Owen Wister............................................................................................................................................1

Preface ......................................................................................................................................................1

The Jimmyjohn Boss...............................................................................................................................2

I................................................................................................................................................................2

II ...............................................................................................................................................................6

III ............................................................................................................................................................11

IV...........................................................................................................................................................14

V .............................................................................................................................................................19

A Kinsman of Red Cloud .......................................................................................................................25

I..............................................................................................................................................................25

II .............................................................................................................................................................30

III ............................................................................................................................................................32

Sharon's Choice ......................................................................................................................................36

Napoleon ShaveTail............................................................................................................................48

Twenty Minutes for Refreshments .........................................................................................................56

The Promised Land ................................................................................................................................65

Hank's Woman .......................................................................................................................................82

I..............................................................................................................................................................82

II .............................................................................................................................................................89

Padre Ignazio.........................................................................................................................................95

One day at Nampa, which is in Idaho, a ruddy old massive jovial man stood by the Silver City stage, patting

his beard with his left hand, and with his right the shoulder of a boy who stood beside him. He had come with

the boy on the branch train from Boise, because he was a careful German and liked to say everything

twicetwice at least when it was a matter of business. This was a matter of very particular business, and the

German had repeated himself for nineteen miles. Presently the eastbound on the main line would arrive

from Portland; then the Silver City stage would take the boy south on his new mission, and the man would

journey by the branch train back to Boise. From Boise no one could say where he might not go, west or east.

He was a great and pervasive cattle man in Oregon, California, and other places. Vogel and Lexeven

today you may hear the two ranch partners spoken of. So the veteran Vogel was now once more going over

his notions and commands to his youthful deputy during the last precious minutes until the eastbound

"Und if only you haf someding like dis," said the old man, as he tapped his beard and patted the boy, "it

The boy winked up at his employer. He had a gray, humorous eye; he was slim and alert, like a

sparrowhawkthe sort of boy his father openly rejoices in and his mother is secretly in prayer over. Only,

this boy had neither father nor mother. Since the age of twelve he had looked out for himself, never quite

without bread, sometimes attaining champagne, getting along in his American way variously, on horse or

afoot, across regions of wide plains and mountains, through towns where not a soul knew his name. He

"Say," said the boy, confidentially"honest now. How about you and me? Five hundred dollars if I had your

beard. You've got a record and I've got a future. And my bloom's on me rich, without a scratch. How many

dollars you gif me for dat bloom?" The sparrowhawk sailed into a freakish imitation of his master.

"You are a liddle rascal!" cried the master, shaking with entertainment. "Und if der peoples vas to hear you

sass old Max Vogel in dis style they would say, 'Poor old Max, he lose his grrip.' But I don't lose it." His

great hand closed suddenly on the boy's shoulder, his voice cut clean and heavy as an axe, and then no more

"Oh my, that is offle young for the job I gif you. Some of dose man you go to boss might be your father. Und

"Too light, too light. Und I haf keep my eye on you in Boise. You are not so goot a boy as you might be."

"But you was not so bad a boy as you might be, neider. You don't lie about it. Now it must be farewell to all

that foolishness. Haf you understand? You go to set an example where one is needed very bad. If those men

see you drink a liddle, they drink a big lot. You forbid them, they laugh at you. You must not allow one drop

Vogel took the boy's pistol from its holster and aimed at an empty bottle which was sticking in the thin

Deceiver snow. "Can you do this?" he said, carelessly, and fired. The snow struck the bottle, but the

The boy took his pistol with solemnity." No," he said. "Guess I can't do that." He fired, and the glass

splintered into shapelessness. "Told you I couldn't miss as close as you did," said he.

A fortunate store of bottles lay, leaned, or stood about in the white snow of Nampa, and Mr. Vogel began at

"Stick that lily head indoors," shouted Vogel; and the face and eyeglasses withdrew again into the stage."

The schoolteacher he will be beautifool virtuous company for you at Malheur Agency," continued Vogel,

shooting again; and presently the large old German destroyed a bottle with a crashing smack. "Ah!" said he,

in unison with the smack. "Ahha! No von shall say der old Max lose his grrip. I shoot it efry time now, but

"Did you say there was a whistle?" ventured the occupant of the stage. The snow shone white on his glasses

"Nobody whistle for you," returned the robust Vogel. "You listen to me," he continued to the boy. "You are

offle yoong. But I watch you plenty this long time. I see you work mit my stock on the Owyhee and the

Malheur; I see you mit my oder men. My men they say always more and more, 'Yoong Drake he is a goot

one,' und I think you are a goot one mine own self. I am the biggest cattle man on the Pacific slope, und I am

"Shut oop. I like you, und therefore I make you my new sooperintendent at my Malheur Agency rranch, mit

a bigger salary as you don't get before. If you are a sookcess, I rraise you some more."

"Bah! Never do you tell any goot business man you are satisfied mit vat he gif you, for eider he don't believe

you or else he think you are a fool. Und eider ways you go down in his estimation. You make those men at

Malheur Agency behave themselves und I rraise you. Only I do vish, I do certainly vish you had some beard

"No, no, no, my son," said the sharp old German. "I don't want gunpowder in dis affair. You must act kviet

und decisif und keep your liddle shirt on. What you accomplish shootin'? You kill somebody, und then, pop!

"It would annoy me some, too," retorted the boy, eyeing the capitalist. "Don't leave me out of the

"If you didn't contemplate trouble," pursued the boy, "what was your point just now in sampling my

marksmanship?" He kicked some snow in the direction of the shattered bottle. "It's understood no whiskey

comes on that ranch. But if no gunpowder goes along with me, either, let's call the deal off. Buy some other

"You haf not understand, my boy. Und you get very hot because I happen to make that liddle joke about

somebody killing you. Was you thinking maybe old Max not care what happen to you?"

"Very well, very well. Only notice this thing. When oder peoples talk oop to me like you haf done many

times, it is not they who does the getting hot. It is meold Max. Und when old Max gets hot he slings them

out of his road anywheres. Some haf been very sorry they get so slung. You invite me to buy some oder fool?

Oh, my boy, I will buy no oder fool except you, for that was just like me when I was yoong Max!" Again the

ruddy and grizzled magnate put his hand on the shoulder of the boy, who stood looking away at the bottles, at

The employer proceeded: "I was afraid of nobody und noding in those days. You are afraid of nobody and

noding. But those days was different. No Pullman sleepers, no railroad at all. We come oop the Columbia in

the steamboat, we travel hoonderts of miles by team, we sleep, we eat nowheres in particular mit many

unexpected interooptions. There was Indians, there was offle bad white men, und if you was not offle

yourself you vanished quickly. Therefore in those days was Max Vogel hell und repeat."

The magnate smiled a broad fond smile over the past which he had kicked, driven, shot, bled, and battled

"Ahha! you was no longer mad mit der old Max! Of coorse I care what happens to you. I was alone in the

"Neider did I talk about my feelings," continued Max Vogel, "but I nefer show them too quick. If I was

injured I wait, and I strike to kill. We all paddles our own dugout, eh? We ask no favors from nobody; we

must win our spurs! Not so? Now I talk business with you where you interroopt me. If cowboys was not so

offle scarce in the country, I would long ago haf bounce the lot of those drunken fellows. But they cannot be

spared; we must get along so. I cannot send Brock, he is needed at Harper's. The dumb fellow at Alvord Lake

is too dumb; he is not quickly courageous. They would play high jinks mit him. Therefore I send you. Brock

he say to me you haf joodgement. I watch, and I say to myself also, this boy haf goot joodgement. And when

you look at your pistol so quick, I tell you quick I don't send you to kill men when they are so scarce already!

My boy, it is ever the moral, the saynoding strength what gets theremit always the liddle pistol behind, in

casejoost in case. Haf you understand? I ask you to shoot. I see you know how, as Brock told me. I

recommend you to let them see that aggomplishment in a friendly way. Maybe a shootingmatch mit

prizesI pay for thempretty soon after you come. Und joodgementund joodgement. Here comes that

Upon this the two shook hands, looking square friendship in each other's eyes. The eastbound, long quiet

and dark beneath its flowing clots of smoke, slowed to a halt. A few valises and legs descended, ascended,

herding and hurrying; a few trunks were thrown resoundingly in and out of the train; a woolly, crooked old

man came with a box and a bandanna bundle from the secondclass car; the travellers of a thousand miles

looked torpidly at him through the dim, dusty windows of their Pullman, and settled again for a thousand

miles more. Then the eastbound, shooting heavier clots of smoke laboriously into the air, drew its slow

Uncle Pasco blinked his small eyes to see who hailed him. "Oh!" said he, in his light, crusty voice. "Dutchy

A tolerant smile broadened Vogel's face. "It was ten years since I see you," said he, carrying the old man's

"Shouldn't wonder. Maybe it'll be another ten till you see me next." He stopped by the stage step, and

wheeling nimbly, surveyed his oldtime acquaintance, noting the good hat, the prosperous watchchain, the

big, wellblacked boots. "Not seen me for ten years. Heehee! No. Usen't to have a cent more than me.

Twins in poverty. That's how Dutchy and me started. If we was buried tomorrow they'd mark him

A flicker of aberration lighted in the old man's eye. "H'm, yes," said he, pondering. "Stuck to one business. So

you did. H'm." Then, suddenly sly, he chirped: "But I've struck it rich now." He tapped his box. "Jewelry," he

"Yes," said Vogel. "Those poor, deluded fellows, they buy such stuff." And he laughed at the seedy visionary

who had begun frontier life with him on the bottom rung and would end it there. "Do you play that concertina

"Yes, yes. I always play. It's in here with my toothbrush and socks." Uncle Pasco held up the bandanna.

"Well, he's getting ready to start. I guess I'll be climbing inside. Holy Gertrude!"

This shrill comment was at sight of the schoolmaster, patient within the stage. "What business are you in?"

He handed in his bandanna to the traveller, who received it politely. Max Vogel lifted the box of cheap

jewelry; and both he and the boy came behind to boost the old man up on the stage step. But with a nettled

look he leaped up to evade them, tottered halfway, and then, light as a husk of grain, got himself to his seat

After a brief inspection of that pale, spectacled face, "Dutchy," he called out of the door, "this country is not

But old Max Vogel was inattentive. He was speaking to the boy, Dean Drake, and held a flask in his hand. He

reached the flask to his new superintendent. "Drink hearty," said he. "There, son! Don't be shy. Haf you

"I understand," replied this person, "that Mr. Vogel will not allow his cowboys at the Malheur Agency to

have any whiskey brought there. Personally, I feel gratified." And Mr. Bolles, the new schoolmaster, gave

"Oh," muttered Uncle Pasco. "Forbidden to bring whiskey on the ranch? H'm." His eyes wandered to the

jewelrybox. "H'm," said he again; and becoming thoughtful, he laid back his motheaten sly head, and

"Goot luck, goot luck, my son!" shouted the hearty Max, and opened and waved both his big arms at the

departing boy: He stood looking after the stage. "I hope he come back," said he. "I think he come back. If he

The stage had not trundled so far on its Silver City road but that a whistle from Nampa station reached its

three occupants. This was the branch train starting back to Boise with Max Vogel aboard; and the boy looked

"My life has been too much town," said the new schoolmaster. "I am looking forward to a little wilderness

Old Uncle Pasco, leaning back, said nothing; he kept his eyes shut and his ears open.

"Change is what I don't get," sighed Dean Drake. In a few miles, however, before they had come to the ferry

over Snake River, the recent leavetaking and his employer's kind but dominating repression lifted from the

boy's spirit. His gray eye wakened keen again, and he began to whistle light opera tunes, looking about him

alertly, like the sparrowhawk that he was. "Ever see Jeannie Winston in 'Fatinitza'?" he inquired of Mr.

The schoolmaster, with a startled, thankful countenance, stated that he had never.

That's what the girls in the harem sing in the second act. Golly whiz!" The boy gleamed over the memory of

"Yep. Hard." The wary Drake shook his head warningly at Mr. Bolles to keep off that subject, and he glanced

in the direction of slumbering Uncle Pasco. Uncle Pasco was quite aware of all this. "I wouldn't take another

lonesome job so soon," pursued Drake, "but I want the money. I've been working eleven months along the

Owyhee as a sort of junior boss, and I'd earned my vacation. Just got it started hot in Portland, when biff! old

Vogel telegraphs me. Well, I'll be saving instead of squandering. But it feels so good to squander!"

"You don't say! Well, old man, I hope you will. It gives a man a lot he'll never get out of spellingbooks. Are

you cold? Here." And despite the schoolmaster's protest, Dean Drake tucked his buffalo coat round and over

him. "Some day, when I'm old," he went on, "I mean to live respectable under my own cabin and vine. Wife

He dropped into his opera tunes for a while; but evidently it was not "Fatinitza" and his vanished holiday over

which he was chiefly meditating, for presently he exclaimed: "I'll give them a shootingmatch in the

Bolles hoped he was going to learn in this country, and exhibited a Smith Wesson revolver.

Drake grieved over it. "Wrap it up warm," said he. "I'll lend you a real one when we get to the Malheur

Agency. But you can eat, anyhow. Christmas being next week, you see, my programme is, shoot all A.M. and

eat all P.M. I wish you could light on a notion what prizes to give my buccaroos."

"Yep. Cowpunchers. Vaqueros. Buccaroos in Oregon. Bastard Spanish word, you see, drifted up from

"At the Malheur Agency? It's the headquarters of five of our ranches. There ought to be quite a crowd. A

Uncle Pasco opened his other eye. "Here, you!" he said, dragging at his box under the seat. "Pull it, can't you?

There. Just what you're after. There's your prizes." Querulous and watchful, like some aged, rickety ape, the

"That's all you know, then. I sold that box clean empty through the Palouse country last week, 'cept the

bottom drawer, and an outfit on Meacham's hill took that. Shows all you know. I'm going clean through your

country after I've quit Silver City. I'll start in by Baker City again, and I'll strike Harney, and maybe I'll go to

Linkville. I know what buccaroos want. I'll go to Fort Rinehart, and I'll go to the Island Ranch, and first thing

you'll be seeing your boys wearing my stuff all over their fingers and Sunday shirts, and giving their girls my

"Shaw! Guess it is. I was in it before you was, too. You were wet behind the ears when I was jammin' all

Not much was said after this. Uncle Pasco unwrapped his concertina from the red handkerchief and played

nimbly for his own benefit. At Silver City he disappeared, and, finding he had stolen nothing from them, they

did not regret him. Dean Drake had some affairs to see to here before starting for Harper's ranch, and it was

pleasant to Bolles to find how Drake was esteemed through this country. The schoolmaster was to board at

the Malheur Agency, and had come this way round because the new superintendent must so travel. They were

scarcely birds of a feather, Drake and Bolles, yet since one remote roof was to cover them, the indoor man

was glad this boyhost had won so much goodwill from high and low. That the shrewd old Vogel should

trust so much in a nineteenyearold was proof enough at least of his character; but when Brock, the foreman

from Harper's, came for them at Silver City, Bolles witnessed the affection that the rougher man held for

Drake. Brock shook the boy's hand with that serious quietness and absence of words which shows the

Western heart is speaking. After a look at Bolles and a silent bestowing of the baggage aboard the team, he

cracked his long whip and the three rattled happily away through the dips of an open country where clear

streams ran blue beneath the winter air. They followed the Jordan (that Idaho Jordan) west towards Oregon

and the Owyhee, Brock often turning in his driver's seat so as to speak with Drake. He had a long, gradual

chapter of confidences and events; through miles he unburdened these to his favorite:

The California mare was coring well in harness. The eagle over at Whitehorse ranch had fought the cat most

terrible. Gilbert had got a mulekick in the stomach, but was eating his three meals. They had a new boy who

played the guitar. He used maplesyrup an his meat, and claimed he was from Alabama. Brock guessed

things were about as usual in most ways. The new well had caved in again. Then, in the midst of his gossip,

the thing he had wanted to say all along came out: "We're pleased about your promotion," said he; and,

Warmth kindled the boy's face, and next, with a sudden severity, he said: "You're keeping back something."

"Has the sorrel girl in Harney married you yet?" said Drake. Brock slapped his leg, and the horses jumped at

his mirth. He was mostly gravemannered, but when his boy superintendent joked, he rejoiced with the same

"The boys in this country will back you up," said he, next day; and Drake inquired: "What news from the

"Since the new Chinaman has been cooking for them," said Brock, "they have been peaceful as a man could

"They'll approve of me, then," Drake answered. "I'm feeding 'em hyas Christmas muckamuck. "

"You no kumtux Chinook?" inquired Drake. "Travel with me and you'll learn all sorts of languages. It means

"It's the only way," said the foreman. "They've got those Pennsylvania men up there."

"The three brothers Drinker," said Brock. "Full, Halfpast Full, and Drunk are what they call them. Them's

"Chinamen don't have comrades in this country," said Brock, briefly. "They like his cooking. It's a lonesome

section up there, and a Chinaman could hardly quit it, not if he was expected to stay. Suppose they kick about

"Can't help what they do. Oh, I'll give each boy his turn in Harney City when he gets anxious. It's the whole

A look of concern for the boy came over the face of foreman Brock. Several times again before their parting

did he thus look at his favorite. They paused at Harper's for a day to attend to some matters, and when Drake

was leaving this place one of the men said to him: "We'll stand by you." But from his blithe appearance and

talk as the slim boy journeyed to the Malheur River and Headquarter ranch, nothing seemed to be on his

mind. Oregon twinkled with sun and fine white snow. They crossed through a world of pines and creviced

streams and exhilarating silence. The little waters fell tinkling through icicles in the loneliness of the woods,

and snowshoe rabbits dived into the brush. East Oregon, the Owyhee and the Malheur country, the old trails

of General Crook, the willows by the streams, the open swales, the high woods where once Buffalo Horn and

Chief Eegante and Oits the medicineman prospered, through this domain of war and memories went

Bolles the schoolmaster with Dean Drake and Brock. The third noon from Harper's they came leisurely

down to the old Malheur Agency, where once the hostile Indians had drawn pictures on the door, and where

"I wish I was going to stay here with you," said Brock to Drake. "By Indian Creek you can send word to me

"Why, you're an old bat!" said the boy to his foreman, and clapped him farewell on the shoulder.

Brock drove away, thoughtful. He was not a large man. His face was cleancut, almost delicate. He had a

welltrimmed, yellow mustache, and it was chiefly in his blue eye and lean cheekbone that the frontiersman

The young superintendent set at work to ranchwork this afternoon of Brock's leaving, and the buccaroos

made his acquaintance one by one and stared at him. Villany did not sit outwardly upon their faces; they were

not villains; but they stared at the boy sent to control them, and they spoke together, laughing. Drake took the

head of the table at supper, with Bolles on his right. Down the table some silence, some staring, much

laughing went onthe rich brute laugh of the belly untroubled by the brain. Sam, the Chinaman, rapid and

"It's meat," remarked Drake, incisively, helping himself; "and tougher than it looks."

The brute laugh rose from the crowd and fell into surprised silence; but no rejoinder came, and they ate their

supper somewhat thoughtfully. The Chinaman's quick, soft eye had glanced at Dean Drake when they

laughed. He served his dinner solicitously. In his kitchen that evening he and Bolles unpacked the good

thingsthe olives, the dried fruits, the cigarsbrought by the new superintendent for Christmas; and

finding Bolles harmless, like his gentle Asiatic self, Sam looked cautiously about and spoke:

"You not know why they laugh," said he. "They not talk about my meat then. They mean new boss, Misser

"I think," said Bolles, "Mr. Drake understood their meaning, Sam. I have noticed that at times he expresses

The Oriental pondered. "Me like Misser Dlake," said he. And drawing quite close, he observed, "They not

Next day and every day "Misser Dlake" went gayly about his business, at his desk or on his horse, vigilant,

near and far, with no sign save a steadier keenness in his eye. For the Christmas dinner he provided still

further sending to the Grande Ronde country for turkeys and other things. He won the heart of Bolles by

lending him a good horse; but the buccaroos, though they were boisterous over the coming Christmas joy, did

"This thing happens anywhere," he said one night in the office to Bolles, puffing a cigar. "I've seen a troop of

"I think they have decided you are getting turkeys because you are afraid of them," said Bolles.

"Why, of course! But d' you figure I'm the man to abandon my Christmas turkey because my motives for

Dean Drake smoked for a while; then a knock came at the door. Five buccaroos entered and stood close, as is

"We were thinking as maybe you'd let us go over to town," said Halfpast Full, the spokesman.

A slight pause followed. Then Halfpast Full said: "What would you do if I went, anyway?"

"Can't imagine," Drake answered, easily. "Go, and I'll be in a position to inform you."

The buccaroo dropped his stolid bull eyes, but raised them again and grinned. "Well, I'm not particular about

Drake winked over to Bolles. "That was a graze," said he, and smoked for a while. "They'll not go this time.

"I think you smoke too much," said Bolles, whom three days had made familiar and friendly.

"Yep. Have to just now. That's what! as Uncle Pasco would say. They are a halfbreed lot, though," the boy

continued, returning to the buccaroos and their recent visit. "Weaken in the face of a straight bluff, you see,

Halfpast Full did not go to Harney City for the tabooed whiskey, nor did any one. Drake read his buccaroos

like the children that they were. After the late encounter of grit, the atmosphere was relieved of storm. The

children, the primitive, pagan, dangerous children, forgot all about whiskey, and lusted joyously for

Christmas. Christmas was coming! No work! A shootingmatch! A big feed! Cheerfulness bubbled at the

Malheur Agency. The weather itself was in tune. Castle Rock seemed no longer to frown, but rose into the

shining air, a mass of friendly strength. Except when a rare sledge or horseman passed, Mr. Bolles's journeys

to the school were all to show it was not some pioneer colony in a new, white, silent world that heard only the

playful shouts and songs of the buccaroos. The sun overhead and the hardcrushing snow underfoot filled

Before the sun first touched Castle Rock on the morning of the feast they were up and in high feather over at

the bunkhouse. They raced across to see what Sam was cooking; they begged and joyfully swallowed lumps

of his raw plumpudding. "Merry Christmas!" they wished him, and "Melly Clismas!" said he to them. They

played leapfrog over by the stable, they put snow down each other's backs. Their shouts rang round corners;

it was like boys let out of school. When Drake gathered them for the shootingmatch, they cheered him;

when he told them there were no prizes, what did they care for prizes? When he beat them all the first round,

they cheered him again. Pity he hadn't offered prizes! He wasn't a good business man, after all!

