Frontier Stories, Page 2

  FOUND AT BLAZING STAR.

  The rain had only ceased with the gray streaks of morning at BlazingStar, and the settlement awoke to a moral sense of cleanliness, and thefinding of forgotten knives, tin cups, and smaller camp utensils, wherethe heavy showers had washed away the debris and dust heaps before thecabin-doors. Indeed, it was recorded in Blazing Star that a fortunateearly riser had once picked up on the highway a solid chunk of goldquartz which the rain had freed from its incumbering soil, and washedinto immediate and glittering popularity. Possibly this may have beenthe reason why early risers in that locality, during the rainy season,adopted a thoughtful habit of body, and seldom lifted their eyes to therifted or india-ink washed skies above them.

  "Cass" Beard had risen early that morning, but not with a view todiscovery. A leak in his cabin roof--quite consistent with hiscareless, improvident habits--had roused him at 4 A.M., with a flooded"bunk" and wet blankets. The chips from his wood pile refused to kindlea fire to dry his bedclothes, and he had recourse to a more providentneighbor's to supply the deficiency. This was nearly opposite. Mr.Cassius crossed the highway, and stopped suddenly. Something glitteredin the nearest red pool before him. Gold, surely! But, wonderful torelate, not an irregular, shapeless fragment of crude ore, fresh fromNature's crucible, but a bit of jeweler's handicraft in the form of aplain gold ring. Looking at it more attentively, he saw that it borethe inscription, "May to Cass."

  Like most of his fellow gold-seekers, Cass was superstitious. "Cass!"His own name! He tried the ring. It fitted his little finger closely.It was evidently a woman's ring. He looked up and down the highway. Noone was yet stirring. Little pools of water in the red road werebeginning to glitter and grow rosy from the far-flushing east, butthere was no trace of the owner of the shining waif. He knew that therewas no woman in camp, and among his few comrades in the settlement heremembered to have seen none wearing an ornament like that. Again, thecoincidence of the inscription to his rather peculiar nickname wouldhave been a perennial source of playful comment in a camp that made noallowance for sentimental memories. He slipped the glittering littlehoop into his pocket, and thoughtfully returned to his cabin.

  Two hours later, when the long, straggling procession, which everymorning wended its way to Blazing Star Gulch,--the seat of miningoperations in the settlement,--began to move, Cass saw fit tointerrogate his fellows.

  "Ye didn't none on ye happen to drop anything round yer last night?" heasked, cautiously.

  "I dropped a pocketbook containing government bonds and some othersecurities, with between fifty and sixty thousand dollars," respondedPeter Drummond, carelessly; "but no matter, if any man will return afew autograph letters from foreign potentates that happened to be init,--of no value to anybody but the owner,--he can keep the money.Thar's nothin' mean about me," he concluded, languidly.

  This statement, bearing every evidence of the grossest mendacity, waslightly passed over, and the men walked on with the deepest gravity.

  "But hev you?" Cass presently asked of another.

  "I lost my pile to Jack Hamlin at draw-poker, over at Wingdam lastnight," returned the other, pensively, "but I don't calkilate to findit lying round loose."

  Forced at last by this kind of irony into more detailed explanation,Cass confided to them his discovery, and produced his treasure. Theresult was a dozen vague surmises,--only one of which seemed to bepopular, and to suit the dyspeptic despondency of the party,--adespondency born of hastily masticated fried pork and flapjacks. Thering was believed to have been dropped by some passing "road agent"laden with guilty spoil.

  "Ef I was you," said Drummond gloomily, "I wouldn't flourish that yerring around much afore folks. I've seen better men nor you strung up atree by _Vigilantes_ for having even less than that in theirpossession."

  "And I wouldn't say much about bein' up so d----d early this morning,"added an even more pessimistic comrade; "it might look bad before ajury."

  With this the men sadly dispersed, leaving the innocent Cass with thering in his hand, and a general impression on his mind that he wasalready an object of suspicion to his comrades,--an impression, it ishardly necessary to say, they fully intended should be left to ranklein his guileless bosom.

  Notwithstanding Cass's first hopeful superstition, the ring did notseem to bring him nor the camp any luck. Daily the "clean up" broughtthe same scant rewards to their labors, and deepened the sardonicgravity of Blazing Star. But, if Cass found no material result from histreasure, it stimulated his lazy imagination, and, albeit a dangerousand seductive stimulant, at least lifted him out of the monotonousgrooves of his half-careless, half-slovenly, but always self-contentedcamp life. Heeding the wise caution of his comrades, he took the habitof wearing the ring only at night. Wrapped in his blanket, hestealthily slipped the golden circlet over his little finger, and, ashe averred, "slept all the better for it." Whether it ever evoked anywarmer dream or vision during those calm, cold, virgin-like springnights, when even the moon and the greater planets retreated into theicy blue, steel-like firmament, I cannot say. Enough that thissuperstition began to be colored a little by fancy, and his fatalismsomewhat mitigated by hope. Dreams of this kind did not tend to promotehis efficiency in the communistic labors of the camp, and brought him aself-isolation that, however gratifying at first, soon debarred him thebenefits of that hard practical wisdom which underlaid the grumbling ofhis fellow-workers.

  "I'm dog-goned," said one commentator, "ef I don't believe that Cass islooney over that yer ring he found. Wears it on a string under hisshirt."

  Meantime, the seasons did not wait the discovery of the secret. The redpools in Blazing Star highway were soon dried up in the fervent Junesun and riotous night winds of those altitudes. The ephemeral grassesthat had quickly supplanted these pools and the chocolate-colored mud,were as quickly parched and withered. The footprints of spring becamevague and indefinite, and were finally lost in the impalpable dust ofthe summer highway.

  In one of his long, aimless excursions, Cass had penetrated a thickundergrowth of buckeye and hazel, and found himself quite unexpectedlyupon the high road to Red Chief's Crossing. Cass knew by the luridcloud of dust that hid the distance, that the up coach had passed. Hehad already reached that stage of superstition when the most trivialoccurrence seemed to point in some way to an elucidation of the mysteryof his treasure. His eyes had mechanically fallen to the ground again,as if he half expected to find in some other waif a hint orcorroboration of his imaginings. Thus abstracted, the figure of a younggirl on horseback, in the road directly before the bushes he emergedfrom, appeared to have sprung directly from the ground.

  "Oh, come here, please do; quick!"

  Cass stared, and then moved hesitatingly toward her.

  "I heard some one coming through the bushes, and I waited," she wenton. "Come quick. It's something too awful for anything."

  In spite of this appalling introduction, Cass could not but notice thatthe voice, although hurried and excited, was by no means agitated orfrightened; that the eyes which looked into his sparkled with a certainkind of pleased curiosity.

  "It was just here," she went on vivaciously, "just here that I wentinto the bush and cut a switch for my mare,--and,"--leading him alongat a brisk trot by her side,--"just here, look, see! this is what Ifound."

  It was scarcely thirty feet from the road. The only object that metCass's eye was a man's stiff, tall hat, lying emptily and vacantly inthe grass. It was new, shiny, and of modish shape. But it was soincongruous, so perkily smart, and yet so feeble and helpless lyingthere, so ghastly ludicrous in its very appropriateness and incapacityto adjust itself to the surrounding landscape, that it affected himwith something more than a sense of its grotesqueness, and he couldonly stare at it blankly.

  "But you're not looking the right way," the girl went on sharply; "lookthere!"

