tact and courage, and even, she believed, an unselfishdesire to save the relations between husband and wife if she could. Butshe had not calculated upon his unconscious revelations, nor upon theireffect upon herself. She had concluded to believe that Kitty had, in amoment of folly, lent herself to this hare-brained escapade, but it nowmight be possible that it had been deliberately planned. Kitty had senther husband and child away three weeks before. Had she told the wholetruth? How long had this been going on? And if the soulless Van Loohad deserted her now, was it not, perhaps, the miserable ending of anintrigue rather than its beginning? Had she been as great a dupe of thiswoman as the husband before her? A new and double consciousness cameover her that for a moment prevented her from meeting his honest eyes. She felt the shame of being an accomplice mingled with a fierce joy atthe idea of a climax that might separate him from his wife forever. 

Luckily he did not notice it, but with a continued sense of relief threwhimself back in his chair, and glancing familiarly round the walls brokeinto his youthful laugh. "Lord! how I remember this room in the olddays. It was Kitty's own private sitting-room, you know, and I used tothink it looked just as fresh and pretty as she. I used to think hercrayon drawing wonderful, and still more wonderful that she should havethat unnecessary talent when it was quite enough for her to be just'Kitty. ' You know, don't you, how you feel at those times when you'requite happy in being inferior"--He stopped a moment with a suddenrecollection that Mrs. Horncastle's marriage had been notoriouslyunhappy. "I mean, " he went on with a shy little laugh and an innocentattempt at gallantry which the very directness of his simple nature madeatrociously obvious, --"I mean what you've made lots of young fellowsfeel. There used to be a picture of Colonel Brigg on the mantelpiece, infull uniform, and signed by himself 'for Kitty;' and Lord! how jealous Iwas of it, for Kitty never took presents from gentlemen, and nobody evenwas allowed in here, though she helped her father all over thehotel. She was awfully strict in those days, " he interpolated, witha thoughtful look and a half-sigh; "but then she wasn't married. Iproposed to her in this very room! Lord! I remember how frightened Iwas. " He stopped for an instant, and then said with a certain timidity, "Do you mind my telling you something about it?"

Mrs. Horncastle was hardly prepared to hear these ingenuous domesticdetails, but she smiled vaguely, although she could not suppress asomewhat impatient movement with her hands. Even Barker noticed it, butto her surprise moved a little nearer to her, and in a half-entreatingway said, "I hope I don't bore you, but it's something confidential. Doyou know that she first REFUSED me?"

Mrs. Horncastle smiled, but could not resist a slight toss of her head. "I believe they all do when they are sure of a man. "

"No!" said Barker eagerly, "you don't understand. I proposed to herbecause I thought I was rich. In a foolish moment I thought I haddiscovered that some old stocks I had had acquired a fabulous value. Shebelieved it, too, but because she thought I was now a rich man and sheonly a poor girl--a mere servant to her father's guests--she refused me. Refused me because she thought I might regret it in the future, becauseshe would not have it said that she had taken advantage of my proposalonly when I was rich enough to make it. "

"Well?" said Mrs. Horncastle incredulously, gazing straight before her;"and then?"

"In about an hour I discovered my error, that my stocks were worthless, that I was still a poor man. I thought it only honest to return to herand tell her, even though I had no hope. And then she pitied me, andcried, and accepted me. I tell it to you as her friend. " He drew alittle nearer and quite fraternally laid his hand upon her own. "I knowyou won't betray me, though you may think it wrong for me to have toldit; but I wanted you to know how good she was and true. "

For a moment Mrs. Horncastle was amazed and discomfited, although shesaw, with the inscrutable instinct of her sex, no inconsistency betweenthe Kitty of those days and the Kitty now shamefully hiding from herhusband in the same hotel. No doubt Kitty had some good reason for herchivalrous act. But she could see the unmistakable effect of that actupon the more logically reasoning husband, and that it might lead him tobe more merciful to the later wrong. And there was a keener irony thathis first movement of unconscious kindliness towards her was the outcomeof his affection for his undeserving wife. 

"You said just now she was more practical than you, " she said dryly. "Apart from this evidence of it, what other reasons have you forthinking so? Do you refer to her independence or her dealings in thestock market?" she added, with a laugh. 

"No, " said Barker seriously, "for I do not think her quite practicalthere; indeed, I'm afraid she is about as bad as I am. But I'm glad youhave spoken, for I can now talk confidentially with you, and as youand she are both in the same ventures, perhaps she will feel lesscompunction in hearing from you--as your own opinion--what I haveto tell you than if I spoke to her myself. I am afraid she trustsimplicitly to Van Loo's judgment as her broker. I believe he is strictlyhonorable, but the general opinion of his business insight is not high. They--perhaps I ought to say HE--have been at least so unlucky thatthey might have learned prudence. The loss of twenty thousand dollars inthree months"--

"Twenty thousand!" echoed Mrs. Horncastle. 

"Yes. Why, you knew that; it was in the mine you and she visited; or, perhaps, " he added hastily, as he flushed at his indiscretion, "shedidn't tell you that. "

But Mrs. Horncastle as hastily said, "Yes--yes--of course, only I hadforgotten the amount;" and he continued:--

"That loss would have frightened any man; but you women are more daring. Only Van Loo ought to have withdrawn. Don't you think so? Of course Icouldn't say anything to him without seeming to condemn my own wife; Icouldn't say anything to HER because it's her own money. "

"I didn't know that Mrs. Barker had any money of her own, " said Mrs. Horncastle. 

"Well, I gave it to her, " said Barker, with sublime simplicity, "andthat would make it all the worse for me to speak about it. "

Mrs. Horncastle was silent. A new theory flashed upon her which seemedto reconcile all the previous inconsistencies of the situation. VanLoo, under the guise of a lover, was really possessing himself of Mrs. Barker's money. This accounted for the risks he was running in thisescapade, which were so incongruous to the rascal's nature. He wascalculating that the scandal of an intrigue would relieve him ofthe perils of criminal defalcation. It was compatible with Kitty'sinnocence, though it did not relieve her vanity of the part it played inthis despicable comedy of passion. All that Mrs. Horncastle thought ofnow was the effect of its eventful revelation upon the man beforeher. Of course, he would overlook his wife's trustfulness and businessignorance--it would seem so like his own unselfish faith! That was thefault of all unselfish goodness; it even took the color of adjacentevil, without altering the nature of either. Mrs. Horncastle set herteeth tightly together, but her beautiful mouth smiled upon Barker, though her eyes were bent upon the tablecloth before her. 

"I shall do all I can to impress your views upon her, " she said at last, "though I fear they will have little weight if given as my own. And youoverrate my general influence with her. "

Her handsome head drooped in such a thoughtful humility that Barkerinstinctively drew nearer to her. Besides, she had not lifted her darklashes for some moments, and he had the still youthful habit of lookingfrankly into the eyes of those he addressed. 

"No, " he said eagerly; "how could I? She could not help but love youand do as you would wish. I can't tell you how glad and relieved I amto find that you and she have become such friends. You know I alwaysthought you beautiful, I always thought you so clever--I was even alittle frightened of you; but I never until now knew you were so GOOD. No, stop! Yes, I DID know it. Do you remember once in San Francisco, when I found you with Sta in your lap in the drawing-room? I knew itthen. You tried to make me think it was a whim--the fancy of a boredand worried woman. But I knew better. And I knew what you were thinkingthen. Shall I tell you?"

As her eyes were still cast down, although her mouth was still smiling, in his endeavors to look into them his face was quite near hers. Hefancied that it bore the look she had worn once before. 

"You were thinking, " he said in a voice which had grown suddenly quitehesitating and tremulous, --he did not know why, --"that the poor littlebaby was quite friendless and alone. You were pitying it--you know youwere--because there was no one to give it the loving care that was itsdue, and because it was intrusted to that hired nurse in that greathotel. You were thinking how you would love it if it were yours, and howcruel it was that Love was sent without an object to waste itself upon. You were: I saw it in your face. "

She suddenly lifted her eyes and looked full into his with a look thatheld and possessed him. For a moment his whole soul seemed to trembleon the verge of their lustrous depths, and he drew back dizzy andfrightened. What he saw there he never clearly knew; but, whatever itwas, it seemed to suddenly change his relations to her, to the room, tohis wife, to the world without. It was a glimpse of a world of whichhe knew nothing. He had looked frankly and admiringly into the eyes ofother pretty women; he had even gazed into her own before, but neverwith this feeling. A sudden sense that what he had seen there he hadhimself evoked, that it was an answer to some question he had scarcelyyet formulated, and that they were both now linked by an understandingand consciousness that was irretrievable, came over him. He roseawkwardly and went to the window. She rose also, but more leisurely andeasily, moved one of the books on the table, smoothed out her skirts, and changed her seat to a little sofa. It is the woman who always comesout of these crucial moments unruffled. 

"I suppose you will be glad to see your friend Mr. Demorest when yougo back, " she said pleasantly; "for of course he will be at Hymettusawaiting you. "

He turned eagerly, as he always did at the name. But even then he feltthat Demorest was no longer of such importance to him. He felt, too, that he was not yet quite sure of his voice or even what to say. As hehesitated she went on half playfully: "It seems hard that you had tocome all the way here on such a bootless errand. You haven't even seenyour wife yet. "

The mention of his wife recalled him to himself, oddly enough, whenDemorest's name had failed. But very differently. Out of his whirlingconsciousness came the instinctive feeling that he could not see hernow. He turned, crossed the room, sat down on the sofa beside Mrs. Horncastle, and without, however, looking at her, said, with his eyes onthe floor, "No; and I've been thinking that it's hardly worth while todisturb her so early to-morrow as I should have to go. So I think it'sa good deal better to let her have a good night's rest, remain herequietly with you to-morrow until the stage leaves, and that both of youcome over together. My horse is still saddled, and I will be back atHymettus before Demorest has gone to bed. "

He was obliged to look up at her as he rose. Mrs. Horncastle was sittingerect, beautiful and dazzling as even he had never seen her before. For his resolution had suddenly lifted a great weight from hershoulders, --the dangerous meeting of husband and wife the next morning, and its results, whatever they might be, had been quietly averted. Shefelt, too, a half-frightened joy even in the constrained manner in whichhe had imparted his determination. That frankness which even she hadsometimes found so crushing was gone. 

"I really think you are quite right, " she said, rising also, "and, besides, you see, it will give me a chance to talk to her as youwished. "

"To talk to her as I wished?" echoed Barker abstractedly. 

"Yes, about Van Loo, you know, " said Mrs. Horncastle, smiling. 

"Oh, certainly--about Van Loo, of course, " he returned hurriedly. 

"And then, " said Mrs. Horncastle brightly, "I'll tell her. Stay!" sheinterrupted herself hurriedly. "Why need I say anything about yourhaving been here AT ALL? It might only annoy her, as you yourselfsuggest. " She stopped breathlessly with parted lips. 

"Why, indeed?" said Barker vaguely. Yet all this was so unlike his usualtruthfulness that he slightly hesitated. 

"Besides, " continued Mrs. Horncastle, noticing it, "you know you canalways tell her later, if necessary. " And she added with a charmingmischievousness, "As she didn't tell you she was coming, I really don'tsee why you are bound to tell her that you were here. "

The sophistry pleased Barker, even though it put him into a certainretaliating attitude towards his wife which he was not aware of feeling. But, as Mrs. Horncastle put it, it was only a playful attitude. 

"Certainly, " he said. "Don't say anything about it. "

He moved to the door with his soft, broad-brimmed hat swinging betweenhis fingers. She noticed for the first time that he looked taller in hislong black serape and riding-boots, and, oddly enough, much more likethe hero of an amorous tryst than Van Loo. "I know, " she said brightly, "you are eager to get back to your old friend, and it would be selfishfor me to try to keep you longer. You have had a stupid evening, but youhave made it pleasant to me by telling me what you thought of me. Andbefore you go I want you to believe that I shall try to keep that goodopinion. " She spoke frankly in contrast to the slight worldly constraintof Barker's manner; it seemed as if they had changed characters. Andthen she extended her hand. 

With a low bow, and without looking up, he took it. Again theirpulses seemed to leap together with one accord and the same mysteriousunderstanding. He could not tell if he had unconsciously pressed herhand or if she had returned the pressure. But when their hands unclaspedit seemed as if it were the division of one flesh and spirit. 

She remained standing by the open door until his footsteps passed downthe staircase. Then she suddenly closed and locked the door with aninstinct that Mrs. Barker might at once return now that he was gone, andshe wished to be a moment alone to recover herself. But she presentlyopened it again and listened. There was a noise in the courtyard, but itsounded like the rattle of wheels more than the clatter of a horseman. Then she was overcome--a sudden sense of pity for the unfortunatewoman still hiding from her husband--and felt a momentary chivalrousexaltation of spirit. Certainly she had done "good" to that wretched"Kitty;" perhaps she had earned the epithet that Barker had applied toher. Perhaps that was the meaning of all this happiness to her, and theresult was to be only the happiness and reconciliation of the wife andhusband. This was to be her reward. I grieve to say that the tears hadcome into her beautiful eyes at this satisfactory conclusion, but shedashed them away and ran out into the hall. It was quite dark, but therewas a faint glimmer on the opposite wall as if the door of Mrs. Barker'sbedroom were ajar to an eager listener. She flew towards the glimmer, and pushed the door open: the room was empty. Empty of Mrs. Barker, empty of her dressing-box, her reticule and shawl. She was gone. 

Still, Mrs. Horncastle lingered; the woman might have got frightened andretreated to some further room at the opening of the door and the comingout of her husband. She walked along the passage, calling her namesoftly. She even penetrated the dreary, half-lit public parlor, expecting to find her crouching there. Then a sudden wild idea tookpossession of her: the miserable wife had repented of her act and ofher concealment, and had crept downstairs to await her husband in theoffice. She had told him some new lie, had begged him to take her withhim, and Barker, of course, had assented. Yes, she now knew why shehad heard the rattling wheels instead of the clattering hoofs she hadlistened for. They had gone together, as he first proposed, in thebuggy. 

She ran swiftly down the stairs and entered the office. The overworkedclerk was busy and querulously curt. These women were always asking suchidiotic questions. Yes, Mr. Barker had just gone. 

"With Mrs. Barker in the buggy?" asked Mrs. Horncastle. 

"No, as he came--on horseback. Mrs. Barker left HALF AN HOUR AGO. "

"Alone?"

This was apparently too much for the long-suffering clerk. He liftedhis eyes to the ceiling, and then, with painful precision, and accentingevery word with his pencil on the desk before him, said deliberately, "Mrs. George Barker--left--here--with her--escort--the--manshe--was--always--asking--for--in--the--buggy--at exactly--9. 35. " And heplunged into his work again. 

Mrs. Horncastle turned, ran up the staircase, re-entered thesitting-room, and slamming the door behind her, halted in the centre ofthe room, panting, erect, beautiful, and menacing. And she was alone inthis empty room--this deserted hotel. From this very room her husbandhad left her with a brutality on his lips. From this room the fooland liar she had tried to warn had gone to her ruin with a swindlinghypocrite. And from this room the only man in the world she ever caredfor had gone forth bewildered, wronged, and abused, and she knew now shecould have kept and comforted him. 

CHAPTER IV. 

When Philip Demorest left the stagecoach at the cross-roads he turnedinto the only wayside house, the blacksmith's shop, and, declaring hisintention of walking over to Hymettus, asked permission to leave hishand-bag and wraps until they could be sent after him. The blacksmithwas surprised that this "likely mannered, " distinguished-looking "cityman" should WALK eight miles when he could ride, and tried to dissuadehim, offering his own buggy. But he was still more surprised whenDemorest, laying aside his duster, took off his coat, and, slinging iton his arm, prepared to set forth with the good-humored assurance thathe would do the distance in a couple of hours and get in in time forsupper. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, " said the blacksmith grimly, "or even of getting a room. They're a stuck-up lot over there, and theyain't goin' to hump themselves over a chap who comes traipsin' alongthe road like any tramp, with nary baggage. " But Demorest laughinglyaccepted the risk, and taking his stout stick in one hand, pressed agold coin into the blacksmith's palm, which was, however, declinedwith such reddening promptness that Demorest as promptly reddened andapologized. The habits of European travel had been still strong on him, and he felt a slight patriotic thrill as he said, with a grave smile, "Thank you, then; and thank you still more for reminding me that I amamong my own 'people, '" and stepped lightly out into the road. 

The air was still deliciously cool, but warmer currents from the heatedpines began to alternate with the wind from the summit. He found himselfsometimes walking through a stratum of hot air which seemed to exhalefrom the wood itself, while his head and breast were swept by themountain breeze. He felt the old intoxication of the balmy-scentedair again, and the five years of care and hopelessness laid upon hisshoulders since he had last breathed its fragrance slipped from themlike a burden. There had been but little change here; perhaps the roadwas wider and the dust lay thicker, but the great pines still mountedin serried ranks on the slopes as before, with no gaps in their unendingfiles. Here was the spot where the stagecoach had passed them thateventful morning when they were coming out of their camp-life into theworld of civilization; a little further back, the spot where Jack Hamlinhad forced upon him that grim memento of the attempted robbery oftheir cabin, which he had kept ever since. He half smiled again at thesuperstitious interest that had made him keep it, with the intention ofsome day returning to bury it, with all recollections of the deed, underthe site of the old cabin. As he went on in the vivifying influence ofthe air and scene, new life seemed to course through his veins; his stepseemed to grow as elastic as in the old days of their bitter but hopefulstruggle for fortune, when he had gayly returned from his weekly trampto Boomville laden with the scant provision procured by their scantearnings and dying credit. Those were the days when HER living imagestill inspired his heart with faith and hope; when everything was yetpossible to youth and love, and before the irony of fate had givenhim fortune with one hand only to withdraw HER with the other. Itwas strange and cruel that coming back from his quest of rest andforgetfulness he should find only these youthful and sanguine dreamsrevive with his reviving vigor. He walked on more hurriedly as if toescape them, and was glad to be diverted by one or two carryalls andchar-a-bancs filled with gayly dressed pleasure parties--evidentlyvisitors to Hymettus--which passed him on the road. Here were the firstsigns of change. He recalled the train of pack-mules of the old days, the file of pole-and-basket carrying Chinese, the squaw with the papoosestrapped to her shoulder, or the wandering and foot-sore prospector, whowere the only wayfarers he used to meet. He contrasted their halts andfriendly greetings with the insolent curiosity or undisguised contemptof the carriage folk, and smiled as he thought of the warning of theblacksmith. But this did not long divert him; he found himself againreturning to his previous thought. Indeed, the face of a young girl inone of the carriages had quite startled him with its resemblance to anold memory of his lost love as he saw her, --her frail, pale eleganceencompassed in laces as she leaned back in her drive through FifthAvenue, with eyes that lit up and became transfigured only as hepassed. He tried to think of his useless quest in search of her lastresting-place abroad; how he had been baffled by the opposition of hersurviving relations, already incensed by the thought that her declinehad been the effect of her hopeless passion. He tried to recall the fewfrigid lines that reconveyed to him the last letter he had sent her, with the announcement of her death and the hope that "his persecutions"would now cease. A wild idea had sometimes come to him out of the veryinsufficiency of his knowledge of this climax, but he had always putit aside as a precursor of that madness which might end his ceaselessthought. And now it was returning to him, here, thousands of miles awayfrom where she was peacefully sleeping, and even filling him with thevigor of youthful hope. 

The brief mountain twilight was giving way now to the radiance of therising moon. He endeavored to fix his thoughts upon his partners whowere to meet him at Hymettus after these long years of separation. 

Hymettus! He recalled now the odd coincidence that he had mischievouslyused as a gag to his questioning fellow traveler; but now he had reallycome from a villa near Athens to find his old house thus classicallyrechristened after it, and thought of it with a gravity he had not feltbefore. He wondered who had named it. There was no suggestion of thesoft, sensuous elegance of the land he had left in those great heroicsof nature before him. Those enormous trees were no woods for fauns ordryads; they had their own godlike majesty of bulk and height, and as heat last climbed the summit and saw the dark-helmeted head of Black Spurbefore him, and beyond it the pallid, spiritual cloud of the Sierras, hedid not think of Olympus. Yet for a moment he was startled, as he turnedto the right, by the Doric-columned facade of a temple painted by themoonbeams and framed in an opening of the dark woods before him. Itwas not until he had reached it that he saw that it was the new woodenpost-office of Heavy Tree Hill. 