The rounds at the target proceeded through the forenoon, Drake the acclaimed leader; and the Christmas sun

drew to midsky. But as its splendor in the heavens increased, the happy shoutings on earth began to wane.

The body was all that the buccaroos knew; well, the flesh comes pretty natural to all of usand who had

ever taught these men about the spirit? The further they were from breakfast the nearer they were to dinner;

yet the happy shootings waned! The spirit is a strange thing. Often it dwells dumb in human clay, then

It was no longer a crowd Drake had at the target. He became aware that quietness had been gradually coming

over the buccaroos. He looked, and saw a man wandering by himself in the lane. Another leaned by the stable

corner, with a vacant face. Through the windows of the bunkhouse he could see two or three on their beds.

The children were tired of shouting. Drake went indoors and threw a great log on the fire. It blazed up high

with sparks, and he watched it, although the sun shown bright on the windowsill. Presently he noticed that a

man had come in and taken a chair. It was Halfpast Full, and with his boots stretched to the warmth, he sat

gazing into the fire. The door opened and another buckaroo entered and sat off in a corner. He had a bundle

of old letters, smeared sheets tied trite a twisted old ribbon. While his large, toptoughened fingers softly

loosened the ribbon, he sat with his back to the room and presently began to read the letters over, one by one.

Most of the men came in before long, and silently joined the watchers round the treat fireplace. Drake threw

another log on, and in a short time this, too, broke into ample flame. The silence was long; a slice of shadow

At the sound of a voice, some of their eyes turned on the speaker, but turned back to the fire again. The spirit

After some more minutes a neighbor whispered to a neighbor, "Play you a game of crib."

The man nodded, stole over to where the board was, and brought it across the floor on creaking tiptoe. They

"I treed that coon on Honey," said the young man, after a while"Honey Creek, San Saba. Kind o' dry

The flames crackled on, the neighbors still played their cribbage. Still was the day bright, but the shrinking

wedge of sun had gone entirely from the windowsill. Halfpast Full had drawn from his pocket a

mouthorgan, breathing halftunes upon it; in the middle of "Suwanee River" the man who sat in the corner

laid the letter he was beginning upon the heap on his knees and read no more. The great genial logs lay

glowing, burning; from the fresher one the flames flowed and forked; along the embered surface of the others

ran red and blue shivers of iridescence. With legs and arms crooked and sprawled, the buccaroos brooded,

staring into the glow with seldomwinking eyes, while deep inside the clay the spirit spoke quietly.

Christmas Day was passing, but the sun shone still two good hours high. Outside, over the snow and pines, it

was only in the deeper folds of the hills that the blue shadows had come; the rest of the world was gold and

silver; and from far across that silence into this silence by the fire came a tinkling stir of sound. Sleighbells it

The toythrill of the jingling grew clear and sweet, a spirit of enchantment that did not wake the stillness, but

cast it into a deeper dream. The bells came near the door and stopped, and then Drake opened it.

"So you did. Turkey is due inlet's seeninety minutes. Here, boys! some of you take Uncle Pasco's

"No, no, I won't. You leave me alone. I ain't stoppin' here. I ain't hungry. I just grubbed at the school. Sleepin'

at Missouri Pete's tonight. Got to make the railroad tomorrow." The old man stopped his precipitate

statements. He sat in his sledge deep1y muffled, blinking at Drake and the buccaroos, who had strolled out to

look at him, "Done a big business this trip," said he. "Told you I would. Now if you was only givin' your

children a Christmastree like that I seen that feller yer schoolmarm doin' just nowheehee!" From his

blankets he revealed the wellknown case. "Them things would shine on a tree," concluded Uncle Pasco.

Uncle Pasco whipped open his case. "There you are," said he. "All what's left. That ring'll cost you a dollar."

Halfpast Full, on the other side of the sleigh, stood visibly fascinated by the wares he was given a skilful

glimpse of down among the blankets. He peered and he pondered while Uncle Pasco glibly spoke to him.

"Scatter your truck out plain!" the buccaroo exclaimed, suddenly. "I'm not buying in the dark. Come over to

But the buccaroos, plainly glad for distraction, took the woolly old scolding man with them. Drake shouted

that if getting cheated cheered them, by all means to invest heavily, and he returned alone to his fire, where

Bolles soon joined him. They waited, accordingly, and byandby the sleighbells jingled again. As they had

come out of the silence, so did they go into it, their little silvery tinkle dancing away in the distance, faint and

Uncle Pasco's trinkets had audibly raised the men's spirits. They remained in the bunkhouse, their laughter

reaching Drake and Bolles more and more. Sometimes they would scuffle and laugh loudly.

"Gambling," said Drake. "They'll keep at it now till one of them wins everything the rest have bought."

"Had a reaction about noon," said Drake. "Regular homesick spell. I felt sorry for 'em."

Sam went across, and the shouting stopped. Then arose a thick volley of screams and cheers.

"That don't sound right," said Drake, leaping to his feet. In the next instant the Chinaman, terrified, returned

through the open door. Behind him lurched Halfpast Full, and stumbled into the room. His boot caught, and

he pitched, but saved himself and stood swaying, heavily looking at Drake. The hair curled dense over his

bull head, his mustache was spread with his grin, the light of cloddish humor and destruction burned in his

"Twas false jewelry all right!" he roared, at the top of his voice. "A good old jimmyjohn full, boss. Say, boss,

goin' to run our jimmyjohn off the ranch? Try it on, kid. Come over and try it on!" The bull beat on the table.

Dean Drake had sat quickly down in his chair, his gray eye upon the hulking buccaroo. Small and dauntless

"It's a trifle tardy to outline any policy about your demijohn," said he, seriously. "You folks had better come

"Ho, we'll eat your grub, boss. Sam's cooking goes." The buccaroo lurched out and away to the bunkhouse,

"Reserve your sorrow, Sam," said Dean Drake. "Give us your soup for a starter. Come," he said to Bolles.

He went into the diningroom, prompt in his seat at the head of the table, with the schoolmaster next to him.

"Nice man, Uncle Pasco," he continued. "But his time is not now. We have nothing to do for the present but

"I have known simpler tasks," said Mr. Bolles, "but I'll begin by spreading this excellently clean napkin."

"The worst of a bad thing," said the mild Bolles, "is having time to think about it, and we have been spared

They did come. But Drake's alert strategy served the end he had tried for. The drunken buccaroos swarmed

disorderly to the door and halted. Once more the new superintendent's ways took them aback. Here was the

decent table with lights serenely burning, with unwonted good things arranged upon itthe olives, the

oranges, the preserves. Neat as parade drill were the men's places, all the cups and forks symmetrical along

the white cloth. There, waiting his guests at the far end, sat the slim young boss talking with his boarder, Mr.

Bolles, the parts in their smooth hair going with all the rest of this propriety. Even the daily tin dishes were

"Bashful of Sam's napkins, boys?" said the boss. "Or is it the baldheaded china?"

At this bidding they came in uncertainly. Their whiskey was ashamed inside. They took their seats, glancing

across at each other in a transient silence, drawing their chairs gingerly beneath them. Thus ceremony fell

unexpected upon the gathering, and for a while they swallowed in awkwardness what the swift, noiseless

Sam brought them. He in a long white apron passed and repassed with his things from his kitchen, doubly

efficient and civil under stress of anxiety for his young master. In the pauses of his serving he watched from

"Smile, you almondeyed highbinder," said the buccaroo. And the Chinaman smiled his best.

"I've forgot something," said Halfpast Full, rising. "Don't let 'em skip a course on me." Halfpast left the

Halfpast returned presently and caught Drake's look of expectancy. "Oh no, boss," said the buccaroo,

instantly, from the door. "You're on to me, but I'm on to you." He slammed the door with ostentation and

"First smart thing I've known him do," said Drake to Bolles. "I am disappointed."

"They may get lost in the snow," said the humorous Halfpast. "I'll just show 'em the trail." Once more he

"Yes, he knew too much to bring it in here," said Drake to Bolles. "He knew none but two or three would

"Don't you think he is afraid to bring it in the same room with you at all?" Bolles suggested.

"I know what you meant, Bolles. I was only just making a little merry over this casualty. No, he don't mind

Halfpast was returning with his friends. Quite evidently they had all found the trail.

"Uncle Pasco is a nice old man!" pursued Drake. "I haven't got my gun on. Have you?"

Drake guessed at once. "Not Baby Bunting? Oh, Lord! and I promised to give you an adult weapon!the

The wellmeaning Sam filled his cup, and this proceeding shifted the buccaroo's truculent attention.

"Burn your poor legs?" said Halfpast. He poured his glass over the victim. They wrestled, the company

pounded the table, betting hoarsely, until Halfpast went to the floor, and his plate with him.

"Baldheaded china for sure, boss!" said a second of the brothers Drinker, and dropped a dish.

"I'll merely tell you," said Drake, "that the company don't pay for this china twice."

They bawled at their own jokes, loud and ominous; threat sounded beneath their lightest word, the new

crashes of china that they threw on the floor struck sharply through the foreboding din of their mirth. The

spirit that Drake since his arrival had kept under in them day by day, but not quelled, rose visibly each few

succeeding minutes, swelling upward as the tide does. Buoyed up on the whiskey, it glittered in their eyes

"I haven't any," said Drake. "New ones, that is. We've sat down to see this meal out. Got to keep sitting."

He leaned back, eating deliberately, saying no more to the buccaroos; thus they saw he would never leave the

room till they did. As he had taken his chair the first, so was the boy bound to quit it the last. The game of

prying forktines staled on them one by one, and they took to songs, mostly of love and parting. With the red

whiskey in their eyes they shouted plaintively of sweethearts, and vows, and lips, and meeting in the wild

wood. From these they went to ballads of the cattletrail and the Yuba River, and so inevitably worked to the

old coast song, made of three languages, with its verses rhymed on each year since the first beginning.

Tradition laid it heavy upon each singer in his turn to keep the pot aboiling by memory or by new invention,

and the chant went forward with hypnotic cadence to a tune of larkish, ripping gayety. He who had read over

his old stained letters in the homesick afternoon had waked from such dreaming and now sang:

"Once jes' onced in the year o' 49, I met a fancy thing by the name o' Keroline; I never could persuade her for

"Once, once again in the year o' '64, By the city of Whatcom down along the shore I never could persuade

Once, once again in the year o' 71 ('Twas the suddenest deed that I ever done) I never could persuade them

"I never could persuade them for to leave me be" tempestuously brought down the chorus and the fists, until

the drunkards could sit no more, but stood up to sing, tramping the tune heavily together. Then, just as the

turn came round to Drake himself, they dashed their chairs down and herded out of the room behind

Drake sat a moment at the head of his Christmas dinner, the fallen chairs, the lumpy wreck. Blood charged

his face from his hair to his collar. "Let's smoke," said he. They went from the dinner through the room of the

All the rooms fronted on the road with doorsthe oldtime agency doors, where the hostiles had drawn their

pictures in the days before peace had come to reign over this country. Drake looked out, because the singing

had stopped and they were very quiet in the bunkhouse. He saw the Chinaman steal from his kitchen.

"Running away, I guess. I'd prefer a new situation myself. That's where you're deficient, Bolles. Only got

Sam had gone beside a window of the bunkhouse and was listening there, flat like a shadow. Suddenly he

crouched, and was gone among the sheds. Out of the bunkhouse immediately came a procession, the

Drake closed his door and sat in the chair again. "They're escorting that jug over here," said he. "A new

He and Bolles heard them enter the next room, always without much noise or talkthe loudest sound was

But the door of the sittingroom opened and the Chinaman himself came in. He left the door aswing and

The superintendent came out of his office, following Sam to the kitchen. He gave no look or word to the

buccaroos with their demijohn; he merely held his cigar sidewise in his teeth and walked with no hurry

through the sittingroom. Sam took him through to the kitchen and round to a hind corner of the stove,

"Misser Dlake," said he, "slove no bloke. I hear them inside. They going kill you."

"Misser Dlake," said the Chinaman, with appealing eyes, "I velly solly you. They no hurtee me. Me cook."

"Sam, there is much meat in your words. Condensed beef don't class with you. But reserve your sorrows yet a

while. Now what's my policy?" he debated, tapping the stove here and there for appearances; somebody

"Oh yes, Sam. But I like my gun travelling. Keeps me kind of warm. Now if they should get a sight of me

armingno, she's got to stay here till I come back for her. So long, Sam! See you later. And I'll have time to

Drake went to the corral in a strolling manner. There he roped the strongest of the horses, and also the

"You've done it. Saved me a bothering touchandgo play to get you out here and seem innocent. I'm going

"There are times to stay and times to leave, Bolles; and this is a case of the latter. Have you a real gun on

Poor Bolles brought out guiltily his .22 Smith Wesson. "I don't seem to think of things," said he.

"Cheer up," said Drake. "How could you thoughtread me? Hide Baby Bunting, though. Now we're off.

Sam stood at his kitchen door, mutely wishing them well. The horses were walking without noise, but

"We're by, anyhow," said Drake. "Quick now. Burn the earth. "The horse sprang at his spurs." Dust, you son

of a gun! Rattle your hocks! Brindle! Vamoose!" Each shouted word was a lash with his quirt. "Duck!" he

Bolles ducked, and bullets grooved the spraying snow. They rounded a corner and saw the crowd jumping

"Oh, I said you were," yelled Drake, disgusted; and he gave over this effort at conversation as their horses

It was a dim, wide stretch of winter into which Drake and Bolles galloped from the howling pursuit. Twilight

already veiled the base of Castle Rock, and as they forged heavily up a ridge through the caking snow, and

the yells came after them, Bolles looked seriously at Dean Drake; but that youth wore an expression of rising

merriment. Bolles looked back at the dusk from which the yells were sounding, then forward to the spreading

skein of night where the trail was taking him and the boy, and in neither direction could he discern cause for

Ten miles were travelled before either spoke again. The drunken buccaroos yelled hot on their heels at first,

holding more obstinately to this chase than sober ruffians would have attempted. Ten cold, dark miles across

the hills it took to cure them; but when their shootings, that had followed over heights where the pines grew

and down through the open swales between, dropped off, and died finally away among the willows along the

"It is all very bad," said Bolles, sorry to hear the boy's tone of disappointment.

"I wanted them to keep after us," complained Drake. "Soon as we had a good lead I coaxed them. Coaxed

them along on purpose by a trail they knew, and four miles from here I'd have swung south into the

mountains they don't know. There they'd have been good and far from home in the snow without supper, like

you and me, Bolles. But after all my trouble they've gone back snug to that fireside. Well, let us be as cosey

He built a bright fire, and he whistled as he kicked the snow from his boots, busying over the horses and the

blankets. "Take a rest," he said to Bolles. "One man's enough to do the work. Be with you soon to share our

little cottage." Presently Bolles heard him reciting confidentially to his horse, "Twas the night after

Christmas, and all in the houseonly we are not all in the house!" He slapped the belly of his horse Tyee,

"Appreciating the moon, Bolles?" said he, returning at length to the fire. "What are you so gazeful about,

"It has just come over me," Bolles continued. "It was before you got in the stage at Nampa. I was talking. I

told Uncle Pasco that I was glad no whiskey was to be allowed on the ranch. It all comes from my folly!"

"Why, you hungry old New England conscience!" cried the boy, clapping him on the shoulder. "How in the

"That's all very well," said Bolles, miserably. "You would never have mentioned it yourself to him."

"You and I, Bolles, are different. I was raised on miscellaneous wickedness. A look at my insides would be

The schoolmaster smiled. "If I said any prayers," he replied, "you would be in them."

Drake looked moodily at the fire. "The Lord helps those who help themselves," said he. "I've prospered. For a

nineteenyearold I've hooked my claw fairly deep here and there. As for todaywhy, that's in the game

too. It was their deal. Could they have won it on their own play? A joker dropped into their hand. It's my deal

now, and I have some jokers myself. Go to sleep, Bolles. We've a ride ahead of us."

The boy rolled himself in his blanket skillfully. Bolles heard him say once or twice in a sort of judicial

conversation with the blanket "and all in the housebut we were not all in the house. Not all. Not a full

house" His tones drowsed comfortably into murmur, and then to quiet breathing. Bolles fed the fire,

thatched the unneeded windbreak (for the calm, dry night was breathless), and for a long while watched the

"If he is blamed," said the schoolmaster, "I'll never forgive myself. I'll never forgive myself anyhow."

A paternal, or rather maternal, expression came over Bolles's face, and he removed his large, serious glasses.

The boy did. "I'm feeling like a bird," said he, as they crossed through the mountains next morning on a short

cut to the Owybee. "Breakfast will brace you up, Bolles. There'll be a cabin pretty soon after we strike the

Their start had been very early; as Drake bid the schoolmaster observe, to have nothing to detain you,

nothing to eat and nothing to pack, is a great help in journeys of haste. The warming day, and Indian Creek

well behind them, brought Drake to whistling again, but depression sat upon the selfaccusing Bolles. Even

when they sighted the Owyhee road below them, no cheerfulness waked in him; not at the nearing coffee, nor

yet at the companionable tinkle of sleighbells dancing faintly upward through the bright, silent air.

"Why, if it ain't Uncle Pasco!" said Drake, peering down through a gap in the foothill. "We'll get breakfast

"Are you going to kill him?" whispered the schoolmaster, with a beaming countenance. And he scuffled

Drake considered him. "Bolles, Bolles," said he, "you have got the New England conscience rank. Plymouth

Rock is a pudding to your heart. Remind me to pray for you first spare minute I get. Now follow me close.

They slipped from their horses, stole swiftly down a shoulder of the hill, and waited among some brush. The

"Only hear 'em!" said Drake. "All full of silver and Merry Christmas. Don't gaze at me like that, Bolles, or I'll

laugh and give the whole snap away. See him come! The old man's breath streams out so calm. He's not

worried with New England conscience. One, two, three" Just before the sleigh came opposite, Dean Drake

Uncle Pasco stopped dead, his eyes blinking. Then he stood up in the sleigh among his blankets. "H'm," said

"Throw up your hands! Quit fooling with that blanket!" Drake spoke dangerously now. "Bolles," he

continued, "pitch everything out of the sleigh while I cover him. He's got a shotgun under that blanket. Sling

It was slung. The wraps followed. Uncle Pasco stepped obediently down, and soon the chattels of the emptied

sleigh littered the snow. The old gentleman was invited to undress until they reached the sixshooter that

Drake suspected. Then they ate his lunch, drank some whiskey that he had not sold to the buccaroos, told him

to repack the sleigh, allowed him to wrap up again, bade him take the reins, and they would use his

He had said very little, had Uncle Pasco, but stood blinking, obedient and malignant. "H'm," said he now,

He was told yes, that for the present he was their coachman. Their horses were tired and would follow, tied

behind. "We're weary, too," said Drake, getting in. "Take your legs out of my way or I'll kick off your shins.

Bolles, are you fixed warm and comfortable? Now start her up for Harper ranch, Uncle."

"Not going to wring your neck, and that's enough for the present. Faster, Uncle. Get a gait on. Bolles, here's

Uncle Pasco's eye fell on the 22caliber pistol. "Did you hold me up with that lemonade straw?" he asked,

"Uncle, you're not making time," said Drake after a few miles. "I'll thank you for the reins. Open your

Uncle Pasco took his choice, opening with the melody of "The Last Rose of Summer." The sleigh whirled up

the Owyhee by the winter willows, and the, levels, and the meadow pools, bright frozen under the blue sky.

Late in this day the amazed Brock by his corrals at Harper's beheld arrive his favorite, his boy superintendent,

driving in with the schoolmaster staring through his glasses, and Uncle Pasco throwing out active strains

Drake was not long in explaining his need to the men. "This thing must be worked quick," said he. "Who'll

All of them would, and he took ten, with the faithful Brock. Brock would not allow Gilbert to go, because he

had received another mulekick in the stomach. Nor was Bolles permitted to be of the expedition. To all his

protests, Drake had but the single word: "This is not your fight, old man. You've done your share with Baby

Thus was the schoolmaster in sorrow compelled to see them start back to Indian Creek and the Malheur

without him. With him Uncle Pasco would have joyfully exchanged. He was taken along with the avengers.

They would not wring his neck, but they would play cat and mouse with him and his concertina; and they did.

But the conscience of Bolles still toiled. When Drake and the men were safe away, he got on the wagon going

for the mail, thus making his way next morning to the railroad and Boise, where Max Vogel listened to him;

The avengers reached Indian Creek duly, and the fourth day after his Christmas dinner Drake came once

"I am doing this thing myself, understand," he said to Brock. "I am responsible."

"We're here to take your orders," returned the foreman. But as the agency buildings grew plain and the time

for action was coming, Brock's anxious heart spoke out of its fulness. "If they start in totothey mightI

"Excuse me," said the man. Then presently: "I don't see how anybody could 'a' told he'd smuggle whiskey

that way. If the old man [Brock meant Max Vogel] goes to blame you, I'll give him my opinion straight."

"The old man's got no use for opinions," said Drake. "He goes on results. He trusted me with this job, and

The drunkards were sitting round outside the ranch house. It was evening. They cast a sullen inspection on

the newcomers, who returned them no inspection whatever. Drake had his men together and took them to

the stable first, a shed with mangers. Here he had them unsaddle. "Because," he mentioned to Brock, "in case

Soon the drunkards strolled over, saying goodday, hazarding a few comments on the weather and like

But Sam was the blithest spirit at the Malheur Agency. "Hiyah!" he exclaimed. "Misser Dlake! How fashion

you come quick so?" And the excellent Chinaman took pride in the meal of welcome that he prepared.