  Cass followed the direction of her whip. At last, what might haveseemed a coat thrown carelessly on the ground met his eye, butpresently he became aware of a w
hite, rigid, aimlessly-clinched handprotruding from the flaccid sleeve; mingled with it in some absurd wayand half hidden by the grass, lay what might have been a pair ofcast-off trousers but for two rigid boots that pointed in oppositeangles to the sky. It was a dead man! So palpably dead that life seemedto have taken flight from his very clothes. So impotent, feeble, anddegraded by them that the naked subject of a dissecting table wouldhave been less insulting to humanity. The head had fallen back, and waspartly hidden in a gopher burrow, but the white, upturned face andclosed eyes had less of helpless death in them than those wretchedenwrappings. Indeed, one limp hand that lay across the swollen abdomenlent itself to the grotesquely hideous suggestion of a gentlemansleeping off the excesses of a hearty dinner.

  "Ain't he horrid?" continued the girl; "but what killed him?"

  Struggling between a certain fascination at the girl's cold-bloodedcuriosity and horror of the murdered man, Cass hesitatingly lifted thehelpless head. A bluish hole above the right temple, and a few brownpaint-like spots on the forehead, shirt collar, and matted hair, provedthe only record.

  "Turn him over again," said the girl, impatiently, as Cass was about torelinquish his burden. "Maybe you'll find another wound."

  But Cass was dimly remembering certain formalities that in oldercivilizations attend the discovery of dead bodies, and postponed apresent inquest.

  "Perhaps you'd better ride on, Miss, afore you get summoned as awitness. I'll give warning at Red Chief's Crossing, and send thecoroner down here."

  "Let me go with you," she said, earnestly; "it would be such fun. Idon't mind being a witness. Or," she added, without heeding Cass's lookof astonishment, "I'll wait here till you come back."

  "But you see, Miss, it wouldn't seem right"--began Cass.

  "But I found him first," interrupted the girl, with a pout.

  Staggered by this preemptive right, sacred to all miners, Cass stopped.

  "Who is the coroner?" she asked.

  "Joe Hornsby."

  "The tall, lame man, who was half eaten by a grizzly?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, look now! I'll ride on and bring him back in half an hour.There!"

  "But, Miss--!"

  "Oh, don't mind _me_. I never saw anything of this kind before, and Iwant to see it _all_."

  "Do you know Hornsby?" asked Cass, unconsciously a trifle irritated.

  "No, but I'll bring him." She wheeled her horse into the road.

  In the presence of this living energy Cass quite forgot the helplessdead. "Have you been long in these parts, Miss?" he asked.

  "About two weeks," she answered, shortly. "Good-by, just now. Lookaround for the pistol or anything else you can find, although _I_ havebeen over the whole ground twice already."

  A little puff of dust as the horse sprang into the road, a muffledshuffle, struggle, then the regular beat of hoofs, and she was gone.

  After five minutes had passed, Cass regretted that he had notaccompanied her: waiting in such a spot was an irksome task. Not thatthere was anything in the scene itself to awaken gloomy imaginings; thebright, truthful Californian sunshine scoffed at any illusion ofcreeping shadows or waving branches. Once, in the rising wind, theempty hat rolled over--but only in a ludicrous, drunken way. A searchfor any further sign or token had proved futile, and Cass grewimpatient. He began to hate himself for having stayed; he would havefled but for shame. Nor was his good-humor restored when at the closeof a weary half hour two galloping figures emerged from the dustyhorizon--Hornsby and the young girl.

  His vague annoyance increased as he fancied that both seemed to ignorehim, the coroner barely acknowledging his presence with a nod. Assistedby the young girl, whose energy and enthusiasm evidently delighted him,Hornsby raised the body for a more careful examination. The dead man'spockets were carefully searched. A few coins, a silver pencil, knife,and tobacco-box were all they found. It gave no clew to his identity.Suddenly the young girl, who had, with unabashed curiosity, kneltbeside the exploring official hands of the Red Chief, uttered a cry ofgratification.

  "Here's something! It dropped from the bosom of his shirt on theground. Look!"

  She was holding in the air, between her thumb and forefinger, a foldedbit of well-worn newspaper. Her eyes sparkled.

  "Shall I open it?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "It's a little ring," she said; "looks like an engagement ring.Something is written on it. Look! 'May to Cass.'"

  Cass darted forward. "It's mine," he stammered, "mine! I dropped it.It's nothing--nothing," he went on, after a pause, embarrassed andblushing, as the girl and her companion both stared at him--"a meretrifle. I'll take it."

  But the coroner opposed his outstretched hand. "Not much," he said,significantly.

  "But it's _mine_," continued Cass, indignation taking the place ofshame at his discovered secret. "I found it six months ago in the road.I--picked it up."

  "With your name already written on it! How handy!" said the coroner,grimly.

  "It's an old story," said Cass, blushing again under the halfmischievous, half searching eyes of the girl. "All Blazing Star knows Ifound it."

  "Then ye'll have no difficulty in provin' it," said Hornsby, coolly."Just now, however, _we_'ve found it, and we propose to keep it for theinquest."

  Cass shrugged his shoulders. Further altercation would have onlyheightened his ludicrous situation in the girl's eyes. He turned away,leaving his treasure in the coroner's hands.

  The inquest, a day or two later, was prompt and final. No clew to thedead man's identity; no evidence sufficiently strong to prove murder orsuicide; no trace of any kind, inculpating any party, known or unknown,were found. But much publicity and interest were given to theproceedings by the presence of the principal witness, a handsome girl."To the pluck, persistency, and intellect of Miss Porter," said the"Red Chief Recorder," "Tuolumne County owes the recovery of the body."

  No one who was present at the inquest failed to be charmed with theappearance and conduct of this beautiful young lady.

  "Miss Porter has but lately arrived in this district, in which, it ishoped, she will become an honored resident, and continue to set anexample to all lackadaisical and sentimental members of the so-called'sterner sex.'" After this universally recognized allusion to CassBeard, the "Recorder" returned to its record: "Some interest wasexcited by what appeared to be a clew to the mystery in the discoveryof a small gold engagement ring on the body. Evidence was afterwardoffered to show it was the property of a Mr. Cass Beard of BlazingStar, who appeared upon the scene _after_ the discovery of the corpseby Miss Porter. He alleged he had dropped it in lifting the unfortunateremains of the deceased. Much amusement was created in court by thesentimental confusion of the claimant, and a certain partisan spiritshown by his fellow-miners of Blazing Star. It appearing, however, bythe admission of this sighing Strephon of the Foot Hills, that he hadhimself _found_ this pledge of affection lying in the highway sixmonths previous, the coroner wisely placed it in the safe-keeping ofthe county court until the appearance of the rightful owner."

  Thus on the 13th of September, 186-, the treasure found at Blazing Starpassed out of the hands of its finder.

  * * * * *

  Autumn brought an abrupt explanation of the mystery. Kanaka Joe hadbeen arrested for horse-stealing, but had with noble candor confessedto the finer offense of manslaughter. That swift and sure justice whichovertook the horse-stealer in these altitudes was stayed a moment andhesitated, for the victim was clearly the mysterious unknown. Curiositygot the better of an extempore judge and jury.

  "It was a fair fight," said the accused, not without some human vanity,feeling that the camp hung upon his words, "and was settled by the manaz was peartest and liveliest with his weapon. We had a sort ofunpleasantness over at Lagrange the night afore, along of our bothhevin' a monotony of four aces. We had a clinch and a stamp around, andwhen we was separated it was only a question of shootin' on sight. Heleft Lagrange at sun up the ne
xt morning, and I struck across a bit o'buckeye and underbrush and came upon him, accidental like, on the RedChief Road. I drawed when I sighted him, and called out. He slippedfrom his mare and covered himself with her flanks, reaching for hisholster, but she rared and backed down on him across the road and intothe grass, where I got in another shot and fetched him."