And now the buildings of the new settlement began to faintly appear. Butthe obscurity of the shadow and the equally disturbing unreality of themoonlight confused him in his attempts to recognize the old landmarks. A broad and well-kept winding road had taken the place of the oldsteep, but direct trail to his cabin. He had walked for some moments inuncertainty, when a sudden sweep of the road brought the full crestof the hill above and before him, crowned with a tiara of lights, overtopping a long base of flashing windows. That was all that was leftof Heavy Tree Hill. The old foreground of buckeye and odorous ceanothuswas gone. Even the great grove of pines behind it had vanished. 

There was already a stir of life in the road, and he could see figuresmoving slowly along a kind of sterile, formal terrace spread with a fewdreary marble vases and plaster statues which had replaced the naturalslope and the great quartz buttresses of outcrop that supported it. Presently he entered a gate, and soon found himself in the carriagedrive leading to the hotel veranda. A number of fair promenaders werefacing the keen mountain night wind in wraps and furs. Demorest hadreplaced his coat, but his boots were red with dust, and as he ascendedthe steps he could see that he was eyed with some superciliousness bythe guests and with considerable suspicion by the servants. One of thelatter was approaching him with an insolent smile when a figure dartedfrom the vestibule, and, brushing the waiter aside, seized Demorest'stwo hands in his and held him at arm's length. 

"Demorest, old man!"

"Stacy, old chap!"

"But where's your team? I've had all the spare hostlers and hall-boyslistening for you at the gate. And where's Barker? When he found you'dgiven the dead-cut to the railroad--HIS railroad, you know--he lopedover to Boomville after you. "

Demorest briefly explained that he had walked by the old road andprobably missed him. But by this time the waiters, crushed by thespectacle of this travel-worn stranger's affectionate reception bythe great financial magnate, were wildly applying their brushes andhandkerchiefs to his trousers and boots until Stacy again swept themaway. 

"Get off, all of you! Now, Phil, you come with me. The house is full, but I've made the manager give you a lady's drawing-room suite. When youtelegraphed you'd meet us HERE there was no chance to get anything else. It's really Mrs. Van Loo's family suite; but they were sent for to go toMarysville yesterday, and so we'll run you in for the night. "

"But"--protested Demorest. 

"Nonsense!" said Stacy, dragging him away. "We'll pay for it; and Ireckon the old lady won't object to taking her share of the damageeither, or she isn't Van Loo's mother. Come. "

Demorest felt himself hurried forward by the energetic Stacy, precededby the obsequious manager, through a corridor to a handsomely furnishedsuite, into whose bathroom Stacy incontinently thrust him. 

"There! Wash up; and by the time you're ready Barker ought to be back, and we'll have supper. It's waiting for us in the other room. "

"But how about Barker, the dear boy?" persisted Demorest, holding openthe door. "Tell me, is he well and happy?"

"About as well as we all are, " said Stacy quickly, yet with a certaindry significance. "Never mind now; wait until you see him. "

The door closed. When Demorest had finished washing, and wiped away thelast red stain of the mountain road, he found Stacy seated by the windowof the larger sitting-room. In the centre a table was spread for supper. A bright fire of hickory logs burnt on a marble hearth between twolarge windows that gave upon the distant outline of Black Spur. As Stacyturned towards him, by the light of the shaded lamp and flickering fire, Demorest had a good look at the face of his old friend and partner. Itwas as keen and energetic as ever, with perhaps an even more hawk-likeactivity visible in the eye and nostril; but it was more thoughtful andreticent in the lines of the mouth under the closely clipped beard andmustache, and when he looked up, at first there were two deep lines orfurrows across his low broad forehead. Demorest fancied, too, thatthere was a little of the old fighting look in his eye, but it softenedquickly as his friend approached, and he burst out with his curt buthonest single-syllabled laugh. "Ha! You look a little less like a rovingApache than you did when you came. I really thought the waiters weregoing to chuck you. And you ARE tanned! Darned if you don't look likethe profile stamped on a Continental penny! But here's luck and awelcome back, old man!"

Demorest passed his arm around the neck of his seated partner, andgrasping his upraised hand said, looking down with a smile, "And nowabout Barker. "

"Oh, Parker, d--n him! He's the same unshakable, unchangeable, ungrow-upable Barker! With the devil's own luck, too! Waltzing intorisks and waltzing out of 'em. With fads enough to put him in the insaneasylum if people did not prefer to keep him out of it to help'em. Always believing in everybody, until they actually believe inthemselves, and shake him! And he's got a wife that's making a fool ofherself, and I shouldn't wonder in time--of him!"

Demorest pressed his hand over his partner's mouth. "Come, Jim! You knowyou never really liked that marriage, simply because you thought thatold man Carter made a good thing of it. And you never seem to have takeninto consideration the happiness Barker got out of it, for he DID lovethe girl. And he still is happy, is he not?" he added quickly, as Stacyuttered a grunt. 

"As happy as a man can be who has his child here with a nurse while hiswife is gallivanting in San Francisco, and throwing her money--andLord knows what else--away at the bidding of a smooth-tongued, shadyoperator. "

"Does HE complain of it?" asked Demorest. 

"Not he; the fool trusts her!" said Stacy curtly. 

Demorest laughed. "That is happiness! Come, Jim! don't let us begrudgehim that. But I've heard that his affairs have again prospered. "

"He built this railroad and this hotel. The bank owns both now. Hedidn't care to keep money in them after they were a success; said hewasn't an engineer nor a hotel-keeper, and drew it out to find somethingnew. But here he comes, " he added, as a horseman dashed into the drivebefore the hotel. "Question him yourself. You know you and he always getalong best without me. "

In another moment Barker had burst into the room, and in his firsttempestuous greeting of Demorest the latter saw little change in hisyounger partner as he held him at arm's length to look at him. "Why, Barker boy, you haven't got a bit older since the day when--youremember--you went over to Boomville to cash your bonds, and then cameback and burst upon us like this to tell us you were a beggar. "

"Yes, " laughed Barker, "and all the while you fellows were holding fouraces up your sleeve in the shape of the big strike. "

"And you, Georgy, old boy, " returned Demorest, swinging Barker's twohands backwards and forwards, "were holding a royal flush up yours inthe shape of your engagement to Kitty. "

The fresh color died out of Barker's cheek even while the frank laughwas still on his mouth. He turned his face for a moment towards thewindow, and a swift and almost involuntary glance passed between theothers. But he almost as quickly turned his glistening eyes back toDemorest again, and said eagerly, "Yes, dear Kitty! You shall see herand the baby to-morrow. "

Then they fell upon the supper with the appetites of the Past, and forsome moments they all talked eagerly and even noisily together, all atthe same time, with even the spirits of the Past. They recalled everydetail of their old life; eagerly and impetuously recounted the oldstruggles, hopes, and disappointments, gave the strange importance ofschoolboys to unimportant events, and a mystic meaning to a shibbolethof their own; roared over old jokes with a delight they had never sincegiven to new; reawakened idiotic nicknames and bywords with intenseenjoyment; grew grave, anxious, and agonized over forgotten names, trifling dates, useless distances, ineffective records, and feeblechronicles of their domestic economy. It was the thoughtful andmelancholy Demorest who remembered the exact color and price paid fora certain shirt bought from a Greaser peddler amidst the envy of hiscompanions; it was the financial magnate, Stacy, who could inform themwhat were the exact days they had saleratus bread and when flapjacks;it was the thoughtless and mercurial Barker who recalled with unheard-ofaccuracy, amidst the applause of the others, the full name of theIndian squaw who assisted at their washing. Even then they were almostfeverishly loath to leave the subject, as if the Past, at least, wassecure to them still, and they were even doubtful of their own free andfull accord in the Present. Then they slipped rather reluctantlyinto their later experiences, but with scarcely the same freedom orspontaneity; and it was noticeable that these records were elicited fromBarker by Stacy or from Stacy by Barker for the information of Demorest, often with chaffing and only under good-humored protest. "Tell Demoresthow you broke the 'Copper Ring, '" from the admiring Barker, or, "TellDemorest how your d----d foolishness in buying up the right and plant ofthe Ditch Company got you control of the railroad, " from the mischievousStacy, were challenges in point. Presently they left the table, and, tothe astonishment of the waiters who removed the cloth, common brier-woodpipes, thoughtfully provided by Barker in commemoration of the Past, were lit, and they ranged themselves in armchairs before the fire quiteunconsciously in their old attitudes. The two windows on either side ofthe hearth gave them the same view that the open door of the old cabinhad made familiar to them, the league-long valley below the shadowy bulkof the Black Spur rising in the distance, and, still more remote, thepallid snow-line that soared even beyond its crest. 

As in the old time, they were for many moments silent; and then, as inthe old time, it was the irrepressible Barker who broke the silence. "But Stacy does not tell you anything about his friend, the beautifulMrs. Horncastle. You know he's the guardian of one of the finest womenin California--a woman as noble and generous as she is handsome. Andthink of it! He's protecting her from her brute of a husband, andlooking after her property. Isn't it good and chivalrous of him?"

The irrepressible laughter of the two men brought only wonder andreproachful indignation into the widely opened eyes of Barker. HE wasperfectly sincere. He had been thinking of Stacy's admiration forMrs. Horncastle in his ride from Boomville, and, strange to say, yetcharacteristic of his nature, it was equally the natural outcome of hisinterview with her and the singular effect she had upon him. That he(Barker) thoroughly sympathized with her only convinced him that Stacymust feel the same for her, and that, no doubt, she must respond to himequally. And how noble it was in his old partner, with his advantages ofposition in the world and his protecting relations to her, not to availhimself of this influence upon her generous nature. If he himself--amarried man and the husband of Kitty--was so conscious of her charm, howmuch greater it must be to the free and INEXPERIENCED Stacy. 

The italics were in Barker's thought; for in those matters he feltthat Stacy and even Demorest, occupied in other things, had not hisknowledge. There was no idea or consciousness of heroically sacrificinghimself or Mrs. Horncastle in this. I am afraid there was not even anidea of a superior morality in himself in giving up the possibilityof loving her. Ever since Stacy had first seen her he had fancied thatStacy liked her, --indeed, Kitty fancied it, too, --and it seemed almostprovidential now that he should know how to assist his old partner tohappiness. For it was inconceivable that Stacy should not be ableto rescue this woman from her shameful bonds, or that she should notconsent to it through his (Barker's) arguments and entreaties. To a"champion of dames" this seemed only right and proper. In his unfailingoptimism he translated Stacy's laugh as embarrassment and Demorest's asonly ignorance of the real question. But Demorest had noticed, if he hadnot, that Stacy's laugh was a little nervously prolonged for a man ofhis temperament, and that he had cast a very keen glance at Barker. Amessenger arriving with a telegram brought from Boomville called Stacymomentarily away, and Barker was not slow to take advantage of hisabsence. 

"I wish, Phil, " he said, hitching his chair closer to Demorest, "that you would think seriously of this matter, and try to persuadeStacy--who, I believe, is more interested in Mrs. Horncastle than hecares to show--to put a little of that determination in love that he hasshown in business. She's an awfully fine woman, and in every way suitedto him, and he is letting an absurd sense of pride and honor keep himfrom influencing her to get rid of her impossible husband. There's noreason, " continued Barker in a burst of enthusiastic simplicity, "thatBECAUSE she has found some one she likes better, and who would treather better, that she should continue to stick to that beast whom allCalifornia would gladly see her divorced from. I never could understandthat kind of argument, could you?"

Demorest looked at his companion's glowing cheek and kindling eye witha smile. "A good deal depends upon the side from which you argue. But, frankly, Barker boy, though I think I know you in all your phases, I amnot prepared yet to accept you as a match-maker! However, I'll think itover, and find out something more of this from your goddess, who seemsto have bewitched you both. But what does Mistress Kitty say to youradmiration?"

Barker's face clouded, but instantly brightened. "Oh, they're the bestof friends; they're quite like us, you know, even to larks they havetogether. " He stopped and colored at his slip. But Demorest, who hadnoticed his change of expression, was more concerned at the look of halfincredulity and half suspicion with which Stacy, who had re-enteredthe room in time to hear Barker's speech, was regarding his unconsciousyounger partner. 

"I didn't know that Mrs. Horncastle and Mrs. Barker were such friends, "he said dryly as he sat down again. But his face presently became soabstracted that Demorest said gayly:--

"Well, Jim, I'm glad I'm not a Napoleon of Finance! I couldn't standit to have my privacy or my relaxation broken in upon at any moment, asyours was just now. What confounded somersault in stocks has put thatface on you?"

Stacy looked up quickly with his brief laugh. "I'm afraid you'd be nonethe wiser if I told you. That was a pony express messenger from NewYork. You remember how Barker, that night of the strike, when we weresitting together here, or very near here, proposed that we ought to havea password or a symbol to call us together in case of emergency, foreach other's help? Well, let us say I have two partners, one in Europeand one in New York. That was my password. "

"And, I hope, no more serious than ours, " added Demorest. 

Stacy laughed his short laugh. Nevertheless, the conversation draggedagain. The feverish gayety of the early part of the evening was gone, and they seemed to be suffering from the reaction. They fell into theirold attitudes, looking from the firelight to the distant bulk of BlackSpur without a word. The occasional sound of the voices of promenaderson the veranda at last ceased; there was the noise of the shutting ofheavy doors below, and Barker rose. 

"You'll excuse me, boys; but I must go and say good-night to littleSta, and see that he's all right. I haven't seen him since I got back. But"--to Demorest--"you'll see him to-morrow, when Kitty comes. It is asmuch as my life is worth to show him before she certifies him as beingpresentable. " He paused, and then added: "Don't wait up, you fellows, for me; sometimes the little chap won't let me go. It's as if hethought, now Kitty's away, I was all he had. But I'll be up early in themorning and see you. I dare say you and Stacy have a heap to say to eachother on business, and you won't miss me. So I'll say good-night. " Helaughed lightly, pressed the hands of his partners in his usual heartyfashion, and went out of the room, leaving the gloom a little deeperthan before. It was so unusual for Barker to be the first to leaveanybody or anything in trouble that they both noticed it. "But forthat, " said Demorest, turning to Stacy as the door closed, "I should saythe dear fellow was absolutely unchanged. But he seemed a little anxiousto-night. "

"I shouldn't wonder. He's got two women on his mind, --as if one was notenough. "

"I don't understand. You say his wife is foolish, and this other"--

"Never mind that now, " interrupted Stacy, getting up and putting downhis pipe. "Let's talk a little business. That other stuff will keep. "

"By all means, " said Demorest, with a smile, settling down into hischair a little wearily, however. "I forgot business. And I forgot, mydear Jim, to congratulate you. I've heard all about you, even in NewYork. You're the man who, according to everybody, now holds thefinances of the Pacific Slope in his hands. And, " he added, leaningaffectionately towards his old partner, "I don't know any one betterequipped in honesty, straightforwardness, and courage for such aresponsibility than you. "

"I only wish, " said Stacy, looking thoughtfully at Demorest, "that Ididn't hold nearly a million of your money included in the finances ofthe Pacific Slope. "

"Why, " said the smiling Demorest, "as long as I am satisfied?"

"Because I am not. If you're satisfied, I'm a wretched idiot and notfit for my position. Now, look here, Phil. When you wrote me to sellout your shares in the Wheat Trust I was a little staggered. I knew yourgait, my boy, and I knew, too, that, while you didn't know enough totrust your own opinions or feeling, you knew too much to trust any one'sopinion that wasn't first-class. So I reckoned you had the straight tip;but I didn't see it. Now, I ought not to have been staggered if I wasfit for your confidence, or, if I was staggered, I ought to have hadenough confidence in myself not to mind you. See?"

"I admit your logic, old man, " said Demorest, with an amused face, "butI don't see your premises. WHEN did I tell you to sell out?"

"Two days ago. You wrote just after you arrived. "

"I have never written to you since I arrived. I only telegraphed to youto know where we should meet, and received your message to come here. "

"You never wrote me from San Francisco?"

"Never. "

Stacy looked concernedly at his friend. Was he in his right mind? He hadheard of cases where melancholy brooding on a fixed idea had affectedthe memory. He took from his pocket a letter-case, and selecting aletter handed it to Demorest without speaking. 

Demorest glanced at it, turned it over, read its contents, and ina grave voice said, "There is something wrong here. It is like myhandwriting, but I never wrote the letter, nor has it been in my handbefore. "

Stacy sprang to his side. "Then it's a forgery!"

"Wait a moment. " Demorest, who, although very grave, was the morecollected of the two, went to a writing-desk, selected a sheet of paper, and took up a pen. "Now, " he said, "dictate that letter to me. "

Stacy began, Demorest's pen rapidly following him:--

"DEAR JIM, --On receipt of this get rid of my Wheat Trust shares atwhatever figure you can. From the way things pointed in New York"--

"Stop!" interrupted Demorest. 

"Well?" said Stacy impatiently. 

"Now, my dear Jim, " said Demorest plaintively, "when did you ever knowme to write such a sentence as 'the way things pointed'?"

"Let me finish reading, " said Stacy. This literary sensitiveness at sucha moment seemed little short of puerility to the man of business. 

"From the way things pointed in New York, " continued Stacy, "and fromprivate advices received, this seems to be the only prudent coursebefore the feathers begin to fly. Longing to see you again and the dearold stamping-ground at Heavy Tree. Love to Barker. Has the dear old boybeen at any fresh crank lately?

"Yours, PHIL DEMOREST. "

The dictation and copy finished together. Demorest laid the freshlywritten sheet beside the letter Stacy had produced. They were very muchalike and yet quite distinct from each other. Only the signature seemedidentical. 

"That's the invariable mistake with the forger, " said Demorest; "healways forgets that signatures ought to be identical with the textrather than with each other. "

But Stacy did not seem to hear this or require further proof. His facewas quite gray and his lips compressed until lost in his closely setbeard as he gazed fixedly out of the window. For the first time, reallyconcerned and touched, Demorest laid his hand gently on his shoulder. 

"Tell me, Jim, how much does this mean to you apart from me? Don't thinkof me. "

"I don't know yet, " said Stacy slowly. "That's the trouble. And I won'tknow until I know who's at the bottom of it. Does anybody know of youraffairs with me?"

"No one. "

"No confidential friend, eh?"

"None. "

"No one who has access to your secrets? No--no--woman? Excuse me, Phil, "he said, as a peculiar look passed over Demorest's face, "but this isbusiness. "

"No, " he returned, with that gentleness that used to frighten themin the old days, "it's ignorance. You fellows always say 'Cherchez lafemme' when you can't say anything else. Come now, " he went on morebrightly, "look at the letter. Here's a man, commercially educated, for he has used the usual business formulas, 'on receipt of this, ' and'advices received, ' which I won't merely say I don't use, but whichfew but commercial men use. Next, here's a man who uses slang, not onlyineptly, but artificially, to give the letter the easy, familiar turnit hasn't from beginning to end. I need only say, my dear Stacy, thatI don't write slang to you, but that nobody who understands slang everwrites it in that way. And then the knowledge of my opinion of Barker issuch as might be gained from the reading of my letters by a person whocouldn't comprehend my feelings. Now, let me play inquisitor for a fewmoments. Has anybody access to my letters to YOU?"

"No one. I keep them locked up in a cabinet. I only make memorandums ofyour instructions, which I give to my clerks, but never your letters. "

"But your clerks sometimes see you make memorandums from them?"