"Supper's now," said Drake to his men. "Sit anywhere you feel like. Don't mind whose chair you're

Thus they followed him, and sat. The boy took his customary perch at the head of the table, with Brock at his

Seeing their boss, the sparrowhawk, back in his place, flanked with supporters, and his gray eye

indifferently upon them, the buccaroos grew polite to oppressiveness. While Sam handed his dishes to Drake

and the newcomers, and the newcomers eat what was good before the old inhabitants got a taste, these

latter grew more and more solicitous. They offered sugar to the strangers, they offered their beds; Halfpast

Full urged them to sit companionably in the room where the fire was burning. But when the meal was over,

the visitors went to another room with their arms, and lighted their own fire. They brought blankets from their

saddles, and after a little concertina they permitted the nearly perished Uncle Pasco to slumber. Soon they

slumbered themselves, with the door left open, and Drake watching. He would not even share vigil with

Brock, and all night he heard the voices of the buccaroos, holding grand, unending council.

When the relentless morning came, and breakfast with the visitors again in their seats unapproachable, the

drunkards felt the crisis to be a strain upon their sobered nerves. They glanced up from their plates, and

down; along to Dean Drake eating his hearty porridge, and back at one another, and at the hungry,

"Mr. Drake," said Halfpast Full, sweating with his effort, "we were sorry while we was afogging you up."

A large laugh went up from the visitors, and the meal was finished without further diplomacy.

"One matter, Mr. Drake," stammered Halfpast Full, as the party rose. "Our jobs. We're glad to pay for any

"Fact is, you're a set of cowards," said Drake, briefly. "I notice you've forgot to remove that whiskey jug."

The demijohn still stood by the great fireplace. Drake entered and laid hold of it, the crowd standing back and

watching. He took it out, with what remained in its capacious bottom, set it on a stump, stepped back,

levelled his gun, and shattered the vessel to pieces. The whiskey drained down, wetting the stump, creeping

Much potency lies in the objectlesson, and a grin was on the faces of all present, save Uncle Pasco's. It had

"You ornery old mink!" said Drake, looking at him. "You keep to the jewelry business hereafter."

The buccaroos grinned again. It was reassuring to witness wrath turn upon another.

"You want to hold your jobs?" Drake resumed to them. "You can trust yourselves?"

"But I don't trust you," stated Drake, genially; and the buccaroos' hopeful eyes dropped. "I'm going to divide

you," pursued the new superintendent. "Split you far and wide among the company's ranches. Stir you in with

decenter blood. You'll go to Whitehorse ranch, just across the line of Nevada," he said to Halfpast Full.

Drake paused in his apportionment, and a sleigh came swiftly round the turn, the horse loping and lathery.

"What vas dat shooting I hear joost now?" shouted Max Vogel, before he could arrive. He did not wait for

any answer. "Thank the good God!" he exclaimed, at seeing the boy Dean Drake unharmed, standing with a

gun. And to their amazement he sped past them, never slacking his horse's lope until he reached the corral.

There he tossed the reins to the placid Bolles, and springing out like a surefooted elephant, counted his

saddlehorses; for he was a general. Satisfied, he strode back to the crowd by the demijohn. "When dem men

get restless," he explained to Drake at once, "always look out. Somebody might steal a horse."

The boy closed one gray, confidential eye at his employer. "Just my idea," said he," when I counted 'em

Drake pointed at the demijohn. "It was bigger than those bottles at Nampa," said he. "Guess you could have

Max's great belly shook. He took in the situation. It had a flavor that he liked. He paused to relish it a little

"Und you have killed noding else?" said he, looking at Uncle Pasco, who blinked copiously. "Mine old

friend, you never get rich if you change your business so frequent. I tell you that thirty years now." Max's

hand found Drake's shoulder, but he addressed Brock. "He is all what you tell me," said he to the foreman.

Thus the huge, jovial Teuton took command, but found Drake had left little for him to do. The buccaroos

were dispersed at Harper's, at Fort Rinehart, at Alvord Lake, towards Stein's peak, and at the Island Ranch by

Harney Lake. And if you know east Oregon, or the land where Chief Eegante helped out Specimen Jones,

his white soldier friend, when the hostile Bannocks were planning his immediate death as a spy, you will

know what wide regions separated the buccaroos. Bolles was taken into Max Vogel's esteem; also was

Chinese Sam. But Max sat smoking in the office with his boy superintendent, in particular satisfaction.

It was thirty minutes before a June sundown at the post, and the first call had sounded for parade. Over in the

barracks the two companies and the single troop lounged a moment longer, then laid their police litera ture

down, and lifted their stocking feet from the beds to get ready. In the officers' quarters the captain rose

regretfully from afterdinner digestion, and the three lieutenants sought their helmets with a sigh. Lieutenant

Balwin had been dining an unconventional and impressive guest at the mess, and he now interrupted the

"Make yourself comfortable," he said. "I'll have to hear the rest about the halfbreed when I get back."

"There ain't no moreyet. He got my cash with his private poker deck that onced, and I'm fixing for to get

Second call sounded; the lines filed out and formed, the sergeant of the guard and two privates took their

station by the flag, and when battalion was formed the commanding officer, towering steeplestiff beneath

his plumes, received the adjutant's salute, ordered him to his post, and began drill. At all this the

"I doubt if I could put up with that there discipline all the week," he mused. "Carryarms! PresentArms! I

guess that's all I know of it." The winking white line of gloves stirred his approval. "Pretty good that. Gosh,

The last note of retreat merged in the sonorous gun, and the flag shining in the light of evening slid down and

rested upon the earth. The blue ranks marched to a single buglethe post was short of men and

officersand the captain, with the released lieutenants, again sought digestion and cigars. Balwin returned to

his guest, and together they watched the day forsake the plain. Presently the guest rose to take his leave. He

looked old enough to be the father of the young officer, but he was a civilian, and the military man proceeded

The slouchshouldered scout rolled his quid gently, and smiled at his superior with indulgent regard.

"See here, Cutler, you have a highly unoccupied look about you this evening. I've been studying the customs

"Fact one: When any male inhabitant of Fort Laramie has a few spare moments, he hunts up a game of

"Fact three: Mr. Calvin, in them discussions Jarvis Cutler has the last word. You put that in your census

"Well, Cutler, if somebody's gun should happen to beat yours in an argument, I should have to hunt another

With this slight dig of his civilian independence into the lieutenant's military ribs, the scout walked away, his

long, lugubrious frockcoat (worn in honor of the mess) occasionally flapping open in the breeze, and giving a

view of a belt richly fluted with cartridges, and the ivory handle of a pistol looking out of its holster. He got

on his horse, crossed the flat, and struck out for the cabin of his sociable friends, Loomis and Kelley, on the

hill. The open door and a light inside showed the company, and Cutler gave a grunt, for sitting on the table

was the halfbreed, the winner of his unavenged dollars. He rode slower, in order to think, and arriving at the

corral below the cabin, tied his horse to the stump of a cottonwood. A few steps towards the door, and he

wheeled on a sudden thought, and under cover of the night did a crafty something which to the pony was

altogether unaccountable. He unloosed both front and rear cinch of his saddle, so they hung entirely free in

wide bands beneath the pony's belly. He tested their slackness with his hand several times, stopping instantly

when the more and more surprised pony turned his head to see what new thing in his experience might be

"Never you mind, Duster," muttered the scout. "Did you ever see a skunktrap? Oughts is for mushrats, and

number ones is mostly used for 'coons and 'possums, and I guess they'd do for a skunk. But you and we'll call

this here trap a number two, Duster, for the skunk I'm after is a big one. All you've to do is to act natural."

Cutler took the rope off the stump by which Duster had been tied securely, wound and strapped it to the tilted

saddle, and instead of this former tether, made a weak knot in the reins, and tossed them over the stump. He

The hand of Toussaint had made a slight, a very slight, movement towards his hip, but at sight of Cutler's

"Sporting his oncedayear coat," Kelley pursued. "That ain't for our benefit, Joole."

"No, we're not that high in society." Both these cheerful waifs had drifted from the Atlantic coast westward.

Cutler looked from them to his costume, and then amiably surveyed the halfbreed.

"Pretty good sometime. Sometime heap hell." The voice of the halfbreed came as near heartiness as its

singularly false quality would allow, and as he smiled he watched Cutler with the inside of his eyes.

The scout watched nobody and nothing with great care, looked about him pleasantly, inquired for the

whiskey, threw aside hat and gloves, sat down, leaning the chair back against the wall, and talked with artful

candor. "Them sprigs of lieutenants down there," said he, "they're a surprising lot for learning virtue to a man.

You take Balwin. Why, he ain't been out of the Academy only two years, and he's been telling me how

cardplaying ain't good for you. And what do you suppose he's been and offered Jarvis Cutler for a job? I'm

to be wagonmaster." He paused, and the halfbreed's attention to his next words increased. "Wagonmaster,

and good pay, too. Clean up to the Black Hills; and the troops'll move soon as ever them reinforcements

come. Drinks on it, boys! Set 'em up, Joole Loomis. My contract's sealed with some of Uncle Sam's cash, and

I'm going to play it right here. Hello! Somebody coming to join us? He's in a hurry."

There was a sound of lashing straps and hoofs beating the ground, and Cutler looked out of the door. As he

had calculated, the saddle had gradually turned with Duster's movements and set the pony bucking.

"Stampeded!" said the scout, and swore the proper amount called for by such circumstances. "Some o' you

Loomis and Kelley ran. Duster had jerked the prepared reins from the cottonwood, and was lurching down a

Cutler cast a backward eye at the cabin where Toussaint had stayed behind alone. "Head him off below, boys,

and I'll head him off above," the scout sang out. He left his companions, and quickly circled round behind the

cabin, stumbling once heavily, and hurrying on, anxious lest the noise had reached the lurking halfbreed.

But the ivoryhandled pistol, jostled from its holster, lay unheeded among the stones where he had stumbled.

He advanced over the rough ground, came close to the logs, and craftily peered in at the small window in the

back of the cabin. It was evident that he had not been heard. The sinister figure within still sat on the table,

but was crouched, listening like an animal to the shouts that were coming from a safe distance down in the

gulch. Cutler, outside of the window, could not see the face of Toussaint, but he saw one long brown hand

sliding up and down the man's leg, and its movement put him in mind of the tail of a cat. The hand stopped to

pull out a pistol, into which fresh cartridges were slipped. Cutler had already done this same thing after

dismounting, and he now felt confident that his weapon needed no further examination. He did not put his

hand to his holster. The figure rose from the table, and crossed the room to a set of shelves in front of which

hung a little yellow curtain. Behind it were cups, cans, bottles, a pistol, counters, red, white, and blue, and

two fresh packs of cards, blue and pink, side by side. Seeing these, Toussaint drew a handkerchief from his

pocket, and unwrapped two further packs, both blue; and at this Cutler's intent face grew into plain shape

close to the window, but receded again into uncertain dimness. From down in the gulch came shouts that the

runaway horse was captured. Toussaint listened, ran to the door, and quickly returning, put the blue pack

from the shelf into his pocket, leaving in exchange one of his own. He hesitated about altering the position of

the cards on the shelf, but Kelley and Loomis were unobservant young men, and the halfbreed placed the

pink cards on top of his blue ones. The little yellow curtain again hung innocently over the shelves, and

Toussaint, pouring himself a drink of whiskey, faced round, and for the first time saw the window that had

been behind his back. He was at it in an instant, wrenching its rusty pin, that did not give, but stuck

motionless in the wood. Cursing, he turned and hurried out of the door and round the cabin. No one was

there. Some hundred yards away the noiseless Cutler crawled farther among the thickets that filled the head

of the gulch. Toussaint whipped out a match, and had it against his trousers to strike and look if there were

footprints, when second thoughts warned him this might be seen, and was not worth risking suspicion over,

since so many feet came and went by this cabin. He told himself no one could have been there to see him, and

slowly returned inside, with a mind that fell a hair's breadth short of conviction.

The boys, coming up with the horse, met Cutler, who listened to how Duster had stood still as soon as he had

kicked free of his saddle, making no objection to being caught. They suggested that he would not have

broken loose had he been tied with a rope; and hearing this, Cutler bit off a piece of tobacco, and told them

they were quite right: a horse should never be tied by his bridle. For a savory moment the scout cuddled his

secret, and turned it over like the tobacco lump under his tongue. Then he explained, and received serenely

"When you kids have travelled this Western country awhile you'll keep your cards locked," said he." He's

going to let us win first. You'll see, he'll play a poor game with the pink deck. Then, if we don't call for fresh

cards, why, he'll call for 'em himself. But, just for the fun of the thing, if any of us loses steady, why, we'll

call. Then, when he gets hold of his strippers, watch out. When he makes his big play, and is stretchin' for to

rake the counters in, you grab 'em, Joole; for by then I'll have my gun on him, and if he makes any trouble

we'll feed him to the coyotes. I expect that must have been it, boys," he continued, in a new tone, as they

came within possible earshot of the halfbreed in the cabin. "A coyote come around him where he was tied.

The fool horse has seen enough of 'em to git used to 'em, you'd think, but he don't. There; that'll hold him. I

The lamp was placed on the windowshelf, and the four took seats, Cutler to the left of Toussaint, with

Kelley opposite. The pink cards fell harmless, and for a while the game was a dull one to see. Holding a pair

of kings, Cutler won a little from Toussaint, who remarked that luck must go with the money of Uncle Sam.

After a few hands, the halfbreed began to bet with ostentatious folly, and, losing to one man and another,

was joked upon the falling off of his game. In an hour's time his blue chips had been twice reinforced, and

twice melted from the neat oftencounted pile in which he arranged them; moreover, he had lost a horse from

"Joole, you always are for something new," said Cutler. "Now I'm doing pretty well with these pink cards.

The eyes of the halfbreed swerved to the yellow curtain. He was by a French trapper from Canada out of a

Sioux squaw, one of Red Cloud's sisters, and his heart beat hot with the evil of two races, and none of their

good. He was at this moment irrationally angry with the men who had won from him through his own

devices, and malice undisguised shone in his lean flat face. At sight of the blue cards falling in the first deal,

silence came over the company, and from the distant paradeground the bugle sounded the melancholy strain

of taps. Faint, far, solemn, melodious, the music travelled unhindered across the empty night.

Cutler pushed forward the two necessary white chips. No one's hand was high, and Loomis made a slight

winning. The deal went its round several times, and once, when it was Toussaint's, Cutler suspected that

special cards had been thrown to him by the halfbreed as an experiment. He therefore played the gull to a

nicety, betting gently upon his three kings; but when he stepped out boldly and bet the limit, it was not

Toussaint but Kelley who held the higher hand, winning with three aces. Why the coup should be held off

longer puzzled the scout, unless it was that Toussaint was carefully testing the edges of his marked cards to

see if he controlled them to a certainty. So Cutler played on calmly. Presently two aces came to him in

Toussaint's deal, and he wondered how many more would be in his threecard draw. Very pretty! One only,

and he lost to Loomis, who had drawn three, and held four kings. The hands were getting higher, they said.

The game had "something to it now." But Toussaint grumbled, for his luck was bad all this year, he said.

Cutler had now made sure that the aces and kings went where the halfbreed wished, and could be slid

undetected from the top or the middle or the bottom of the pack; but he had no test yet how far down the scale

the marking went. At Toussaint's next deal Cutler judged the time had come, and at the second round of

betting he knew it. The three white men played their parts, raising each other without pause, and again there

was total silence in the cabin. Every face bent to the table, watching the turn repeat its circle with obstinate

increase, until new chips and more new chips had been brought to keep on with, and the heap in the middle

had mounted high in the hundreds, while in front of Toussaint lay his knife and a matchboxpledges of

two more horses which he had staked. He had drawn three cards, while the others took two, except Cutler,

who had a pair of kings again, and drawing three, picked up two more. Kelley dropped out, remarking he had

bet more than his hand was worth, which was true, and Loomis followed him. Their persistence had surprised

Toussaint a little. He had not given every one suspicious hands: Cutler's four kings were enough. He bet once

"That beats me," said Cutler, quietly, and his hand moved under his frockcoat, as the halfbreed, eyeing the

central pile of counters in triumph, closed his fingers over it. They were dashed off by Kelley, who looked

expectantly across at Cutler, and seeing the scout's face wither into sudden old age, cried out, "For God's

sake, Jarvis, where's your gun?" Kelley sprang for the yellow curtain, and reeled backward at the shot of

Toussaint. His arm thrashed along the windowsill as he fell, sweeping over the lamp, and flaring channels of

oil ran over his body and spread on the ground. But these could no longer hurt him. The halfbreed had

leaped outside the cabin, enraged that Cutler should have got out during the moment he had been dealing with

Kelley. The scout was groping for his ivoryhandled pistol off in the darkness. He found it, and hurried to the

little window at a second shot he heard inside. Loomis, beating the rising flame away, had seized the pistol

from the shelf, and aimlessly fired into the night at Toussaint. He fired again, running to the door from the

scorching heat. Cutler got round the house to save him if he could, and saw the halfbreed's weapon flash,

and the body pitch out across the threshold. Toussaint, gaining his horse, shot three times and missed Cutler,

whom he could not clearly see; and he heard the scout's bullets sing past him as his horse bore him rushing

Jarvis Cutler lifted the dead Loomis out of the cabin. He made a try for Kelley's body, but the room had

become a cave of flame, and he was driven from the door. He wrung his hands, giving himself bitter blame

aloud, as he covered Loomis with his saddleblanket, and jumped bareback upon Duster to go to the post. He

had not been riding a minute when several men met him. They had seen the fire from below, and on their way

"Here's our point," said Cutler. "Will he hide with the Sioux, or will he take to the railroad? Well, that's my

business more than being wagonmaster. I'll get a warrant. You tell Lieutenant Balwinand somebody give

A short while later, as Cutler, with the warrant in his pocket, rode out of Fort Laramie, the call of the

sentinels came across the night: "Number One. Twelve o'clock, and all's well." A moment, and the refrain

sounded more distant, given by Number Two. When the fourth took it up, far away along the line, the words

were lost, leaving something like the faint echo of a song. The halfbreed had crossed the Platte, as if he

were making for his kindred tribe, but the scout did not believe in this too plain trail.

"There's Chug Water lying right the other way from where he went, and I guess it's there Mr. Toussaint is

aiming for." With this idea Cutler swung from north to southwest along the Laramie. He went slowly over his

shortcut, not to leave the widely circling Toussaint too much in his rear. The fugitive would keep himself

carefully far on the other side of the Laramie, and very likely not cross it until the forks of Chug Water. Dawn

had ceased to be gray, and the doves were cooing incessantly among the river thickets, when Cutler, reaching

the forks, found a bottom where the sagebrush grew seven and eight feet high, and buried himself and his

horse in its cover. Here was comfort; here both rivers could be safely watched. It seemed a good leisuretime

for a little fire and some breakfast. He eased his horse of the saddle, sliced some bacon, and put a match to his

pile of small sticks. As the flame caught, he stood up to enjoy the cool of a breeze that was passing through

the stillness, and he suddenly stamped his fire out. The smell of another fire had come across Chug Water on

the wind. It was incredible that Toussaint should be there already. There was no seeing from this bottom, and

if Cutler walked up out of it the other man would see too. If it were Toussaint, he would not stay long in the

vast exposed plain across Chug Water, but would go on after his meal. In twenty minutes it would be the

thing to swim or wade the stream, and crawl up the mud bank to take a look. Meanwhile, Cutler dipped in

water some old bread that he had and sucked it down, while the little breeze from opposite hook the

cottonwood leaves and brought over the smell of cooking meat. The sun grew warmer, and the doves ceased.

Cutler opened his big watch, and clapped it shut as the sound of mud heavily slopping into the other river

reached him. He crawled to where he could look at the Laramie from among his sagebrush, and there was

Toussaint leading his horse down to the water. The halfbreed gave a shrill call, and waved his hat. His call

was answered, and as he crossed the Laramie, three Sioux appeared, riding to the bank. They waited till he

gained their level, when all four rode up the Chug Water, and went out of sight opposite the watching Cutler.

The scout threw off some of his clothes, for the water was still high, and when he had crossed, and drawn

himself to a level with the plain, there were the four squatted among the sagebrush beside a fire. They sat

talking and eating for some time. One of them rose at last, pointed south, and mounting his horse, dwindled

to a dot, blurred, and evaporated in the heated, trembling distance. Cutler at the edge of the bank still watched

the other three, who sat on the ground. A faint shot came, and they rose at once, mounted, and vanished

southward. There was no following them now in this exposed country, and Cutler, feeling sure that the signal

had meant something about Toussaint's horses, made his fire, watered his own horse, and letting him drag a

rope where the feed was green, ate his breakfast in ease. Toussaint would get a fresh mount, and proceed to

the railroad. With the comfort of certainty and tobacco, the scout lolled by the river under the cottonwood,

and even slept. In the cool of the afternoon he reached the cabin of an acquaintance twenty miles south, and

changed his horse. A man had passed by, he was told. Looked as if bound for Cheyenne. "No," Cutler said,

"he's known there"; and he went on, watching Toussaint's tracks. Within ten miles they veered away from

Cheyenne to the southeast, and Cutler struck out on a trail of his own more freely. By midnight he was on

LodgePole Creek, sleeping sound among the last trees that he would pass. He slept twelve hours, having

gone to bed knowing he must not come into town by daylight. About nine o'clock he arrived, and went to the

railroad station; there the operator knew him. The lowest haunt in the town had a tent south of the Union

Pacific tracks; and Cutler, getting his irons, and a man from the saloon, went there, and stepped in, covering

the room with his pistol. The fiddle stopped, the shrieking women scattered, and Toussaint, who had a glass

in his hand, let it fly at Cutler's head, for he was drunk. There were two customers besides himself.

"Nobody shall get hurt here," said Cutler, above the bedlam that was now set up. "Only that man's wanted.