  "And you stole his mare?" suggested the Judge.

  "I got away," said the gambler, simply.

  Further questioning only elicited the fact that Joe did not know thename or condition of his victim. He was a stranger in Lagrange.

  It was a breezy afternoon, with some turbulency in the camp, and muchwindy discussion over this unwonted delay of justice. The suggestionthat Joe should be first hanged for horse stealing and then tried formurder was angrily discussed, but milder counsels were offered--thatthe fact of the killing should be admitted only as proof of the theft.A large party from Red Chief had come over to assist in judgment, amongthem the coroner.

  Cass Beard had avoided these proceedings, which only recalled anunpleasant experience, and was wandering with pick, pan, and wallet farfrom the camp. These accoutrements, as I have before intimated,justified any form of aimless idleness under the equally aimless titleof "prospecting." He had at the end of three hours' relaxation reachedthe highway to Red Chief, half hidden by blinding clouds of dust tornfrom the crumbling red road at every gust which swept down the mountainside. The spot had a familiar aspect to Cass, although some freshly-dugholes near the wayside, with scattered earth beside them, showed thepresence of a recent prospector. He was struggling with his memory,when the dust was suddenly dispersed and he found himself again at thescene of the murder. He started: he had not put foot on the road sincethe inquest. There lacked only the helpless dead man and thecontrasting figure of the alert young woman to restore the picture. Thebody was gone, it was true, but as he turned he beheld Miss Porter, ata few paces distant, sitting her horse as energetic and observant as onthe first morning they had met. A superstitious thrill passed over himand awoke his old antagonism.

  She nodded to him slightly. "I came here to refresh my memory," shesaid, "as Mr. Hornsby thought I might be asked to give my evidenceagain at Blazing Star."

  Cass carelessly struck an aimless blow with his pick against the sodand did not reply.

  "And you?" she queried.

  "_I_ stumbled upon the place just now while prospecting, or I shouldn'tbe here."

  "Then it was _you_ made these holes?"

  "No," said Cass, with ill-concealed disgust. "Nobody but a strangerwould go foolin' round such a spot."

  He stopped, as the rude significance of his speech struck him, andadded surlily, "I mean--no one would dig here."

  The girl laughed and showed a set of very white teeth in her squarejaw. Cass averted his face.

  "Do you mean to say that every miner doesn't know that it's lucky todig wherever human blood has been spilt?"

  Cass felt a return of his superstition, but he did not look up. "Inever heard it before," he said, severely.

  "And you call yourself a California miner?"

  "I do."

  It was impossible for Miss Porter to misunderstand his curt speech andunsocial manner. She stared at him and colored slightly. Lifting herreins lightly, she said: "You certainly do not seem like most of theminers I have met."

  "Nor you like any girl from the East I ever met," he responded.

  "What do you mean?" she asked, checking her horse.

  "What I say," he answered, doggedly. Reasonable as this reply was, itimmediately struck him that it was scarcely dignified or manly. Butbefore he could explain himself Miss Porter was gone.

  He met her again that very evening. The trial had been summarilysuspended by the appearance of the Sheriff of Calaveras and his_posse_, who took Joe from that self-constituted tribunal of BlazingStar and set his face southward and toward authoritative although morecautious justice. But not before the evidence of the previous inquesthad been read, and the incident of the ring again delivered to thepublic. It is said the prisoner burst into an incredulous laugh andasked to see this mysterious waif. It was handed to him. Standing inthe very shadow of the gallows tree--which might have been one of thepines that sheltered the billiard room in which the Vigilance Committeeheld their conclave--the prisoner gave way to a burst of merriment, sogenuine and honest that the judge and jury joined in automaticsympathy. When silence was restored an explanation was asked by theJudge. But there was no response from the prisoner except a subduedchuckle.

  "Did this ring belong to you?" asked the Judge, severely, the jury andspectators craning their ears forward with an expectant smile alreadyon their faces. But the prisoner's eyes only sparkled maliciously as helooked around the court.

  "Tell us, Joe," said a sympathetic and laughter-loving juror, under hisbreath. "Let it out and we'll make it easy for you."

  "Prisoner," said the Judge, with a return of official dignity,"remember that your life is in peril. Do you refuse?"

  Joe lazily laid his arm on the back of his chair with (to quote thewords of an animated observer) "the air of having a Christian hope anda sequence flush in his hand," and said: "Well, as I reckon I'm not upyer for stealin' a ring that another man lets on to have found, and asfur as I kin see, hez nothin' to do with the case, I do!" And as it washere that the Sheriff of Calaveras made a precipitate entry into theroom, the mystery remained unsolved.

  The effect of this freshly-important ridicule on the sensitive mind ofCass might have been foretold by Blazing Star had it ever taken thatsensitiveness into consideration. He had lost the good-humor and easypliability which had tempted him to frankness, and he had graduallybecome bitter and hard. He had at first affected amusement over his ownvanished day dream--hiding his virgin disappointment in his own breast;but when he began to turn upon his feelings he turned upon his comradesalso. Cass was for a while unpopular. There is no ingratitude sorevolting to the human mind as that of the butt who refuses to be oneany longer. The man who rejects that immunity which laughter generallycasts upon him and demands to be seriously considered deserves nomercy.

  It was under these hard conditions that Cass Beard, convicted of overtsentimentalism, aggravated by inconsistency, stepped into the Red Chiefcoach that evening. It was his habit usually to ride with the driver,but the presence of Hornsby and Miss Porter on the box seat changed hisintention. Yet he had the satisfaction of seeing that neither hadnoticed him, and as there was no other passenger inside, he stretchedhimself on the cushion of the back seat and gave way to moodyreflections. He quite determined to leave Blazing Star, to settlehimself seriously to the task of money-getting, and to return to hiscomrades, some day, a sarcastic, cynical, successful man, and sooverwhelm them with confusion. For poor Cass had not yet reached thatsuperiority of knowing that success would depend upon his ability toforego his past. Indeed, part of his boyhood had been cast among thesemen, and he was not old enough to have learned that success was not tobe gauged by their standard. The moon lit up the dark interior of thecoach with a faint poetic light. The lazy swinging of the vehicle thatwas bearing him away--albeit only for a night and a day--the solitude,the glimpses from the window of great distances full of vaguepossibilities, made the abused ring potent as that of Gyges. He dreamedwith his eyes open. From an Alnaschar vision he suddenly awoke. Thecoach had stopped. The voices of men, one in entreaty, one inexpostulation, came from the box. Cass mechanically put his hand to hispistol pocket.

  "Thank you, but I _insist_ upon getting down."

  It was Miss Porter's voice. This was followed by a rapid, halfrestrained interchange of words between Hornsby and the driver. Thenthe latter said gruffly:

  "If the lady wants to ride inside, let her."

  Miss Porter fluttered to the ground. She was followed by Hornsby. "Justa minit, Miss," he expostulated, half shamedly, half brusquely, "yedon't onderstand me. I only"--

  But Miss Porter had jumped into the coach.

  Hornsby placed his hand on the
handle of the door. Miss Porter graspedit firmly from the inside. There was a slight struggle.

  All of which was part of a dream to the boyish Cass. But he awoke fromit--a man! "Do you," he asked, in a voice he scarcely recognizedhimself,--"do you want this man inside?"