"Yes, but none of them have the ability to do this sort of thing, northe opportunity of profiting by it. "

"Has any woman--now this is not retaliation, my dear Jim, for I fancy Idetect a woman's cleverness and a woman's stupidity in this forgery--anyaccess to your secrets or my letters? A woman's villainy is alwayseffective for the moment, but always defective when probed. "

The look of scorn which passed over Stacy's face was quite as distinctas Demorest's previous protest, as he said contemptuously, "I'm not sucha fool as to mix up petticoats with my business, whatever I do. "

"Well, one thing more. I have told you that in my opinion the forger hasa commercial education or style, that he doesn't know me nor Barker, anddon't understand slang. Now, I have to add what must have occurredto you, Jim, that the forger is either a coward, or his object is notaltogether mercenary: for the same ability displayed in this letterwould on the signature alone--had it been on a check or draft--havedrawn from your bank twenty times the amount concerned. Now, what is theactual loss by this forgery?"

"Very little; for you've got a good price for your stocks, consideringthe depreciation in realizing suddenly on so large an amount. I told mybroker to sell slowly and in small quantities to avoid a panic. But thereal loss is the control of the stock. "

"But the amount I had was not enough to affect that, " said Demorest. 

"No, but I was carrying a large amount myself, and together wecontrolled the market, and now I have unloaded, too. "

"You sold out! and with your doubts?" said Demorest. 

"That's just it, " said Stacy, looking steadily at his companion's face, "because I HAD doubts, and it won't do for me to have them. I oughteither to have disobeyed your letter and kept your stock and my own, orhave done just what I did. I might have hedged on my own stock, butI don't believe in hedging. There is no middle course to a man in mybusiness if he wants to keep at the top. No great success, no greatpower, was ever created by it. "

Demorest smiled. "Yet you accept the alternative also, which is ruin?"

"Precisely, " said Stacy. "When you returned the other day you were boundto find me what I was or a beggar. But nothing between. However, " headded, "this has nothing to do with the forgery, or, " he smiled grimly, "everything to do with it. Hush! Barker is coming. "

There was a quick step along the corridor approaching the room. Thenext moment the door flew open to the bounding step and laughing faceof Barker. Whatever of thoughtfulness or despondency he had carried fromthe room with him was completely gone. With his amazing buoyancy andpower of reaction he was there again in his usual frank, cheerfulsimplicity. 

"I thought I'd come in and say goodnight, " he began, with a laugh. "I got Sta asleep after some high jinks we had together, and then Ireckoned it wasn't the square thing to leave just you two together, thefirst night you came. And I remembered I had some business to talk over, too, so I thought I'd chip in again and take a hand. It's only the shankof the evening yet, " he continued gayly, "and we ought to sit up atleast long enough to see the old snow-line vanish, as we did in oldtimes. But I say, " he added suddenly, as he glanced from the one to theother, "you've been having it pretty strong already. Why, you both lookas you did that night the backwater of the South Fork came into ourcabin. What's up?"

"Nothing, " said Demorest hastily, as he caught a glance of Stacy'simpatient face. "Only all business is serious, Barker boy, though youdon't seem to feel it so. "

"I reckon you're right there, " said Barker, with a chuckle. "Peoplealways laugh, of course, when I talk business, so it might make it alittle livelier for you and more of a change if I chipped in now. Only Idon't know which you'll do. Hand me a pipe. Well, " he continued, fillingthe pipe Demorest shoved towards him, "you see, I was in Sacramentoyesterday, and I went into Van Loo's branch office, as I heard he wasthere, and I wanted to find out something about Kitty's investments, which I don't think he's managing exactly right. He wasn't there, however, but as I was waiting I heard his clerks talk about a drop inthe Wheat Trust, and that there was a lot of it put upon the market. They seemed to think that something had happened, and it was going downstill further. Now I knew it was your pet scheme, and that Phil had alot of shares in it, too, so I just slipped out and went to a broker'sand told him to buy all he could of it. And, by Jove! I was a littletaken aback when I found what I was in for, for everybody seemed to haveunloaded, and I found I hadn't money enough to pay margins, but I knewthat Demorest was here, and I reckoned on his seeing me through. " Hestopped and colored, but added hopefully, "I reckon I'm safe, anyway, for just as the thing was over those same clerks of Van Loo's camebounding into the office to buy up everything. And offered to take itoff my hands and pay the margins. "

"And you?" said both men eagerly, and in a breath. 

Barker stared at them, and reddened and paled by turns. "I held on, " hestammered. "You see, boys"--

Both men had caught him by the arms. "How much have you got?" they said, shaking him as if to precipitate the answer. 

"It's a heap!" said Barker. "It's a ghastly lot now I think of it. I'mafraid I'm in for fifty thousand, if a cent. "

To his infinite astonishment and delight he was alternately hugged andtossed backwards and forwards between the two men quite in the fashionof the old days. Breathless but laughing, he at length gasped out, "Whatdoes it all mean?"

"Tell him everything, Jim, --EVERYTHING, " said Demorest quickly. 

Stacy briefly related the story of the forgery, and then laid the letterand its copy before him. But Barker only read the forgery. 

"How could YOU, Stacy--one of the three partners of Heavy Tree--bedeceived! Don't you see it's Phil's handwriting--but it isn't PHIL!"

"But have you any idea WHO it is?" said Stacy. 

"Not me, " said Barker, with widely opened eyes. "You see it must besomebody whom we are familiar with. I can't imagine such a scoundrel. "

"How did YOU know that Demorest had stock?" asked Stacy. 

"He told me in one of his letters and advised me to go into it. But justthen Kitty wanted money, I think, and I didn't go in. "

"I remember it, " struck in Demorest. "But surely it was no secret. Myname would be on the transfer books for any one to see. "

"Not so, " said Stacy quickly. "You were one of the originalshareholders; there was no transfer, and the books as well as the sharesof the company were in my hands. "

"And your clerks?" added Demorest. 

Stacy was silent. After a pause he asked, "Did anybody ever see thatletter, Barker?"

"No one but myself and Kitty. "

"And would she be likely to talk of it?" continued Stacy. 

"Of course not. Why should she? Whom could she talk to?" Yet he stoppedsuddenly, and then with his characteristic reaction added, with a laugh, "Why no, certainly not. "

"Of course, everybody knew that you had bought the shares atSacramento?"

"Yes. Why, you know I told you the Van Loo clerks came to me and wantedto take it off my hands. "

"Yes, I remember; the Van Loo clerks; they knew it, of course, " saidStacy with a grim smile. "Well, boys, " he said, with sudden alacrity, "I'm going to turn in, for by sun-up to-morrow I must be on my way tocatch the first train at the Divide for 'Frisco. We'll hunt this thingdown together, for I reckon we're all concerned in it, " he added, looking at the others, "and once more we're partners as in the oldtimes. Let us even say that I've given Barker's signal or password, " headded, with a laugh, "and we'll stick together. Barker boy, " he went on, grasping his younger partner's hand, "your instinct has saved us thistime; d----d if I don't sometimes think it better than any other man'ssabe; only, " he dropped his voice slightly, "I wish you had it in otherthings than FINANCE. Phil, I've a word to say to you alone before I go. I may want you to follow me. "

"But what can I do?" said Barker eagerly. "You're not going to leave meout. "

"You've done quite enough for us, old man, " said Stacy, laying his handon Barker's shoulder. "And it may be for US to do something for YOU. Trot off to bed now, like a good boy. I'll keep you posted when the timecomes. "

Shoving the protesting and leave-taking Barker with paternal familiarityfrom the room, he closed the door and faced Demorest. 

"He's the best fellow in the world, " said Stacy quietly, "and has savedthe situation; but we mustn't trust too much to him for the present--noteven seem to. "

"Nonsense, man!" said Demorest impatiently. "You're letting yourprejudices go too far. Do you mean to say that you suspect his wife. "

"D--n his wife!" said Stacy almost savagely. "Leave her out of this. It's Van Loo that I suspect. It was Van Loo who I knew was behind it, who expected to profit by it, and now we have lost him. "

"But how?" said Demorest, astonished. 

"How?" repeated Stacy impatiently. "You know what Barker said? Van Loo, either through stupidity, fright, or the wish to get the lowest prices, was too late to buy up the market. If he had, we might have openlydeclared the forgery, and if it was known that he or his friends hadprofited by it, even if we could not have proven his actual complicity, we could at least have made it too hot for him in California. But, " saidStacy, looking intently at his friend, "do you know how the case standsnow?"

"Well, " said Demorest, a little uneasily under his friend's keen eyes, "we've lost that chance, but we've kept control of the stock. "

"You think so? Well, let me tell you how the case stands and the pricewe pay for it, " said Stacy deliberately, as he folded his arms and gazedat Demorest. "You and I, well known as old friends and former partners, for no apparent reason--for we cannot prove the forgery now--have thrownupon the market all our stock, with the usual effect of depreciating it. Another old friend and former partner has bought it in and sent up theprice. A common trick, a vulgar trick, but not a trick worthy of JamesStacy or Stacy's Bank!"

"But why not simply declare the forgery without making any specificcharge against Van Loo?"

"Do you imagine, Phil, that any man would believe it, and the story of aprovidentially appointed friend like Barker who saved us from loss?Why, all California, from Cape Mendocino to Los Angeles, would roarwith laughter over it! No! We must swallow it and the reputation of'jockeying' with the Wheat Trust, too. That Trust's as good as done for, for the present! Now you know why I didn't want poor Barker to know it, nor have much to do with our search for the forger. "

"It would break the dear fellow's heart if he knew it, " said Demorest. 

"Well, it's to save him from having his heart broken further that Iintend to find out this forger, " said Stacy grimly. "Good-night, Phil!I'll telegraph to you when I want you, and then COME!"

With another grip of the hand he left Demorest to his thoughts. In thefirst excitement of meeting his old partners, and in the later discoveryof the forgery, Demorest had been diverted from his old sorrow, and forthe time had forgotten it in sympathetic interest with the present. But, to his horror, when alone again, he found that interest growing asremote and vapid as the stories they had laughed over at the table, andeven the excitement of the forged letter and its consequences began tobe as unreal, as impotent, as shadowy, as the memory of the attemptedrobbery in the old cabin on that very spot. He was ashamed of thatselfishness which still made him cling to this past, so much his own, that he knew it debarred him from the human sympathy of his comrades. And even Barker, in whose courtship and marriage he had tried toresuscitate his youthful emotions and condone his selfish errors--eventhe suggestion of his unhappiness only touched him vaguely. He would nolonger be a slave to the Past, or the memory that had deluded him a fewhours ago. He walked to the window; alas, there was the same prospectthat had looked upon his dreams, had lent itself to his old visions. There was the eternal outline of the hills; there rose the steadfastpines; there was no change in THEM. It was this surrounding constancyof nature that had affected him. He turned away and entered the bedroom. Here he suddenly remembered that the mother of this vague enemy, VanLoo, --for his feeling towards him was still vague, as few men reallyhate the personality they don't know, --had only momentarily vacatedit, and to his distaste of his own intrusion was now added the profoundirony of his sleeping in the same bed lately occupied by the mother ofthe man who was suspected of having forged his name. He smiled faintlyand looked around the apartment. It was handsomely furnished, andalthough it still had much of the characterlessness of the hotel room, it was distinctly flavored by its last occupant, and still brightenedby that mysterious instinct of the sex which is inevitable. Where a manwould have simply left his forgotten slippers or collars there wasa glass of still unfaded flowers; the cold marble top of thedressing-table was littered with a few linen and silk toilet covers; andon the mantel-shelf was a sheaf of photographs. He walked towards themmechanically, glanced at them abstractedly, and then stopped suddenlywith a beating heart. Before him was the picture of his past, thephotograph of the one woman who had filled his life!

He cast a hurried glance around the room as if he half expected to seethe original start up before him, and then eagerly seized it and hurriedwith it to the light. Yes! yes! It was SHE, --she as she had lived in hisactual memory; she as she had lived in his dream. He saw her sweet eyes, but the frightened, innocent trouble had passed from them; there wasthe sensitive elegance of her graceful figure in evening dress; but thefigure was fuller and maturer. Could he be mistaken by some wonderfulresemblance acting upon his too willing brain? He turned the photographover. No; there on the other side, written in her own childlike hand, endeared and familiar to his recollection, was her own name, and thedate! It was surely she!

How did it come there? Did the Van Loos know her? It was taken inVenice; there was the address of the photographers. The Van Loos wereforeigners, he remembered; they had traveled; perhaps had met her therein 1858: that was the date in her handwriting; that was the date on thephotographer's address--1858. Suddenly he laid the photograph down, tookwith trembling fingers a letter-case from his pocket, opened it, andlaid his last letter to her, indorsed with the cruel announcement of herdeath, before him on the table. He passed his hand across his foreheadand opened the letter. It was dated 1856! The photograph must have beentaken two years AFTER her alleged death!

He examined it again eagerly, fixedly, tremblingly. A wild impulse tosummon Barker or Stacy on the spot was restrained with difficulty andonly when he remembered that they could not help him. Then he began tooscillate between a joy and a new fear, which now, for the first time, began to dawn upon him. If the news of her death had been a fiendishtrick of her relations, why had SHE never sought him? It was not illhealth, restraint, nor fear; there was nothing but happiness andthe strength of youth and beauty in that face and figure. HE had notdisappeared from the world; he was known of men; more, his memorablegood fortune must have reached her ears. Had he wasted all thesemiserable years to find himself abandoned, forgotten, perhaps evena dupe? For the first time the sting of jealousy entered his soul. Perhaps, unconsciously to himself, his strange and varying feelings thatafternoon had been the gathering climax of his mental condition; at allevents, in the sudden revulsion there was a shaking off of his apatheticthought; there was activity, even if it was the activity of pain. Herewas a mystery to be solved, a secret to be discovered, a past wrong tobe exposed, an enemy or, perhaps, even a faithless love to be punished. Perhaps he had even saved his reason at the expense of his love. Hequickly replaced the photograph on the mantel-shelf, returned the lettercarefully to his pocket-book, --no longer a souvenir of the past, but aproof of treachery, --and began to mechanically undress himself. He wasquite calm now, and went to bed with a strange sense of relief, andslept as he had not slept since he was a boy. 

The whole hotel had sunk to rest by this time, and then began the usualslow, nightly invasion and investment of it by nature. For all its broadverandas and glaring terraces, its long ranges of windows and glitteringcrest of cupola and tower, it gradually succumbed to the more potentinfluences around it, and became their sport and playground. Themountain breezes from the distant summit swept down upon its flimsystructure, shook the great glass windows as with a strong hand, and sentthe balm of bay and spruce through every chink and cranny. In the greathall and corridors the carpets billowed with the intruding blast alongthe floors; there was the murmur of the pines in the passages, and thedamp odor of leaves in the dining-room. There was the cry of night birdsin the creaking cupola, and the swift rush of dark wings past bedroomwindows. Lissome shapes crept along the terraces between the stolidwooden statues, or, bolder, scampered the whole length of the greatveranda. In the lulling of the wind the breath of the woods waseverywhere; even the aroma of swelling sap--as if the ghastly stumpson the deforested slope behind the hotel were bleeding afresh in thedewless night--stung the eyes and nostrils of the sleepers. 

It was, perhaps, from such cause as this that Barker was awakenedsuddenly by the voice of the boy from the crib beside him, crying, "Mamma! mamma!" Taking the child in his arms, he comforted him, sayingshe would come that morning, and showed him the faint dawn alreadyveiling with color the ghostly pallor of the Sierras. As they looked atit a great star shot forth from its brethren and fell. It did not fallperpendicularly, but seemed for some seconds to slip along the slopesof Black Spur, gleaming through the trees like a chariot of fire. Itpleased the child to say that it was the light of mamma's buggy thatwas fetching her home, and it pleased the father to encourage the boy'sfancy. And talking thus in confidential whispers they fell asleep oncemore, the father--himself a child in so many things--holding the smallerand frailer hand in his. 

They did not know that on the other side of the Divide the wife andmother, scared, doubting, and desperate, by the side of her scared, doubting, and desperate accomplice, was flying down the slope on hernight-long road to ruin. Still less did they know that, with the earlysinging birds, a careless horseman, emerging from the trail as thedust-stained buggy dashed past him, glanced at it with a puzzled air, uttered a quiet whistle of surprise, and then, wheeling his horse, gaylycantered after it. 

CHAPTER V. 

In the exercise of his arduous profession, Jack Hamlin had sat up allnight in the magnolia saloon of the Divide, and as it was rather earlyto go to bed, he had, after his usual habit, shaken off the sedentaryattitude and prepared himself for sleep by a fierce preliminarygallop in the woods. Besides, he had been a large winner, and on thoseoccasions he generally isolated himself from his companions to avoidfoolish altercations with inexperienced players. Even in fightingJack was fastidious, and did not like to have his stomach for a realdifficulty distended and vitiated by small preliminary indulgences. 

He was just emerging from the wood into the highroad when a buggy dashedpast him, containing a man and a woman. The woman wore a thick veil; theman was almost undistinguishable from dust. The glimpse was momentary, but dislike has a keen eye, and in that glimpse Mr. Hamlin recognizedVan Loo. The situation was equally clear. The bent heads and avertedfaces, the dust collected in the heedlessness of haste, the earlyhour, --indicating a night-long flight, --all made it plain to him thatVan Loo was running away with some woman. Mr. Hamlin had no moralscruples, but he had the ethics of a sportsman, which he knew Mr. VanLoo was not. Whether the woman was an innocent schoolgirl or an actress, he was satisfied that Van Loo was doing a mean thing meanly. Mr. Hamlinalso had a taste for mischief, and whether the woman was or was notfair game, he knew that for HIS purposes Van Loo was. With the greatestcheerfulness in the world he wheeled his horse and cantered after them. 

They were evidently making for the Divide and a fresh horse, or totake the coach due an hour later. It was Mr. Hamlin's present objectto circumvent this, and, therefore, it was quite in his way to return. Incidentally, however, the superior speed of his horse gave him theopportunity of frequently lunging towards them at a furious pace, whichhad the effect of frantically increasing their own speed, when he wouldpull up with a silent laugh before he was fairly discovered, and allowthe sound of his rapid horse's hoofs to die out. In this way he amusedhimself until the straggling town of the Divide came in sight, when, putting his spurs to his horse again, he managed, under pretense ofthe animal becoming ungovernable, to twice "cross the bows" of thefugitives, compelling them to slacken speed. At the second of thesepassages Van Loo apparently lost prudence, and slashing out with hiswhip, the lash caught slightly on the counter of Hamlin's horse. Mr. Hamlin instantly acknowledged it by lifting his hat gravely, and speededon to the hotel, arriving at the steps and throwing himself from thesaddle exactly as the buggy drove up. With characteristic audacity, heactually assisted the frightened and eager woman to alight and run intothe hotel. But in this action her veil was accidentally lifted. Mr. Hamlin instantly recognized the pretty woman who had been pointed outto him in San Francisco as Mrs. Barker, the wife of one of the partnerswhose fortunes had interested him five years ago. It struck him thatthis was an additional reason for his interference on Barker's account, although personally he could not conceive why a man should ever tryto prevent a woman from running away from him. But then Mr. Hamlin'spersonal experiences had been quite the other way. 

It was enough, however, to cause him to lay his hand lightly on VanLoo's arm as the latter, leaping down, was about to follow Mrs. Barkerinto the hotel. "You'll have time enough now, " said Hamlin. 

"Time for what?" said Van Loo savagely. 

"Time to apologize for having cut my horse with your whip, " said Jacksweetly. "We don't want to quarrel before a woman. "

"I've no time for fooling!" said Van Loo, endeavoring to pass. 

But Jack's hand had slipped to Van Loo's wrist, although he stillsmiled cheerfully. "Ah! Then you DID mean it, and you propose to give mesatisfaction?"

Van Loo paled slightly; he knew Jack's reputation as a duelist. Buthe was desperate. "You see my position, " he said hurriedly. "I'm in ahurry; I have a lady with me. No man of honor"--

"You do me wrong, " interrupted Jack, with a pained expression, --"you do, indeed. You are in a hurry--well, I have plenty of time. If you cannotattend to me now, why I will be glad to accompany you and the ladyto the next station. Of course, " he added, with a smile, "at a properdistance, and without interfering with the lady, whom I am pleasedto recognize as the wife of an old friend. It would be more sociable, perhaps, if we had some general conversation on the road; it wouldprevent her being alarmed. I might even be of some use to YOU. If we areovertaken by her husband on the road, for instance, I should certainlyclaim the right to have the first shot at you. Boy!" he called to thehostler, "just sponge out Pancho's mouth, will you, to be ready when thebuggy goes?" And, loosening his grip of Van Loo's wrist, he turned awayas the other quickly entered the hotel. 