Toussaint had dived for his pistol, but the proprietor of the dancehall, scenting law, struck the halfbreed

with the butt of another, and he rolled over, and was harmless for some minutes. Then he got on his legs, and

was led out of the entertainment, which resumed more gayly than ever. Feet shuffled, the fiddle whined, and

truculent treble laughter sounded through the canvas walls as Toussaint walked between Cutler and the

saloonman to jail. He was duly indicted, and upon the scout's deposition committed to trial for the murder of

Loomis and Kelley. Cutler, hoping still to be wagonmaster, wrote to Lieutenant Balwin, hearing in reply

that the reinforcements would not arrive for two months. The session of the court came in one, and Cutler

was the Territory's only witness. He gave his name and age, and hesitated over his occupation.

"I would, but I'm such a fool one," observed the witness. "Put me down as wagonmaster to the military

"Well, I reside in the section that lies between the Missouri River and the Pacific Ocean."

"A pleasant neighborhood," said the judge, who knew Cutler perfectly, and precisely how well he could deal

"You think you done with me?" Toussaint inquired, upon which silence was ordered in the court.

Upon Cutler's testimony the halfbreed was found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged in six weeks from that

The scout returned to Fort Laramie, and soon the expected troops arrived, and the expedition started for

White River to join Captain Brent. The captain was stationed there to impress Red Cloud, and had written to

headquarters that this chief did not seem impressed very deeply, and that the lives of the settlers were

insecure. Reinforcements were accordingly sent to him. On the evening before these soldiers left Laramie,

news came from the south. Toussaint had escaped from jail. The country was full of roving, dubious Indians,

and with the authentic news went a rumor that the jailer had received various messages. These were to the

effect that the Sioux nation did not desire Toussaint to be killed by the white man, that Toussaint's mother

was the sister of Red Cloud, and that many friends of Toussaint often passed the jailer's house. Perhaps he did

get such messages. They are not a nice sort to receive. However all this may have been, the prisoner was

Fort Robinson, on the White River, is backed by yellow bluffs that break out of the foothills in turret and

toadstool shapes, with stunt pines starving between their torrid bastions. In front of the fort the land slants

away into the flat unfeatured desert, and in summer the sky is a bluesteel covet that each day shuts the sun

and the earth and mankind into one box together, while it lifts at night to let in the cool of the stars. The

White River, which is not wide, runs in a curve, and around this curve below the fort some distance was the

agency, and beyond it a stockade, inside which in those days dwelt the settlers. All this was strung out on one

side of the White River, outside of the curve; and at a point near the agency a footbridge of two cottonwood

trunks crossed to the concave of the river's benda bottom of some extent, filled with growing cottonwoods,

and the tepees of many Sioux families. Along the river and on the plain other tepees stood.

One morning, after Lieutenant Balwin had become established at Fort Robinson, he was talking with his

friend Lieutenant Powell, when Cutler knocked at the wire door. The wagonmaster was a privileged

character, and he sat down and commented irrelevantly upon the lieutenant's pictures, Indian curiosities, and

"Hiding with the Sioux. Two Knives heard about it." (Two Knives was a friendly Indian.) "He's laying for

"And it's today," continued Cutler, plaintively, "that he should be gettin' hanged in Cheyenne."

Still the lieutenants pondered, while the wagonmaster inspected a photograph of Marie Rose as Marguerite.

Just after guardmounting two days later, Cutler came in without knocking. Toussaint was found. He was

down on the river now, beyond the stockade. In ten minutes the wagonmaster and the two lieutenants were

rattling down to the agency in an ambulance, behind four tall blue government mules. These were handily

driven by a seventeenyearold boy whom Balwin had picked. up, liking his sterling American ways. He had

come West to be a cowboy, but a chance of helping to impress Red Cloud had seemed still dearer to his

heart. They drew up at the agency store, and all went in, leaving the boy nearly out of his mind with curiosity,

and pretending to be absorbed with the reins. Presently they came out, Balwin with fieldglasses.

"Well?" said Powell, sticking his chin on Cutler's shoulder to look along his arm as he pouted. But the scout

"You start there and follow the fence to the cornerthe left corner, towards the river. Then you follow the

side that's nearest the river down to the other corner. Now that corner is about a hundred yards from the bank.

You take a beeline to the bank and go down stream, maybe thirty yards. No; it'll be forty yards, I guess.

"I see all that," said Lieutenant Balwin, screwing the fieldglasses. "There's a buck and a squaw lying under

"Naw, sir," drawled Cutler, "that ain't no buck. That's him lying in his Injun blanket and chinnin' a squaw."

"Oh, he's rigged up Injun fashion, fust rate, sir. But them braids of his ain't his'n. False hair."

The lieutenants passed each other the fieldglasses three times, and glared at the lone pine and the two figures

in blankets. The boy on the ambulance was unable to pretend any longer, and leaned off his seat till he nearly

"Well," said Balwin, "I never saw anything look more like a buck Sioux. Look at his paint. Take the glasses

But Cutler refused. "He's like an Injun," he said. "But that's just what he wants to be." The scout's conviction

They were persuaded. "You can't come with us, Cutler," said Powell. "You must wait for us here."

"I know, sir; he'd spot us, sure. But it ain't right. I started this whole business with my poker scheme at that

The officers went into the agency store and took down two rifles hanging at the entrance, always ready for

use. "We're going to kill a man," they explained, and the owner was entirely satisfied. They left the rueful

Cutler inside, and proceeded to the gate of the stockade, turning there to the right, away from the river, and

following the paling round the corner down to the farther righthand corner. Looking from behind it, the lone

pinetree stood near, and plain against the sky. The striped figures lay still in their blankets, talking, with

their faces to the river. Here and there across the stream the smokestained peak of a tepee showed among

"We must let her rip now, anyhow," said Powell, and they stepped out into the open. They walked towards

the pine till it was a hundred yards from them, and the two beneath it lay talking all the while. Balwin

covered the man with his rifle and called. The man turned his head, and seeing the rifle, sat up in his blanket.

The squaw sat up also. Again the officer called, keeping his rifle steadily pointed, and the man dived like a

frog over the bank. Like magic his blanket had left his limbs and painted body naked, except for the

breechclout. Balwin's tardy bullet threw earth over the squaw, who went flapping and screeching down the

river. Balwin and Powell ran to the edge, which dropped six abrupt feet of clay to a trail, then shelved into the

swift little stream. The red figure was making up the trail to the footbridge that led to the Indian houses, and

both officers fired. The man continued his limber flight, and they jumped down and followed, firing. They

heard a yell on the plain above, and an answer to it, and then confused yells above and below, gathering all

the while. The figure ran on above the river trail below the bank, and their bullets whizzed after it.

"So'd you run. Think any Sioux'd stay when an army officer comes gunning for him?"

"Shoot!" said Powell. "'S getting near bridge," and they went on, running and firing. The yells all over the

plain were thickening. The air seemed like a substance of solid flashing sound. The naked runner came round

Cutler was much nearer to the bridge than was the man in the breechclout, and reaching the bank, he took

half a minute's keen pleasure in watching the race come up the trail. When the figure was within ten yards

Cutler slowly drew an ivoryhandled pistol. The lieutenants below saw the man leap to the middle of the

bridge, sway suddenly with arms thrown up, and topple into White River. The current swept the body down,

and as it came it alternately lifted and turned and sank as the stream played with it. Sometimes it struck

submerged stumps or shallows, and bounded half out of water, then drew under with nothing but the back of

the head in sight, turning round and round. The din of Indians increased, and from the tepees in the

cottonwoods the red Sioux began to boil, swarming on the opposite bank, but uncertain what had happened.

A dozen rifles were pointing at their heads on the bank above. The Indians still hesitated, for there was Two

Knives telling them these officers were not enemies, and had hurt no Sioux. Suddenly Cutler pushed among

the rifles, dashing up the nearest two with his arm, and their explosion rang in the ears of the lieutenants.

Powell stood grinning at the general complication of matters that had passed beyond his control, and Balwin

made a grab as the head of the man in the river washed by. The false braid came off in his hand!

Two Knives redoubled his harangue, and the Indians stood puzzled, while the lieutenants pulled Toussaint

out, not dead, but shot through the hip. They dragged him over the clay and hoisted him, till Cutler caught

hold and jerked him to the level, as a new noise of rattling descended on the crowd, and the four blue mules

wheeled up and halted. The boy had done it himself. Massing the officers' need, he had pelted down among

the Sioux, heedless of their yells, and keeping his gray eyes on his team. In got the three, pushing Toussaint

in front, and scoured away for the post as the squaw arrived to shriek the truth to her tribewhat Red

Cutler sat smiling as the ambulance swung along. "I told you I belonged in this here affair," he said. And

Captain Brent considered it neatly done. "But that boy put the finishing touches," he said. "Let's have him in."

The boy was had in, and ate a dinner with the officers in glum embarrassment, smoking a cigar after it

without joy. Toussaint was given into the doctor's hands, and his wounds carefully dressed.

"This will probably cost an Indian outbreak," said Captain Brent, looking down at the plain. Blanketed riders

galloped over it, and yelling filled the air. But Toussaint was not destined to cause this further harm. An

All afternoon the cries and galloping went on, and next morning (worse sign) there seemed to be no Indians

in the world. The horizon was empty, the air was silent, the smoking tepees were vanished from the

cottonwoods, and where those in the plain had been lay the lodgepoles, and the fires were circles of white,

cold ashes. By noon an interpreter came from Red Cloud. Red Cloud would like to have Toussaint. If the

Captain Brent told the story of Loomis and Kelley. "Say to Red Cloud," he ended, "that when a white man

does such things among us, he is killed. Ask Red Cloud if Toussaint should live. If he thinks yes, let him

The next day with ceremony and feathers of state, Red Cloud came, bringing his interpreter, and after

listening until every word had been told him again, requested to see the halfbreed. He was taken to the

hospital. A sentry stood on post outside the tent, and inside lay Toussaint, with whom Cutler and the

ambulanceboy were playing whiskeypoker. While the patient was waiting to be hanged, he might as well

enjoy himself within reason. Such was Cutler's frontier philosophy. We should always do what we can for the

sick. At sight of Red Cloud looming in the doorway, gorgeous and grim as Fate, the game was suspended.

The Indian took no notice of the white men, and walked to the bed. Toussaint clutched at his relation's fringe,

but Red Cloud looked at him. Then the mongrel strain of blood told, and the halfbreed poured out a

chattering appeal, while Red Cloud by the bedside waited till it had spent itself. Then he grunted, and left the

room. He had not spoken, and his crest of long feathers as it turned the corner was the last vision of him that

Red Cloud came back to the officers, and in their presence formally spoke to his interpreter, who delivered

the message: "Red Cloud says Toussaint heap no good. No Injun, anyhow. He not want him. White man hunt

Thus was Toussaint twice sentenced. He improved under treatment, played many games of whiskeypoker,

These things happened in the early seventies; but there are Sioux still living who remember the two

lieutenants, and how they pulled the halfbreed out of White River by his false hair. It makes them laugh to

this day. Almost any Indian is full of talk when he chooses, and when he gets hold of a joke he never lets go.

Under Providence, a man may achieve the making of many thingsships, books, fortunes, himself even,

quite often enough to encourage others; but let him beware of creating a town. Towns mostly happen. No

realestate operator decided that Rome should be. Sharon was an intended town; a one man's piece of

deliberate manufacture; his whim, his pet, his monument, his device for immortally continuing above ground.

He planned its avenues, gave it his middle name, fed it with his railroad. But he had reckoned without the

inhabitants (to say nothing of nature), and one day they displeased him. Whenever you wish, you can see

Sharon and what it has come to as I saw it when, as a visitor without local prejudices, they asked me to serve

with the telegraphoperator and the ticketagent and the hotelmanager on the literary committee of judges

at the school festival. There would be a stage, and flags, and elocution, and parents assembled, and afterwards

"Have you ever awarded prizes for school speaking?" inquired the telegraphoperator, Stuart.

"It's boys and girls in Sharon," said he. "Parents have no say in it here, either. But that don't seem to occur to

"I think I had best resign." said I. "You would find me no hand at pacifying a mother."

"There are fathers also," said Stuart. "But individual parents are small trouble compared with a big split in

"Don't go back on us," said Stuart. "We are so few here. And you know education can't be democratic or

where will good taste find itself? Eastman knows that much, at least." And Stuart explained that Eastman was

the head of the school and chairman of our committee. "He is from Massachusetts, and his taste is good, but

he is total abstinence. Won't allow any literature with the least smell of a drink in it, not even in the

singingclass. Would not have 'Here's a health to King Charles' inside the door. Narrowing, that; as many of

the finest classics speak of wine freely. Eastman is useful, but a crank. Now take 'Lochinvar.' We are to have

it on strawberry night; but say! Eastman kicked about it. Told the kid to speak something else. Kid came to

A smile lurked for one instant in the corner of Stuart's eye, and disappeared again. Then he drew his arm

"You have never seen anything in your days like Sharon," said he. "You could not sit down by yourself and

make such a thing up. Shakespeare might have, but he would have strained himself doing it. Well, Eastman

says 'Lochinvar' will go in my expurgated version. Too bad Sir Walter cannot know. Ever read his Familiar

Letters, Great grief! but he was a good man. Eastman stuck about that mention of wine. Remember?

'So now am I come with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.'

'Well,' thought I, 'Eastman would agree to water. Water and daughter would go, but is frequently used, and

spoils the meter.' So I fiddled with my pencil down in the telegraph office, and I fixed the thing up. How's

'So now am I come with this beautiful maid To lead but one measure, drink one lemonade.'

"Ah, how did I? How did all our crowd at the railroad? Somebody has got to sell tickets, somebody has got to

run that hotel, and telegraphs have got to exist here. That's how we foreigners came. Many travellers change

cars here, and one train usually misses the other, because the two companies do not love each other. You hear

lots of language, especially in December. Eastern consumptives bound for southern California get left here,

and drummers are also thick. Remarks range from 'How provoking!' to things I would not even say myself.

So that big hotel and depot has to be kept running, and we fellows get a laugh now and then. Our lot is better

"I should have thought it was worse," said I. "No, for we'll be transferred some day. These poor folks are

Again my eye followed as he indicated the town with a sweep of his hand; and from the town I looked to the

four quarters of heaven. I may have seen across into Old Mexico. No sign labels the boundary; the vacuum of

continent goes on, you might think, to Patagonia. Symptoms of neighboring Mexico basked on the sand

heaps along Sharon's spacious avenueslittle torpid, indecent gnomes in sashes and open rags, with

crowningsteeple straw hats, and murder dozing in their small black eyes. They might have crawled from

holes in the sand, or hatched out of brown cracked pods on some weeds that trailed through the broken

bottles, the old shoes, and the wire fences. Outside these ramparts began the vacuum, white, gray, indigo,

florescent, where all the year the sun shines. Not the semblance of any tree dances in the heat; only rocks and

lumps of higher sand waver and dissolve and reappear in the shaking crystal of mirage. Not the scar of any

riverbed furrows the void. A river there is, flowing somewhere out of the shiny violet mountains to the

north, but it dies subterraneously on its way to Sharon, misses the town, and emerges thirty miles south

across the sunlight in a shallow, futile lake, a cienaga, called Las Palomas. Then it evaporates into the

The water you get in Sharon is dragged by a herd of windwheels from the bowels of the sand. Over the town

they turn and turnSharon's upper storya filmy colony of slats. In some of the homes beneath them you

may go upstairsin the American homes, not in the adobe Mexican caves of song, woman, and knives; and

brick and stone edifices occur. Monuments of perished trade, these rise among their flatter neighbors cubical

and stark; undershirts, firearms, and groceries for sale in the groundfloor, blind dustwindows above.

Most of the mansions, however, squat ephemerally upon the soil, no cellar to them, and no staircase, the total

fragile box ready to bounce and caracole should the wind drive hard enough. Inside them, eating, mending,

the newspaper, and more babies, eke out the twelvemonth; outside, the citizens loiter to their errands along

the brief wide avenues of Sharon that empty into space. Men, women, and children move about in the town,

sparse and casual, and over their heads in a white tribe the windwheels on their rudders veer to the breeze

and indolently revolve above the gaping obsoleteness. Through the dumb town the locomotive bell tolls

pervadingly when a train of freight or passengers trundles in from the horizon or out along the dwindling

fence of telegraph poles. No matter where you are, you can hear it come and go, leaving Sharon behind, an

airy carcass, bleached and ventilated, sitting on the sand, with the sun and the hot wind pouring through its

This town was the magnate's child, the thing that was to keep his memory green; and as I took it in on that

first walk of discovery, Stuart told me its story: how the magnate had decreed the railroad shops should be

here; how, at that, corner lots grew in a night; how horsemen galloped the streets, shooting for joy, and the

hasty tents rose while the houses were hammered together; how they had song, dance, cards, whiskey,

license, murder, marriage, operathe whole usual thingregular as the clock in our West, in Australia, in

Africa, in every virgin corner of the world where the AngloSaxon rushes to spend his animal

spiritsregular as the clock, and in Sharon's case about fifteen minutes long. For they became greedy, the

cornerlot people. They ran up prices for land which the railroad, the breath of their nostrils, wanted. They

grew ugly, forgetting they were dealing with a magnate, and that a railroad from ocean to ocean can take its

shops somewhere else with appalling ease. Thus did the corner lots become sand again in a night. "And in the

"Our toolhouse blew over into your yard last night. It's jammed behind your tank."

A window in the next house was opened, a head put out, and this occasioned my presentation to both ladies.

They were Mrs. Mattern and Mrs. Jeffries, and they fell instantly into a stiff caution of deportment; but they

speedily found I was not worth being cautious over. Stuart whispered to me that they were widows of high

standing, and mothers of competing favorites for the elocution prize; and I hastened to court their esteem.

Mrs. Mattern was in body more ample, standing high and yellow and fluffy; but Mrs. Jeffries was smooth and

"You must not let us interrupt you, ladies," said I, after some civilities. "Did I understand that something was

"You did," said Mrs. Jeffries (she had come out of her house); "and I am pleased to notice no damage has

"It would have been fixed right up at my expense, as always, Mrs. Jeffries," retorted her neighbor, and started

to keep abreast of Mrs. Jeffries as that lady walked and inspected the fence. Thus the two marched parallel

"About once a month I can expect this," said Mrs. Jeffries, returning along her frontier.

"Well, it's not the only case in Sharon, Mrs. Jeffries," said Mrs. Mattern. "I'll remind you of them three coops

when you kept poultry, and they got away across the railroad, along with the barber's shop."

"One of the prizeawarding committee," said Stuart. "An elegant judge of oratory. Has decided many

"How splendid for Leola!" cried Mrs. Mattern, instantly." Leola! Oh, Leola! Come right out here!"

Mrs. Jeffries has been more prompt. She was already in her house, and now came from it, bringing a

pleasantlooking boy of sixteen, it might be. The youth grinned at me as he stood awkwardly, brought in

"Twice or a dozen times should raise no hard feelings if my son is Sharon's best speaker," cried Mrs. Jeffries,

"He is a master of humor recitations," his mother now said to me. "Perhaps you know, or perhaps you do not

"Why, mother, Leola can speak all around me. She can," Guy added to me, nodding his head confidentially.

"Leola will study in Paris, France," announced Mrs. Mattern, arriving with her child. "She has no advantages

But before I had more than noted a darkeyed maiden who would not look at me, but stood in skirts too

young for her figure, black stockings, and a dangle of hair that should have been up, her large parent had

"Here is what the Santa Fe Observer says"; and when I would have read, she read aloud for me. 'The next is

the Los Angeles Christian Home. And here's what they wrote about her in El Paso: 'Her histrionic genius for

one so young'it commences below that picture. That's Leola." I now recognized the black stockings and the

"I shall." And the mother read the letter to me. "Leola has spoke in five cultured cities," she went on.

"Yes, sir, three recalls," said Arvasita, arriving at our group by the fence. An elder sister, she was, evidently.

"Are you acquainted with 'Camill'?" she asked me, with a trifle of sternness; and upon my hesitating, "the

celebrated French drayma of 'Camill'," she repeated, with a trifle more of sternness. "Camill is the lady in it

who dies of consumption. Leola recites the letterandcoughing scene, Act Third. Mr. Patterson of

"That is Leola again," said Mrs. Mattern, showing me another newspaper cuthair, stockings, and a candle

"Sleepwalking scene, 'Macbeth,'" said Arvasita. "Leola's great night at the church fair and bazar, El Paso, in

Shakespeare's acknowledged masterpiece. Leola's repetwar likewise includes 'Catherine the Queen before her

Judges,' 'Quality of Mercy is not Strained,' 'Death of Little Nell,' 'Death of Paul Dombey,' ' Death of the Old

Year,' 'Burial of Sir John Moore,' and other standard gems suitable for ladies."

"Leola," said her mother, "recite 'When the British Warrior Queen' to the gentleman."

"No, momma, please not," said Leola, and her voice made me look at her; something of appeal sounded in it.

"Leola is that young you must excuse her," said her motherand I thought the girl winced.

"Come away, Guy," suddenly snapped little Mrs. Jeffries. "We are wasting the gentleman's time. You are no

infant prodigy, and we have no pictures of your calves to show him in the papers."

"As for wasting time, madam," said I, with indignation, "you are wasting yours in attempting to prejudice the

"And, Mrs. Mattern," continued, "if I may say so without offense, the age (real or imaginary) of the speakers

may make a difference in Albuquerque, but with our committee not the slightest."

"Eastern ideas are ever welcome in Sharon," said Mrs. Jeffries. "Goodmorning." And she removed Guy and

herself into her house, while Mrs. Mattern and Arvasita, stiffly ignoring me, passed into their own door.

"Come have a drink," said Stuart to me. "I am glad you said it. Old Mother Mattern will let down those

prodigy skirts. The poor girl has been ashamed of them these two years, but momma has bulldozed her into

staying young for stage effect. The girl's not conceited, for a wonder, and she speaks well. It is even betting

Close by the saloon we were impeded by a rush of small boys. They ran before and behind us suddenly from

barrels and unforeseen places, and wedging and bumping between us, they shouted: "Chickenlegs! Ah, look

For a sensitive moment I feared they were speaking of me; but the folding slatdoors of the saloon burst open

outward, and a giant barkeeper came among the boys and caught and shook them to silence.