  "No!"

  Cass caught at Hornsby's wrist like a young tiger. But alas! whatavailed instinctive chivalry against main strength? He only succeededin forcing the door open in spite of Miss Porter's superior strategy,and--I fear I must add, muscle also--and threw himself passionately atHornsby's throat, where he hung on and calmly awaited dissolution. Buthe had, in the onset, driven Hornsby out into the road and themoonlight.

  "Here! somebody take my lines." The voice was "Mountain Charley's," thedriver. The figure that jumped from the box and separated thestruggling men belonged to this singularly direct person.

  "You're riding inside?" said Charley, interrogatively, to Cass. Beforehe could reply Miss Porter's voice came from the window:

  "He is!"

  Charley promptly bundled Cass into the coach.

  "And _you_?" to Hornsby, "onless you're kalkilatin' to take a little'pasear' you're booked _outside_. Get up."

  It is probable that Charley assisted Mr. Hornsby as promptly to hisseat, for the next moment the coach was rolling on.

  Meanwhile Cass, by reason of his forced entry, had been deposited inMiss Porter's lap, whence, freeing himself, he had attempted to climbover the middle seat, but in the starting of the coach was again thrownheavily against her hat and shoulder; all of which was inconsistentwith the attitude of dignified reserve he had intended to display. MissPorter, meanwhile, recovered her good-humor.

  "What a brute he was, ugh!" she said, re-tying the ribbons of herbonnet under her square chin, and smoothing out her linen duster.

  Cass tried to look as if he had forgotten the whole affair. "Who? Oh,yes! I see!" he responded, absently.

  "I suppose I ought to thank you," she went on with a smile, "but youknow, really, I could have kept him out if you hadn't pulled his wristfrom outside. I'll show you. Look! Put your hand on the handle there!Now, I'll hold the lock inside firmly. You see, you can't turn thecatch!"

  She indeed held the lock fast. It was a firm hand, yet soft--theirfingers had touched over the handle--and looked white in the moonlight.He made no reply, but sank back again in his seat with a singularsensation in the fingers that had touched hers. He was in the shadow,and, without being seen, could abandon his reserve and glance at herface. It struck him that he had never really seen her before. She wasnot so tall as she had appeared to be. Her eyes were not large, but herpupils were black, moist, velvety, and so convex as to seem embossed onthe white. She had an indistinctive nose, a rather colorlessface--whiter at the angles of the mouth and nose through the relief oftiny freckles like grains of pepper. Her mouth was straight, dark, red,but moist as her eyes. She had drawn herself into the corner of theback seat, her wrist put through and hanging over the swinging strap,the easy lines of her plump figure swaying from side to side with themotion of the coach. Finally, forgetful of any presence in the darkcorner opposite, she threw her head a little farther back, slipped atrifle lower, and placing two well-booted feet upon the middle seat,completed a charming and wholesome picture.

  Five minutes elapsed. She was looking straight at the moon. Cass Beardfelt his dignified reserve becoming very much like awkwardness. Heought to be coldly polite.

  "I hope you're not flustered, Miss, by the--by the"--he began.

  "I?" She straightened herself up in the seat, cast a curious glanceinto the dark corner, and then, letting herself down again, said: "Ohdear, no!"

  Another five minutes elapsed. She had evidently forgotten him. Shemight, at least, have been civil. He took refuge again in his reserve.But it was now mixed with a certain pique.

  Yet how much softer her face looked in the moonlight! Even her squarejaw had lost that hard, matter-of-fact, practical indication which wasso distasteful to him, and always had suggested a harsh criticism ofhis weakness. How moist her eyes were--actually shining in the light!How that light seemed to concentrate in the corners of the lashes, andthen slipped--a flash--away! Was she? Yes, she was crying.

  Cass melted. He moved. Miss Porter put her head out of the window anddrew it back in a moment dry-eyed.

  "One meets all sorts of folks traveling," said Cass, with what hewished to make appear a cheerful philosophy.

  "I dare say. I don't know. I never before met any one who was rude tome. I have traveled all over the country alone, and with all kinds ofpeople ever since I was so high. I have always gone my own way, withouthindrance or trouble. I always do. I don't see why I shouldn't. Perhapsother people mayn't like it. I do. I like excitement. I like to see allthat there is to see. Because I'm a girl I don't see why I can't go outwithout a keeper, and why I cannot do what any man can do that isn'twrong; do you? Perhaps you do--perhaps you don't. Perhaps you like agirl to be always in the house dawdling or thumping a piano or readingnovels. Perhaps you think I'm bold because I don't like it, and won'tlie and say I do."

  She spoke sharply and aggressively, and so evidently in answer toCass's unspoken indictment against her, that he was not surprised whenshe became more direct.

  "You know you were shocked when I went to fetch that Hornsby, thecoroner, after we found the dead body."

  "Hornsby wasn't shocked," said Cass, a little viciously.

  "What do you mean?" she said, abruptly.

  "You were good friends enough until"--

  "Until he insulted me just now; is that it?"

  "Until he thought," stammered Cass, "that because you were--youknow--not so--so--so careful as other girls, he could be a littlefreer."

  "And so, because I preferred to ride a mile with him to see somethingreal that had happened, and tried to be useful instead of looking inshop-windows in Main Street or promenading before the hotel"--

  "And being ornamental," interrupted Cass. But this feeble andun-Cass-like attempt at playful gallantry met with a sudden check.

  Miss Porter drew herself together, and looked out of the window. "Doyou wish me to walk the rest of the way home?"

  "No," said Cass, hurriedly, with a crimson face and a sense ofgratuitous rudeness.

  "Then stop that kind of talk, right there!"

  There was an awkward silence. "I wish I was a man," she said, halfbitterly, half earnestly. Cass Beard was not old and cynical enough toobserve that this devout aspiration is usually uttered by those whohave least reason to deplore their own femininity; and, but for therebuff he had just received, would have made the usual emphatic dissentof our sex, when the wish is uttered by warm red lips and tendervoices--a dissent, it may be remarked, generally withheld, however,when the masculine spinster dwells on the perfection of woman. I daresay Miss Porter was sincere, for a moment later she continued,poutingly:

  "And yet I used to go to fires in Sacramento when I was only ten yearsold. I saw the theatre burnt down. Nobody found fault with me then."

  Something made Cass ask if her father and mother objected to her boyishtastes. The reply was characteristic if not satisfactory:

  "Object? I'd like to see them do it!"

  The direction of the road had changed. The fickle moon now abandonedMiss Porter and sought out Cass on the front seat. It caressed theyoung fellow's silky moustache and long eyelashes, and took some of thesunburn from his cheek.

  "What's the matter with your neck?" said the girl, suddenly.

  Cass looked down, blushing to find that the collar of his smart "duck"sailor shirt was torn open. But something more than his white, soft,girlish skin was exposed; the shirt front was dyed quite red with bloodfrom a slight cut on the shoulder. He remembered to have felt a scratchwhile struggling with Hornsby.

  The girl's soft eyes sparkled. "Let _me_," she said, vivaciously. "Do!I'm good at wounds. Come over here. No--stay there. I'll come over toyou."

  She did, bestriding the back of the middle seat and dropping at hisside.
The magnetic fingers again touched his; he felt her warm breathon his neck as she bent toward him.

  "It's nothing," he said, hastily, more agitated by the treatment thanthe wound.