But Mr. Van Loo did not immediately seek Mrs. Barker. He had alreadysome experience of that lady's nerves and irascibility on the drive, andhad begun to see his error in taking so dangerous an impediment tohis flight from the country. And another idea had come to him. Hehad already effected his purpose of compromising her with him in thatflight, but it was still known only to few. If he left her behind forthe foolish, doting husband, would not that devoted man take her backto avoid a scandal, and even forbear to pursue HIM for his financialirregularities? What were twenty thousand dollars of Mrs. Barker's moneyto the scandal of Mrs. Barker's elopement? Again, the failure to realizethe forgery had left him safe, and Barker was sufficiently potent withthe bank and Demorest to hush up that also. Hamlin was now the onlyobstacle to his flight; but even he would scarcely pursue HIM if Mrs. Barker were left behind. And it would be easier to elude him if he did. 

In his preoccupation Van Loo did not see that he had entered thebar-room, but, finding himself there, he moved towards the bar; a glassof spirits would revive him. As he drank it he saw that the room wasfull of rough men, apparently miners or packers--some of them Mexican, with here and there a Kanaka or Australian. Two men more ostentatiouslyclad, though apparently on equal terms with the others, were standing inthe corner with their backs towards him. From the general silence as heentered he imagined that he had been the subject of conversation, andthat his altercation with Hamlin had been overheard. Suddenly one of thetwo men turned and approached him. To his consternation he recognizedSteptoe, --Steptoe, whom he had not seen for five years until last night, when he had avoided him in the courtyard of the Boomville Hotel. Hisfirst instinct was to retreat, but it was too late. And the spirits hadwarmed him into temporary recklessness. 

"You ain't goin' to be backed down by a short-card gambler, are yer?"said Steptoe, with coarse familiarity. 

"I have a lady with me, and am pressed for time, " said Van Loo quickly. "He knows it, otherwise he would not have dared"--

"Well, look here, " said Steptoe roughly. "I ain't particularly sweet onyou, as you know; but I and these gentlemen, " he added, glancing aroundthe room, "ain't particularly sweet on Mr. Jack Hamlin neither, and wekalkilate to stand by you if you say so. Now, I reckon you want toget away with the woman, and the quicker the better, as you're afraidthere'll be somebody after you afore long. That's the way it pans out, don't it? Well, when you're ready to go, and you just tip us the wink, we'll get in a circle round Jack and cover him, and if he starts afteryou we'll send him on a little longer journey!--eh, boys?"

The men muttered their approval, and one or two drew their revolversfrom their belts. Van Loo's heart, which had leaped at first at thisproposal of help, sank at this failure of his little plan of abandoningMrs. Barker. He hesitated, and then stammered, "Thank you! Haste iseverything with us now; but I shouldn't mind leaving the lady amongCHIVALROUS GENTLEMEN like yourselves for a few hours only, until Icould communicate with my friends and return to properly chastise thisscoundrel. "

Steptoe drew in his breath with a slight whistle, and gazed at Van Loo. He instantly understood him. But the plea did not suit Steptoe, who, for purposes of his own, wished to put Mrs. Barker beyond her husband'spossible reach. He smiled grimly. "I think you'd better take the womanwith you, " he said. "I don't think, " he added in a lower voice, "thatthe boys would like your leaving her. They're very high-toned, theyare!" he concluded ironically. 

"Then, " said Van Loo, with another desperate idea, "could you not let ushave saddle-horses instead of the buggy? We could travel faster, and inthe event of pursuit and anything happening to ME, " he added loftily, "SHE at least could escape her pursuer's vengeance. "

This suited Steptoe equally well, as long as the guilty couple fledTOGETHER, and in the presence of witnesses. But he was not deceived byVan Loo's heroic suggestion of self-sacrifice. "Quite right, " he saidsarcastically, "it shall be done, and I've no doubt ONE of you willescape. I'll send the horses round to the back door and keep the buggyin front. That will keep Jack there, TOO, --with the boys handy. "

But Mr. Hamlin had quite as accurate an idea of Mr. Van Loo's methodsand of his OWN standing with Steptoe's gang of roughs as Mr. Steptoehimself. More than that, he also had a hold on a smaller but moredevoted and loyal following than Steptoe's. The employees and hostlersof the hotel worshiped him. A single word of inquiry revealed to himthe fact that the buggy was NOT going on, but that Mr. Van Loo andMrs. Barker WERE--on two horses, a temporary side-saddle having beenconstructed out of a mule's pack-tree. At which Mr. Hamlin, with hisusual audacity, walked into the bar-room, and going to the bar leanedcarelessly against it. Then turning to the lowering faces around him, hesaid, with a flash of his white teeth, "Well, boys, I'm calculating toleave the Divide in a few minutes to follow some friends in the buggy, and it seems to me only the square thing to stand the liquor for thecrowd, without prejudice to any feeling or roughness there may beagainst me. Everybody who knows me knows that I'm generally there whenthe band plays, and I'm pretty sure to turn up for THAT sort of thing. So you'll just consider that I've had a good game on the Divide, andI'm reckoning it's only fair to leave a little of it behind me here, to 'sweeten the pot' until I call again. I only ask you, gentlemen, todrink success to my friends in the buggy as early and as often as youcan. " He flung two gold pieces on the counter and paused, smiling. 

He was right in his conjecture. Even the men who would have willingly"held him up" a moment after, at the bidding of Steptoe, saw no reasonfor declining a free drink "without prejudice. " And it was a part ofthe irony of the situation that Steptoe and Van Loo were also obligedto participate to keep in with their partisans. It was, however, anopportune diversion to Van Loo, who managed to get nearer the doorleading to the back entrance of the hotel, and to Mr. Jack Hamlin, whowas watching him, as the men closed up to the bar. 

The toast was drunk with acclamation, followed by another and yetanother. Steptoe and Van Loo, who had kept their heads cool, were bothwondering if Hamlin's intention were to intoxicate and incapacitate thecrowd at the crucial moment, and Steptoe smiled grimly over his superiorknowledge of their alcoholic capacity. But suddenly there was thegreater diversion of a shout from the road, the on-coming of a cloud ofred dust, and the halt of another vehicle before the door. This time itwas no jaded single horse and dust-stained buggy, but a double teamof four spirited trotters, whose coats were scarcely turned with foam, before a light station wagon containing a single man. But that manwas instantly recognized by every one of the outside loungers andstable-boys as well as the staring crowd within the saloon. It was JamesStacy, the millionaire and banker. No one but himself knew that he hadcovered half the distance of a night-long ride from Boomville in twohours. But before they could voice their astonishment Stacy had throwna letter to the obsequious landlord, and then gathering up the reins hadsped away to the railroad station half a mile distant. 

"Looks as if the Boss of Creation was in a hurry, " said one of the eagergazers in the doorway. "Somebody goin' to get smashed, sure. "

"More like as if he was just humpin' himself to keep from gettingsmashed, " said Steptoe. "The bank hasn't got over the effect of theirsmart deal in the Wheat Trust. Everything they had in their handstumbled yesterday in Sacramento. Men like me and you ain't goin' totrust their money to be 'jockeyed' with in that style. Nobody but a manwith a swelled head like Stacy would have even dared to try it on. Andnow, by G-d! he's got to pay for it. "

The harsh, exultant tone of the speaker showed that he had quiteforgotten Van Loo and Hamlin in his superior hatred of the millionaire, and both men noticed it. Van Loo edged still nearer to the door, asSteptoe continued, "Ever since he made that big strike on Heavy Treefive years ago, the country hasn't been big enough to hold him. But markmy words, gentlemen, the time ain't far off when he'll find a two-footditch again and a pick and grub wages room enough and to spare for himand his kind of cattle. "

"You're not drinking, " said Jack Hamlin cheerfully. 

Steptoe turned towards the bar, and then started. "Where's Van Loo?" hedemanded of Jack sharply. 

Jack jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Gone to hurry up his girl, Ireckon. I calculate he ain't got much time to fool away here. "

Steptoe glanced suspiciously at Jack. But at the same moment theywere all startled--even Jack himself--at the apparition of Mrs. Barkerpassing hurriedly along the veranda before the windows in the directionof the still waiting buggy. "D--n it!" said Steptoe in a fierce whisperto the man next him. "Tell her not THERE--at the back door!" But beforethe messenger reached the door there was a sudden rattle of wheels, andwith one accord all except Hamlin rushed to the veranda, only to seeMrs. Barker driving rapidly away alone. Steptoe turned back into theroom, but Jack also had disappeared. 

For in the confusion created at the sight of Mrs. Barker, he had slippedto the back door and found, as he suspected, only one horse, and thatwith a side-saddle on. His intuitions were right. Van Loo, when hedisappeared from the saloon, had instantly fled, taking the other horseand abandoning the woman to her fate. Jack as instantly leaped upon theremaining saddle and dashed after him. Presently he caught a glimpse ofthe fugitive in the distance, heard the half-angry, half-ironical shoutsof the crowd at the back door, and as he reached the hilltop saw, with amingling of satisfaction and perplexity, Mrs. Barker on the other road, still driving frantically in the direction of the railroad station. Atwhich Mr. Hamlin halted, threw away his encumbering saddle, and, good rider that he was, remounted the horse, barebacked but for hisblanket-pad, and thrusting his knees in the loose girths, again dashedforwards, --with such good results that, as Van Loo galloped up to thestagecoach office, at the next station, and was about to enter thewaiting coach for Marysville, the soft hand of Mr. Hamlin was laid onhis shoulder. 

"I told you, " said Jack blandly, "that I had plenty of time. I wouldhave been here BEFORE and even overtaken you, only you had the betterhorse and the only saddle. "

Van Loo recoiled. But he was now desperate and reckless. Beckoning Jackout of earshot of the other passengers, he said with tightened lips, "Why do you follow me? What is your purpose in coming here?"

"I thought, " said Hamlin dryly, "that I was to have the pleasure ofgetting satisfaction from you for the insult you gave me. "

"Well, and if I apologize for it, what then?" he said quickly. 

Hamlin looked at him quietly. "Well, I think I also said something aboutthe lady being the wife of a friend of mine. "

"And I have left her BEHIND. Her husband can take her back withoutdisgrace, for no one knows of her flight but you and me. Do you thinkyour shooting me will save her? It will spread the scandal far and wide. For I warn you, that as I have apologized for what you choose to call mypersonal insult, unless you murder me in cold blood without witness, Ishall let them know the REASON of your quarrel. And I can tell you more:if you only succeed in STOPPING me here, and make me lose my chance ofgetting away, the scandal to your friend will be greater still. "

Mr. Hamlin looked at Van Loo curiously. There was a certain amountof conviction in what he said. He had never met this kind of creaturebefore. He had surpassed even Hamlin's first intuition of his character. He amused and interested him. But Mr. Hamlin was also a man of theworld, and knew that Van Loo's reasoning might be good. He put his handsin his pockets, and said gravely, "What IS your little game?"

Van Loo had been seized with another inspiration of desperation. Steptoehad been partly responsible for this situation. Van Loo knew that Jackand Steptoe were not friends. He had certain secrets of Steptoe's thatmight be of importance to Jack. Why should he not try to make friendswith this powerful free-lance and half-outlaw?

"It's a game, " he said significantly, "that might be of interest to yourfriends to hear. "

Hamlin took his hands out of his pockets, turned on his heel, and said, "Come with me. "

"But I must go by that coach now, " said Van Loo desperately, "or--I'vetold you what would happen. "

"Come with me, " said Jack coolly. "If I'm satisfied with what you tellme, I'll put you down at the next station an hour before that coach getsthere. "

"You swear it?" said Van Loo hesitatingly. 

"I've SAID it, " returned Jack. "Come!" and Van Loo followed Mr. Hamlininto the station hotel. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The abrupt disappearance of Jack Hamlin and the strange lady andgentleman visitor was scarcely noticed by the other guests of the DivideHouse, and beyond the circle of Steptoe and his friends, who were adistinct party and strangers to the town, there was no excitement. Indeed, the hotel proprietor might have confounded them together, and, perhaps, Van Loo was not far wrong in his belief that their identity hadnot been suspected. Nor were Steptoe's followers very much concerned inan episode in which they had taken part only at the suggestion of theirleader, and which had terminated so tamely. That they would have likeda "row, " in which Jack Hamlin would have been incidentally forced todisgorge his winnings, there was no doubt, but that their interferencewas asked solely to gratify some personal spite of Steptoe's against VanLoo was equally plain to them. There was some grumbling and outspokencriticism of his methods. 

This was later made more obvious by the arrival of another guest forwhom Steptoe and his party were evidently waiting. He was a short, stoutman, whose heavy red beard was trimmed a little more carefully than whenhe was first known to Steptoe as Alky Hall, the drunkard of Heavy TreeHill. His dress, too, exhibited a marked improvement in quality andstyle, although still characterized in the waist and chest by theunbuttoned freedom of portly and slovenly middle age. Civilization hadrestricted his potations or limited them to certain festivals known as"sprees, " and his face was less puffy and sodden. But with the accessionof sobriety he had lost his good humor, and had the irritability andintolerance of virtuous restraint. 

"Ye needn't ladle out any of your forty-rod whiskey to me, " he saidquerulously to Steptoe, as he filed out with the rest of the partythrough the bar-room into the adjacent apartment. "I want to keep myhead level till our business is over, and I reckon it wouldn't hurt youand your gang to do the same. They're less likely to blab; and there arefew doors that whiskey won't unlock, " he added, as Steptoe turned thekey in the door after the party had entered. 

The room had evidently been used for meetings of directors or politicalcaucuses, and was roughly furnished with notched and whittled armchairsand a single long deal table, on which were ink and pens. The men satdown around it with a half-embarrassed, half-contemptuous attitude offormality, their bent brows and isolated looks showing little communityof sentiment and scarcely an attempt to veil that individual selfishnessthat was prominent. Still less was there any essay of companionship orsympathy in the manner of Steptoe as he suddenly rapped on the tablewith his knuckles. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, with a certain deliberation of utterance, as ifhe enjoyed his own coarse directness, "I reckon you all have a sort ofgeneral idea what you were picked up for, or you wouldn't be here. But you may or may not know that for the present you are honest, hard-working miners, --the backbone of the State of Californy, --and thatyou have formed yourselves into a company called the 'Blue Jay, 'and you've settled yourselves on the Bar below Heavy Tree Hill, on adeserted claim of the Marshall Brothers, not half a mile from wherethe big strike was made five years ago. That's what you ARE, gentlemen;that's what you'll continue TO BE until the job's finished; and, " headded, with a sudden dominance that they all felt, "the man who forgetsit will have to reckon with me. Now, " he continued, resuming hisformer ironical manner, "now, what are the cold facts of the case? TheMarshalls worked this claim ever since '49, and never got anything outof it; then they dropped off or died out, leaving only one brother, TomMarshall, to work what was left of it. Well, a few days ago HE foundindications of a big lead in the rock, and instead of rushin' out andyellin' like an honest man, and callin' in the boys to drink, he sneaksoff to 'Frisco, and goes to the bank to get 'em to take a hand in it. Well, you know, when Jim Stacy takes a hand in anything, IT'S BOTHHANDS, and the bank wouldn't see it until he promised to guaranteepossession of the whole abandoned claim, --'dips, spurs, andangles, '--and let them work the whole thing, which the d----d fool DID, and the bank agreed to send an expert down there to-morrow to report. But while he was away some one on our side, who was an expert also, gotwind of it, and made an examination all by himself, and found it was avein sure enough and a big thing, and some one else on our side foundout, too, all that Marshall had promised the bank and what the bankhad promised him. Now, gentlemen, when the bank sends down that expertto-morrow I expect that he will find YOU IN POSSESSION of every part ofthe deserted claim except the spot where Tom is still working. "

"And what good is that to us?" asked one of the men contemptuously. 

"Good?" repeated Steptoe harshly. "Well, if you're not as d----d a foolas Marshall, you'll see that if he has struck a lead or vein it's boundto run across OUR CLAIMS, and what's to keep us from sinking for it aslong as Marshall hasn't worked the other claims for years nor pre-emptedthem for this lead?"

"What'll keep him from preempting now?"

"Our possession. "

"But if he can prove that the brothers left their claims to him to keep, he'll just send the sheriff and his posse down upon us, " persisted thefirst speaker. 

"It will take him three months to do that by law, and the sheriff andhis posse can't do it before as long as we're in peaceable possession ofit. And by the time that expert and Marshall return they'll find us inpeaceful possession, unless we're such blasted fools as to stay talkingabout it here!"

"But what's to prevent Marshall from getting a gang of his own to driveus off?"

"Now your talkin' and not yelpin', " said Steptoe, with slow insolence. "D----d if I didn't begin to think you kalkilated I was goin' to employyou as lawyers! Nothing is to prevent him from gettin' up HIS gang, and we hope he'll do it, for you see it puts us both on the same levelbefore the law, for we're both BREAKIN' IT. And we kalkilate that we'reas good as any roughs they can pick up at Heavy Tree. "

"I reckon!" "Ye can count us in!" said half a dozen voices eagerly. 

"But what's the job goin' to pay us?" persisted a Sydney man. "An' arterwe've beat off this other gang, are we going to scrub along on grubwages until we're yanked out by process-sarvers three months later? Ifthat's the ticket I'm not in it. I aren't no b--y quartz miner. "

"We ain't going to do no more MINING there than the bank, " said Steptoefiercely. "And the bank ain't going to wait no three months for the endof the lawsuit. They'll float the stock of that mine for a couple ofmillions, and get out of it with a million before a month. And they'llhave to buy us off to do that. What they'll pay will depend upon thelead; but we don't move off those claims for less than five thousanddollars, which will be two hundred and fifty dollars to each man. But, "said Steptoe in a lower but perfectly distinct voice, "if there shouldbe a row, --and they BEGIN it, --and in the scuffle Tom Marshall, theironly witness, should happen to get in the way of a revolver or have hishead caved in, there might be some difficulty in their holdin' ANY OFTHE MINE against honest, hardworking miners in possession. You hear me?"

There was a breathless silence for the moment, and a slight movementof the men in their chairs, but never in fear or protest. Every one hadheard the speaker distinctly, and every man distinctly understood him. Some of them were criminals, one or two had already the stain of bloodon their hands; but even the most timid, who at other times might haveshrunk from suggested assassination, saw in the speaker's words only thefair removal of a natural enemy. 

"All right, boys. I'm ready to wade in at once. Why ain't we on the roadnow? We might have been but for foolin' our time away on that man VanLoo. "

"Van Loo!" repeated Hall eagerly, --"Van Loo! Was he here?"

"Yes, " said Steptoe shortly, administering a kick under the table toHall, as he had no wish to revive the previous irritability of hiscomrades. "He's gone, but, " turning to the others, "you'd have had towait for Mr. Hall's arrival, anyhow. And now you've got your order youcan start. Go in two parties by different roads, and meet on the otherside of the hotel at Hymettus. I'll be there before you. Pick up someshovels and drills as you go; remember you're honest miners, but don'tforget your shootin'-irons for all that. Now scatter. "

It was well that they did, vacating the room more cheerfully andsympathetically than they had entered it, or Hall's manifest disturbanceover Van Loo's visit would have been noticed. When the last man haddisappeared Hall turned quickly to Steptoe. "Well, what did he say?Where has he gone?"

"Don't know, " said Steptoe, with uneasy curtness. "He was running awaywith a woman--well, Mrs. Barker, if you want to know, " he added, withrising anger, "the wife of one of those cursed partners. Jack Hamlin washere, and was jockeying to stop him, and interfered. But what the devilhas that job to do with our job?" He was losing his temper; everythingseemed to turn upon this infernal Van Loo!