"You want to behave," was his single remark; and they dispersed like a Sundayschool.

I did not see why they should thus describe him. He stood and nodded to us, and jerked big thumb towards

the departing flock. "Funny how a boy will never think," said he, with amiability." But they'll grow up to be

about as good as the rest of us, I guess. Don't you let them monkey with you, Josey!" he called.

"Naw, I won't," said a voice. I turned and saw, by a barrel, a youth in kneebreeches glowering down the

street at his routed enemies. He was possibly eight, and one hand was bound in a grimy rag. This was

"Well, don't you let them touch you. We'll see you through." And as we followed him in towards our drink

through his folding slatdoors he continued discoursing to me, the newcomer. "I am against interfering with

kids. I like to leave 'em fight and fool just as much as they see fit. Now them boys ain't malicious, but they're

young, you see, they're young, and misfortune don't appeal to them. Josey lost his father last spring, and his

mother died last month. Last week he played with a freight car and left two of his fingers with it. Now you

"This town is not going to permit any man to fool with Josey," stated his opponent in the game.

"Or women either," added a lounger by the bar, shaggybearded and also with a pistol.

"Mr. Abe Hanson," said the barkeeper, presenting me to him. "Josey's father's partner. He's took the boy from

"A member of the prize awarding committee," explained Stuart, and waved a hand at me.

"Not agin 'The Jumping Frog,' he won't," the first insisted. "I near bust," he repeated.

"Quit fixing' the judge, Al," said Leola's backer. "Reub forgets his words, an' says 'em over, an' balks, an'

"Yes, we're apt to see it through," said the barkeeper. And Stuart and I bade them a goodmorning.

As we neared the schoolmaster's house, where Stuart was next taking me, we came again upon the boys

with Josey, and no barkeeper at hand to "see him through." But Josey made it needless. At the word

"Chickenlegs" he flew in a limber manner upon the nearest, and knocking him immediately flat, turned with

spirit upon a second and kicked him. At this they set up a screeching and fell all together, and the

As this did not immediately affect them, Mr. Eastman made a charge, and they fled from him then. A long

stocking of Josey's was torn, and hung in two streamers round his ankles; and his dangling shoelaces were

"Ah, bother strawberry night!" said Josey, and hopped at one of his playmates. But Mr. Eastman caught him

"Josey Yeatts is an anxious case, sir," returned the teacher. "Several influences threaten his welfare.

"Abe!" exclaimed Mr. Eastman, lifting his brow. "He means a man old enough to be his father, sir. I endeavor

to instill him with some few notions of respect, but the town spoils him. Indulges him completely, I may say.

And when Sharon's sympathies are stirred sir, it will espouse a cause very warmlyGive me that!" broke off

the schoolmaster, and there followed a brief wrestle. "Chewing again today, sir," he added to me.

"Abe lemme have it," shrieked Josey. "Lemme go, or he'll come over and fix you."

But the calm, chilly Eastman had ground the tobacco under his heel. "You can understand how my hands are

At this point Josey ducked and slid free, and the united flock vanished with jeers at us. Josey forgot they had

insulted him, they forgot he had beaten them; against a common enemy was their friendship cemented.

"Sharon is a quiet town, but sudden," remarked Stuart. "Apt to be sudden. They're beginning about strawberry

Eastman smiled. He was young, totally bald, the moral dome of his skull rising white above visionary eyes

and a serious auburn beard. He was clothed in a bleak, smooth slategray suit, and at any climax of emphasis

he lifted slightly upon his toes and relaxed again, shutting his lips tight on the finished sentence. "Your

question," said he, "has often perplexed me. Sometimes they seem to prefer verse; sometimes prose stirs them

greatly. We shall have a liberal crop of both this year. I am proud to tell you I have augmented our number of

"Eleven. You might wish some could be excused. But I let them speak to stimulate their interest in culture.

Will you not take dinner with me, gentlemen? I was just sitting down when little Josey Yeatts brought me

We were glad to do this, and he opened another can of corned beef for us. "I cannot offer you wine, sir," said

he to me, "though I am aware it is a general habit in luxurious homes." And he tightened his lips.

"I fear so," the schoolmaster replied, smiling. "That poison shall never enter my house, gentlemen, any more

than tobacco. And as I cannot reform the adults of Sharon, I am doing what I can for their children. Little

Hugh Straight is going to say his 'Lochinvar' very pleasingly, Mr. Stuart. I went over it with him last night. I

like them to be word per fect," he continued to me, "as failures on exhibition night elicit unfavorable

"Reuben Gadsden is likely to mortify us. He is an earnest boy, but nervous; and one or two others. But I have

limited their length. Reuben Gadsden's father declined to have his boy cut short, and he will give us a speech

of Burke's; but I hope for the best. It narrows down, it narrows down. Guy Jeffries and Leola Mattern are the

Mr. Eastman smiled at Stuart. "We have no reason to suppose they have changed since last year," said he.

"Why, sir," he suddenly exclaimed, "if I did not feel I was doing something for the young generation here, I

He spoke fervently of various local enterprises, his failures, his hopes, his achievements; and I left his house

honoring him, but amazed his heart was so wide and his head so narrow; a man who would purify with

"About once a month," said Stuart, "I run against a new side he is blind on. Take his puzzlement as to

whether they perfer verse or prose. Queer and dumb of him that, you see. Sharon does not know the

"They don't," he repeated, "when it comes to strawberry night. If the piece is about something they

understand, rhymes do not help or hinder. And of course sex is apt to settle the question."

"Not the sex of the speaker. It's the listeners. Now you take women. Women generally prefer something that

"You'd know you'd rather if you had to live in Sharon. The laugh is one of the big differences between

women and men, and I would give you my views about it, only my Sundayoff time is up, and I've got to go

"There's Guy," continued Stuart. "He took the prize on 'The Jumping Frog.' Spoke better than Leola, anyhow.

She spoke 'The Wreck of the Hesperus.' But Guy had the back benchesthat's where the men sit pretty

well useless. Guess if there had been a fire, some of the fellows would have been scorched before they'd have

got strength sufficient to run out. But the ladies did not laugh much. Said they saw nothing much in jumping

a frog. And if Leola had made 'em cry good and hard that night, the committee's decision would have kicked

up more of a fuss than it did. As it was, Mrs. Mattern got me alone; but I worked us around to where Mrs.

"Let us adhere to that policy," I said to Stuart; and he replied nothing, but into the corner of his eye wandered

He went to telegraphing, and I to revery concerning strawberry night. I found myself wishing now that there

could have been two prizes; I desired both Leola and Guy to be happy; and presently I found the matter

would be very close, so far at least as my judgment went. For boy and girl both brought me their selections,

begging I would coach them, and this I had plenty of leisure to do. I preferred Guy's choicethe story of that

bluejay who dropped nuts through the hole in a roof, expecting to fill it, and his friends came to look on and

discovered the hole went into the entire house. It is better even than "The Jumping Frog"better than

anything, I thinkand young Guy told it well. But Leola brought a potent rival on the tearful side of things.

"The Death of Paul Dombey" is plated pathos, not wholly sterling; but Sharon could not know this; and while

Leola most prettily recited it to me I would lose my recent opinion in favor of Guy, and acknowledge the

value of her performance. Guy might have the men strong for him, but this time the women were going to

cry. I got also a certain other sort of entertainment out of the competing mothers. Mrs. Jeffries and Mrs.

Mattern had a way of being in the hotel office at hours when I passed through to meals. They never came

"Oh," I would answer, "do not speak of it. Have you ever heard Guy's 'BlueJay' story?"

"Well, if it's anything like that frog business, I don't want to." And the lady would leave me.

"Oh yes, I'm severe,"' I answered, brightly. "I let nothing pass. I only wish I was as careful with Leola. But as

soon as she begins 'Paul had never risen from his little bed,' I just lose myself listening to her."

On the whole, there were also compensations for me in these mothers, and I thought it as well to secure them

When the train arrived from El Paso, and I saw our strawberries and our icecream taken out, I felt the hour

to be at hand, and that whatever our decision, no bias could be laid to me. According to his prudent habit,

Eastman had the speakers follow each other alphabetically. This happened to place Leola after Guy, and

perhaps might give her the last word, as it were, with the people; but our committee was there, and superior to

such accidents. The flags and the bunting hung gay around the draped stage. While the audience rustled or

resoundingly trod to its chairs, and seated neighbors conferred solemnly together over the programme, Stuart,

"No. But I have a way of enjoying a thing by myself." And he pumped away, playing with tasteful variations

They opened the ceremonies for us by rendering "Sweet and Low" very happily; and I trusted it was an omen.

Sharon was hearty, and we had "Sweet and Low" twice. Then the speaking began, and the speakers were

welcomed, coming and going, with mild and friendly demonstrations. Nothing that one would especially

mark went wrong until Reuben Gadsden. He strode to the middle of the boards, and they creaked beneath his

tread. He stood a moment in large glittering boots and with hair flat and prominently watered. As he

straightened from his bow his suspenderbuttons came into view, and remained so for some singular internal

reason, while he sent his right hand down into the nearest pocket and began his oratory.

"It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France," he said, impressively, and stopped.

"It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France." He took the right hand out and put the left

I found the silence was getting on my nerves. I felt as if it were myself who was drifting to idiocy, and

tremulous empty sensations began to occur in my stomach. Had I been able to recall the next sentence, I

"It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France," said the orator, rapidly.

And down deep back among the men came a voice, "Well, I guess it must be, Reub."

This snapped the tension. I saw Reuben's boots march away; Mr. Eastman came from behind the bunting and

spoke (I suppose) words of protest. I could not hear them, but in a minute, or perhaps two, we grew calm, and

There was no question what they thought of Guy and Leola. He conquered the back of the room. They called

his name, they blessed him with endearing audible oaths, and even the ladies smiled at his pleasant, honest

facethe ladies, except Mrs. Mattern. She sat near Mrs. Jeffries, and throughout Guy's "BlueJay" fanned

herself, exhibiting a wellsustained inattention. She might have foreseen that Mrs. Jeffries would have her

turn. When the "Death of Paul Dombey" came, and handkerchiefs began to twinkle out among the audience,

and various noises of grief were rising around us, and the men themselves murmured in sym pathy, Mrs.

Jeffries not only preserved a suppressedhilarity countenance, but managed to cough twice with a cough that

But Leola's appealing cadences moved me also. When Paul was dead, she made her pretty little bow, and we

sat spellbound, then gave her applause surpassing Guy's. Unexpectedly I found embarrassment of choice

dazing me, and I sat without attending to the later speakers. Was not successful humor more difficult than

pathos? Were not tears more cheaply raised than laughter? Yet, on the other hand, Guy had one prize, and

where merit was so evenI sat, I say, forgetful of the rest of the speakers, when suddenly I was aware of

"Spit it out, Josey!" a large encouraging voice was crying in the back of the hall. "We'll see you through."

"I love little pussy her coat is so warm And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm I'll sit by the fiyer and

That was all. It had come without falter or pause, even for breath. Josey stood, and the room rose to him.

"Again! again!" they roared." He ain't a bit scared!" "Go it, Josey!" "You don't forgit yer piece!" And a great

"Look at his little hand!" "Only three fingers inside them rags!" "Nobody to mend his clothes any more."

They all talked to each other, and clapped and cheered, while Josey stood, one leg slightly advanced and

proudly stiff, somewhat after the manner of those military engravings where some general is seen erect upon

Mr. Eastman again appeared from the bunting, and was telling us, I have no doubt, something of importance;

but the giant barkeeper now shouted above the din, "Who says Josey Yeatts ain't the speaker for this night?"

At that striking of the common chord I saw them heave, promiscuous and unanimous, up the steps to the

stage. Josey was set upon Abe Hanson's shoulder, while ladies wept around him. What the literary committee

might have done I do not know, for we had not the time even to resign. Guy and Leola now appeared, bearing

the prize between thema picture of Washington handing the Bible out of clouds to Abraham Lincolnand

very immediately I found myself part of a procession. Men and women we were, marching about Sharon. The

barkeeper led; four of Sharon's fathers fol lowed him, escorting Josey borne aloft on Abe Hanson's shoulder,

and rigid and military in his bearing. Leola and Guy followed with the picture; Stuart walked with me,

whistling melodies of the warDixie and others. Eastman was not with us. When the ladies found

themselves conducted to the saloon, they discreetly withdrew back to the entertainment we had broken out

This presently caused us to return to the ladies, and we finished the evening with entire unity of sentiment.

Eastman alone took the incident to heart; inquired how he was to accomplish anything with hands tied, and

murmured his constant burden once more: "One is not appreciated, not appreciated."

I do not stop over in Sharon any more. My ranch friend, whose presence there brought me to visit him, is

gone away. But such was my virgin experience of the place; and in later days fate led me to be concerned

with two more local competitionsone military and one civilwhich greatly stirred the population. So that

I never pass Sharon on my long travels without affectionately surveying the sandy, quivering, bleached town,

unshaded by its twinkling forest of windwheels. Surely the heart always remembers a spot where it has been

merry! And one thing I should like to knowshall know, perhaps: what sort of citizen in our republic Josey

will grow to be. For whom will he vote? May he not himself come to sit in Washington and make laws for

Augustus Albumblatt, young and new and sleek with the latest book knowledge of war, reported to his first

troop commander at Fort Brown. The ladies had watched for him, because he would increase the number of

men, the officers because he would lessen the number of duties; and he joined at a crisis favorable to

becoming speedily known by them all. Upon that same day had household servants become an extinct race.

The last one, the commanding officer's cook, had told the commanding officer's wife that she was used to

living where she could see the cars. She added that there was no society here "fit for man or baste at all." This

opinion was formed on the preceding afternoon when Casey, a sergeant of roguish attractions in G troop, had

told her that he was not a marrying man. Three hours later she wedded a gambler, and this morning at six

they had taken the stage for Green River, two hundred miles south, the nearest point where the bride could

"Catherine," he answered, "my dear, our statesmen at Washington say it's wicked to hire the free American

"Hush, my love. Therefore York must be spared the insult of twenty more dollars a month, our statesmen

must be reelected, and you and I, Catherine, being cookless, must join the general mess."

Thus did all separate housekeeping end, and the garrison began unitedly to eat three times a day what a

Chinaman set before them, when the longexpected Albumblatt stepped into their midst, just in time for

This youth was spicandspan from the Military Academy, with a topdressing of three months' thoughtful

travel in Germany. "I was deeply impressed with the modernity of their scientific attitude," he pleasantly

remarked to the commanding officer. For Captain Duane, silent usually, talked at this first meal to make the

"We're cut off from all that sort of thing here," said he. "I've not been east of the Missouri since '69. But

we've got the railroad across, and we've killed some Indians, and we've had some fun, and we're glad we're

"Especially now we've got a bachelor at the post!" said Mrs. Bainbridge. "That has been the one drawback,

"I thank you for the compliment," said Augustus, bending solemnly from his hips; and Mrs. Starr looked at

"We're not overgay, I fear," the Captain continued; "but the flat's full of antelope, and there's good shooting

"Have you followed the recent target experiments at Metz?" inquired the traveller. "I refer to the flattened

"We have not heard the reports," answered the commandant, with becoming gravity. "But we own a mountain

"It's anything for variety's sake with us, you see," said Mrs. Starr, smoothly smiling; and once again Augustus

But the commanding officer wished leniency. "You see us all," he hastened to say. "Commissioned officers

"But alive and kicking. Captain Starr, Mr. Bainbridge, the Doctor and me. We are seven."

Again Mr. Albumblatt counted heads. "I imagine you include the ladies, Captain? Ha! ha!"

"Seven commissioned males, sir. Our Major is on sickleave, and two of our Lieutenants are related to the

President's wife. She can't bear them to be exposed. None of us in the churchyard liebut we are seven."

"Ha! ha, Captain! That's an elegant double entendre on Wordsworth's poem and the War Department. Only, if

I may correct your additionha! ha!our total, including myself, is eight." And Augustus grew as hilarious

The lady was sitting big with rage, but her words were cordial still: "Indeed, Mr. Albumblatt, the way officers

who have influence in Washington shirk duty here and get details East is something I can't laugh about. At

one time the Captain was his own adjutant and quartermaster. There are more officers at this table tonight

than I've seen in three years. So we are doubly glad to welcome you at Fort Brown."

"I am fortunate to be on duty where my services are so required, though I could object to calling it Fort

"You misunderstand me. When we say Fort Brown. Fort Russell, Fort Et Cetera, we are inexact. They are not

"Cantonment Et Cetera would be a trifle lengthy, wouldn't it?" put in the Doctor, his endurance on the wane.

"Perhaps; but technically descriptive of our Western posts. The Germans criticise these military laxities."

Captain Duane now ceased talking, but urbanely listened; and from time to time his eye would scan

Augustus, and then a certain sublimated laugh, to his wife well known; would seize him for a single voiceless

spasm, and pass. The experienced Albumblatt meanwhile continued, "Bytheway, Doctor, you know the

Doctor Guild had visited that great hospital, but being now a goaded man he stuck his nose in his plate, and

said, unwisely: "Sharrity? What's that?" For then Augustus told him what and where it was, and that

Krankenhaus is German for hospital, and that he had been deeply impressed with the modernity of the

ventilation. "Thirtyfive cubic metres to a bed in new wards," he stated. "How many do you allow, Doctor?"

"You do, sir. My patients breathe in cubic feet, and swallow their doses in grains, and have their inflation

"Now there again!" exclaimed Augustus, cheerily. "More antiquity to be swept away! And people say we

But the student's mind inhabited heights above such trifling. "Death," he said, "occurs in ratios not

differentiated from our statistics." And he told them much more while they booked at him over their plates.

He managed to say 'modernity' and 'differentiate' again, for he came from our middle West, where they

encounter education too suddenly, and it would take three generations of him to speak clean English. But

with all his polysyllabic wallowing, he showed himself keenminded, pat with authorities, a spruce young

graduate among these dingy Rocky Mountain campaigners. They had fought and thirsted and frozen; the

books that he knew were not written when they went to school; and so far as war is to be mastered on paper,

And yet, if you know things that other and older men do not, it is as well not to mention them too hastily.

These soldiers wished that they could have been taught what he knew; but they watched young Augustus

unfolding himself with a gaze that might have seemed chill to a less highly abstract thinker. He, however,

rose from the table pleasantly edified by himself, and hopeful for them. And as he left them, "Goodnight,

"I don't like children slopping their knowledge all over me," said the Doctor's wife.

"He's well brushed, though," said Mrs. Duane, seeking the bright side. "He'll wipe his feet on the mat when

"I'd rather have mud on my carpet than that bandbox in any of my chairs," said Mrs. Starr.

"Well, gentlemen," said the commanding officer (and they perceived a flavor of the official in his tone), "Mr.

Albumblatt is just twentyone. I don't know about you; but I'll never have that excuse again."

"And grrateful," said Mrs. Starr, rolling her eyes piously. "I prophecy he'll entertain us."

The Captain's demeanor remained slightly official; but walking home, his Catherine by his side in the dark

was twice aware of that laugh of his, twinkling in the recesses of his opinions. And later, going to bed, a little

joke took him so unready that it got out before he could suppress it." My love," said he, "my Second

Lieutenant is grievously mislaid in the cavalry. Providence designed him for the artillery."

It was wifely but not right in Catherine to repeat this strict confidence in strictest confidence to her neighbor,

Mrs. Bainbridge, over the fence next morning before breakfast. At breakfast Mrs. Bainbridge spoke of

artillery reinforcing the post, and her husband giggled girlishly and looked at the puzzled Duane; and at

dinner Mrs. Starr asked Albumblatt, would not artillery strengthen the garrison?

"Even a light battery," pronounced Augustus, promptly, "would be absurd and useless."

Whereupon the mess rattled knives, sneezed, and became variously disturbed. So they called him

Albumbattery, and then Blattery, which is more condensed; and Captain Duane's official tone availed him

nothing in this matter. But he made no more little military jokes; he disliked garrison personalities. Civilized

by birth and ripe from weatherbeaten years of men and observing, he looked his Second Lieutenant over,

and remembered to have seen worse than this. He had no quarrel with the metric system (truly the most

sensible), and thinking to leaven it with a little rule of thumb, he made Augustus his acting quartermaster. But

he presently indulged his wife with the soldiercook she wanted at home, so they no longer had to eat their

meals in Albumblatt's society; and Mrs. Starr said that this showed her husband dreaded his quartermaster

Alas for the Quartermaster's sergeant, Johannes Schmoll, that routined and clockwork German! He found

Augustus so much more German than he had ever been himself, that he went speechless for three days. Upon

his lists, his red ink, and his ciphering, Augustus swooped like a bird of prey, and all his fond redtape

devices were shredded to the winds. Augustus set going new quadratic ones of his own, with an index and

crossreferences. It was then that Schmoll recovered his speech and walked alone, saying, "Mein Gott!" And

often thereafter, wandering among the piled stores and apparel, he would fling both arms heavenward and

repeat the exclamation. He had rated himself the unique human soul at Fort Brown able to count and arrange

underclothing. Augustus rejected his laborious tally, and together they vigiled after hours, verifying socks and

"That man gif me der stomach pain efry day," wailed Schmoll to Sergeant Casey. "I tell him, 'Lieutenant,

dose horseshoes is expendable. We don't acgount for efry shoe like they was men's shoes, und oder dings dot

is issued.' 'I prefer to cake them cop!' says Baby Bismarck. Und he smile mit his two beaver teeth."

"Und so," continued the outraged Schmoll, "he haf a Board of Soorvey on dreepound horseshoes, und I haf

"It was buckles the next month. The allowance exceeded the expenditure, Augustus's arithmetic came out

"Yohanny, you're lookin' jaded under Colonel Safetypin." said Casey. "Have something?"

But Augustus found leisure to pervade the post with his modernity. He set himself military problems, and

solved them; he wrote an essay on "The Contact Squadron"; he corrected Bainbridge for saying "throw back

the left flank" instead of "refuse the left flank"; he had readingroom ideas, canteen' ideas, ideas for the

Indians and the Agency, and recruit drill ideas, which he presented to Sergeant Casey. Casey gave him, in

exchange, the name of Napoleon ShaveTail, and had his whiskey again paid for by the sympathetic

"But bless his educated heart," said Casey, "he don't learn me nothing that'll soil my innercence!"