  "Give me your flask," she responded, without heeding. A stingingsensation as she bathed the edges of the cut with the spirit broughthim back to common sense again. "There," she said, skillfullyextemporizing a bandage from her handkerchief and a compress from hiscravat. "Now, button your coat over your chest, so, and don't takecold." She insisted upon buttoning it for him; greater even than thefeminine delight in a man's strength is the ministration to hisweakness. Yet, when this was finished, she drew a little away from himin some embarrassment--an embarrassment she wondered at, as his skinwas finer, his touch gentler, his clothes cleaner, and--not to put toofine a point upon it--he exhaled an atmosphere much sweeter thanbelonged to most of the men her boyish habits had brought her incontact with--not excepting her own father. Later she even exempted hermother from the possession of this divine effluence. After a moment sheasked, suddenly, "What are you going to do with Hornsby?"

  Cass had not thought of him. His short-lived rage was past with theoccasion that provoked it. Without any fear of his adversary, he wouldhave been content quite willing to meet him no more. He only said,"That will depend upon him."

  "Oh, you won't hear from him again," said she, confidently; "but youreally ought to get up a little more muscle. You've no more than agirl." She stopped, a little confused.

  "What shall I do with your handkerchief?" asked the uneasy Cass,anxious to change the subject.

  "Oh, keep it, if you want to; only don't show it to everybody as youdid that ring you found." Seeing signs of distress in his face, sheadded: "Of course that was all nonsense. If you had cared so much forthe ring you couldn't have talked about it, or shown it; could you?"

  It relieved him to think that this might be true; he certainly had notlooked at it in that light before.

  "But did you really find it?" she asked, with sudden gravity. "Really,now?"

  "Yes."

  "And there was no real May in the case?"

  "Not that I know of," laughed Cass, secretly pleased.

  But Miss Porter, after eying him critically for a moment, jumped up andclimbed back again to her seat. "Perhaps you had better give me thathandkerchief back."

  Cass began to unbutton his coat.

  "No! no! Do you want to take your death of cold?" she screamed. AndCass, to avoid this direful possibility, rebuttoned his coat again overthe handkerchief and a peculiarly pleasing sensation.

  Very little now was said until the rattling, bounding descent of thecoach denoted the approach to Red Chief. The straggling main streetdisclosed itself, light by light. In the flash of glittering windowsand the sound of eager voices Miss Porter descended, without waitingfor Cass's proffered assistance, and anticipated Mountain Charley'sdescent from the box. A few undistinguishable words passed betweenthem.

  "You kin freeze to me, Miss," said Charley; and Miss Porter, turningher frank laugh and frankly opened palm to Cass, half returned thepressure of his hand and slipped away.

  A few days after the stage-coach incident Mountain Charley drew upbeside Cass on the Blazing Star turnpike, and handed him a smallpacket. "I was told to give ye that by Miss Porter. Hush--listen! It'sthat rather old dog-goned ring o' yours that's bin in all the papers.She's bamboozled that sap-headed county judge, Boompointer, into givin'it to her. Take my advice and sling it away for some other feller topick up and get looney over. That's all!"

  "Did she say anything?" asked Cass, anxiously, as he received his losttreasure somewhat coldly.

  "Well, yes! I reckon. She asked me to stand betwixt Hornsby and you. Sodon't _you_ tackle him, and I'll see _he_ don't tackle you," and with aportentous wink Mountain Charley whipped up his horses and was gone.

  Cass opened the packet. It contained nothing but the ring. Unmitigatedby any word of greeting, remembrance, or even raillery, it seemedalmost an insult. Had she intended to flaunt his folly in his face, orhad she believed he still mourned for it and deemed its recovery asufficient reward for his slight service? For an instant he felttempted to follow Charley's advice, and cast this symbol of folly andcontempt in the dust of the mountain road. And had she not made hishumiliation complete by begging Charley's interference between him andhis enemy? He would go home and send her back the handkerchief she hadgiven him. But here the unromantic reflection that although he hadwashed it that very afternoon in the solitude of his own cabin, hecould not possibly iron it, but must send it "rough dried," stayed hisindignant feet.

  Two or three days, a week, a fortnight even, of this hopelessresentment filled Cass's breast. Then the news of Kanaka Joe'sacquittal in the state court momentarily revived the story of the ring,and revamped a few stale jokes in the camp. But the interest soonflagged; the fortunes of the little community of Blazing Star had beenfor some months failing; and with early snows in the mountain andwasted capital in fruitless schemes on the river, there was little roomfor the indulgence of that lazy and original humor which belonged totheir lost youth and prosperity. Blazing Star truly, in the grim figureof their slang, was "played out." Not dug out, worked out, or washedout, but dissipated in a year of speculation and chance.

  Against this tide of fortune Cass struggled manfully, and even evokedthe slow praise of his companions. Better still, he won a certainpraise for himself, in himself, in a consciousness of increasedstrength, health, power, and self-reliance. He began to turn his quickimagination and perception to some practical account, and made one ortwo discoveries which quite startled his more experienced, but moreconservative companions. Nevertheless, Cass's discoveries and laborswere not of a kind that produced immediate pecuniary realization, andBlazing Star, which consumed so many pounds of pork and flour daily,did not unfortunately produce the daily equivalent in gold. BlazingStar lost its credit. Blazing Star was hungry, dirty, and ragged.Blazing Star was beginning to set.

  Participating in the general ill-luck of the camp, Cass was not withouthis own individual mischance. He had resolutely determined to forgetMiss Porter and all that tended to recall the unlucky ring, but,cruelly enough, she was the only thing that refused to beforgotten--whose undulating figure reclined opposite to him in theweird moonlight of his ruined cabin, whose voice mingled with the songof the river by whose banks he toiled, and whose eyes and touchthrilled him in his dreams. Partly for this reason, and partly becausehis clothes were beginning to be patched and torn, he avoided Red Chiefand any place where he would be likely to meet her. In spite of thisprecaution he had once seen her driving in a pony carriage, but sosmartly and fashionably dressed that he drew back in the cover of awayside willow that she might pass without recognition. He looked downupon his red-splashed clothes and grimy, soil-streaked hands, and for amoment half hated her. His comrades seldom spoke of her--instinctivelyfearing some temptation that might beset his Spartan resolutions, buthe heard from time to time that she had been seen at balls and parties,apparently enjoying those very frivolities of her sex she affected tocondemn. It was a Sabbath morning in early spring that he was returningfrom an ineffectual attempt to enlist a capitalist at the county townto redeem the fortunes of Blazing Star. He was pondering over thenarrowness of that capitalist, who had evidently but illogicallyconnected Cass's present appearance with the future of that strugglingcamp, when he became so footsore that he was obliged to accept a "lift"from a wayfaring teamster. As the slowly lumbering vehicle passed thenew church on the outskirts of the town, the congregation were sallyingforth. It was too late to jump down and run away, and Cass dared notask his new-found friend to whip up his cattle. Conscious of hisunshorn beard and ragged garments, he kept his eyes fixed upon theroad. A voice that thrilled him called his name. It was Miss Porter, aresplendent vision of silk, laces, and Easter flowers--yet actuallyrunning, with something of her old dash and freedom, beside the wagon.As the astonished teamster drew up before this elegant apparition, shepanted:

  "W
hy did you make me run so far, and why didn't you look up?"

  Cass, trying to hide the patches on his knees beneath a newspaper,stammered that he had not seen her.

  "And you did not hold down your head purposely?"

  "No," said Cass.

  "Why have you not been to Red Chief? Why didn't you answer my messageabout the ring?" she asked, swiftly.

  "You sent nothing but the ring," said Cass, coloring, as he glanced atthe teamster.

  "Why, _that_ was a message, you born idiot."