"He wasn't running away with Mrs. Barker, " gasped Hall, --"it was withher MONEY! and the fear of being connected with the Wheat Trust swindlewhich he organized, and with our money which I lent him for the samepurpose. And he knows all about that job, for I wanted to get him to gointo it with us. Your name and mine ain't any too sweet-smelling forthe bank, and we ought to have a middleman who knows business to arrangewith them. The bank daren't object to him, for they've employed him ineven shadier transactions than this when THEY didn't wish to appear. Iknew he was in difficulties along with Mrs. Barker's speculations, butI never thought him up to this. And, " he added, with sudden desperation, "YOU trusted him, too. "

In an instant Steptoe caught the frightened man by the shoulders and wasbearing him down on the table. "Are you a traitor, a liar, or a besottedfool?" he said hoarsely. "Speak. WHEN and WHERE did I trust him?"

"You said in your note--I was--to--help him, " gasped Hall. 

"My note, " repeated Steptoe, releasing Hall with astonished eyes. 

"Yes, " said Hall, tremblingly searching in his vest pocket. "I broughtit with me. It isn't much of a note, but there's your signature plainenough. "

He handed Steptoe a torn piece of paper folded in a three-corneredshape. Steptoe opened it. He instantly recognized the paper on whichhe had written his name and sent up to his wife at the Boomville Hotel. But, added to it, in apparently the same hand, in smaller characters, were the words, "Help Van Loo all you can. "

The blood rushed into his face. But he quickly collected himself, andsaid hurriedly, "All right, I had forgotten it. Let the d----d sneak go. We've got what's a thousand times better in this claim at Marshall's, and it's well that he isn't in it to scoop the lion's share. Only wemust not waste time getting there now. You go there first, and at once, and set those rascals to work. I'll follow you before Marshall comes up. Get; I'll settle up here. "

His face darkened once more as Hall hurried away, leaving him alone. Hedrew out the piece of paper from his pocket and stared at it again. Yes;it was the one he had sent to his wife. How did Van Loo get hold ofit? Was he at the hotel that night? Had he picked it up in the hall orpassage when the servant dropped it? When Hall handed him the paper andhe first recognized it a fiendish thought, followed by a spasm of morefiendish rage, had sent the blood to his face. But his crude commonsense quickly dismissed that suggestion of his wife's complicity withVan Loo. But had she seen him passing through the hotel that night, andhad sought to draw from him some knowledge of his early intercourse withthe child, and confessed everything, and even produced the paper withhis signature as a proof of identity? Women had been known to do suchdesperate things. Perhaps she disbelieved her son's aversion to her, andwas trying to sound Van Loo. As for the forged words by Van Loo, and theuse he had put them to, he cared little. He believed the man was capableof forgery; indeed, he suddenly remembered that in the old days hisson had spoken innocently, but admiringly, of Van Loo's wonderfulchirographical powers and his faculty of imitating the writings ofothers, and how he had even offered to teach him. A new and exasperatingthought came into his feverish consciousness. What if Van Loo, inteaching the boy, had even made use of him as an innocent accomplice tocover up his own tricks! The suggestion was no question of moral ethicsto Steptoe, nor of his son's possible contamination, although since thenight of the big strike he had held different views; it was simply afierce, selfish jealousy that ANOTHER might have profited by the lad'shelplessness and inexperience. He had been tormented by this jealousybefore in his son's liking for Van Loo. He had at first encouraged hisadmiration and imitative regard for this smooth swindler's graces andaccomplishments, which, though he scorned them himself, he was, afterthe common parental infatuation, willing that the boy should profit by. Incapable, through his own consciousness, of distinguishing between VanLoo's superficial polish and the true breeding of a gentleman, hehad only looked upon it as an equipment for his son which might beserviceable to himself. He had told his wife the truth when he informedher of Van Loo's fears of being reminded of their former intimacy; buthe had not told her how its discontinuance after they had left HeavyTree Hill had affected her son, and how he still cherished his oldadmiration for that specious rascal. Nor had he told her how this hadstung him, through his own selfish greed of the boy's affection. Yet nowthat it was possible that she had met Van Loo that evening, she mighthave become aware of Van Loo's power over her child. How she wouldexult, for all her pretended hatred of Van Loo! How, perhaps, they hadplotted together! How Van Loo might have become aware of the place wherehis son was kept, and have been bribed by the mother to tell her! Hestopped in a whirl of giddy fancies. His strong common sense in allother things had been hitherto proof against such idle dreams orsuggestions; but the very strength of his parental love and jealousy hadawakened in him at last the terrors of imagination. 

His first impulse had been to seek his wife, regardless of discovery orconsequences, at Hymettus, where she had said she was going. It was onhis way to the rendezvous at Marshall's claim. But this he as instantlyset aside, it was his SON he must find; SHE might not confess, or mightdeceive him--the boy would not; and if his fears were correct, she couldbe arraigned afterwards. It was possible for him to reach the littleMission church and school, secluded in a remote valley by the oldFranciscan fathers, where he had placed the boy for the last few yearsunknown to his wife. It would be a long ride, but he could still reachHeavy Tree Hill afterwards before Marshall and the expert arrived. Andhe had a feeling he had never felt before on the eve of a desperateadventure, --that he must see the boy first. He remembered how the childhad often accompanied him in his flight, and how he had gained strength, and, it seemed to him, a kind of luck, from the touch of that small handin his. Surely it was necessary now that at least his mind should be atrest regarding HIM on the eve of an affair of this moment. Perhaps hemight never see him again. At any other time, and under the influence ofany other emotion, he would have scorned such a sentimentalism--he whohad never troubled himself either with preparation for the future orconsideration for the past. But at that moment he felt both. He drewa long breath. He could catch the next train to the Three Boulders andride thence to San Felipe. He hurriedly left the room, settled with thelandlord, and galloped to the station. By the irony of circumstances theonly horse available for that purpose was Mr. Hamlin's own. 

By two o'clock he was at the Three Boulders, where he got a fast horseand galloped into San Felipe by four. As he descended the last slopethrough the fastnesses of pines towards the little valley overlookedin its remoteness and purely pastoral simplicity by the gold-seekingimmigrants, --its seclusion as one of the furthest northern Californianmissions still preserved through its insignificance and the efforts ofthe remaining Brotherhood, who used it as an infirmary and a school forthe few remaining Spanish families, --he remembered how he once blunderedupon it with the boy while hotly pursued by a hue and cry from one ofthe larger towns, and how he found sanctuary there. He remembered how, when the pursuit was over, he had placed the boy there under the padre'scharge. He had lied to his wife regarding the whereabouts of her son, but he had spoken truly regarding his free expenditure for the boy'smaintenance, and the good fathers had accepted, equally for the child'ssake as for the Church's sake, the generous "restitution" which thiscoarse, powerful, ruffianly looking father was apparently seeking tomake. He was quite aware of it at the time, and had equally accepted itwith grim cynicism; but it now came back to him with a new and smartingsignificance. Might THEY, too, not succeed in weaning the boy'saffection from him, or if the mother had interfered, would they not sidewith her in claiming an equal right? He had sometimes laughed to himselfover the security of this hiding-place, so unknown and so unlikely to bediscovered by her, yet within easy reach of her friends and his enemies;he now ground his teeth over the mistake which his doting desire to keephis son accessible to him had caused him to make. He put spurs to hishorse, dashed down the little, narrow, ill-paved street, throughthe deserted plaza, and pulled up in a cloud of dust before the onlyremaining tower, with its cracked belfry, of the half-ruined Missionchurch. A new dormitory and school-building had been extended from itswalls, but in a subdued, harmonious, modest way, quite unlike the usualglaring white-pine glories of provincial towns. Steptoe laughed tohimself bitterly. Some of his money had gone in it. 

He seized the horsehair rope dangling from a bell by the wall and rangit sharply. A soft-footed priest appeared, --Father Dominico. "EddyHorncastle? Ah! yes. Eddy, dear child, is gone. "

"Gone!" shouted Steptoe in a voice that startled the padre. "Where?When? With whom?"

"Pardon, senor, but for a time--only a pasear to the next village. It ishis saint's day--he has half-holiday. He is a good boy. It is a littlepleasure for him and for us. "

"Oh!" said Steptoe, softened into a rough apology. "I forgot. All right. Has he had any visitors lately--lady, for instance?"

Father Dominico cast a look half of fright, half of reproval upon hisguest. 

"A lady HERE!"

In his relief Steptoe burst into a coarse laugh. "Of course; you seeI forgot that, too. I was thinking of one of his woman folks, youknow--relatives--aunts. Was there any other visitor?"

"Only one. Ah! we know the senor's rules regarding his son. "

"One?" repeated Steptoe. "Who was it?"

"Oh, quite an hidalgo--an old friend of the child's--most polite, most accomplished, fluent in Spanish, perfect in deportment. The SenorHorncastle surely could find nothing to object to. Father Pedro wascharmed with him. A man of affairs, and yet a good Catholic, too. Itwas a Senor Van Loo--Don Paul the boy called him, and they talked of theboy's studies in the old days as if--indeed, but for the stranger beinga caballero and man of the world--as if he had been his teacher. "

It was a proof of the intensity of the father's feelings that they hadpassed beyond the power of his usual coarse, brutal expression, and heonly stared at the priest with a dull red face in which the blood seemedto have stagnated. Presently he said thickly, "When did he come?"

"A few days ago. "

"Which way did Eddy go?"

"To Brown's Mills, scarcely a league away. He will be here--even now--onthe instant. But the senor will come into the refectory and take someof the old Mission wine from the Catalan grape, planted one hundred andfifty years ago, until the dear child returns. He will be so happy. "

"No! I'm in a hurry. I will go on and meet him. " He took off his hat, mopped his crisp, wet hair with his handkerchief, and in a thick, slow, impeded voice, more suggestive than the outburst he restrained, said, "And as long as my son remains here that man, Van Loo, must not passthis gate, speak to him, or even see him. You hear me? See to it, youand all the others. See to it, I say, or"--He stopped abruptly, clappedhis hat on the swollen veins of his forehead, turned quickly, passed outwithout another word through the archway into the road, and before thegood priest could cross himself or recover from his astonishment thethud of his horse's hoofs came from the dusty road. 

It was ten minutes before his face resumed its usual color. But in thatten minutes, as if some of the struggle of his rider had passed intohim, his horse was sweating with exhaustion and fear. For in that tenminutes, in this new imagination with which he was cursed, he had killedboth Van Loo and his son, and burned the refectory over the heads of thetreacherous priests. Then, quite himself again, a voice came to him fromthe rocky trail above the road with the hail of "Father!" He startedquickly as a lad of fifteen or sixteen came bounding down the hillside, and ran towards him. 

"You passed me and I called to you, but you did not seem to hear, "said the boy breathlessly. "Then I ran after you. Have you been to theMission?"

Steptoe looked at him quite as breathlessly, but from a deeper emotion. He was, even at first sight, a handsome lad, glowing with youth and theexcitement of his run, and, as the father looked at him, he couldsee the likeness to his mother in his clear-cut features, and even aresemblance to himself in his square, compact chest and shoulders andcrisp, black curls. A thrill of purely animal paternity passed over him, the fierce joy of his flesh over his own flesh! His own son, by God!They could not take THAT from him; they might plot, swindle, fawn, cheat, lie, and steal away his affections, but there he was, plain toall eyes, his own son, his very son!

"Come here, " he said in a singular, half-weary and half-protestingvoice, which the boy instantly recognized as his father's accents ofaffection. 

The boy hesitated as he stood on the edge of the road and pointed withmingled mischief and fastidiousness to the depths of impalpable reddust that lay between him and the horseman. Steptoe saw that he was verysmartly attired in holiday guise, with white duck trousers and patentleather shoes, and, after the Spanish fashion, wore black kid gloves. Hecertainly was a bit of a dandy, as he had said. The father's whole facechanged as he wheeled and came before the lad, who lifted up his armsexpectantly. They had often ridden together on the same horse. 

"No rides to-day in that toggery, Eddy, " he said in the same voice. "ButI'll get down and we'll go and sit somewhere under a tree and have sometalk. I've got a bit of a job that's hurrying me, and I can't wastetime. "

"Not one of your old jobs, father? I thought you had quite given thatup?"

The boy spoke more carelessly than reproachfully, or even wonderingly;yet, as he dismounted and tethered his horse, Steptoe answeredevasively, "It's a big thing, sonny; maybe we'll make our eternalfortune, and then we'll light out from this hole and have a gay timeelsewhere. Come along. "

He took the boy's gloved right hand in his own powerful grasp, andtogether they clambered up the steep hillside to a rocky ledge on whicha fallen pine from above had crashed, snapped itself in twain, and thenleft its withered crown to hang half down the slope, while the otherhalf rested on the ledge. On this they sat, looking down upon the roadand the tethered horse. A gentle breeze moved the treetops above theirheads, and the westering sun played hide-and-seek with the shiftingshadows. The boy's face was quick and alert with all that moved roundhim, but without thought the father's face was heavy, except for theeyes that were fixed upon his son. 

"Van Loo came to the Mission, " he said suddenly. 

The boy's eyes glittered quickly, like a steel that pierced the father'sheart. "Oh, " he said simply, "then it was the padre told you?"

"How did he know you were here?" asked Steptoe. 

"I don't know, " said the boy quietly. "I think he said something, butI've forgotten it. But it was mighty good of him to come, for I thought, you know, that he did not care to see me after Heavy Tree, and that he'dgone back on us. "

"What did he tell you?" continued Steptoe. "Did he talk of me or of yourmother?"

"No, " said the boy, but without any show of interest or sympathy; "wetalked mostly about old times. "

"Tell ME about those old times, Eddy. You never told me anything aboutthem. "

The boy, momentarily arrested more by something in the tone of hisfather's voice--a weakness he had never noticed before--than by anysuggestion of his words, said with a laugh, "Oh, only about what weused to do when I was very little and used to call myself his 'littlebrother, '--don't you remember, long before the big strike on Heavy Tree?They were gay times we had then. "

"And how he used to teach you to imitate other people's handwriting?"said Steptoe. 

"What made you think of that, pop?" said the boy, with a slight wonderin his eyes. "Why, that's the very thing we DID talk about. "

"But you didn't do it again; you ain't done it since, " said Steptoequickly. 

"Lord! no, " said the boy contemptuously. "There ain't no chance now, andthere wouldn't be any fun in it. It isn't like the old times when himand me were all alone, and we used to write letters as coming from otherpeople to all the boys round Heavy Tree and the Bar, and sometimes asfar as Boomville, to get them to do things, and they'd think the letterswere real, and they'd do 'em. And there'd be the biggest kind of a row, and nobody ever knew who did it. "

Steptoe stared at this flesh of his own flesh half in relief, half infrightened admiration. Sitting astride the log, his elbows on his kneesand his gloved hands supporting his round cheeks, the boy's handsomeface became illuminated with an impish devilry which the father hadnever seen before. With dancing eyes he went on. "It was one of thosevery games we played so long ago that he wanted to see me about andwanted me to keep mum about, for some of the folks that he played it onwere around here now. It was a game we got off on one of the big strikepartners long before the strike. I'll tell YOU, dad, for you knowwhat happened afterwards, and you'll be glad. Well, thatpartner--Demorest--was a kind of silly, you remember--a sort of MissNancyish fellow--always gloomy and lovesick after his girl in theStates. Well, we'd written lots of letters to girls from their chapsbefore, and got lots of fun out of it; but we had even a better showfor a game here, for it happened that Van Loo knew all about thegirl--things that even the man's own partners didn't, for Van Loo'smother was a sort of a friend of the girl's family, and traveled aboutwith her, and knew that the girl was spoony over this Demorest, and thatthey corresponded. So, knowing that Van Loo was employed at Heavy Tree, she wrote to him to find out all about Demorest and how to stop theirfoolish nonsense, for the girl's parents didn't want her to marry abroken-down miner like him. So we thought we'd do it our own way, andwrite a letter to her as if it was from him, don't you see? I wanted tomake him call her awful names, and say that he hated her, that he was amurderer and a horse-thief, and that he had killed a policeman, and thathe was thinking of becoming a Digger Injin, and having a Digger squawfor a wife, which he liked better than her. Lord! dad, you ought to haveseen what stuff I made up. " The boy burst into a shrill, half-femininelaugh, and Steptoe, catching the infection, laughed loudly in his owncoarse, brutal fashion. 

For some moments they sat there looking in each other's faces, shakingwith sympathetic emotion, the father forgetting the purpose of hiscoming there, his rage over Van Loo's visit, and even the rendezvousto which his horse in the road below was waiting to bring him; the sonforgetting their retreat from Heavy Tree Hill and his shameful vagabondwanderings with that father in the years that followed. The sinking sunstared blankly in their faces; the protecting pines above them moved bya stronger gust shook a few cones upon them; an enormous crow mockinglyrepeated the father's coarse laugh, and a squirrel scampered away fromthe strangely assorted pair as Steptoe, wiping his eyes and foreheadwith his pocket-handkerchief, said:--

"And did you send it?"

"Oh! Van Loo thought it too strong. Said that those sort of love-sickfools made more fuss over little things than they did over big things, and he sort of toned it down, and fixed it up himself. But it told. Forthere were never any more letters in the post-office in her handwriting, and there wasn't any posted to her in his. "

They both laughed again, and then Steptoe rose. "I must be gettingalong, " he said, looking curiously at the boy. "I've got to catch atrain at Three Boulders Station. "

"Three Boulders!" repeated the boy. "I'm going there, too, on Friday, tomeet Father Cipriano. "

"I reckon my work will be all done by Friday, " said Steptoe musingly. Standing thus, holding his boy's hand, he was thinking that the realfight at Marshall's would not take place at once, for it might take aday or two for Marshall to gather forces. But he only pressed his son'shand gently. 

"I wish you would sometimes take me with you as you used to, " said theboy curiously. "I'm bigger now, and wouldn't be in your way. "

Steptoe looked at the boy with a choking sense of satisfaction andpride. But he said, "No;" and then suddenly with simulated humor, "Don'tyou be taken in by any letters from ME, such as you and Van Loo used towrite. You hear?"

The boy laughed. 

"And, " continued Steptoe, "if anybody says I sent for you, don't youbelieve them. "

"No, " said the boy, smiling. 

"And don't you even believe I'm dead till you see me so. You understand. By the way, Father Pedro has some money of mine kept for you. Now hurryback to school and say you met me, but that I was in a great hurry. Ireckon I may have been rather rough to the priests. "

They had reached the lower road again, and Steptoe silently unhitchedhis horse. "Good-by, " he said, as he laid his hand on the boy's arm. 

"Good-by, dad. "

He mounted his horse slowly. "Well, " he said smilingly, looking down theroad, "you ain't got anything more to say to me, have you?"

"No, dad. "

"Nothin' you want?"

"Nothin', dad. "

"All right. Good-by. "

He put spurs to his horse and cantered down the road without lookingback. The boy watched him with idle curiosity until he disappeared fromsight, and then went on his way, whistling and striking off the heads ofthe wayside weeds with his walking-stick. 

CHAPTER VII. 

The sun arose so brightly over Hymettus on the morning after themeeting of the three partners that it was small wonder that Barker'simpressionable nature quickly responded to it, and, without awakeningthe still sleeping child, he dressed hurriedly, and was the firstto greet it in the keen air of the slope behind the hotel. To hispantheistic spirit it had always seemed as natural for him to earlywelcome his returning brothers of the woods and hills as to saygood-morning to his fellow mortals. And, in the joy of seeing Black Spurrising again to his level in the distance before him, he doffed his hatto it with a return of his old boyish habit, laid his arm caressinglyaround the great girth of the nearest pine, clapped his hands to thescampering squirrels in his path, and whistled to the dipping jays. In this way he quite forgot the more serious affairs of the precedingnight, or, rather, saw them only in the gilding of the morning, until, looking up, he perceived the tall figure of Demorest approaching him;and then it struck him with his first glance at his old partner's facethat his usual suave, gentle melancholy had been succeeded by a criticalcynicism of look and a restrained bitterness of accent. Barker's loyalheart smote him for his own selfishness; Demorest had been hard hitby the discovery of the forgery and Stacy's concern in it, and haddoubtless passed a restless night, while he (Barker) had forgotten allabout it. "I thought of knocking at your door, as I passed, " he said, with sympathetic apology, "but I was afraid I might disturb you. Isn'tit glorious here? Quite like the old hill. Look at that lizard; hehasn't moved since he first saw me. Do you remember the one who used tosteal our sugar, and then stiffen himself into stone on the edge of thebowl until he looked like an ornamental handle to it?" he continued, rebounding again into spirits. 