Thus did the sunnyhumored Sergeant take it, but not thus the mess. Had Augustus seen himself as they saw

him, could he have heard Mrs. Starr But he did not; the youth was impervious, and to remove his

complacency would require (so Mrs. Starr said) an operation, probably fatal. The commanding officer held

always aloof from gibing, yet often when Augustus passed him his gray eye would dwell upon the

Lieutenant's back, and his voiceless laugh would possess him. That is the picture I retain of these daysthe

unending golden sun, the wide, gentlecolored plain, the splendid mountains, the Indians ambling through

the flat, clear distance; and here, close along the paradeground, eyeglassed Augustus, neatly hastening,

One early morning the agent, with two Indian chiefs, waited on the commanding officer, and after their

"The best, my love. Providence has been tempted at last. The wholesome irony of life is about to function."

"To set our Augustus a little military problem, dearest. Plain living for today, and high thinking be jolly

But Frank had sworn and hurried out to the right to the Adjutant's office, while his Catherine flew to the left

Mrs. Bainbridge, instantly on the other side of the fence, brought scanty light. A telegram had come, she

knew, from the Crow Agency in Montana. Her husband had admitted this three nights ago; and Captain

Duane (she knew) had given him some orders about something; and could it be the Crows? "Ella, I don't

know," said Catherine. "Frank talked all about Providence in his incurable way, and it may be anything." So

the two ladies wondered together over the fence, until Mrs. Duane, seeing the Captain return, ran to him and

asked, were the Crows on the warpath? Then her Frank told her yes, and that he had detailed Albumblatt to

vanquish them and escort them to Carlisle School to learn German and Beethoven's sonatas.

"Stuff, stuff, stuff! Why, there he does go!" cried the unsettled Catherine. "It's something at the Agency!" But

Albumblatt, with Sergeant Casey and a detail of six men, was in truth hastening over that broad mile which

opens between Fort Brown and the Agency. On either side of them the level plain stretched, gray with its

sage, buff with intervening grass, haycocked with the smoky, mellowstained, meerschaumlike canvas

tepees of the Indians, quiet as a painting; far eastward lay long, low, rosered hills, half dissolved in the

trembling mystery of sun and distance; and westward, close at hand and high, shone the great paleblue

serene mountains through the vaster serenity of the air. The sounding hoofs of the troops brought the Indians

out of their tepees to see. When Albumblatt reached the Agency, there waited the agent and his two chiefs,

who pointed to one lodge standing apart some three hundred yards, and said, "He is there." So then Augustus

beheld his problem, the military duty fallen to him from Providence and Captain Duane.

It seems elementary for him who has written of "The Contact Squadron." It was to arrest one Indian. This

man, Ute Jack, had done a murder among the Crows, and fled south for shelter. The telegram heralded him,

but with boundless miles for hiding he had stolen in under the cover of night. No welcome met him. These

Fort Brown Indians were not his friends at any time, and less so now, when he arrived wild drunk among

their families. Hounded out, he sought this empty lodge, and here he was, at bay, his hand against every

man's, counting his own life worthless except for destroying others before he must himself die.

Augustus considered the peaked cone tent. The opening was on this side, but a canvas drop closed it. Not

much of a problemone man inside a sack with eight outside to catch him! But the books gave no rule for

this combination, and Augustus had met with nothing of the sort in Germany. He considered at some length.

Smoke began to rise through the meeting poles of the tepee, leisurely and natural, and one of the chiefs said:

"This is not a laughing matter," said Augustus to the bystanders, who were swiftly gathering. "Tell him that

I command him to surrender," he added to the agent, who shouted this forthwith; and silence followed.

"Tell him I say he must come out at once," said Augustus then; and received further silence.

"The Lootenant understands," said Casey, slowly, "that Ute Jack has got the drop on us, and there ain't no

The six troopers stepped forward to go, for they loved Casey; but he ordered them sharply to fall back. Then,

looking in their eyes, he whispered, "Goodbye, boys, if it's to be that way," and walked to the lodge, lifted

the flap, and fell, shot instantly dead through the heart. "Two bullets into him," muttered a trooper, heavily

breathing as the sounds rang. "He's down," another spoke to himself with fixed eyes; and a sigh they did not

know of passed among them. The two chiefs looked at Augustus and grunted short talk together; and one,

with a sweeping lift of his hand out towards the tepee and the dead man by it, said, "Maybe Ute Jack only got

threefourcartridgesso!" (his fingers counted it). "After he kill threefourmen, you get him pretty

good." The Indian took the white man's death thus; but the white men could not yet be even saturnine.

"This will require reinforcement," said Augustus to the audience. "The place must be attacked by a front and

flank movement. It must be knocked down. I tell you I must have it knocked down. How are you to see where

he is, I'd like to know, if it's not knocked down?" Augustus's voice was getting high.

"The howitzer, the mountain howitzer, I tell you. Don't you hear me? To knock the cursed thing he's in down.

Go to Captain Duane and give him my compliments, andno, I'll go myself. Where's my horse? My horse, I

"If you please, Lieutenant," said the trooper, "may we have the Red Cross ambulance?"

"Ambulance? Certainly. The howitzerperhaps they're only flesh wounds. I hope they are only flesh

From his porch Duane viewed both Augustus approach and the man stop at the hospital, and having expected

a bungle, sat to hear; but at Albumblatt's mottled face he stood up quickly and said, "What's the matter?" And

hearing, burst out: "Casey! Why, he was worth fifty ofGo on, Mr. Albumblatt. What next did you achieve,

"This is your duty, Mr. Albumblatt. Perform it as you can, with what force you need."

"Take your troops and go, sir, and report to me when you have arrested your man."

Then Duane went to the hospital, and out with the ambulance, hoping that the soldier might not be dead. But

the wholesome irony of life reckons beyond our calculations; and the unreproachful, sunny face of his

Sergeant evoked in Duane's memory many marches through long heat and cold, back in the rough, good

"Hit twice, I thought they told me," said he; and the steward surmised that one had missed.

"Perhaps," mused Duane. "And perhaps it went as intended, too. What's all that fuss?"

He turned sharply, having lost Augustus among his sadder thoughts; and here were the operations going

briskly. Powdersmoke in three directions at once! Here were pickets far outlying, and a double line of

skirmish ers deployed in extended order, and a mounted reserve, and men standing to horsea command of

near a hundred, a pudding of pompous, incompetent, callow bosh, with Augustus by his howitzer,

scientifically raising and lowering it to bear on the lone white tepee that shone in the plain. Four races were

assembled to look onthe mess Chinaman, two black laundresses, all the whites in the place (on horse and

foot, some with their hats left behind), and several hundred Indians in blankets. Duane had a thought to go

away and leave this galling farce under the eye of Starr for the officers were at hand also. But his second

thought bade him remain; and looking at Augustus and the howitzer, his laugh would have returned to him;

It was an hour of strategy and cannonade, a humiliating hour, which Fort Brown tells of to this day; and the

tepee lived through it all. For it stood upon fifteen slender poles, not speedily to be chopped down by

shooting lead from afar. When low bullets drilled the canvas, the chief suggested to Augustus that Ute Jack

had climbed up; and when the bullets flew high, then Ute Jack was doubtless in a hole. Nor did Augustus

contrive to drop a shell from the howitzer upon Ute Jack and explode hima shrewd and deadly conception;

the shells went beyond, except one, that ripped through the canvas, somewhat near the ground; and Augustus,

dripping, turned at length, and saying, "It won't go down," stood vacantly wiping his white face. Then the two

chiefs got his leave to stretch a rope between their horses and ride hard against the tepee. It was military

neither in essence nor to see, but it prevailed. The tepee sank, a huge umbrella wreck along the earth, and

there lay Ute Jack across the fire's slight hollow, his kneecap gone with the howitzer shell. But no blood had

flown from that; blood will not run, you know, when a man has been dead some time. One single other shot

"You see, Mr. Albumblatt," said Duane, in the whole crowd's hearing, "he killed himself directly after killing

Casey. A very rare act for an Indian, as you are doubtless aware. But if your manoeuvres with his corpse have

"Captain," said Mrs. Starr, on a later day, "you and Ute Jack have ended our fun. Since the Court of Inquiry

let Mr. Albumblatt off, he has not said Germany onceand that's three months tomorrow."

Upon turning over again my diary of that excursion to the Pacific, I find that I set out from Atlantic waters on

the 30th day of a backward and forlorn April, which had come and done nothing towards making its share of

spring, but had gone, missing its chance, leaving the trees as bare as it had received them from the winds of

March. It was not bleak weather alone, but care, that I sought to escape by a change of sky; and I hoped for

some fellowtraveller who might begin to interest my thoughts at once. No such person met me in the several

Pullmans which I inhabited from that afternoon until the forenoon of the following Friday. Through that long

distance, though I had slanted southwestward across a multitude of States and vegetations, and the

Mississippi lay eleven hundred miles to my rear, the single event is my purchasing some cat'seyes of the

newsagent at Sierra Blanca. Save this, my diary contains only neat additions of daily expenses, and moral

reflections of a delicate and restrained melancholy. They were Pecos cat'seyes, he told me, obtained in the

rocky canyons of that stream, and destined to be worth little until fashion turned from foreign jewels to

become aware of these fine native stones. And I, glad to possess the jewels of my country, chose two

bracelets and a necklace of them, paying but twenty dollars for fifteen or sixteen cat'seyes, and resolved to

give them a setting worthy of their beauty. The diary continues with moral reflections upon the servility of

our taste before anything European, and the handwriting is clear and deliberate. It abruptly becomes hurried,

and at length well nigh illegible. It is best, I think, that you should have this portion as it comes, unpolished,

unamended, unarrangedhot, so to speak, from my immediate pencil, instead of cold from my subsequent

Friday forenoon, May 5.I don't have to gaze at my cat'seyes to kill time any more. I'm not the only

passenger any more. There's a lady. She got in at El Paso. She has taken the drawingroom, but sits outside

reading newspaper cuttings and writing letters. She is sixty, I should say, and has a cap and one gray curl.

This comes down over her left ear as far as a purple ribbon which suspends a medallion at her throat. She

came in wearing a sagegreen duster of pongee silk, pretty nice, only the buttons are as big as those largest

mintdrops. "You porter," she said, "brush this." He put down her many things and received it. Her dress was

sage green, and pretty nice too. "You porter," said she, "open every window. Why, they are, I declare! What's

the thermometer in this car?" "Ninetyfive, ma'am. Folks mostly travelling" "That will do, porter. Now

you go make me a pitcher of lemonade right quick." She went into the stateroom and shut the door. When

she came out she was dressed in what appeared to be chintz bedroom curtains. They hang and flow loosely

about her, and are covered with a pattern of pink peonies. She has slippersTurkishthat stare up in the air,

pretty handsome and comfortable. But I never before saw any one travel with flypaper. It must be hard to

pack. But it's quite an idea in this train. Fully a dozen flies have stuck to it already; and she reads her

clippings, and writes away, and sips another glass of lemonade, all with the most extreme ap pearance of

leisure, not to say sloth. I can't imagine how she manages to produce this atmosphere of indolence when in

reality she is steadily occupied. Possibly the way she sits. But I think it's partly the bedroom curtains.

These notes were interrupted by the entrance of the new conductor. "If you folks have chartered a private car,

just say so," he shouted instantly at the sight of us. He stood still at the extreme end and removed his hat,

which was acknowledged by the lady. "Travel is surely very light, Gadsden," she assented, and went on with

her writing. But he remained standing still, and shouting like an orator: "Sprinkle the floor of this car, Julius,

and let the pore passengers get a breath of cool. My lands!" He fanned himself sweepingly with his hat. He

seemed but little larger than a red squirrel, and precisely that color. Sorrel hair, sorrel eyebrows, sorrel

freckles, light sorrel mustache, thin aggressive nose, receding chin, and black, attentive, prominent eyes. He

approached, and I gave him my ticket, which is as long as a necktie, and has my height, the color of my eyes

and hair, and my general description, punched in the margin. "Why, you ain't middleaged!" he shouted, and

a singular croak sounded behind me. But the lady was writing. "I have been growing younger since I bought

that ticket," I explained. "That's it, that's it," he sang; a man's always as old as he feels, and a womanis ever

young," he finished. "I see you are true to the old teachings and the oldtime chivalry, Gadsden," said the

lady, continuously busy. "Yes, ma'am. Jacob served seven years for Leah and seven more for Rachel." "Such

men are raised today in every worthy Louisiana home, Gadsden, be it ever so humble." "Yes, ma'am. Give a

fresh sprinkle to the floor, Julius, soon as it goes to get dry. Excuse me, but do you shave yourself, sir?" I told

him that I did, but without excusing him. "You will see that I have a reason for asking," he consequently

pursued, and took out of his coattails a round tin box handsomely labelled "Nat. Fly Paper Co.," so that I

supposed it was thus, of course, that the lady came by her flypaper. But this was pure coincidence, and the

conductor explained: "That company's me and a man at Shreveport, but he dissatisfies me right frequently.

You know what heaven a good razor is for a man, and what you feel about a bad one. Vaseline and ground

shells," he said, opening the box, "and I'm not saying anything except it will last your lifetime and never

hardens. Rub the size of a pea on the fine side of your strop, spread it to an inch with your thumb. May I beg

a favor on so short a meeting? Join me in the gentlemen's lavatory with your razorstrop in five minutes. I

have to attend to a corpse in the baggagecar, and will return at once." "Anybody's corpse I know, Gadsden?"

When I joined him, for I was now willing to do anything, he was apologetic again. "'Tis a short

acquaintance," he said, "but may I also beg your razor? Quick as I get out of the National Fly I am going to

universal, then my name, then the word Stropine, which is a novelty and carries copyright, and I shall win

comfort and doubtless luxury. The post barber at Fort Bayard took a dozen off me at sight to retail to the

niggers of the Twentyfourth, and as he did not happen to have the requisite cash on his person I charged him

two roosters and fifty cents, and both of us done well. He's after more Stropine, and I got Pullman prices for

my roosters, the buffetcar being out of chicken a la Marengo. There is your razor, sir, and I appreciate your

courtesy." It was beautifully sharpened, and I bought a box of the Stropine and asked him who the lady was.

"Mrs. Porcher Brewton!" he exclaimed. "Have you never met her socially? Why shewhy she is the most

intellectual lady in Bee Bayou." "Indeed!" I said." Why she visits New Orleans, and Charleston, and all the

principal centres of refinement, and is welcomed in Washington. She converses freely with our statesmen and

is considered a queen of learning. Why she writes po'try, sir, and is strongminded. But a man wouldn't want

to pick her up for a fool, all the samey." "I shouldn't; I don't," said I. "Don't you do it, sir. She's run her

plantation all alone since the Colonel was killed in sixtytwo. She taught me Sundayschool when I was a

He went forward, and I went back with the Stropine in my pocket. The lady was sipping the last of the

lemonade and looking haughtily over the top of her glass into (I suppose) the world of her thoughts. Her eyes

met mine, however. "Has Gadsdenyes, I perceive he has been telling about me," she said, in her languid,

formidable voice. She set her glass down and reclined among the folds of the bedroom curtains, considering

me. "Gadsden has always been lavish," she mused, caressingly. "He seems destined to succeed in life," I

hazarded. "ah na!" she sighed, with decision. "He will fail." As she said no more and as I began to resent

the manner in which she surveyed me, I remarked, "You seem rather sure of his failure." "I am old enough to

be his mother, and yours," said Mrs. Porcher Brewton among her curtains. "He is a noblehearted fellow, and

would have been a highsouled Southern gentleman if born to that station. But what should a conductor

earning $103.50 a month be dispersing his attention on silly patents for? Many's the time I've told him what I

think; but Gadsden will always be flighty. No further observations occurring to me, I took up my necklace

and bracelets from the seat and put them in my pocket. "Will you permit a meddlesome old woman to inquire

what made you buy those cat'seyes?" said Mrs. Brewton. "Why" I dubiously began. "Never mind," she

cried, archly. "If you were thinking of some one in your Northern home, they will be prized because the

thought, at any rate, was beautiful and genuine. 'Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, my heart,

untravelled, fondly turns to thee.' Now don't you be embarrassed by an old woman!" I desired to inform her

that I disliked her, but one can never do those things; and, anxious to learn what was the matter with the

cat'seyes, I spoke amiably and politely to her. "Twenty dollars!" she murmured. "And he told you they came

from the Pecos!" She gave that single melodious croak I had heard once before. Then she sat up with her

back as straight as if she was twenty. "My dear young fellow, never do you buy trash in these trains. Here you

are with your coat full ofwhat's Gadsden's absurd razor concoctionsstrutstrop bother! And Chinese

paste buttons. Last summer, on the Northern Pacific, the man offered your cat'seyes to me as native gems

found exclusively in Dakota. But I just sat and mentioned to him that I was on my way home from a holiday

in China, and he went right out of the car. The last day I was in Canton I bought a box of those cat'seyes at

eight cents a dozen." After this we spoke a little on other subjects, and now she's busy writing again. She's on

business in California, but will read a paper at Los Angeles at the annual meeting of the Golden Daughters of

Later, Friday afternoon.I have been interrupted again. Gadsden entered, removed his hat, and shouted:

"Sharon. Twenty minutes for dinner." I was calling the porter to order a buffet lunch in the car when there

tramped in upon us three large men of such appearance that a flash of thankfulness went through me at

having so little readymoney and only a silver watch. Mrs. Brewton looked at them and said, "Well,

gentlemen?" and they took off their embroidered Mexican hats. "We've got a baby show here," said one of

them, slowly, looking at me, "and we'd be kind of obliged if you'd hold the box." "There's lunch put up in a

basket for you to take along," said the next, "and a bottle of winechampagne. So losing your dinner won't

lose you nothing." "We're looking for somebody raised East and without local prejudice," said the third. "So

we come to the Pullman." I now saw that so far from purposing to rob us they were in a great and honest

distress of mind. "But I am no judge of a baby," said I; "not being mar" "You don't have to be," broke in

the first, more slowly and earnestly. "It's a fair and secret ballot we're striving for. The votes is wrote out and

ready, and all we're shy of is a stranger without family ties or business interests to hold the box and do the

counting." His deep tones ceased, and he wiped heavy drops from his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "We'd be

kind of awful obliged to you," he urged. "The town would be liable to make it two bottles," said the second.

The third brought his fist down on the back of a seat and said, "I'll make it that now." "But, gentlemen," said

I, "five, six, and seven years ago I was not a stranger in Sharon. If my friend Dean Drake was still here"

"But he ain't. Now you might as well help folks, and eat later. This town will trust you. And if you quit us"

Once more he wiped the heavy drops away, while in a voice full of appeal his friend finished his thought: "If

we lose you, we'll likely have to wait till this train comes in tomorrow for a man satisfactory to this town.

And the show is costing us a heap." A light hand tapped my arm, and here was Mrs. Brewton saying: "For

shame! Show your enterprise." "I'll hold this yere train," shouted Gadsden, "if necessary." Mrs. Brewton rose

alertly, and they all hurried me out. "My slippers will stay right on when I'm down the steps," said Mrs.

Brewton, and Gadsden helped her descend into the blazing dust and sun of Sharon. "Gracious!" said she,

"what a place! But I make it a point to see everything as I go." Nothing had changed. There, as of old, lay the

flat litter of the townsheds, stores, and dwellings, a shapeless congregation in the desert, gaping wide

everywhere to the glassy, quivering immensity; and there, above the roofs, turned the slatted windwheels.

But close to the tracks, opposite the hotel, was an edifice, a sort of tent of bunting, from which brass music

issued, while about a hundred pink and blue sunbonnets moved and mixed near the entrance. Little black

Mexicans, like charred toys, lounged and lay staring among the ungraded dunes of sand. "Gracious!" said

Mrs. Brewton again. Her eye lost nothing; and as she made for the tent the chintz peo nies flowed around

her, and her step was surprisingly light. We passed through the sunbonnets and entered where the music

played. "The precious blessed darlings!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "This will do for the Golden

Daughters," she rapidly added; "yes, this will distinctly do." And she hastened away from me into the throng.

I had no time to look at much this first general minute. I could see there were booths, each containing a

separate baby. I passed a whole section of naked babies, and one baby farther along had on golden wings and

a crown, and was bawling frightfully. Their names were over the booths, and I noticed Lucille, Erskine

Wales, Banquo Lick Nolin, Cuba, Manilla, Ellabelle, Bosco Grady, James J. Corbett Nash, and Aqua Marine.

There was a great sign at the end, painted "Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness," and another sign, labelled

"Shotgun Smith's twins." In the midst of these first few impressions I found myself seated behind a bare

table raised three feet or so, with two boxes on it, and a quantity of blank paper and pencils, while one of the

men was explaining me the rules and facts. I can't remember them all now, because I couldn't understand

them all then, and Mrs. Brewton was distant among the sunbonnets, talking to a gathering crowd and feeling

in the mouths of babies that were being snatched out of the booths and brought to her. The man was

instructing me steadily all the while, and it occurred to me to nod silently and coldly now and then, as if I was

doing this sort of thing every day. But I insisted that some one should help me count, and they gave me

Now these facts I do remember very clearly, and shall never forget them. The babies came from two

townsSharon, and Rincon its neighbor. Alone, neither had enough for a good show, though in both it was

every family's pride to have a baby every year. The babies were in three classes: Six months and under, one

prize offered; eighteen months, two prizes; three years, two prizes. A threefourths vote of all cast was

necessary to a choice. No one entitled to vote unless of immediate family of a competing baby. No one

entitled to cast more than one vote. There were rules of entry and fees, but I forget them, except that no one

could have two exhibits in the same class. When I read this I asked, how about twins? "Well, we didn't kind

of foresee that," muttered my instructor, painfully; "what would be your idea?" "Look here, you sir,"

interposed Mrs. Brewton, "he came in to count votes." I was very glad to have her back. "That's right,

ma'am," admitted the man; "he needn't to say a thing. We've only got one twins entered," he pursued, "which

we're glad of. Shotgun", "Where is this Mr. Smith?" interrupted Mrs. Brewton. "Uptown, drinking,

ma'am." "And who may Mr. Smith be?" "Most popular citizen of Rincon, ma'am. We had to accept his twins

becausewell, he come down here himself, and most of Rincon come with him, and as we aimed to have

everything pass off pleasantlike" "I quite comprehend," said Mrs. Brewton. "And I should consider twins

within the rule; or any number born at one time. But little Aqua Marine is the finest single child in that six

months class. I told her mother she ought to take that splurgy ring off the poor little thing's thumb. It's most

unsafe. But I should vote for that child myself." "Thank you for your valuable endorse ment," said a spruce,

slim young man. "But the public is not allowed to vote here," he added. He was standing on the floor and

resting his elbows on the table. Mrs. Brewton stared down at him. "Are you the father of the child?" she

inquired. "Oh no! I am the agent. I" "Aqua Marine's agent?" said Mrs. Brewton, sharply. "Ha, ha!" went

the young man. "Ha, ha! Well, that's good too. She's part of our exhibit. I'm in charge of the mannafeds,

don't you know?" "I don't know," said Mrs. Brewton. "Why, Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness!