  Cass stared. The teamster smiled. Miss Porter gazed anxiously at thewagon. "I think I'd like a ride in there; it looks awfully good." Sheglanced mischievously around at the lingering and curious congregation."May I?"

  But Cass deprecated that proceeding strongly. It was dirty; he was notsure it was even _wholesome_; she would be _so_ uncomfortable; hehimself was only going a few rods farther, and in that time she mightruin her dress--

  "Oh, yes," she said, a little bitterly, "certainly, my dress must belooked after. And--what else?"

  "People might think it strange, and believe I had invited you,"continued Cass, hesitatingly.

  "When I had only invited myself? Thank you. Good-by."

  She waved her hand and stepped back from the wagon. Cass would havegiven worlds to recall her, but he sat still, and the vehicle moved onin moody silence. At the first cross road he jumped down. "Thank you,"he said to the teamster. "You're welcome," returned that gentleman,regarding him curiously, "but the next time a gal like that asks toride in this yer wagon, I reckon I won't take the vote of any deadheadpassenger. _Adios_, young fellow. Don't stay out late; ye might be ranoff by some gal, and what would your mother say?" Of course the youngman could only look unutterable things and walk away, but even in thatdignified action he was conscious that its effect was somewhatmitigated by a large patch from a material originally used as aflour-sack, which had repaired his trousers, but still bore theironical legend, "Best Superfine."

  The summer brought warmth and promise and some blossom, if not absolutefruition to Blazing Star. The long days drew Nature into closercommunion with the men, and hopefulness followed the discontent oftheir winter seclusion. It was easier, too, for Capital to be wooed andwon into making a picnic in these mountain solitudes than when highwater stayed the fords and drifting snow the Sierran trails. At theclose of one of these Arcadian days Cass was smoking before the door ofhis lonely cabin when he was astounded by the onset of a dozen of hiscompanions. Peter Drummond, far in the van, was waving a newspaper likea victorious banner. "All's right now, Cass, old man!" he panted as hestopped before Cass and shoved back his eager followers.

  "What's all right?" asked Cass, dubiously.

  "_You_! You kin rake down the pile now. You're hunky! You're on velvet.Listen!"

  He opened the newspaper and read, with annoying deliberation, asfollows:--

  "LOST.--If the finder of a plain gold ring, bearing the engravedinscription, 'May to Cass,' alleged to have been picked up on the highroad near Blazing Star on the 4th March, 186--, will apply to Bookham &Sons, bankers, 1007 Y. Street, Sacramento, he will be suitably rewardedeither for the recovery of the ring, or for such facts as may identifyit, or the locality where it was found."

  Cass rose and frowned savagely on his comrades. "No! no!" cried a dozenvoices assuringly. "It's all right! Honest Injun! True as gospel! Nojoke, Cass!"

  "Here's the paper, Sacramento 'Union' of yesterday. Look for yourself,"said Drummond, handing him the well-worn journal. "And you see," headded, "how darned lucky you are. It ain't necessary for you to producethe ring, so if that old biled owl of a Boompointer don't giv' it backto ye, it's all the same."

  "And they say nobody but the finder need apply," interrupted another."That shuts out Boompointer or Kanaka Joe for the matter o' that."

  "It's clar that it _means_ you, Cass, ez much ez if they'd given yourname," added a third.

  For Miss Porter's sake and his own Cass had never told them of therestoration of the ring, and it was evident that Mountain Charley hadalso kept silent. Cass could not speak now without violating a secret,and he was pleased that the ring itself no longer played an importantpart in the mystery. But what was that mystery, and why was the ringsecondary to himself? Why was so much stress laid upon his finding it?

  "You see," said Drummond, as if answering his unspoken thought,"that'ar gal--for it is a gal in course--hez read all about it in thepapers, and hez sort o' took a shine to ye. It don't make a bit o'difference who in thunder Cass _is_ or _waz_, for I reckon she's kickedhim over by this time"--

  "Sarved him right, too, for losing the girl's ring and then lying lowand keeping dark about it," interrupted a sympathizer.

  "And she's just weakened over the romantic, high-toned way you stuck toit," continued Drummond, forgetting the sarcasms he had previouslyhurled at this romance. Indeed the whole camp, by this time, had becomeconvinced that it had fostered and developed a chivalrous devotionwhich was now on the point of pecuniary realization. It was generallyaccepted that "she" was the daughter of this banker, and also felt thatin the circumstances the happy father could not do less than developthe resources of Blazing Star at once. Even if there were norelationship, what opportunity could be more fit for presenting tocapital a locality that even produced engagement rings, and, as JimFauquier put it, "the men ez knew how to keep 'em." It was thissympathetic Virginian who took Cass aside with the following generoussuggestion: "If you find that you and the old gal couldn't hitchhosses, owin' to your not likin' red hair or a game leg" (it may behere recorded that Blazing Star had, for no reason whatever, attributedthese unprepossessing qualities to the mysterious advertiser), "youmight let _me_ in. You might say ez how I used to jest worship thatring with you, and allers wanted to borrow it on Sundays. If anythingcomes of it--why--_we're pardners_!"

  A serious question was the outfitting of Cass for what now was felt tobe a diplomatic representation of the community. His garments, ithardly need be said, were inappropriate to any wooing except that ofthe "maiden all forlorn," which the advertiser clearly was not. "Hemight," suggested Fauquier, "drop in jest as he is--kinder as if he'dgot keerless of the world, being lovesick." But Cass objected strongly,and was borne out in his objection by his younger comrades. At last apair of white duck trousers, a red shirt, a flowing black silk scarf,and a Panama hat were procured at Red Chief, on credit, after ajudicious exhibition of the advertisement. A heavy wedding-ring, theproperty of Drummond (who was not married), was also lent as a gracefulsuggestion, and at the last moment Fauquier affixed to Cass's scarf anenormous specimen pin of gold and quartz. "It sorter indicates theauriferous wealth o' this yer region, and the old man (the seniormember of Bookham & Sons) needn't know I won it at draw-poker inFrisco," said Fauqier. "Ef you 'pass' on the gal, you kin hand it backto me and _I'll_ try it on."

  Forty dollars for expenses was put into Cass's hands, and the entirecommunity accompanied him to the cross roads where he was to meet theSacramento coach, which eventually carried him away, followed by abenediction of waving hats and exploding revolvers.

  That Cass did not participate in the extravagant hopes of his comrades,and that he rejected utterly their matrimonial speculations in hisbehalf, need not be said.

  Outwardly, he kept his own counsel with good-humored assent. But therewas something fascinating in the situation, and while he felt he hadforever abandoned his romantic dream, he was not displeased to knowthat it might have proved a reality. Nor was it distasteful to him tothink that Miss Porter would hear of it and regret her late inabilityto appreciate his sentiment. If he really were the object of someopulent maiden's passion, he would show Miss Porter how he couldsacrifice the most brilliant prospects for her sake. Alone, on the topof the coach, he projected one of those satisfying conversations inwhich imaginative people delight, but which unfortunately never comequite up to rehearsal. "Dear Miss Porter," he would say, addressing theback of the driver, "if I could remain faithful to a dream of my youth,however illusiv
e and unreal, can you believe that for the sake of lucreI could be false to the one real passion that alone supplanted it?" Inthe composition and delivery of this eloquent statement an hour washappily forgotten: the only drawback to its complete effect was that amisplacing of epithets in rapid repetition did not seem to make theslightest difference, and Cass found himself saying "Dear Miss Porter,if I could be false to a dream of my youth, etc., etc., can you believeI could be _faithful_ to the one real passion, etc., etc.," with equaland perfect satisfaction. As Miss Porter was reputed to be well off, ifthe unknown were poor, that might be another drawback.