"Barker, " said Demorest abruptly, "what sort of woman is this Mrs. VanLoo, whose rooms I occupy?"

"Oh, " said Barker, with optimistic innocence, "a most proper woman, oldchap. White-haired, well-dressed, with a little foreign accent and astill more foreign courtesy. Why, you don't suppose we'd"--

"But what is she like?" said Demorest impatiently. 

"Well, " said Barker thoughtfully, "she's the kind of woman who might beVan Loo's mother, I suppose. "

"You mean the mother of a forger and a swindler?" asked Demorestsharply. 

"There are no mothers of swindlers and forgers, " said Barker gravely, "in the way you mean. It's only those poor devils, " he said, pointing, nevertheless, with a certain admiration to a circling sparrow-hawk abovehim, "who have inherited instincts. What I mean is that she might be VanLoo's mother, because he didn't SELECT her. "

"Where did she come from? and how long has she been here?" askedDemorest. 

"She came from abroad, I believe. And she came here just after you left. Van Loo, after he became secretary of the Ditch Company, sent for herand her daughter to keep house for him. But you'll see her to-day orto-morrow probably, when she returns. I'll introduce you; she'll berather glad to meet some one from abroad, and all the more if he happensto be rich and distinguished, and eligible for her daughter. " He stoppedsuddenly in his smile, remembering Demorest's lifelong secret. But tohis surprise his companion's face, instead of darkening as it waswont to do at any such allusion, brightened suddenly with a singularexcitement as he answered dryly, "Ah well, if the girl is pretty, whoknows!"

Indeed, his spirits seemed to have returned with strange vivacityas they walked back to the hotel, and he asked many other questionsregarding Mrs. Van Loo and her daughter, and particularly if thedaughter had also been abroad. When they reached the veranda they founda few early risers eagerly reading the Sacramento papers, which had justarrived, or, in little knots, discussing the news. Indeed, they wouldprobably have stopped Barker and his companion had not Barker, anxiousto relieve his friend's curiosity, hurried with him at once to themanager's office. 

"Can you tell me exactly when you expect Mrs. Van Loo to return?" askedBarker quickly. 

The manager with difficulty detached himself from the newspaper whichhe, too, was anxiously perusing, and said, with a peculiar smile, "Wellno! she WAS to return to-day, but if you're wanting to keep her rooms, I should say there wouldn't be any trouble about it, as she'll hardly becoming back here NOW. She's rather high and mighty in style, I know, anda determined sort of critter, but I reckon she and her daughter wouldn'tcare much to be waltzing round in public after what has happened. "

"I don't understand you, " said Demorest impatiently. "WHAT hashappened?"

"Haven't you heard the news?" said the manager in surprise. "It's inall the Sacramento papers. Van Loo is a defaulter--has hypothecatedeverything he had and skedaddled. "

Barker started. He was not thinking of the loss of his wife'smoney--only of HER disappointment and mortification over it. Poor girl!Perhaps she was also worrying over his resentment, --as if she did notknow him! He would go to her at once at Boomville. Then he rememberedthat she was coming with Mrs. Horncastle, and might be already onher way here by rail or coach, and he would miss her. Demorest in themeantime had seized a paper, and was intently reading it. 

"There's bad news, too, for your friend, your old partner, " said themanager half sympathetically, half interrogatively. "There has been adrop out in everything the bank is carrying, and everybody is unloading. Two firms failed in 'Frisco yesterday that were carrying things for thebank, and have thrown everything back on it. There was an awful paniclast night, and they say none of the big speculators know where theystand. Three of our best customers in the hotel rushed off to the baythis morning, but Stacy himself started before daylight, and got thethrough night express to stop for him on the Divide on signal. Shall Isend any telegrams that may come to your room?"

Demorest knew that the manager suspected him of being interested in thebank, and understood the purport of the question. He answered, with calmsurprise, that he was expecting no telegrams, and added, "But if Mrs. Van Loo returns I beg you to at once let me know, " and taking Barker'sarm he went in to breakfast. Seated by themselves, Demorest looked athis companion. "I'm afraid, Barker boy, that this thing is more seriousto Jim than we expected last night, or than he cared to tell us. Andyou, old man, I fear are hurt a little by Van Loo's flight. He had somemoney of your wife's, hadn't he?"

Barker, who knew that the bulk of Demorest's fortune was in Stacy'shands, was touched at this proof of his unselfish thought, and answeredwith equal unselfishness that he was concerned only by the fear of Mrs. Barker's disappointment. "Why, Lord! Phil, whether she's lost or savedher money it's nothing to me. I gave it to her to do what she liked withit, but I'm afraid she'll be worrying over what I think of it, --as ifshe did not know me! And I'm half a mind, if it were not for missingher, to go over to Boomville, where she's stopping. "

"I thought you said she was in San Francisco?" said Demorestabstractedly. 

Barker colored. "Yes, " he answered quickly. "But I've heard since thatshe stopped at Boomville on the way. "

"Then don't let ME keep you here, " returned Demorest. "For if Jimtelegraphs to me I shall start for San Francisco at once, and I ratherthink he will. I did not like to say so before those panic-mongersoutside who are stampeding everything; so run along, Barker boy, andease your mind about the wife. We may have other things to think aboutsoon. "

Thus adjured, Barker rose from his half-finished breakfast and slippedaway. Yet he was not quite certain what to do. His wife must have heardthe news at Boomville as quickly as he had, and, if so, would be on herway with Mrs. Horncastle; or she might be waiting for him--knowing, too, that he had heard the news--in fear and trembling. For it was Barker'scustom to endow all those he cared for with his own sensitiveness, andit was not like him to reflect that the woman who had so recklesslyspeculated against his opinion would scarcely fear his reproaches in herdefeat. In the fullness of his heart he telegraphed to her in case shehad not yet left Boomville: "All right. Have heard news. Understandperfectly. Don't worry. Come to me. " Then he left the hotel by thestable entrance in order to evade the guests who had congregated onthe veranda, and made his way to a little wooded crest which he knewcommanded a view of the two roads from Boomville. Here he determined towait and intercept her before she reached the hotel. He knew that manyof the guests were aware of his wife's speculations with Van Loo, andthat he was her broker. He wished to spare her running the gauntletof their curious stares and comments as she drove up alone. As he wasclimbing the slope the coach from Sacramento dashed past him on theroad below, but he knew that it had changed horses at Boomville at fouro'clock, and that his tired wife would not have availed herself of it atthat hour, particularly as she could not have yet received the fatefulnews. He threw himself under a large pine, and watched the stagecoachdisappear as it swept round into the courtyard of the hotel. 

He sat there for some moments with his eyes bent upon the two forksof the red road that diverged below him, but which appeared to becomewhiter and more dazzling as he searched their distance. There wasnothing to be seen except an occasional puff of dust which eventuallyrevealed a horseman or a long trailing cloud out of which a solitarymule, one of a pack-train of six or eight, would momentarily emerge andbe lost again. Then he suddenly heard his name called, and, looking up, saw Mrs. Horncastle, who had halted a few paces from him between twocolumns of the long-drawn aisle of pines. 

In that mysterious half-light she seemed such a beautiful andgoddess-like figure that his consciousness at first was unable to graspanything else. She was always wonderfully well dressed, but the warmthand seclusion of this mountain morning had enabled her to wear a lightgown of some delicate fabric which set off the grace of her figure, and even pardoned the rural coquetry of a silken sash around her stillslender waist. An open white parasol thrown over her shoulder madea nimbus for her charming head and the thick coils of hair under herlace-edged hat. He had never seen her look so beautiful before. And thatthought was so plainly in his frank face and eyes as he sprang to hisfeet that it brought a slight rise of color to her own cheek. 

"I saw you climbing up here as I passed in the coach a few minutes ago, "she said, with a smile, "and as soon as I had shaken the dust off Ifollowed you. "

"Where's Kitty?" he stammered. 

The color faded from her face as it had come, and a shade of somethinglike reproach crept into her dark eyes. And whatever it had been herpurpose to say, or however carefully she might have prepared herself forthis interview, she was evidently taken aback by the sudden directnessof the inquiry. Barker saw this as quickly, and as quickly referred itto his own rudeness. His whole soul rushed in apology to his face as hesaid, "Oh, forgive me! I was anxious about Kitty; indeed, I had thoughtof coming again to Boomville, for you've heard the news, of course? VanLoo is a defaulter, and has run away with the poor child's money. "

Mrs. Horncastle had heard the news at the hotel. She paused a moment tocollect herself, and then said slowly and tentatively, with a watchfulintensity in her eyes, "Mrs. Barker went, I think, to the Divide"--

But she was instantly interrupted by the eager Barker. "I see. I thoughtof that at once. She went directly to the company's offices to see ifshe could save anything from the wreck before she saw me. It was likeher, poor girl! And you--you, " he went on eagerly, his whole facebeaming with gratitude, --"you, out of your goodness, came here to tellme. " He held out both hands and took hers in his. 

For a moment Mrs. Horncastle was speechless and vacillating. She hadoften noticed before that it was part of the irony of the creation ofsuch a simple nature as Barker's that he was not only open to deceit, but absolutely seemed to invite it. Instead of making others franker, people were inclined to rebuke his credulity by restraint andequivocation on their own part. But the evasion thus offered to her, although only temporary, was a temptation she could not resist. And itprolonged an interview that a ruthless revelation of the truth mighthave shortened. 

"She did not tell me she was going there, " she replied still evasively;"and, indeed, " she added, with a burst of candor still more dangerous, "I only learned it from the hotel clerk after she was gone. But I wantto talk to you about her relations to Van Loo, " she said, with a returnof her former intensity of gaze, "and I thought we would be less subjectto interruption here than at the hotel. Only I suppose everybody knowsthis place, and any of those flirting couples are likely to come here. Besides, " she added, with a little half-hysterical laugh and a slightshiver, as she looked up at the high interlacing boughs above her head, "it's as public as the aisles of a church, and really one feels as ifone were 'speaking out' in meeting. Isn't there some other spot a littlemore secluded, where we could sit down, " she went on, as she poked herparasol into the usual black gunpowdery deposit of earth which mingledwith the carpet of pine-needles beneath her feet, "and not get allsticky and dirty?"

Barker's eyes sparkled. "I know every foot of this hill, Mrs. Horncastle, " he said, "and if you will follow me I'll take you to one ofthe loveliest nooks you ever dreamed of. It's an old Indian spring nowforgotten, and I think known only to me and the birds. It's not morethan ten minutes from here; only"--he hesitated as he caught sightof the smart French bronze buckled shoe and silken ankle whichMrs. Horncastle's gathering up of her dainty skirts around her haddisclosed--"it may be a little rough and dusty going to your feet. "

But Mrs. Horncastle pointed out that she had already irretrievablyruined her shoes and stockings in climbing up to him, --although Barkercould really distinguish no diminution of their freshness, --and thatshe might as well go on. Whereat they both passed down the long aisle ofslope to a little hollow of manzanita, which again opened to a view ofBlack Spur, but left the hotel hidden. 

"What time did Kitty go?" began Barker eagerly, when they were half downthe slope. 

But here Mrs. Horncastle's foot slipped upon the glassy pine-needles, and not only stopped an answer, but obliged Barker to give all hisattention to keep his companion from falling again until they reachedthe open. Then came the plunge through the manzanita thicket, then acool wade through waist-deep ferns, and then they emerged, holding eachother's hand, breathless and panting before the spring. 

It did not belie his enthusiastic description. A triangular hollow, niched in a shelf of the mountain-side, narrowed to a point from whichthe overflow of the spring percolated through a fringe of alder, tofall in what seemed from the valley to be a green furrow down the wholelength of the mountain-side. Overhung by pines above, which met andmingled with the willows that everywhere fringed it, it made the onecooling shade in the whole basking expanse of the mountain, and yet waspenetrated throughout by the intoxicating spice of the heated pines. Flowering reeds and long lush grasses drew a magic circle round an openbowl-like pool in the centre, that was always replenished to the slowmurmur of an unseen rivulet that trickled from a white-quartz cavernin the mountain-side like a vein opened in its flank. Shadows of timidwings crossed it, quick rustlings disturbed the reeds, but nothing more. It was silent, but breathing; it was hidden to everything but the skyand the illimitable distance. 

They threaded their way around it on the spongy carpet, covered bydelicate lace-like vines that seemed to caress rather than trammel theirmoving feet, until they reached an open space before the pool. It wascushioned and matted with disintegrated pine bark, and here they satdown. Mrs. Horncastle furled her parasol and laid it aside; raisedboth hands to the back of her head and took two hat-pins out, which sheplaced in her smiling mouth; removed her hat, stuck the hat-pins in it, and handed it to Barker, who gently placed it on the top of a tall reed, where during the rest of that momentous meeting it swung and droopedlike a flower; removed her gloves slowly; drank still smilingly andgratefully nearly a wineglassful of the water which Barker broughther in the green twisted chalice of a lily leaf; looked the picture ofhappiness, and then burst into tears. 

Barker was astounded, dismayed, even terror-stricken. Mrs. Horncastlecrying! Mrs. Horncastle, the imperious, the collected, the coldlycritical, the cynical, smiling woman of the world, actually crying!Other women might cry--Kitty had cried often--but Mrs. Horncastle!Yet, there she was, sobbing; actually sobbing like a schoolgirl, her beautiful shoulders rising and falling with her grief; cryingunmistakably through her long white fingers, through a lacepocket-handkerchief which she had hurriedly produced and shaken frombehind her like a conjurer's trick; her beautiful eyes a thousand timesmore lustrous for the sparkling beads that brimmed her lashes and welledover like the pool before her. 

"Don't mind me, " she murmured behind her handkerchief. "It's veryfoolish, I know. I was nervous--worried, I suppose; I'll be better in amoment. Don't notice me, please. "

But Barker had drawn beside her and was trying, after the fashion of hissex, to take her handkerchief away in apparently the firm belief thatthis action would stop her tears. "But tell me what it is. Do Mrs. Horncastle, please, " he pleaded in his boyish fashion. "Is it anything Ican do? Only say the word; only tell me SOMETHING!"

But he had succeeded in partially removing the handkerchief, and socaught a glimpse of her wet eyes, in which a faint smile struggled outlike sunshine through rain. But they clouded again, although she didn'tcry, and her breath came and went with the action of a sob, and herhands still remained against her flushed face. 

"I was only going to talk to you of Kitty" (sob)--"but I suppose I'mweak" (sob)--"and such a fool" (sob) "and I got to thinking of myselfand my own sorrows when I ought to be thinking only of you and Kitty. "

"Never mind Kitty, " said Barker impulsively. "Tell me aboutyourself--your own sorrows. I am a brute to have bothered you about herat such a moment; and now until you have told me what is paining you soI shall not let you speak of her. " He was perfectly sincere. Whatwere Kitty's possible and easy tears over the loss of her money to theunknown agony that could wrench a sob from a woman like this? "Dear Mrs. Horncastle, " he went on as breathlessly, "think of me now not as Kitty'shusband, but as your true friend. Yes, as your BEST and TRUEST friend, and speak to me as you would speak to him. "

"You will be my friend?" she said suddenly and passionately, grasping his hand, "my best and truest friend? and if I tell youall, --everything, you will not cast me from you and hate me?"

Barker felt the same thrill from her warm hand slowly possess his wholebeing as it had the evening before, but this time he was prepared andanswered the grasp and her eyes together as he said breathlessly, "Iwill be--I AM your friend. "

She withdrew her hand and passed it over her eyes. After a moment shecaught his hand again, and, holding it tightly as if she feared he mightfly from her, bit her lip, and then slowly, without looking at him, said, "I lied to you about myself and Kitty that night; I did not comewith her. I came alone and secretly to Boomville to see--to see the manwho is my husband. "

"Your husband!" said Barker in surprise. He had believed, with the restof the world, that there had been no communication between them foryears. Yet so intense was his interest in her that he did not noticethat this revelation was leaving now no excuse for his wife's presenceat Boomville. 

Mrs. Horncastle went on with dogged bitterness, "Yes, my husband. I wentto him to beg and bribe him to let me see my child. Yes, MY child, " shesaid frantically, tightening her hold upon his hand, "for I lied to youwhen I once told you I had none. I had a child, and, more than that, achild who at his birth I did not dare to openly claim. "

She stopped breathlessly, stared at his face with her former intensityas if she would pluck the thought that followed from his brain. Buthe only moved closer to her, passed his arm over her shoulders with amovement so natural and protecting that it had a certain dignity in it, and, looking down upon her bent head with eyes brimming with sympathy, whispered, "Poor, poor child!"

Whereat Mrs. Horncastle again burst into tears. And then, with her headhalf drawn towards his shoulder, she told him all, --all that had passedbetween her and her husband, --even all that they had then but hinted at. It was as if she felt she could now, for the first time, voice all theseterrible memories of the past which had come back to her last night whenher husband had left her. She concealed nothing, she veiled nothing;there were intervals when her tears no longer flowed, and a cruelhardness and return of her old imperiousness of voice and manner tooktheir place, as if she was doing a rigid penance and took a bittersatisfaction in laying bare her whole soul to him. "I never had afriend, " she whispered; "there were women who persecuted me with theirjealous sneers; there were men who persecuted me with their selfishaffections. When I first saw YOU, you seemed something so apart anddifferent from all other men that, although I scarcely knew you, Iwanted to tell you, even then, all that I have told you now. I wantedyou to be my friend; something told me that you could, --that you couldseparate me from my past; that you could tell me what to do; that youcould make me think as you thought, see life as YOU saw it, and trustalways to some goodness in people as YOU did. And in this faith Ithought that you would understand me now, and even forgive me all. "

She made a slight movement as if to disengage his arm, and, possibly, to look into his eyes, which she knew instinctively were bent upon herdowncast head. But he only held her the more tightly until her cheekwas close against his breast. "What could I do?" she murmured. "A manin sorrow and trouble may go to a woman for sympathy and support and theworld will not gainsay or misunderstand him. But a woman--weaker, morehelpless, credulous, ignorant, and craving for light--must not in heragony go to a man for succor and sympathy. "

"Why should she not?" burst out Barker passionately, releasing her inhis attempt to gaze into her face. "What man dare refuse her?"

"Not THAT, " she said slowly, but with still averted eyes, "but becausethe world would say she LOVED him. "

"And what should she care for the opinion of a world that stands asideand lets her suffer? Why should she heed its wretched babble?" he wenton in flashing indignation. 

"Because, " she said faintly, lifting her moist eyes and moist and partedlips towards him, --"because it would be TRUE!"

There was a silence so profound that even the spring seemed to withholdits song as their eyes and lips met. When the spring recommenced itsmurmur, and they could hear the droning of a bee above them and therustling of the reed, she was murmuring, too, with her face against hisbreast: "You did not think it strange that I should follow you--that Ishould risk everything to tell you what I have told you before I toldyou anything else? You will never hate me for it, George?"

There was another silence still more prolonged, and when he looked againinto the flushed face and glistening eyes he was saying, "I have ALWAYSloved you. I know now I loved you from the first, from the day when Ileaned over you to take little Sta from your lap and saw your tendernessfor him in your eyes. I could have kissed you THEN, dearest, as I donow. "

"And, " she said, when she had gained her smiling breath again, "youwill always remember, George, that you told me this BEFORE I told youanything of her. "

"HER? Of whom, dearest?" he asked, leaning over her tenderly. 

"Of Kitty--of your wife, " she said impatiently, as she drew back shylywith her former intense gaze. 

He did not seem to grasp her meaning, but said gravely, "Let us nottalk of her NOW. Later we shall have MUCH to say of her. For, " he addedquietly, "you know I must tell her all. "

The color faded from her cheek. "Tell her all!" she repeated vacantly;then suddenly she turned upon him eagerly, and said, "But what if she isgone?"