Nourishes, strengthens, and makes no unhealthy fat. Take a circular, and welcome. I'm travelling for the

manna. I organized this show. I've conducted twentyeight similar shows in two years. We hold them in

every State and Territory. Second of last March I gave Denveryou heard of it, probably?" "I did not," said

Mrs. Brewton. "Well! Ha, ha! I thought every person up to date had heard of Denver's Olympic Offspring

Olio." "Is it up to date to loll your elbows on the table when you're speaking to a lady?" inquired Mrs.

Brewton. He jumped, and then grew scarlet with rage. "I didn't expect to learn manners in New Mexico," said

he. "I doubt if you will," said Mrs. Brewton, and turned her back on him. He was white now; but better

instincts, or else business, prevailed in his injured bosom. "Well," said he, "I had no bad intentions. I was

going to say you'd have seen ten thousand people and five hundred babies at Denver. And our mannafeds

won out to beat the band. Three first medals, and all exclusively mannafed. We took the costume prize also.

Of course here in Sharon I've simplified. No special medal for weight, beauty, costume, or decorated

perambulator. Well, I must go back to our exhibit. Glad to have you give us a call up there and see the medals

we're offering, and our fifteen mannafeds, and take a package away with you." He was gone.

The voters had been now voting in my two boxes for some time, and I found myself hoping the manna would

not win, whoever did; but it seemed this agent was a very capable person. To begin with, every family

entering a baby drew a package of the manna free, and one package contained a diamond ring. Then, he had

managed to have the finest babies of all classes in his own exhibit. This was incontestable, Mrs. Brewton

admitted, after returning from a general inspection; and it seemed to us extraordinary. "That's easy, ma'am,"

said Gadsden; "he came around here a month ago. Don't you see?" I did not see, but Mrs. Brewton saw at

once. He had made a quiet selection of babies beforehand, and then introduced the manna into those homes.

And everybody in the room was remarking that his show was very superior, taken as a whole they all added,

"taken as a whole"; I heard them as they came up to vote for the 3year and the 18month classes. The

6month was to wait till last, because the third box had been accidentally smashed by Mr. Smith. Gadsden

caught several trying to vote twice. "No, you don't!" he would shout. "I know faces. I'm not a conductor for

nothing." And the victim would fall back amid jeers from the sunbonnets. Once the passengers sent over to

know when the train was going. "Tell them to step over here and they'll not feel so lonesome!" shouted

Gadsden; and I think a good many came. The band was playing "White Wings," with quite a number singing

it, when Gadsden noticed the voting had ceased, and announced this ballot closed. The music paused for him,

and we could suddenly hear how many babies were in distress; but for a moment only; as we began our

counting, "White Wings" resumed, and the sunbonnets outsang their progeny. There was something quite

singular in the way they had voted. Here are some of the 3yearold tickets: "First choice, Ulysses Grant

Blum; 2d choice, Lewis Hendricks." "First choice, James Redfield; 2d, Lewis Hendricks." "First, Elk Chester;

2d, Lewis Hendricks." "Can it be?" said the excited Gadsden. "Finish these quick. I'll open the 18monthers."

But he swung round to me at once. "See there!" he cried." Read that! and that!" He plunged among more, and

I read: "First choice, Lawrence Nepton Ford, Jr.; 2d, Iona Judd." "First choice, Mary Louise Kenton; 2d, Iona

Judd." "Hurry up!" said Gadsden; "that's it!" And as we counted, Mrs. Brewton looked over my shoulder and

uttered her melodious croak, for which I saw no reason. "That young whippersnapper will go far," she

observed; nor did I under stand this. But when they stopped the band for me to announce the returns, one

fact did dawn on me even while I was reading: "Three yearolds: Whole number of votes cast, 300;

necessary to a choice, 225. Second prize, Lewis Hendricks, receiving 300. First prize, largest number of votes

cast, 11, for Salvisa van Meter. No award. Eighteenmonth class: Whole number of votes cast, 300;

necessary to a choice, 225. Second prize, Iona Judd, receiving 300. Lillian Brown gets 15 for 1st prize. None

awarded." There was a very feeble applause, and then silence for a second, and then the sunbonnets rushed

together, rushed away to others, rushed back; and talk swept like hail through the place. Yes, that is what they

had done. They had all voted for Lewis Hendricks and Iona Judd for second prize, and every family had

voted the first prize to its own baby. The Browns and van Meters happened to be the largest families present.

"He'll go far! he'll go far!" repeated Mrs. Brewton. Sport glittered in her eye. She gathered her curtains, and

was among the sunbonnets in a moment. Then it fully dawned on me. The agent for Mrs. Eden's Manna in

the Wilderness was indeed a shrewd strategist, and knew his people to the roots of the grass. They had never

seen a babyshow. They were innocent. He came among them. He gave away packages of manna and a

diamond ring. He offered the prizes. But he proposed to win some. Therefore he made that rule about only

the immediate families voting. He foresaw what they would do; and now they had done it. Whatever

happened, two prizes went to his mannafeds. "They don't see through it in the least, which is just as well,"

said Mrs. Brewton, returning. "And it's little matter that only second prizes go to the best babies. But what's

"You folks of Rincon and Sharon," spoke a deep voice. It was the first man in the Pullman, and drops were

rolling from his forehead, and his eyes were the eyes of a beleaguered ox. "You fathers and mothers," he said,

and took another breath. They grew quiet. "I'm a father myself, as is well known." They applauded this.

"Salvisa is mine, and she got my vote. The father that will not support his own child is notdoes notis

worse than if they were orphans." He breathed again, while they loudly applauded." But, folks, I've got to get

home to Rincon. I've got to. And I'll give up Salvisa if I'm met fair." "Yes, yes, you'll be met," said voices of

men. "Well, here's my proposition: Mrs. Eden's manna has took two, and I'm satisfied it should. We voted,

and will stay voted." "Yes, yes!" "Well, now, here's Sharon and Rincon, two of the finest towns in this

section, and I say Sharon and Rincon has equal rights to get something out of this, and drop private feelings,

and everybody back their town. And I say let this lady and gentleman, who will act elegant and on the square,

take a view and nominate the finest Rincon 3yearold and the finest Sharon 18month they can cut out of

the herd. And I say let's vote unanimous on their pick, and let each town hold a first prize and go home in

Universal cheers endorsed him, and he got down panting. The band played "Union Forever," and I

accompanied Mrs. Brewton to the booths. "You'll remember!" shouted the orator urgently after us; "one

apiece." We nodded. "Don't get mixed," he appealingly insisted. We shook our heads, and out of the booths

rushed two women, and simultaneously dashed their infants in our faces. "You'll never pass Cuba by!"

entreated one. "This is Bosco Grady," said the other. Cuba wore an immense garment made of the American

flag, but her mother whirled her out of it in a second. "See them dimples; see them knees!" she said. "See

them feet! Only feel of her toes!" "Look at his arms!" screamed the mother of Bosco. "Doubled his weight in

four months." "Did he indeed, ma'am?" said Cuba's mother; "well, he hadn't much to double." "Didn't he,

then? Didn't he indeed?" "No at you; he didn't indeed and indeed! I guess Cuba is known to Sharon. I guess

Sharon'll not let Cuba be slighted." "Well, and I guess Rincon'll see that Bosco Grady gets his rights."

"Ladies," said Mrs. Brewton, towering but poetical with her curl, "I am a mother myself, and raised five

noble boys and two sweet peerless girls." This stopped them immediately; they stared at her and her chintz

peonies as she put the curl gently away from her medallion and proceeded: "But never did I think of myself in

those dark weary days of the long ago. I thought of my country and the Lost Cause." They stared at her,

fascinated. "Yes, m'm," whispered they, quite humbly. "Now," said Mrs. Brewton, "what is more sacred than

an American mother's love? Therefore let her not shame it with anger and strife. All little boys and girls are

precious gems to me and to you. What is a cold, lifeless medal compared to one of them? Though I would

that all could get the prize! But they can't, you know." "No, m'm." Many mothers, with their children in their

arms, were now dumbly watching Mrs. Brewton, who held them with a honeyed, convincing smile. "If I

choose only one in this beautiful and encouraging harvest, it is because I have no other choice. Thank you so

much for letting me see that little hero and that lovely angel," she added, with a yet sweeter glance to the

mothers of Bosco and Cuba. "And I wish them all luck when their turn comes. I've no say about the 6month

The mothers fell back. But my head swam slightly. The 6month class, to be sure! The orator had forgotten

all about it. In the general joy over his wise and fair proposition, nobody had thought of it. But they would

pretty soon. Cuba and Bosco were likely to remind them. Then we should still be face to face with a state of

things thatI cast a glance behind at those two mothers of Sharon and Rincon following us, and I asked Mrs.

Brewton to look at them. "Don't think about it now," said she, "it will only mix you. I always like to take a

thing when it comes, and not before." We now reached the 18month class. They were the naked ones. The

6month had stayed nicely in people's arms; these were crawling hastily everywhere, like crabs upset in the

market, and they screamed fiercely when taken upon the lap. The mother of Thomas Jefferson Brayin Lucas

showed us a framed letter from the statesman for whom her child was called. The letter reeked with gratitude,

and said that offspring was man's proudest privilege; that a souvenir sixteentoone spoon would have been

cheerfully sent, but 428 babies had been named after Mr. Brayin since January. It congratulated the swelling

army of the People's Cause. But there was nothing eminent about little Thomas except the letter; and we

selected Reese Moran, a vigorous Sharon baby, who, when they attempted to set him down and pacify him,

stiffened his legs, dashed his candy to the floor, and burst into lamentation. We were soon. on our way to the

3year class, for Mrs. Brewton was rapid and thorough. As we went by the Manna Exhibit, the agent among

his packages and babies invited us in. He was loudly declaring that he would vote for Bosco if he could. But

when he examined Cuba, he became sure that Denver had nothing finer than that. Mrs. Brewton took no

notice of him, but bade me admire Aqua Marine as far surpassing any other 6month child. I proclaimed her

splendid (she was a wideeyed, contented thing, with a head shaped like a croquet mallet), and the agent

smiled modestly and told the mothers that as for his babies two prizes was luck enough for them; they didn't

want the earth. "If that thing happened to be brass," said Mrs. Brewton, bending over the ring that Aqua was

still sucking; and again remonstrating with the mother for this imprudence, she passed on. The

threeyearolds were, many of them, in costume, with extraordinary arrangements of hair; and here was the

child with gold wings and a crown I had seen on arriving. Her name was Verbena M., and she personated

Faith. She had colored slippers, and was drinking tea from her mother's cup. Another child, named Broderick

McGowan, represented Columbus, and joyfully shouted "Kiyi!" every halfminute. One child was attired as

a prominent admiral; another as a prominent general; and one stood in a boat and was Washington. As Mrs.

Brewton examined them and dealt with the mothers, the names struck me afreshnot so much the boys;

Ulysses Grant and James J. Corbett explained themselves; but I read the names of five adjacent girls Lula,

Ocilla, Nila, Cusseta, and Maylene. And I asked Mrs. Brewton how they got them. "From romances," she

told me, "in papers that we of the upper classes never see." In choosing Horace Boyd, of Rincon, for his hair,

his full set of front teeth well cared for, and his general beauty, I think both of us were also influenced by his

good sensible name, and his good clean sensible clothes. With both our selections, once they were settled,

were Sharon and Rincon satisfied. We were turning back to the table to announce our choice when a sudden

clamor arose behind us, and we saw confusion in the Manna Department. Women were running and

shrieking, and I hastened after Mrs. Brewton to see what was the matter. Aqua Marine had swallowed the

ring on her thumb. "It was gold! it was pure gold!" wailed the mother, clutching Mrs. Brewton. "It cost a

whole dollar in El Paso." "She must have white of egg instantly," said Mrs. Brewton, handing me her purse.

"Run to the hotel" "Save your money," said the agent, springing forward with some eggs in a bowl. "Lord!

you don't catch us without all the appliances handy. We'd run behind the trade in no time. There, now, there,"

he added, comfortingly to the mother. "Will you make her swallow it? Better let mebetter let me And

here's the emetic. Lord! why, we had three swallowed rings at the Denver Olio, and I got 'em all safe back

within ten minutes after time of swallowing." "You go away," said Mrs. Brewton to me, "and tell them our

nominations." The mothers sympathetically surrounded poor little Aqua, saying to each other: "She's a

beautiful child!" "Sure indeed she is!" "But the mannafeds has had their turn." "Sure indeed they've been

recognized," and so forth, while I was glad to retire to the voting table. The music paused for me, and as the

crowd cheered my small speech, some one said, "And now what are you going to do about me?" It was Bosco

Grady back again, and close behind him Cuba. They had escaped from Mrs. Brewton's eye and had got me

alone. But I pretended in the noise and cheering not to see these mothers. I noticed a woman hurrying out of

the tent, and hoped Aqua was not in further troubleshe was still surrounded, I could see. Then the orator

made some silence, thanked us in the names of Sharon and Rincon, and proposed our candidates be voted on

by acclamation. This was done. Rincon voted for Sharon and Reese Moran in a solid roar, and Sharon voted

for Rincon and Horace Boyd in a roar equally solid. So now each had a prize, and the whole place was

applauding happily, and the band was beginning again, when the mothers with Cuba and Bosco jumped up

"There's a good many here has a right to feel satisfied," said Mrs. Grady, looking about, "and they're welcome

to their feelings. But if this meeting thinks it is through with its business, I can tell it that it ain'tnot if it

acts honorable, it ain't. Does those that have had their chance and those that can take home their prizes expect

us 6month mothers come here for nothing? Do they expect I brought my Bosco from Rincon to be insulted,

and him the pride of the town?" "Cuba is known to Sharon," spoke the other lady. "I'll say no more."

"Jumping Jeans!" murmured the orator to himself. "I can't hold this train much longer," said Gadsden; "she's

due at Lordsburg now." "You'll have made it up by Tucson, Gadsden," spoke Mrs. Brewton, quietly, across

the whole assembly from the Manna Department. "As for towns," continued Mrs. Grady, "that think anything

of a baby that's only got three teeth" "Ha! Ha!" laughed Cuba's mother, shrilly. "Teeth! Well, we're not

proud of bald babies in Sharon." Bosco was certainly bald. All the men were looking wretched, and all the

women were growing more and more like eagles. Moreover, they were separating into two bands and taking

their husbands with themSharon and Rincon drawing to opposite parts of the tentand what was coming I

cannot say; for we all had to think of something else. A third woman, bringing a man, mounted the platform.

It was she I had seen hurry out. "My name's Shotgun Smith," said the man, very carefully, "and I'm told

you've reached my case." He was extremely goodlooking, with a blue eye and a blond mustache, not above

thirty, and was trying hard to be sober, holding himself with dignity. "Are you the judge?" said he to me.

"Hell" I began. "Nnot guilty, your honor," said he. At this his wife looked anxious. "Sselfdefence," he

slowly continued; "told you once already." "Why, Rolfe!" exclaimed his wife, touching his elbow." Don't you

cry, little woman," said he; "this'll come out all right. Where 're the witnesses?" "Why, Rolfe! Rolfe!" She

shook him as you shake a sleepy child. "Now see here," said he, and wagged a finger at her af fectionately,

"you promised me you'd not cry if I let you come." "Rolfe, dear, it's not that today; it's the twins." "It's your

twins, Shotgun, this time," said many men's voices." We acquitted you all right last month." "Justifiable

homicide," said Gadsden." Don't you remember?" "Twins?" said Shotgun, drowsily. "Oh yes, mine. Why"

He opened on us his blue eyes that looked about as innocent as Aqua Marine's, and he grew more awake.

Then he blushed deeply, face and forehead. "I was not coming to this kind of thing," he explained. "But she

wanted the twins to get something." He put his hand on her shoulder and straightened himself. "I done a heap

of prospecting before I struck this claim," said he, patting her shoulder. "We got married last March a year.

It's our firstfirstfirst"he turned to me with a confiding smile"it's our first dividend, judge." "Rolfe!

I never! You come right down." "And now let's go get a prize," he declared, with his confiding pleasantness.

"I remember now! I remember! They claimed twins was barred. And I kicked down the bars. Take me to

those twins. They're not named yet, judge. After they get the prize we'll name them fine names, as good as

any they got anywhereEurope, Asia, Africaanywhere. My gracious! I wish they was boys. Come on,

judge! You and me'll go give 'em a prize, and then we'll drink to 'em." He hugged me suddenly and

affectionately, and we half fell down the steps. But Gadsden as suddenly caught him and righted him, and we

proceeded to the twins. Mrs. Smith looked at me helplessly, saying: "I'm that sorry, sir! I had no idea he was

going to be that gamesome." "Not at all," I said; "not at all!" Under many circumstances I should have

delighted in Shotgun's society. He seemed so utterly sure that, now he had explained himself, everybody

would rejoice to give the remainingmedal to his little girls. But Bosco and Cuba had not been idle. Shotgun

did not notice the spread of whispers, nor feel the divided and jealous currents in the air as he sat, and, in

expanding goodwill, talked himself almost sober. To entice him out there was no way. Several of his friends

had tried it. But beneath his innocence there seemed to lurk something wary, and I grew apprehensive about

holding the box this last time. But Gadsden relieved me as our count began. "Shotgun is a splendid man,"

said he, "and he has trailed more trainrobbers than any deputy in New Mexico. But he has seen too many

friends today, and is not quite himself. So when he fell down that time I just took this off him." He opened

the drawer, and there lay a sixshooter. "It was touch and go," said Gadsden; "but he's thinking that hard

about his twins that he's not missed it yet. 'Twould have been the act of an enemy to leave that on him

today.Well, d'you say!" he broke off. "Well, well, well!" It was the tickets we took out of the box that set

him exclaiming. I began to read them, and saw that the agent was no mere politician, but a statesman. His

Aqua Marine had a solid vote. I remembered his extreme praise of both Bosco and Cuba. This had set Rincon

and Sharon bitterly against each other. I remembered his modesty about Aqua Marine. Of course. Each town,

unable to bear the idea of the other's beating it, had voted for the mannafed, who had 299 votes. Shotgun

and his wife had voted for their twins. I looked towards the Manna Department, and could see that Aqua

Marine was placid once more, and Mrs. Brewton was dancing the ring before her eyes. I hope I announced

the returns in a firm voice. "What!" said Shotgun Smith; and at that sound Mrs. Brewton stopped dancing

the ring. He strode to our table. "There's the winner," said Gadsden, quickly pointing to the Manna Exhibit.

"What!" shouted Smith again; "and they quit me for that hammerheaded sonofagun?" He whirled

around. The men stood ready, and the women fled shrieking and cowering to their infants in the booths.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" cried Gadsden, "don't hurt him! Look here!" And from the drawer he displayed

Shotgun's weapon. They understood in a second, and calmly watched the enraged and disappointed

Shotgun. But he was a man. He saw how he had frightened the women, and he stood in the middle of the

floor with eyes that did not at all resemble Aqua Marine's at present. "I'm all right now, boys," he said. "I

hope I've harmed no one. Ladies, will you try and forget about me making such a break? It got ahead of me, I

guess; for I had promised the little woman" He stopped himself; and then his eye fell upon the Manna

Department. "I guess I don't like one thing much now. I'm not after prizes. I'd not accept one from a

goldbugcombinetrust that comes sneaking around stuffing wholesale concoctions into our children's

systems. My twins are not mannafed. My twins are raised as nature intended. Perhaps if they were swelled

out with trash that acts like bakingpowder, they would have a medal toofor I notice he has made you vote

his way pretty often this afternoon." I saw the agent at the end of the room look very queer. "That's so!" said

several. "I think I'll clear out his boxes," said Shotgun, with rising joy." I feel like I've got to do something

before I go home. Come on, judge!" He swooped towards the manna with a yell, and the men swooped with

him, and Gadsden and I were swooped with them. Again the women shrieked. But Mrs. Brewton stood out

"Mr. Smith," said she, "you are not going to do anything like that. You are going to behave yourself like the

gentleman you are, and not like the wild beast that's inside you." Never in his life before, probably, had

Shotgun been addressed in such a manner, and he too became hypnotized, fixing his blue eyes upon the

strange lady. "I do not believe in patent foods for children," said Mrs. Brewton. "We agree on that, Mr.

Smith, and I am a grandmother, and I attend to what my grandchildren eat. But this highly adroit young man

has done you no harm. If he has the prizes, whose doing is that, please? And who paid for them? Will you tell

me, please? Ah, you are all silent!" And she croaked melodiously. "Now let him and his manna go along. But

I have enjoyed meeting you all, and I shall not forget you soon. And, Mr. Smith, I want you to remember me.

Will you, please?" She walked to Mrs. Smith and the twins, and Shotgun followed her, entirely hypnotized.