  The banking house of Bookham & Sons did not present an illusive normysterious appearance. It was eminently practical and matter of fact;it was obtrusively open and glassy; nobody would have thought ofleaving a secret there that would have been inevitably circulated overthe counter. Cass felt an uncomfortable sense of incongruity inhimself, in his story, in his treasure, to this temple of disenchantingrealism. With the awkwardness of an embarrassed man he was holdingprominently in his hand an envelope containing the ring andadvertisement as a voucher for his intrusion, when the nearest clerktook the envelope from his hand, opened it, took out the ring, returnedit, said briskly, "T' other shop, next door, young man," and turned toanother customer.

  Cass stepped to the door, saw that "T'other shop" was a pawnbroker's,and returned again with a flashing eye and heightened color. "It's anadvertisement I have come to answer," he began again.

  The clerk cast a glance at Cass's scarf and pin. "Place takenyesterday--no room for any more," he said, abruptly.

  Cass grew quite white. But his old experience in Blazing Star reparteestood him in good stead. "If it's _your_ place you mean," he saidcoolly, "I reckon you might put a dozen men in the hole you're rattlin'round in--but it's this advertisement I'm after. If Bookham isn't in,maybe you'll send me one of the grown-up sons." The production of theadvertisement and some laughter from the bystanders had its effect. Thepert young clerk retired, and returned to lead the way to the bankparlor. Cass's heart sank again as he was confronted by a dark,iron-gray man--in dress, features, speech, and action--uncompromisinglyopposed to Cass--his ring and his romance. When the young man had toldhis story and produced his treasure he paused. The banker scarcelyglanced at it, but said, impatiently:

  "Well, your papers?"

  "My papers?"

  "Yes. Proof of your identity. You say your name is Cass Beard. Good!What have you got to prove it? How can I tell who you are?"

  To a sensitive man there is no form of suspicion that is as bewilderingand demoralizing at the moment as the question of his identity. Cassfelt the insult in the doubt of his word, and the palpable sense of hispresent inability to prove it. The banker watched him keenly but notunkindly.

  "Come," he said at length, "this is not my affair; if you can legallysatisfy the lady for whom I am only agent, well and good. I believe youcan; I only warn you that you must. And my present inquiry was to keepher from losing her time with impostors, a class I don't think youbelong to. There's her card. Good day."

  "MISS MORTIMER."

  It was _not_ the banker's daughter. The first illusion of Blazing Starwas rudely dispelled. But the care taken by the capitalist to shieldher from imposture indicated a person of wealth. Of her youth andbeauty Cass no longer thought.

  The address given was not distant. With a beating heart he rung thebell of a respectable-looking house, and was ushered into a privatedrawing-room. Instinctively he felt that the room was only temporarilyinhabited; an air peculiar to the best lodgings, and when the dooropened upon a tall lady in deep mourning, he was still more convincedof an incongruity between the occupant and her surroundings. With asmile that vacillated between a habit of familiarity and ease, and arecent restraint, she motioned him to a chair.

  "Miss Mortimer" was still young, still handsome, still fashionablydressed, and still attractive. From her first greeting to the end ofthe interview Cass felt that she knew all about him. This relieved himfrom the onus of proving his identity, but seemed to put him vaguely ata disadvantage. It increased his sense of inexperience andyouthfulness.

  "I hope you will believe," she began, "that the few questions I have toask you are to satisfy my own heart, and for no other purpose." Shesmiled sadly as she went on. "Had it been otherwise, I should haveinstituted a legal inquiry, and left this interview to some one cooler,calmer, and less interested than myself. But I think, I _know_ I cantrust you. Perhaps we women are weak and foolish to talk of an_instinct_, and when you know my story you may have reason to believethat but little dependence can be placed on _that_; but I am not wrongin saying,--am I?" (with a sad smile) "that _you_ are not above thatweakness?" She paused, closed her lips tightly, and grasped her handsbefore her. "You say you found that ring in the road some three monthsbefore--the--the--you know what I mean--the body--was discovered?"

  "Yes."

  "You thought it might have been dropped by some one in passing?"

  "I thought so, yes--it belonged to no one in the camp."

  "Before your cabin or on the highway?"

  "Before my cabin."

  "You are _sure_?" There was something so very sweet and sad in hersmile that it oddly made Cass color.

  "But my cabin is near the road," he suggested.

  "I see! And there was nothing else; no paper nor envelope?"

  "Nothing."

  "And you kept it because of the odd resemblance one of the names boreto yours?"

  "Yes."

  "For no other reason?"

  "None." Yet Cass felt he was blushing.

  "You'll forgive my repeating a question you have already answered, butI am _so_ anxious. There was some attempt to prove at the inquest thatthe ring had been found on the body of--the unfortunate man. But youtell me it was not so?"

  "I can swear it."

  "Good God--the traitor!" She took a hurried step forward, turned to thewindow, and then came back to Cass with a voice broken with emotion. "Ihave told you I could trust you. That ring was mine!"

  She stopped, and then went on hurriedly. "Years ago I gave it to a manwho deceived and wronged me; a man whose life since then has been ashame and disgrace to all who knew him; a man who, once a gentleman,sank so low as to become the associate of thieves and ruffians; sank solow, that when he died, by violence--a traitor even to them--his ownconfederates shrunk from him, and left him to fill a nameless grave.That man's body you found!"

  Cass started. "And his name was----?"

  "Part of your surname. Cass--Henry Cass."

  "You see why Providence seems to have brought that ring to you," shewent on. "But you ask me why, knowing this, I am so eager to know ifthe ring was found by you in the road, or if it were found on his body.Listen! It is part of my mortification that the story goes that thisman once showed this ring, boasted of it, staked, and lost it at agambling table to one of his vile comrades."

  "Kanaka Joe," said Cass, overcome by a vivid recollection of Joe'smerriment at the trial.

  "The same. Don't you see," she said, hurriedly, "if the ring had beenfound on him I could believe that somewhere in his heart he still keptrespect for the woman he had wronged. I am a woman--a foolish woman, Iknow--but you have crushed that hope forever."

  "But why have you sent for me?" asked Cass, touched by her emotion.

  "To know it for certain," she said, almost fiercely. "Can you notunderstand that a woman like me must know a thing once and forever? Butyou _can_ help me. I did not send for you only to pour my wrongs inyour ears. You must take me with you to this place--to the spot whereyou found the ring--to the spot where you found the body--to the spotwhere--where _he_ lies. You must do it secretly, that none shall knowme."

  Cass hesitated. He was thinking of his companions and the collapse oftheir painted bubble. How could he keep the secret from them?

  "If it is money, you need, let not that stop you. I have no right toyour time without recompense. Do not misunderstand me. There has been athousand dol
lars awaiting my order at Bookham's when the ring should bedelivered. It shall be doubled if you help me in this last moment."

  It was possible. He could convey her safely there, invent some story ofa reward delayed for want of proofs, and afterward share that rewardwith his friends. He answered promptly, "I will take you there."