"Gone?" he repeated. 

"Yes; gone. What if she has run away with Van Loo? What if she hasdisgraced you and her child?"

"What do you mean?" he said, seizing both her hands and gazing at herfixedly. 

"I mean, " she said, with a half-frightened eagerness, "that she hasalready gone with Van Loo. George! George!" she burst out suddenly andpassionately, falling upon her knees before him, "do you think that Iwould have followed you here and told you what I did if I thought thatshe had now the slightest claim upon your love or honor? Don't youunderstand me? I came to tell you of her flight to Boomville with thatman; how I accidentally intercepted them there; how I tried to save herfrom him, and even lied to you to try to save her from your indignation;but how she deceived me as she has you, and even escaped and joined herlover while you were with me. I came to tell you that and nothing more, George, I swear it. But when you were kind to me and pitied me, I wasmad--wild! I wanted to win you first out of your own love. I wanted youto respond to MINE before you knew your wife was faithless. Yet I wouldhave saved her if I could. Listen, George! A moment more before youspeak!"

Then she hurriedly told him all; the whole story of his wife's dishonor, from her entrance into the sitting-room with Van Loo, her later appealfor concealment from her husband's unexpected presence, to the use shemade of that concealment to fly with her lover. She spared no detail, and even repeated the insult Mrs. Barker had cast upon her with thetriumphant reproach that her husband would not believe her. "Perhaps, "she added bitterly, "you may not believe me now. I could even stand thatfrom you, George, if it could make you happier; but you would still haveto believe it from others. The people at the Boomville Hotel saw themleave it together. "

"I do believe you, " he said slowly, but with downcast eyes, "and if Idid not love you before you told me this I could love you now for thepart you have taken; but"--He stopped. 

"You love her still, " she burst out, "and I might have known it. Perhaps, " she went on distractedly, "you love her the more that you havelost her. It is the way of men--and women. "

"If I had loved her truly, " said Barker, lifting his frank eyes to hers, "I could not have touched YOUR lips. I could not even have wished to--asI did three years ago--as I did last night. Then I feared it was myweakness, now I know it was my love. I have thought of it ever since, even while waiting my wife's return here, knowing that I did not andnever could have loved her. But for that very reason I must try to saveher for her own sake, if I cannot save her for mine; and if I fail, dearest, it shall not be said that we climbed to happiness over herback bent with the burden of her shame. If I loved you and told you so, thinking her still guiltless and innocent, how could I profit now by herfault?"

Mrs. Horncastle saw too late her mistake. "Then you would take herback?" she said frenziedly. 

"To my home--which is hers--yes. To my heart--no. She never was there. "

"And I, " said Mrs. Horncastle, with a quivering lip, --"where do Igo when you have settled this? Back to my past again? Back to myhusbandless, childless life?"

She was turning away, but Barker caught her in his arms again. "No!"he said, his whole face suddenly radiating with hope and youthfulenthusiasm. "No! Kitty will help us; we will tell her all. You do notknow her, dearest, as I do--how good and kind she is, in spite of all. We will appeal to her; she will devise some means by which, without thescandal of a divorce, she and I may be separated. She will take dearlittle Sta with her--it is only right, poor girl; but she will let mecome and see him. She will be a sister to us, dearest. Courage! All willcome right yet. Trust to me. "

An hysterical laugh came to Mrs. Horncastle's lips and then stopped. For as she looked up at him in his supreme hopefulness, his divineconfidence in himself and others--at his handsome face beaming withlove and happiness, and his clear gray eyes glittering with an almostspiritual prescience--she, woman of the world and bitter experience, and perfectly cognizant of her own and Kitty's possibilities, was, nevertheless, completely carried away by her lover's optimism. For ofall optimism that of love is the most convincing. Dear boy!--for he wasbut a boy in experience--only his love for her could work this magic. Soshe gave him kiss for kiss, largely believing, largely hoping, that Mrs. Barker was in love with Van Loo and would NOT return. And in this hopean invincible belief in the folly of her own sex soothed and sustainedher. 

"We must go now, dearest, " said Barker, pointing to the sun already nearthe meridian. Three hours had fled, they knew not how. "I will bringyou back to the hill again, but there we had better separate, you takingyour way alone to the hotel as you came, and I will go a little way onthe road to the Divide and return later. Keep your own counsel aboutKitty for her sake and ours; perhaps no one else may know the truthyet. " With a farewell kiss they plunged again hand in hand through thecool bracken and again through the hot manzanita bushes, and so partedon the hilltop, as they had never parted before, leaving their wholeworld behind them. 

Barker walked slowly along the road under the flickering shade ofwayside sycamore, his sensitive face also alternating with his thoughtin lights and shadows. Presently there crept towards him out of thedistance a halting, vacillating, deviating buggy, trailing a cloud ofdust after it like a broken wing. As it came nearer he could see thatthe horse was spent and exhausted, and that the buggy's sole occupant--awoman--was equally exhausted in her monotonous attempt to urge itforward with whip and reins that rose and fell at intervals with feeblereiteration. Then he stepped out of the shadow and stood in the middleof the sunlit road to await it. For he recognized his wife. 

The buggy came nearer. And then the most exquisite pang he had ever feltbefore at his wife's hands shot through him. For as she recognizedhim she made a wild but impotent attempt to dash past him, and then assuddenly pulled up in the ditch. 

He went up to her. She was dirty, she was disheveled, she was haggard, she was plain. There were rings of dust round her tear-swept eyes andsmudges of dust-dried perspiration over her fair cheek. He thought ofthe beauty, freshness, and elegance of the woman he had just left, andan infinite pity swept the soul of this weak-minded gentleman. He rantowards her, and tenderly lifting her in her shame-stained garments fromthe buggy, said hurriedly, "I know it all, poor Kitty! You heard thenews of Van Loo's flight, and you ran over to the Divide to try and savesome of your money. Why didn't you wait? Why didn't you tell me?"

There was no mistaking the reality of his words, the genuine pity andtenderness of his action; but the woman saw before her only the familiardupe of her life, and felt an infinite relief mingled with a certaincontempt for his weakness and anger at her previous fears of him. 

"You might have driven over, then, yourself, " she said in a high, querulous voice, "if you knew it so well, and have spared ME thishorrid, dirty, filthy, hopeless expedition, for I have not savedanything--there! And I have had all this disgusting bother!"

For an instant he was sorely tempted to lift his eyes to her face, buthe checked himself; then he gently took her dust-coat from her shouldersand shook it out, wiped the dust from her face and eyes with his ownhandkerchief, held her hat and blew the dust from it with a vivid memoryof performing the same service for Mrs. Horncastle only an hour before, while she arranged her hair; and then, lifting her again into the buggy, said quietly, as he took his seat beside her and grasped the reins:--

"I will drive you to the hotel by way of the stables, and you can goat once to your room and change your clothes. You are tired, you arenervous and worried, and want rest. Don't tell me anything now until youfeel quite yourself again. "

He whipped up the horse, who, recognizing another hand at the reins, lunged forward in a final effort, and in a few minutes they were at thehotel. 

As Mrs. Horncastle sat at luncheon in the great dining-room, a littlepale and abstracted, she saw Mrs. Barker sweep confidently into theroom, fresh, rosy, and in a new and ravishing toilette. With a swiftglance of conscious power towards the other guests she walked towardsMrs. Horncastle. "Ah, here you are, dear, " she said in a voice thatcould easily reach all ears, "and you've arrived only a little beforeme, after all. And I've had such an AWFUL drive to the Divide! And onlythink! poor George telegraphed to me at Boomville not to worry, and hisdispatch has only just come back here. "

And with a glance of complacency she laid Barker's gentle and forgivingdispatch before the astonished Mrs. Horncastle. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

As the day advanced the excitement over the financial crisis increasedat Hymettus, until, in spite of its remote and peaceful isolation, it seemed to throb through all its verandas and corridors with somepulsation from the outer world. Besides the letters and dispatchesbrought by hurried messengers and by coach from the Divide, there wasa crowd of guests and servants around the branch telegraph at the newHeavy Tree post-office which was constantly augmenting. Added to thenatural anxiety of the deeply interested was the stimulated fever of thefew who wished to be "in the fashion. " It was early rumored that a heavyoperator, a guest of the hotel, who was also a director in the telegraphcompany, had bought up the wires for his sole use, that the dispatcheswere doctored in his interests as a "bear, " and there was wild talkof lynching by the indignant mob. Passengers from Sacramento, SanFrancisco, and Marysville brought incredible news and the wildestsensations. Firm after firm had failed in the great cities. Oldestablished houses that dated back to the "spring of '49, " and hadweathered the fires and inundations of their perilous Californianinfancy, collapsed before this mysterious, invisible, impalpablebreath of panic. Companies rooted in respectability and sneered at forold-fashioned ways were discovered to have shamelessly speculated withtrusts! An eminent deacon and pillar of the church was found dead inhis room with a bullet in his heart and a damning confession on the deskbefore him! Foreign bankers were sending their gold out of the country;government would be appealed to to open the vaults of the Mint; therewould be an embargo on all bullion shipment! Nothing was too wild orpreposterous to be repeated or credited. 

And with this fever of sordid passion the summer temperature hadincreased. For the last two weeks the thermometer had stood abnormallyhigh during the day-long sunshine; and the metallic dust in the roadsover mineral ranges pricked the skin like red-hot needles. In thedeepest woods the aromatic sap stood in beads on felled logs andsplintered tree-shafts; even the mountain night breeze failed to coolthese baked and heated fastnesses. There were ominous clouds of smoke byday that were pillars of fire by night along the distant valleys. Someof the nearer crests were etched against the midnight sky by dull redcreeping lines like a dying firework. The great hotel itself creakedand crackled and warped though all its painted, blistered, and veneeredexpanse, and was filled with the stifling breath of desiccation. Thestucco cracked and crumbled away from the cornices; there were yawninggaps in the boarded floors beneath the Turkey carpets. Plate-glasswindows became hopelessly fixed in their warped and twisted sashes, and added to the heat; there was a warm incense of pine sap in thedining-room that flavored all the cuisine. And yet the babble of stocksand shares went on, and people pricked their ears over their soup tocatch the gossip of the last arrival. 

Demorest, loathing it all in his new-found bitterness, was neverthelessimpatient in his inaction, and was eagerly awaiting a telegram fromStacy; Barker had disappeared since luncheon. Suddenly there wasa commotion on the veranda as a carriage drove up with a handsome, gray-haired woman. In the buzzing of voices around him Demorest heardthe name of Mrs. Van Loo. In further comments, made in more smotheredaccents, he heard that Van Loo had been stopped at Canyon Station, butthat no warrant had yet been issued against him; that it was generallybelieved that the bank dared not hold him; that others openly averredthat he had been used as a scapegoat to avert suspicion from higherguilt. And certainly Mrs. Van Loo's calm, confident air seemed tocorroborate these assertions. 

He was still wondering if the strange coincidence which had brought bothmother and son into his own life was not merely a fancy, as far as SHEwas concerned, when a waiter brought a message from Mrs. Van Loo thatshe would be glad to see him for a few moments in her room. Lastnight he could scarcely have restrained his eagerness to meet her andelucidate the mystery of the photograph; now he was conscious of anequally strong revulsion of feeling, and a dull premonition of evil. However, it was no doubt possible that the man had told her of hisprevious inquiries, and she had merely acknowledged them by thatmessage. 

Demorest found Mrs. Van Loo in the private sitting-room where he and hisold partners had supped on the preceding night. She received him withunmistakable courtesy and even a certain dignity that might or mightnot have been assumed. He had no difficulty in recognizing the son'smechanical politeness in the first, but he was puzzled at the second. 

"The manager of this hotel, " she began, with a foreigner's precision ofEnglish, "has just told me that you were at present occupying my roomsat his invitation, but that you wished to see me at once on my return, and I believe that I was not wrong in apprehending that you preferredto hear my wishes from my own lips rather than from an innkeeper. I hadintended to keep these rooms for some weeks, but, unfortunately for me, though fortunately for you, the present terrible financial crisis, whichhas most unjustly brought my son into such scandalous prominence, willoblige me to return to San Francisco until his reputation is fullycleared of these foul aspersions. I shall only ask you to allow me theundisturbed possession of these rooms for a couple of hours until I canpack my trunks and gather up a few souvenirs that I almost always keepwith me. "

"Pray, consider that your wishes are my own in respect to that, mydear madam, " returned Demorest gravely, "and that, indeed, I protestedagainst even this temporary intrusion upon your apartments; but Iconfess that now that you have spoken of your souvenirs I have thegreatest curiosity about one of them, and that even my object in seekingthis interview was to gratify it. It is in regard to a photograph whichI saw on the chimney-piece in your bedroom, which I think I recognizedas that of some one whom I formerly knew. "

There was a sudden look of sharp suspicion and even hard aggressivenessthat quite changed the lady's face as he mentioned the word "souvenir, "but it quickly changed to a smile as she put up her fan with a gestureof arch deprecation, and said:

"Ah! I see. Of course, a lady's photograph. "

The reply irritated Demorest. More than that, he felt a sudden sense ofthe absolute sentimentality of his request, and the consciousnessthat he was about to invite the familiar confidence of this strangewoman--whose son had forged his name--in regard to HER!

"It was a Venetian picture, " he began, and stopped, a singular disgustkeeping him from voicing the name. 

But Mrs. Van Loo was less reticent. "Oh, you mean my dearest friend--alovely picture, and you know her? Why, yes, surely. You are THE Mr. Demorest who--Of course, that old love-affair. Well, you are a marvel!Five years ago, at least, and you have not forgotten! I really mustwrite and tell her. "

"Write and tell her!" Then it was all a lie about her death! He feltnot only his faith, his hope, his future leaving him, but even hisself-control. With an effort he said. --

"I think you have already satisfied my curiosity. I was told five yearsago that she was dead. It was because of the date of the photograph--twoyears later--that I ventured to intrude upon you. I was anxious only toknow the truth. "

"She certainly was very much living and of the world when I saw herlast, two years ago, " said Mrs. Van Loo, with an easy smile. "I dare saythat was a ruse of her relatives--a very stupid one--to break off theaffair, for I think they had other plans. But, dear me! now I remember, was there not some little quarrel between you before? Some letter fromyou that was not very kind? My impression is that there was somethingof the sort, and that the young lady was indignant. But only for a time, you know. She very soon forgot it. I dare say if you wrote somethingvery charming to her it might not be too late. We women are veryforgiving, Mr. Demorest, and although she is very much sought after, asare all young American girls whose fathers can give them a comfortable'dot', her parents might be persuaded to throw over a poor prince fora rich countryman in the end. Of course, you know, to you Republicansthere is always something fascinating in titles and blood, and our dearfriend is like other girls. Still, it is worth the risk. And five yearsof waiting and devotion really ought to tell. It's quite a romance!Shall I write to her and tell her I have seen you, looking well andprosperous? Nothing more. Do let me! I should be delighted. "

"I think it hardly worth while for you to give yourself that trouble, "said Demorest quietly, looking in Mrs. Van Loo's smiling eyes, "now thatI know the story of the young lady's death was a forgery. And I will notintrude further on your time. Pray give yourself no needless hurry overyour packing. I may go to San Francisco this afternoon, and not evenrequire the rooms to-night. "

"At least, let me make you a present of the souvenir as anacknowledgment of your courtesy, " said Mrs. Van Loo, passing into herbedroom and returning with the photograph. "I feel that with your fiveyears of constancy it is more yours than mine. " As a gentleman Demorestknew he could not refuse, and taking the photograph from her with a lowbow, with another final salutation he withdrew. 

Alone by himself in a corner of the veranda he was surprised thatthe interview had made so little impression on him, and had so littlealtered his conviction. His discovery that the announcement of hisbetrothed's death was a fiction did not affect the fact that thoughliving she was yet dead to him, and apparently by her own consent. The contrast between her life and his during those five years had beencovertly accented by Mrs. Van Loo, whether intentionally or not, andhe saw again as last night the full extent of his sentimental folly. Hecould not even condole with himself that he was the victim of miserablefalsehoods that others had invented. SHE had accepted them, and had evenexcused her desertion of him by that last deceit of the letter. 

He drew out her photograph and again examined it, but not as alover. Had she really grown stouter and more self-complacent? Was thespirituality and delicacy he had worshiped in her purely his own idioticfancy? Had she always been like this? Yes. There was the girl who couldweakly strive, weakly revenge herself, and weakly forget. There was thefigure that he had expected to find carved upon the tomb which he hadlong sought that he might weep over. He laughed aloud. 

It was very hot, and he was stifling with inaction. What was Barkerdoing, and why had not Stacy telegraphed to him? And what were thosepeople in the courtyard doing? Were they discussing news of furtherdisaster and ruin? Perhaps he was even now a beggar. Well, his fortunemight go with his faith. 

But the crowd was simply looking at the roof of the hotel, and henow saw that a black smoke was drifting across the courtyard, and wasconscious of a smell of soot and burning. He stepped down from theveranda among the mingled guests and servants, and saw that the smokewas only pouring from a chimney. He heard, too, that the chimney hadbeen on fire, and that it was Mrs. Van Loo's bedroom chimney, and thatwhen the startled servants had knocked at the locked door she had toldthem that she was only burning some old letters and newspapers, therefuse of her trunks. There was naturally some indignation that thehotel had been so foolishly endangered, in such scorching weather, andthe manager had had a scene with her which resulted in her leaving thehotel indignantly with her half-packed boxes. But even after the smokehad died away and the fire been extinguished in the chimney and hearth, there was an acrid smell of smouldering pine penetrating the upperfloors of the hotel all that afternoon. 

When Mrs. Van Loo drove away, the manager returned with Demorest to therooms. The marble hearth was smoked and discolored and still litteredwith charred ashes of burnt paper. "My belief is, " said the managerdarkly, "that the old hag came here just to burn up a lot ofincriminating papers that her son had intrusted to her keeping. It looksmighty suspicious. You see she got up an awful lot of side when I toldher I didn't reckon to run a smelting furnace in a wooden hotel with thethermometer at one hundred in the office, and I reckon it was just anexcuse for getting off in a hurry. "

But the continued delay in Stacy's promised telegram had begun towork upon Demorest's usual equanimity, and he scarcely listened in hisanxiety for his old partner. He knew that Stacy should have arrived inSan Francisco by noon. He had almost determined to take the next trainfrom the Divide when two horsemen dashed into the courtyard. Therewas the usual stir on the veranda and rush for news, but the two newarrivals turned out to be Barker, on a horse covered with foam, and adashing, elegantly dressed stranger on a mustang as carefully groomedand as spotless as himself. Demorest instantly recognized Jack Hamlin. 

He had not seen Hamlin since that day, five years before, when thelatter had accompanied the three partners with their treasure toBoomville, and had handed him the mysterious packet. As the two mendismounted hurriedly and moved towards him, he felt a premonition ofsomething as fateful and important as then. In obedience to a sign fromBarker he led them to a more secluded angle of the veranda. He could nothelp noticing that his younger partner's face was mobile as ever, butmore thoughtful and older; yet his voice rang with the old freemasonryof the camp, as he said, with a laugh, "The signal has been given, andit's boot and saddle and away. "

"But I have had no dispatch from Stacy, " said Demorest in surprise. "Hewas to telegraph to me from San Francisco in any emergency. "

"He never got there at all, " said Barker. "Jack ran slap into Van Loo atthe Divide, and sent a dispatch to Jim, which stopped him halfway untilJack could reach him, which he nearly broke his neck to do; and thenJack finished up by bringing a message from Stacy to us that we shouldall meet together on the slope of Heavy Tree, near the Bar. I met Jackjust as I was riding into the Divide, and came back with him. He willtell you the rest, and you can swear by what Jack says, for he's whiteall through, " he added, laying his hand affectionately on Hamlin'sshoulder. 

Hamlin winced slightly. For he had NOT told Barker that his wife waswith Van Loo, nor his first reason for interfering. But he related howhe had finally overtaken Van Loo at Canyon Station, and how the fugitivehad disclosed the conspiracy of Steptoe and Hall against the bank andMarshall as the price of his own release. On this news, remembering thatStacy had passed the Divide on his way to the station, he had first senta dispatch to him, and then met him at the first station on the road. "I reckon, gentlemen, " said Hamlin, with an unusual earnestness in hisvoice, "that he'd not only got my telegram, but ALL THE NEWS that hadbeen flying around this morning, for he looked like a man to whom itwas just a 'toss-up' whether he took his own life then and there or waswilling to have somebody else take it for him, for he said, 'I'll gomyself, ' and telegraphed to have the surveyor stopped from coming. Thenhe told me to tell you fellows, and ask you to come too. " Jack paused, and added half mischievously, "He sort of asked ME what I would taketo stand by him in the row, if there was one, and I told him I'dtake--whiskey! You see, boys, it's a kind of off-night with me, andI wouldn't mind for the sake of old times to finish the game with oldSteptoe that I began a matter of five years ago. "

"All right, " said Demorest, with a kindling eye; "I suppose we'd betterstart at once. One moment, " he added. "Barker boy, will you excuse me ifI speak a word to Hamlin?" As Barker nodded and walked to the rails ofthe veranda, Demorest took Hamlin aside, "You and I, " he said hurriedly, "are SINGLE men; Barker has a wife and child. This is likely to be nochild's play. "

But Jack Hamlin was no fool, and from certain leading questions whichBarker had already put, but which he had skillfully evaded, he surmisedthat Barker knew something of his wife's escapade. He answered a littlemore seriously than his wont, "I don't think as regards HIS WIFE thatwould make much difference to him or her how stiff the work was. "

Demorest turned away with his last pang of bitterness. It needed onlythis confirmation of all that Stacy had hinted, of what he himself hadseen in his brief interview with Mrs. Barker since his return, to shakehis last remaining faith. "We'll all go together, then, " he said, witha laugh, "as in the old times, and perhaps it's as well that we have nowoman in our confidence. "

An hour later the three men passed quietly out of the hotel, scarcelynoticed by the other guests, who were also oblivious of their absenceduring the evening. For Mrs. Barker, quite recovered from her fatiguingride, was in high spirits and the most beautiful and spotless of summergowns, and was considered quite a heroine by the other ladies as shedwelt upon the terrible heat of her return journey. "Only I knew Mr. Barker would be worried--and the poor man actually walked a mile downthe Divide road to meet me--I believe I should have stayed there allday. " She glanced round the other groups for Mrs. Horncastle, but thatlady had retired early. Possibly she alone had noticed the absence ofthe two partners. 

The guests sat up until quite late, for the heat seemed to grow stillmore oppressive, and the strange smell of burning wood revived thegossip about Mrs. Van Loo and her stupidity in setting fire to herchimney. Some averred that it would be days before the smell could begot out of the house; others referred it to the fires in the woods, which were now dangerously near. One spoke of the isolated positionof the hotel as affording the greatest security, but was met by theassertion of a famous mountaineer that the forest fires were wont toleap from crest to crest mysteriously, without any apparent continuouscontact. This led to more or less light-hearted conjecture of presentdanger and some amusing stories of hotel fires and their ludicrousrevelations. There were also some entertaining speculations as to whatthey would do and what they would try to save in such an emergency. 

"For myself, " said Mrs. Barker audaciously, "I should certainly let Mr. Barker look after Sta and confine myself entirely to getting away withmy diamonds. I know the wretch would never think of them. "

It was still later when, exhausted by the heat and some reaction fromthe excitement of the day, they at last deserted the veranda for theirrooms, and for a while the shadowy bulk of the whole building was pickedout with regularly spaced lights from its open windows, until now thesefinally faded and went out one by one. An hour later the whole buildinghad sunk to rest. It was said that it was only four in the morning whena yawning porter, having put out the light in a dark, upper corridor, was amazed by a dull glow from the top of the wall, and awoke to thefact that a red fire, as yet smokeless and flameless, was creeping alongthe cornice. He ran to the office and gave the alarm; but on returningwith assistance was stopped in the corridor by an impenetrable wall ofsmoke veined with murky flashes. The alarm was given in all the lowerfloors, and the occupants rushed from their beds half dressed to thecourtyard, only to see, as they afterwards averred, the flames burstlike cannon discharges from the upper windows and unite above thecrackling roof. So sudden and complete was the catastrophe, althoughslowly prepared by a leak in the overheated chimney between the floors, that even the excitement of fear and exertion was spared the survivors. There was bewilderment and stupor, but neither uproar nor confusion. People found themselves wandering in the woods, half awake and halfdressed, having descended from the balconies and leaped from thewindows, --they knew not how. Others on the upper floor neither awoke normoved from their beds, but were suffocated without a cry. From the firstan instinctive idea of the hopelessness of combating the conflagrationpossessed them all; to a blind, automatic feeling to flee the buildingwas added the slow mechanism of the somnambulist; delicate women walkedspeechlessly, but securely, along ledges and roofs from which theywould have fallen by the mere light of reason and of day. There was nocrowding or impeding haste in their dumb exodus. It was only when Mrs. Barker awoke disheveled in the courtyard, and with an hysterical outcryrushed back into the hotel, that there was any sign of panic. 

Mrs. Horncastle, who was standing near, fully dressed as from somenight-long vigil, quickly followed her. The half-frantic woman wasmaking directly for her own apartments, whose windows those inthe courtyard could see were already belching smoke. Suddenly Mrs. Horncastle stopped with a bitter cry and clasped her forehead. It hadjust flashed upon her that Mrs. Barker had told her only a few hoursbefore that Sta had been removed with the nurse to the UPPER FLOOR! Itwas not the forgotten child that Mrs. Barker was returning for, but herdiamonds! Mrs. Horncastle called her; she did not reply. The smoke wasalready pouring down the staircase. Mrs. Horncastle hesitated for amoment only, and then, drawing a long breath, dashed up the stairs. Onthe first landing she stumbled over something--the prostrate figure ofthe nurse. But this saved her, for she found that near the floor shecould breathe more freely. Before her appeared to be an open door. Shecrept along towards it on her hands and knees. The frightened cry ofa child, awakened from its sleep in the dark, gave her nerve to rise, enter the room, and dash open the window. By the flashing light shecould see a little figure rising from a bed. It was Sta. There was nota moment to be lost, for the open window was beginning to draw the smokefrom the passage. Luckily, the boy, by some childish instinct, threwhis arms round her neck and left her hands free. Whispering him tohold tight, she clambered out of the window. A narrow ledge of cornicescarcely wide enough for her feet ran along the house to a distantbalcony. With her back to the house she zigzagged her feet along thecornice to get away from the smoke, which now poured directly from thewindow. Then she grew dizzy; the weight of the child on her bosom seemedto be toppling her forward towards the abyss below. She closed her eyes, frantically grasping the child with crossed arms on her breast as shestood on the ledge, until, as seen from below through the twistingsmoke, they might have seemed a figure of the Madonna and Child nichedin the wall. Then a voice from above called to her, "Courage!" and shefelt the flap of a twisted sheet lowered from an upper window againsther face. She grasped it eagerly; it held firmly. Then she heard a cryfrom below, saw them carrying a ladder, and at last was lifted with herburden from the ledge by powerful hands. Then only did she raise hereyes to the upper window whence had come her help. Smoke and flame werepouring from it. The unknown hero who had sacrificed his only chance ofescape to her remained forever unknown. 

*****

Only four miles away that night a group of men were waiting for the dawnin the shadow of a pine near Heavy Tree Bar. As the sky glowed redlyover the crest between them and Hymettus, Hamlin said:--

"Another one of those forest fires. It's this side of Black Spur, and abig one, I reckon. "

"Do you know, " said Barker thoughtfully, "I was thinking of the timethe old cabin burnt up on Heavy Tree. It looks to be about in the sameplace. "

"Hush!" said Stacy sharply. 

CHAPTER IX. 

An abandoned tunnel--an irregular orifice in the mountain flank whichlooked like a dried-up sewer that had disgorged through its opening therefuse of the mountain in red slime, gravel, and a peculiar clay knownas "cement, " in a foul streak down its side; a narrow ledge on eitherside, broken up by heaps of quartz, tailings, and rock, and halfhidden in scrub, oak, and myrtle; a decaying cabin of logs, bark, andcobblestones--these made up the exterior of the Marshall claim. To thisdefacement of the mountain, the rude clearing of thicket and underbrushby fire or blasting, the lopping of tree-boughs and the decapitationof saplings, might be added the debris and ruins of half-civilizedoccupancy. The ground before the cabin was covered with broken boxes, tin cans, the staves and broken hoops of casks, and the cast-off ragsof blankets and clothing. The whole claim in its unsavory, unpicturesquedetails, and its vulgar story of sordid, reckless, and selfish occupancyand abandonment, was a foul blot on the landscape, which the first rosydawn only made the more offending. Surely the last spot in the worldthat men should quarrel and fight for!

So thought George Barker, as with his companions they moved in singlefile slowly towards it. The little party consisted only of himself, Demorest, and Stacy; Marshall and Hamlin--according to a prearrangedplan--were still in ambush to join them at the first appearance ofSteptoe and his gang. The claim was yet unoccupied; they had securedtheir first success. Steptoe's followers, unaware that his design hadbeen discovered, and confident that they could easily reach the claimbefore Marshall and the surveyor, had lingered. Some of them had helda drunken carouse at their rendezvous at Heavy Tree. Others were stillengaged in procuring shovels and picks and pans for their mock equipmentas miners, and this, again, gave Marshall's adherents the advantage. THEY knew that their opponents would probably first approach theempty claim encumbered only with their peaceful implements, while theythemselves had brought their rifles with them. 

Stacy, who by tacit consent led the party, on reaching the claim atonce posted Demorest and Barker each behind a separate heap of quartztailings on the ledge, which afforded them a capital breastwork, andstationed himself at the mouth of the tunnel which was nearest thetrail. It had already been arranged what each man was to do. They werein possession. For the rest they must wait. What they thought atthat moment no one knew. Their characteristic appearance had slightlychanged. The melancholy and philosophic Demorest was alert and bitter. Barker's changeful face had become fixed and steadfast. Stacy alone worehis "fighting look, " which the others had remembered. 

They had not long to wait. The sounds of rude laughter, coarseskylarking, and voices more or less still confused with half-spentliquor came from the rocky trail. And then Steptoe appeared with partof his straggling followers, who were celebrating their easy invasionby clattering their picks and shovels and beating loudly upon their tinsand prospecting-pans. The three partners quickly recognized the stampof the strangers, in spite of their peaceful implements. They werethe waifs and strays of San Francisco wharves, of Sacramento dens, ofdissolute mountain towns; and there was not, probably, a single actualminer among them. A raging scorn and contempt took possession of Barkerand Demorest, but Stacy knew their exact value. As Steptoe passed beforethe opening of the tunnel he heard the cry of "Halt!"

He looked up. He saw Stacy not thirty yards before him with his rifleat half-cock. He saw Barker and Demorest, fully armed, rise from behindtheir breastworks of rock along the ledge and thus fully occupy theclaim. But he saw more. He saw that his plot was known. Outlaw anddesperado as he was, he saw that he had lost his moral power in thisactual possession, and that from that moment he must be the aggressor. He saw he was fighting no irresponsible hirelings like his own, but menof position and importance, whose loss would make a stir. Against theirrifles the few revolvers that his men chanced to have slung to themwere of little avail. But he was not cowed, although his few followersstumbled together at this momentary check, half angrily, half timorouslylike wolves without a leader. "Bring up the other men and their guns, "he whispered fiercely to the nearest. Then he faced Stacy. 

"Who are YOU to stop peaceful miners going to work on their own claim?"he said coarsely. "I'll tell you WHO, boys, " he added, suddenly turningto his men with a hoarse laugh. "It ain't even the bank! It's only JimStacy, that the bank kicked out yesterday to save itself, --Jim Stacyand his broken-down pals. And what's the thief doing here--in Marshall'stunnel--the only spot that Marshall can claim? We ain't no particularfriends o' Marshall's, though we're neighbors on the same claim; but weain't going to see Marshall ousted by tramps. Are we, boys?"

"No, by G-d!" said his followers, dropping the pans and seizing theirpicks and revolvers. They understood the appeal to arms if not to theirreason. For an instant the fight seemed imminent. Then a voice frombehind them said:--

"You needn't trouble yourselves about that! I'M Marshall! I sent thesegentlemen to occupy the claim until I came here with the surveyor, " andtwo men stepped from a thicket of myrtle in the rear of Steptoe andhis followers. The speaker, Marshall, was a thin, slight, overworked, over-aged man; his companion, the surveyor, was equally slight, but red-bearded, spectacled, and professional-looking, with a longtraveling-duster that made him appear even clerical. They were scarcelya physical addition to Stacy's party, whatever might have been theirmoral and legal support. 

But it was just this support that Steptoe strangely clung to in hisdesigns for the future, and a wild idea seized him. The surveyor wasreally the only disinterested witness between the two parties. IfSteptoe could confuse his mind before the actual fighting--from which hewould, of course, escape as a non-combatant--it would go far afterwardsto rehabilitate Steptoe's party. "Very well, then, " he said to Marshall, "I shall call this gentleman to witness that we have been attackedhere in peaceable possession of our part of the claim by these armedstrangers, and whether they are acting on your order or not, their bloodwill be on your head. "

"Then I reckon, " said the surveyor, as he tore away his beard, wig, spectacles, and mustache, and revealed the figure of Jack Hamlin, "thatI'm about the last witness that Mr. Steptoe-Horncastle ought to call, and about the last witness that he ever WILL call!"

But he had not calculated upon the desperation of Steptoe over thefailure of this last hope. For there sprang up in the outlaw's brain thesame hideous idea that he voiced to his companions at the Divide. Witha hoarse cry to his followers, he crashed his pickaxe into the brain ofMarshall, who stood near him, and sprang forward. Three or four shotswere exchanged. Two of his men fell, a bullet from Stacy's rifle piercedSteptoe's leg, and he dropped forward on one knee. He heard the stepsof his reinforcements with their weapons coming close behind him, androlled aside on the sloping ledge to let them pass. But he rolled toofar. He felt himself slipping down the mountain-side in the slimy shootof the tunnel. He made a desperate attempt to recover himself, but thetreacherous drift of the loose debris rolled with him, as if he werepart of its refuse, and, carrying him down, left him unconscious, butotherwise uninjured, in the bushes of the second ledge five hundred feetbelow. 

When he recovered his senses the shouts and outcries above him hadceased. He knew he was safe. The ledge could only be reached by acircuitous route three miles away. He knew, too, that if he could onlyreach a point of outcrop a hundred yards away he could easily descend tothe stage road, down the gentle slope of the mountain hidden in a growthof hazel-brush. He bound up his wounded leg, and dragged himself on hishands and knees laboriously to the outcrop. He did not look up; sincehis pick had crashed into Marshall's brain he had but one blind thoughtbefore him--to escape at once! That his revenge and compensation wouldcome later he never doubted. He limped and crept, rolled and fell, frombush to bush through the sloping thickets, until he saw the red road afew feet below him. 

If he only had a horse he could put miles between him and any presentpursuit! Why should he not have one? The road was frequented by solitaryhorsemen--miners and Mexicans. He had his revolver with him; whatmattered the life of another man if he escaped from the consequences ofthe one he had just taken? He heard the clatter of hoofs; two priests onmules rode slowly by; he ground his teeth with disappointment. But theyhad scarcely passed before another and more rapid clatter came fromtheir rear. It was a lad on horseback. He started. It was his own son!

He remembered in a flash how the boy had said he was coming to meet thepadre at the station on that day. His first impulse was to hide himself, his wound, and his defeat from the lad, but the blind idea of escapewas still paramount. He leaned over the bank and called to him. Theastonished lad cantered eagerly to his side. 

"Give me your horse, Eddy, " said the father; "I'm in bad luck, and mustget. "

The boy glanced at his father's face, at his tattered garments andbandaged leg, and read the whole story. It was a familiar page to him. He paled first and then flushed, and then, with an odd glitter in hiseyes, said, "Take me with you, father. Do! You always did before. I'llbring you luck. "

Desperation is superstitious. Why not take him? They had been luckybefore, and the two together might confound any description of theiridentity to the pursuers. "Help me up, Eddy, and then get up before me. "

"BEHIND, you mean, " said the boy, with a laugh, as he helped his fatherinto the saddle. 

"No, " said Steptoe harshly. "BEFORE me, --do you hear? And if anythinghappens BEHIND you, don't look! If I drop off, don't stop! Don't getdown, but go on and leave me. Do you understand?" he repeated almostsavagely. 

"Yes, " said the boy tremulously. 

"All right, " said the father, with a softer voice, as he passed his onearm round the boy's body and lifted the reins. "Hold tight when we cometo the cross-roads, for we'll take the first turn, for old luck's sake, to the Mission. "

They were the last words exchanged between them, for as they wheeledrapidly to the left at the cross-roads, Jack Hamlin and Demorest swungas quickly out of another road to the right immediately behind them. Jack's challenge to "Halt!" was only answered by Steptoe's horsespringing forward under the sharp lash of the riata. 

"Hold up!" said Jack suddenly, laying his hand upon the rifle whichDemorest had lifted to his shoulder. "He's carrying some one, --a woundedcomrade, I reckon. We don't want HIM. Swing out and go for the horse;well forward, in the neck or shoulder. "

Demorest swung far out to the right of the road and raised his rifle. Asit cracked Steptoe's horse seemed to have suddenly struck some obstacleahead of him rather than to have been hit himself, for his head wentdown with his fore feet under him, and he turned a half-somersault onthe road, flinging his two riders a dozen feet away. 

Steptoe scrambled to his knees, revolver in hand, but the other figurenever moved. "Hands up!" said Jack, sighting his own weapon. The reportsseemed simultaneous, but Jack's bullet had pierced Steptoe's brain evenbefore the outlaw's pistol exploded harmlessly in the air. 

The two men dismounted, but by a common instinct they both ran to theprostrate figure that had never moved. 

"By God! it's a boy!" said Jack, leaning over the body and lifting theshoulders from which the head hung loosely. "Neck broken and dead ashis pal. " Suddenly he started, and, to Demorest's astonishment, beganhurriedly pulling off the glove from the boy's limp right hand. 

"What are you doing?" demanded Demorest in creeping horror. 

"Look!" said Jack, as he laid bare the small white hand. The first twofingers were merely unsightly stumps that had been hidden in the paddedglove. 

"Good God! Van Loo's brother!" said Demorest, recoiling. 

"No!" said Jack, with a grim face, "it's what I have longsuspected, --it's Steptoe's son!"

"His son?" repeated Demorest. 

"Yes, " said Jack; and he added, after looking at the two bodies witha long-drawn whistle of concern, "and I wouldn't, if I were you, sayanything of this to Barker. "

"Why?" said Demorest. 

"Well, " returned Jack, "when our scrimmage was over down there, and theybrought the news to Barker that his wife and her diamonds were burnt upat the hotel, you remember that they said that Mrs. Horncastle had savedhis boy. "

"Yes, " said Demorest; "but what has that to do with it?"

"Nothing, I reckon, " said Jack, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "only Mrs. Horncastle was the mother of the boy that's lying there. "

*****

Two years later as Demorest and Stacy sat before the fire in the oldcabin on Marshall's claim--now legally their own--they looked from thedoor beyond the great bulk of Black Spur to the pallid snow-line of theSierras, still as remote and unchanged to them as when they hadgazed upon it from Heavy Tree Hill. And, for the matter of that, theythemselves seemed to have been left so unchanged that even now, asin the old days, it was Barker's voice as he greeted them from thedarkening trail that alone broke their reverie. 

"Well, " said Demorest cheerfully, "your usual luck, Barker boy!" forthey already saw in his face the happy light they had once seen there onan eventful night seven years ago. 

"I'm to be married to Mrs. Horncastle next month, " he said breathlessly, "and little Sta loves her already as if she was his own mother. Wish mejoy. "

A slight shadow passed over Stacy's face; but his hand was the first tograsp Barker's, and his voice the first to say "Amen!"