  She took his hands in both of hers, raised them to her lips, andsmiled. The shadow of grief and restraint seemed to have fallen fromher face, and a half mischievous, half coquettish gleam in her darkeyes touched the susceptible Cass in so subtle a fashion that heregained the street in some confusion. He wondered what Miss Porterwould have thought. But was he not returning to her, a fortunate man,with one thousand dollars in his pocket! Why should he remember he washandicapped by a pretty woman and a pathetic episode? It did not makethe proximity less pleasant as he helped her into the coach thatevening, nor did the recollection of another ride with another womanobtrude itself upon those consolations which he felt it his duty, fromtime to time, to offer. It was arranged that he should leave her at the"Red Chief" Hotel, while he continued on to Blazing Star, returning atnoon to bring her with him when he could do it without exposing her torecognition. The gray dawn came soon enough, and the coach drew up at"Red Chief" while the lights in the bar-room and dining-room of thehotel were still struggling with the far flushing east. Cass alighted,placed Miss Mortimer in the hands of the landlady, and returned to thevehicle. It was still musty, close, and frowzy, with half awakenedpassengers. There was a vacated seat on the top, which Cass climbed upto, and abstractedly threw himself beside a figure muffled in shawlsand rugs. There was a slight movement among the multitudinousenwrappings, and then the figure turned to him and said dryly, "Goodmorning!" It was Miss Porter!

  "Have you been long here?" he stammered.

  "All night."

  He would have given worlds to leave her at that moment. He would havejumped from the starting coach to save himself any explanation of theembarrassment he was furiously conscious of showing, without, as hebelieved, any adequate cause. And yet, like all inexperienced,sensitive men, he dashed blindly into that explanation; worse, he eventold his secret at once, then and there, and then sat abashed andconscience-stricken, with an added sense of its utter futility.

  "And this," summed up the young girl, with a slight shrug of her prettyshoulders, "is _your May_?"

  Cass would have recommenced his story.

  "No, don't, pray! It isn't interesting, nor original. Do _you_ believeit?"

  "I do," said Cass, indignantly.

  "How lucky! Then let me go to sleep."

  Cass, still furious, but uneasy, did not again address her. When thecoach stopped at Blazing Star she asked him, indifferently: "When doesthis sentimental pilgrimage begin?"

  "I return for her at one o'clock," replied Cass, stiffly. He kept hisword. He appeased his eager companions with a promise of futurefortune, and exhibited the present and tangible reward. By a circuitousroute known only to himself, he led Miss Mortimer to the road beforethe cabin. There was a pink flush of excitement on her somewhat fadedcheek.

  "And it was here?" she asked, eagerly.

  "I found it here."

  "And the body?"

  "That was afterward. Over in that direction, beyond the clump ofbuckeyes, on the Red Chief turnpike."

  "And any one coming from the road we left just now and goingto--to--that place, would have to cross just here? Tell me," she said,with a strange laugh, laying her cold nervous hand on his, "wouldn'tthey?"

  "They would."

  "Let us go to that place."

  Cass stepped out briskly to avoid observation and gain the woods beyondthe highway. "You have crossed here before," she said. "There seems tobe a trail."

  "I may have made it: it's a short cut to the buckeyes."

  "You never found anything else on the trail?"

  "You remember, I told you before, the ring was all I found."

  "Ah, true!" she smiled sweetly; "it was _that_ which made it seem soodd to you. I forgot."

  In half an hour they reached the buckeyes. During the walk she hadtaken rapid recognizance of everything in her path. When they crossedthe road and Cass had pointed out the scene of the murder, she lookedanxiously around. "You are sure we are not seen?"

  "Quite."

  "You will not think me foolish if I ask you to wait here while I go inthere"--she pointed to the ominous thicket near them--"alone?" She wasquite white.

  Cass's heart, which had grown somewhat cold since his interview withMiss Porter, melted at once.

  "Go; I will stay here."

  He waited five minutes. She did not return. What if the poor creaturehad determined upon suicide on the spot where her faithless lover hadfallen? He was reassured in another moment by the rustle of skirts inthe undergrowth.

  "I was becoming quite alarmed," he said, aloud.

  "You have reason to be," returned a hurried voice. He started. It wasMiss Porter, who stepped swiftly out of the cover. "Look," she said,"look at that man down the road. He has been tracking you two eversince you left the cabin. Do you know who he is?"

  "No!"

  "Then listen. It is three-fingered Dick, one of the escaped roadagents. I know him!"

  "Let us go and warn her," said Cass, eagerly.

  Miss Porter laid her hand upon his shoulder.

  "I don't think she'll thank you," she said, dryly. "Perhaps you'dbetter see what she's doing, first."

  Utterly bewildered, yet with a strong sense of the masterfulness of hiscompanion, he followed her. She crept like a cat through the thicket.Suddenly she paused. "Look!" she whispered, viciously, "look at thetender vigils of your heart-broken May!"

  Cass saw the woman who had left him a moment before on her knees on thegrass, with long thin fingers digging like a ghoul in the earth. He hadscarce time to notice her eager face and eyes, cast now and then backtoward the spot where she had left him, before there was a crash in thebushes, and a man,--the stranger of the road,--leaped to her side."Run," he said; "run for it now. You're watched!"

  "Oh! that man, Beard!" she said, contemptuously.

  "No, another in a wagon. Quick. Fool, you know the place now,--you cancome later; run!" And half-dragging, half-lifting her, he bore herthrough the bushes. Scarcely had they closed behind the pair when MissPorter ran to the spot vacated by the woman. "Look!" she cried,triumphantly, "look!"

  Cass looked, and sank on his knees beside her.

  "It _was_ worth a thousand dollars, wasn't it?" she repeated,maliciously, "wasn't it? But you ought to return it! _Really_ youought."

  Cass could scarcely articulate. "But how did _you_ know it?" he finallygasped.

  "Oh, I suspected something; there was a woman, and you know you're_such_ a fool!"

  Cass rose, stiffly.

  "Don't be a greater fool now, but go and bring my horse and wagon fromthe hill, and don't say anything to the driver."

  "Then you did not come alone?"

  "No; it would have been bold and improper."

  "Please!"

  "And to think it _was_ the ring, after all, that pointed to this," shesaid.

  "The ring that _you_ returned to me."

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don't, please, the wagon is coming."

  * * * * *

  In the next morning's edition of the "Red Chief Chronicle" appeared thefollowing startling intelligence:

  EXTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY!

  FINDING OF THE STOLEN TREASURE OF WELLS, FARGO & CO. OVER $300,000RECOVERED.

  Our readers will remember the notorious robbery of Wells, Fargo & Co.'streasure from the Sacramento and Red Chief Pioneer Coach on the nightof September 1. Although most of the gang were arrested, it is knownthat two escaped, who, it was presumed, _cached_ the treasure,amounting to nearly $500,000 in gold, drafts, and jewelry, as no traceof the property was found. Yesterday our esteemed fellow citizen, Mr.Cass Beard, long and favorably known in this co
unty, succeeded inexhuming the treasure in a copse of hazel near the Red Chiefturnpike,--adjacent to the spot where an unknown body was latelydiscovered. This body is now strongly suspected to be that of one HenryCass, a disreputable character, who has since been ascertained to havebeen one of the road agents who escaped. The matter is now under legalinvestigation. The successful result of the search is due to asystematic plan evolved from the genius of Mr. Beard, who has devotedover a year to this labor. It was first suggested to him by the findingof a ring, now definitely identified as part of the treasure which wassupposed to have been dropped from Wells, Fargo & Co.'s boxes by therobbers in their midnight flight through Blazing Star.

  In the same journal appeared the no less important intelligence, whichexplains, while it completes this veracious chronicle:--

  "It is rumored that a marriage is shortly to take place between thehero of the late treasure discovery and a young lady of Red Chief,whose devoted aid and assistance to this important work is well knownto this community."