She beckoned to me. "Your judge and I," she said, "consider not only your beautiful twins worthy of a prize,

but also the mother and father that can so proudly claim them." She put her hand in my pocket. "These

cat'seyes," she said, "you will wear, and think of me and the judge who presents them." She placed a

bracelet on each twin, and the necklace upon Mrs. Smith's neck." Give him Gadsden's stuff," she whispered

to me. "Do you shave yourself, sir?" said I, taking out the Stropine. "Vaseline and ground shells, and will last

your life. Rub the size of a pea on your strop and spread it to an inch." I placed the box in Shotgun's

motionless hand. "And now, Gadsden, we'll take the train," said Mrs. Brewton. "Here's your lunch! Here's

your wine!" said the orator, forcing a basket upon me." I don't know what we'd have done without you and

your mother." A flash of indignation crossed Mrs. Brewton's face, but changed to a smile. "You've forgot to

name my girls!" exclaimed Shotgun, suddenly finding his voice. "Suppose you try that," said Mrs. Brewton

to me, a trifle viciously. "Thank you," I said to Smith. "Thank you. I" "Something handsome," he urged.

"How would Cynthia do for one?" I suggested. "Shucks, no! I've known two Cynthias. You don't want that?"

he asked Mrs. Smith; and she did not at all. "Something extra, something fine, something not stale," said he. I

looked about the room. There was no time for thought, but my eye fell once more upon Cuba. This reminded

me of Spain, and the Spanish; and my brain leaped. "I have them!" I cried. "'Armada' and 'Loyola.'" "That's

what they're named!" said Shotgun; "write it for us." And I did. Once more the band played, and we left

them, all calling, "Goodbye, ma'am. Goodbye, judge," happy as possible. The train was soon going sixty

miles an hour through the desert. We had passed Lordsburg, San Simon, and were nearly at Benson before

Mrs. Brewton and Gadsden (whom she made sit down with us) and I finished the lunch and champagne." I

wonder how long he'll remember me?" mused Mrs. Brewton at Tucson, where we were on time. "That

Saturday afternoon, May 6.Near Los Angeles. I have been writing all day, to be sure and get everything in,

and now Sharon is twentyfour hours ago, and here there are roses, gardens, and many nice houses at the

waystations. Oh, George Washington, father of your country, what a brindled litter have you sired!

But here the moral reflections begin again, and I copy no more diary. Mrs. Brewton liked my names for the

twins. "They'll pronounce it Loyo'la," she said, "and that sounds right lovely." Later she sent me her paper for

the Golden Daughters. It is full of poetry and sentiment and all the things I have missed. She wrote that if she

had been sure the agent had helped Aqua Marine to swallow the ring, she would have let them smash his

boxes. And I think she was a little in love with Shotgun Smith. But what a pity we shall soon have no more

Mrs. Brewtons! The causes that produced herslavery, isolation, literary tendencies, ad versity, game

bloodthat combination is broken forever. I shall speak to Mr. Howells about her. She ought to be recorded.

Perhaps there were ten of themthese galloping dots were hard to countdown in the distant bottom across

the river. Their swiftly moving dust hung with them close, thinning to a yellow veil when they halted short.

They clustered a moment, then parted like beads, and went wide asunder on the plain. They veered singly

over the level, merged in twos and threes, apparently racing, shrank together like elastic, and broke ranks

again to swerve over the stretching waste. From this visioned pantomime presently came a sound, a tiny shot.

The figures were too far for discerning which fired it. It evidently did no harm, and was repeated at once. A

babel of diminutive explosions followed, while the horsemen galloped on in unexpected circles. Soon, for no

visible reason, the dots ran together, bunching compactly. The shooting stopped, the dust rose thick again

from the crowded hoofs, cloaking the group, and so passed back and was lost among the silent barren hills.

Four emigrants had watched this from the high bleak rim of the Big Bend. They stood where the flat of the

desert broke and tilted down in grooves and bulges deep to the lurking Columbia. Empty levels lay opposite,

"The last Indians we'll strike. Our trail to the Okanagon goes over a corner of it."

"We're going to those hills?" The mother looked at her little girl and back where the cloud had gone.

"Only a corner, Liza. The ferry puts us over on it, and we've got to go by the ferry or stay this side of the

They had driven twentyone hundred miles at a walk. Standing by them were the six horses with the wagon,

and its tunneled roof of canvas shone duskily on the empty verge of the wilderness. A dry windless air hung

over the tableland of the Big Bend, but a sound rose from somewhere, floating voluminous upon the silence,

"Rapids!" The man pointed far up the giant rut of the stream to where a streak of white water twinkled at the

Her face fell. "Only five miles! I was wondering, JohnWouldn't there be a way round for the children

"Now, mother," interrupted the husband, "that ain't like you. We've crossed plenty Indian reservations this

"I don't want to go round," the little girl said. "Father, don't make me go round."

Mart, the boy, with a loose hook of hair hanging down to his eyes from his hat, did not trouble to speak. He

had been disappointed in the westward journey to find all the Indians peaceful. He knew which way he

should go now, and he went to the wagon to look once again down the clean barrel of his rifle.

Mrs. Clallam looked across the river. "It was so strange, John, the way they acted. It seems to get stranger,

"We're not going over there, Liza. That quick water's the Mahkin Rapids, and our ferry's clear down below

"I'd like to know, John, how you know they weren't killing anybody. They might have been trying to."

"Well, I don't think it's any kind of way to behave, running around shooting right off your horse."

"And Fourth of July over too," said Mart from the wagon. He was putting cartridges into the magazine of his

Winchester. His commonsense told him that those horsemen would not cross the river, but the notion of a

"It was the children," said Mrs. Clallam. "And nobody's getting me any wood. How am I going to cook

They had carried water in the wagon, and father and son went for wood. Some way down the hill they came

upon a gully with some dead brush, and climbed back with this. Supper was eaten on the ground, the horses

were watered, given grain, and turned loose to find what pickings they might in the lean growth; and dusk

had not turned to dark when the emigrants were in their beds on the soft dust. The noise of the rapids

dominated the air with distant sonority, and the children slept at once, the boy with his rifle along his

blanket's edge. John Clallam lay till the moon rose hard and brilliant, and then quietly, lest his wife should

hear from her bed by the wagon, went to look across the river. Where the downward slope began he came

upon her. She had been watching for some time. They were the only objects in that bald moonlight. No shrub

grew anywhere that reached to the waist, and the two figures drew together on the lonely hill. They stood

hand in hand and motionless, except that the man bent over the woman and kissed her. When she spoke of

Iowa they had left, he talked of the new region of their hopes, the country that lay behind the void hills

opposite, where it would not be a struggle to live. He dwelt on the home they would make, and her mood

followed his at last, till husband and wife were building distant plans together. The Dipper had swung low

when he remarked that they were a couple of fools, and they went back to their beds. Cold came over the

ground, and their musings turned to dreams. Next morning both were ashamed of their fears.

By four the wagon was on the move. Inside, Nancy's voice was heard discussing with her mother whether the

schoolteacher where they were going to live now would have a black dog with a white tail, that could swim

with a basket in his mouth. They crawled along the edge of the vast descent, making slow progress, for at

times the valley widened and they receded far from the river, and then circuitously drew close again where

the slant sank abruptly. When the ferryman's cabin came in sight, the canvas interior of the wagon was hot in

the longrisen sun. The lay of the land had brought them close above the stream, but no one seemed to be at

the cabin on the other side, nor was there any sign of a ferry. Groves of trees lay in the narrow folds of the

valley, and the water swept black between untenanted shores. Nothing living could be seen along the scant

levels of the bottomland. Yet there stood the cabin as they had been told, the only one between the rapids

and the Okanagon; and bright in the sun the Colville Reservation confronted them. They came upon tracks

going down over the hill, marks of wagons and horses, plain in the soil, and charred sticks, with empty cans,

lying where camps had been. Heartened by this proof that they were on the right road, John Clallam turned

his horses over the brink. The slant steepened suddenly in a hundred yards, tilting the wagon so no brake or

"All out!" said Clallam. "Either folks travel light in this country or they unpack." He went down a little way.

"That's the trail too," he said. "Wheel marks down there, and the little bushes are snapped off."

Nancy slipped out. "I'm unpacked," said she. "Oh, what a splendid hill to go down! We'll go like anything."

"Yes, that surely is the trail," Clallam pursued. "I can see away down where somebody's left a wheel among

them big stones. But where does he keep his ferryboat? And where does he keep himself?"

"Now, John, if it's here we're to go down, don't you get to studying over something else. It'll be time enough

after we're at the bottom. Nancy, here's your chair." Mrs. Clallam began lifting the lighter things from the

"Mart," said the father, "we'll have to chain lock the wheels after we're empty. I guess we'll start with the

worst. You and me'll take the stove apart and get her down somehow. We're in luck to have open country and

no timber to work through. Drop that bedding mother! Yourself is all you're going to carry. We'll pack that

"Then pack it now and let me start first. I'll make two trips while you're at the stove."

A mana white manwas riding up the other side of the river. Near the cabin he leaned to see something

on the ground. Ten yards more and he was off the horse and picked up something and threw it away. He

loitered along, picking up and throwing till he was at the door. He pushed it open and took a survey of the

interior. Then he went to his horse, and when they saw him going away on the road he had come, they set up

a shouting, and Mart fired a signal. The rider dived from his saddle and made head long into the cabin,

where the door clapped to like a trap. Nothing happened further, and the horse stood on the bank.

"They're all funny over there," said Mart. "I'll signal him again." But the cabin remained shut, and the

deserted horse turned, took a few first steels of freedom, then trotted briskly down the river.

"She's liable to be right, Liza. The horse, anyway, don't belong, or he'd not run off. That's good judgment,

"Well, let's get mother and the bedding started down. It'll be noon before we know it."

There were two packsaddles in the wagon, ready against such straits as this. The rolls were made, balanced

as side packs, and circled with the swingropes, loose cloths, clothes, fryingpans, the lantern, and the axe

tossed in to fill the gap in the middle, canvas flung over the whole, and the diamondhitch hauled taut on the

first pack, when a second rider appeared across the river. He came out of a space between the opposite hills,

into which the trail seemed to turn, and he was leading the first man's horse. The heavy work before them was

Mart corrected them. "A man never steals horses that way. He drives them up in the mountains, where the

The new rider had arrived at the bank and came steadily along till opposite the door, where he paused and

"See him stoop," said Clallam the father. "He's seen the tracks don't go further."

The man had got off and gone straight inside the cabin. In the black of the doorway appeared immediately the

first man, dangling in the grip of the other, who kicked him along to the horse. There the victim mounted his

own animal and rode back down the river. The chastiser was returning to the cabin, when Mart fired his rifle.

The man stopped short, saw the emigrants, and waved his hand. He dismounted and came to the edge of the

water. They could hear he was shouting to them, but it was too far for the words to carry. From a certain

reiterated cadence, he seemed to be saying one thing. John and Mart tried to show they did not understand,

and indicated their wagon, walking to it and getting aboard. On that the stranger redoubled his signs and

shootings, ran to the cabin, where he opened and shut the door several times, came back, and pointed to the

"And the other man thought he'd gone," said Nancy, "and he came and caught him in his house."

"This don't suit me," Clallam remarked. "Mart, we'll go to the shore and talk to him."

When the man saw them descending the hill, he got on his horse and swam the stream. It carried him below,

but he was waiting for them when they reached the level. He was tall, shambling, and bony, and roved over

"Goodmorning," said he. "Fine weather. I was baptized Edward Wilson, but you inquire for WildGoose

Jake. Them other names are retired and pensioned. I expect you seen me kick him?"

"Oh, I ain't blamin' you, son, not a bit, I ain't. He can't bile water without burnin' it, and his toes turns in, and

he's blurry round the fingernails. He's jest kultus, he is. Hev some?" With a furtive smile that often ran

across his lips, he pulled out a flat bottle, and all took an acquaintanceship swallow, while the Clallams

explained their journey. "How many air there of yu' slidin' down the hill?" he inquired, shifting his eye to the

"Ladies along! Then I'll step behind this bush." He was dragging his feet from his waterlogged boots. "Hear

them suck now?" he commented." Didn't hev to think about a wetting onced. But I ain't young any more.

There, I guess I ain't caught a chill." He had whipped his breeches off and spread them on the sand. "Now

you arrive down this here hill from Ioway, and says you: 'Where's that ferry? 'Ain't we hit the right spot?'

Well, that's what you hev hit. You're all right, and the spot is hunkydory, and it's the durned old boat hez

made the mistake, begosh! A cloud busted in this country, and she tore out fer the coast, and the joke's on

her! You'd ought to hev heerd her cable snap! Whoosh, if that wire didn't screech! Jest last week it was, and

the river come round the corner on us in a wave four feet high, same as a wall. I was up here on business, and

seen the whole thing. So the ferry she up and bid us goodbye, and lit out for Astoria with her cargo. Beggin'

pardon, hev you tobacco, for mine's in my wet pants? Twentyfour hogs and the driver, and two Sheeny

drummers bound to the mines with brass jew'lry, all gone to hell, for they didn't near git to Astoria. They sank

in the sight of all, as we run along the bank. I seen their arms wave, and them hogs rolling over like 'taters

bilin' round in the kettle." WildGoose Jake's words came slow and went more slowly as he looked at the

river and spoke, but rather to himself. "It warn't long, though. I expect it warn't three minutes till the water

was all there was left there. My stars, what a lot of it! And I might hev been part of that cargo, easy as not.

Freight behind time was all that come between me and them that went. So, we'd hev gone bobbin' down that

The man faced the boy like a rat, but the alertness faded instantly from his eye, and his lip slackened into a

slipshod smile."Why, yes, sonny, me and my grubstake. You've been to school, I'll bet, but they didn't learn

yu' Chinook, now, did they? Chinook's the lingo us white folks trade in with the Siwashes, and we kinder

falls into it, talking along. I was thinkin' how but for delay me and my grubstakeprovisions, ye knowthat

was consigned to me clear away at Spokane, might hev been drownded along with them hogs and Hebrews.

That's what the good folks calls a dispensation of the Sauklee Tyee!Providence, ye know, in Chinook. 'One

shall be taken and the other left.' And that's what beats methey got left; and I'm a bigger sinner than them

drummers, for I'm ten years older than they was. And the poor hogs was better than any of us. That can't be

"I mean it, son. Some day such thoughts will come to you." He stared at the river unsteadily with his light

"Well, if the ferry's gone," said John Clallam, getting on his legs, "we'll go on down to the next one."

"Hold on! hold on! Did you never hear tell of a raft? I'll put you folks over this river. Wait till I git my pants

"It's just this way," Clallam continued; "we're bound for the upper Okanagon country, and we must get in

"Don't you worry about that. It'll take you three days to the next ferry, while you and me and the boy kin

build a raft right here by tomorrow noon. You hev an axe, I expect? Well, here is timber close, and your

trail takes over to my place on the Okanagon, where you've got another crossin' to make. And all this time

we're keeping the ladies waitin' up the hill! We'll talk business as we go along; and, see here, if I don't suit

He began climbing, and on the way they came to an agreement. WildGoose Jake bowed low to Mrs.

Clallam, and as low to Nancy, who held her mother's dress and said nothing, keeping one finger in her mouth.

All began emptying the wagon quickly, and tins of bakingpowder, with rockingchairs and flowered quilts,

lay on the hill. WildGoose Jake worked hard, and sustained a pleasant talk by himself. His fluency was of

"So you've come acrosst the Big Bend! Ain't it a cosey place? Reminds me of them medicine pictures,

'Before and After Using.' The Big Bend's the way this world looked before usingbefore the Bible fixed it

up, ye know. Ever seen specimens of Big Bend produce, ma'am? They send 'em East. Grain and plums and

such. The feller that gathered them curiosities hed hunt forty square miles apiece for 'em. But it's goodpayin'

policy, and it fetches lots of settlers to the Territory. They come here hummin' and walks around the

wilderness, and 'Where's the plums?' says they. 'Can't you see I'm busy?' says the land agent; and out they

goes. But you needn't to worry, ma'am. The country where you're goin' ain't like that. There's water and

timber and rich soil and mines. Billy Moon has gone therehe's the man run the ferry. When she wrecked,

"Right there, miss. And nobody lives there any more, so you take it if you're wantin' a place of your own."

"Well, now, if it ain't a good one on him to hev you see that! I'll tell him a little girl seen that, and maybe he'll

feel the disgrace. Only he's no account, and don't take any experience the reg'lar way. He's nigh onto thirty,

and you'll not believe me, I know, but he ain't never even learned to spit right."

"Hid? What's that?" The man's eyes narrowed again into points. "You folks seen him hide?" he said to

"I guess so," said Mart. "We took him for the ferryman, and when he couldn't hear us"

"So you fired, and he flew into the door. Oh, h'm." Jake continued to pack the second horse, attending

carefully to the ropes. "I never knowed he was that weak in the upper story," he said, in about five minutes.

"Knew his brains was tenas, but didn't suspect he were that weak in the upper story. You're sure he didn't go

"Now ain't some people jest odd! Now you follow me, and I'll tell you folks what I'd figured he'd been at.

Billy Moon he lived in that cabin, yu' see. And he had his stuff there, yu, see, and run the ferry, and a kind of

a store. He kept coffee and canned goods and starplug and this and that to supply the prospectin' outfits that

come acrosst on his ferry on the trail to the mines. Then a cloudburst hits his boat and his job's spoiled on

the river, and he quits for the mines, takin' his stuff along do you follow me? But he hed to leave some,

and he give me the key, and I was to send the balance after him next freight team that come along my way.

Leanderthat's him I was kickin'he knowed about it, and he'll steal a hot stove he's that dumb. He

knowed there was stuff here of Billy Moon's. Well, last night we hed some horses stray, and I says to him,

'Andy, you get up by daylight and find them.' And he gits. But by seven the horses come in all right of

theirselves, and Mr. Leander he was missin'; and says I to myself, 'I'll ketch you, yu' blamed hobo.' And I

thought I had ketched him, yu' see. Weren't that reasonable of me? Wouldn't any of you folks hev drawed that

conclusion?" The man had fallen into a wheedling tone as he studied their faces. "Jest put yourselves in my

"Guns always skeers him when he don't know the parties shootin'. That's his dumbness. Maybe he thought I

was after him; he's jest that distrustful. Begosh! we'll have the laugh on him when he finds he run from a little

"Of course he didn't. Andy hears your gun and he don't inquire further, but hits the first hole he kin crawl

into. That's Andy! That's the kind of boy I hev to work for me. All the good ones goes where you're goin',

where the grain grows without irrigation and the blacktail deer comes out on the hill and asks yu' to shoot 'em

for dinner. Who's ready for the bottom? If I stay talkin' the sun'll go down on us. Don't yu' let me get started

He began to descend with his packhorse and the first load. All afternoon they went up and down over the

hot bare face of the hill, until the baggage, heavy and light, was transported and dropped piecemeal on the

shore. The tornout insides of their home littered the stones with familiar shapes and colors, and Nancy

"There's the red tablecover!" she exclaimed. "and the big coffeegrinder. And there's our table, and the hole

Mart burned in it." She took a long look at this. "Oh, how I wish I could see our pump!" she said, and began

The men returned to bring the wagon. With chainlocked wheels, and tilted half over by the cross slant of the

mountain, it came heavily down, reeling and sliding on the slippery yellow weeds, and grinding deep ruts

across the faces of the shelving beds of gravel. Jake guided it as he could, straining back on the bits of the

two hunched horses when their hoofs glanced from the stones that rolled to the bottom; and the others leaned

their weight on a pole lodged between the spokes, making a balance to the wagon, for it leaned the other way

so far that at any jolt the two wheels left the ground. When it was safe at the level of the stream, dusk had

come and a white flat of mist lay along the river, striping its course among the gaunt hills. They slept without

moving, and rose early to cut logs, which the horses dragged to the shore. The outside trunks were nailed and

lashed with ropes, and sank almost below the surface with the weight of the wood fastened crosswise on top.

But the whole floated dry with its cargo, and crossed clumsily on the quickwrinkled current. Then it brought

the wagon; and the six horses swam. The force of the river had landed them below the cabin, and when they

had repacked there was too little left of day to go on. Clallam suggested it was a good time to take Moon's

leavings over to the Okanagon, but WildGoose Jake said at once that their load was heavy enough; and

about this they could not change his mind. He made a journey to the cabin by himself, and returned saying

"Father," said Mart, as they were harnessing next day, "I've been up there. I went awful early. There's no lock

"There has been a lock pried off pretty lately. There was a lot of broken bottles around everywheres, inside

"Nothing yet. He wants to get us away, and I'm with him there. I want to get up the Okanagon as soon as we

"Well, I'm takin' yu' the soonest way," said WildGoose Jake, behind them. From his casual smile there was

no telling what he had heard. "I'll put your stuff acrosst the Okanagon tomorrow mornin'. But tonight

The wagon made good time. The trail crossed easy valleys and over the yellow grass of the hills, while now

and then their guide took a shortcut. He wished to get home, he said, since there could be no estimating

what Leander might be doing. While the sun was still well up in the sky they came over a round knob and

saw the Okanagon, blue in the bright afternoon, and the cabin on its further bank. This was a roomier

building to see than common, and a hayfield was by it, and a bit of green pasture, fenced in. Saddlehorses

were tied in front, heads hanging and feet knuckled askew with long waiting, and from inside an uneven,

riotous din whiffled lightly across the river and intervening meadow to the hill.

"If you'll excuse me," said Jake, "I'll jest git along ahead, and see what game them folks is puttin' up on Andy.

Likely as not he's weighin' 'em out flour at two cents, with it costin' me two and a half on freightin' alone. I'll

He was gone at once, getting away at a sharp pace, till presently they could see him swimming the stream.

When he was in the cabin the sounds changed, dropping off to one at a time, and expired. But when the riders

came out into the air, they leaned and collided at random, whirled their arms, and, screaming till they

gathered heart, charged with wavering menace at the door. The foremost was flung from the sill, and he shot

along toppling and scraped his length in the dust, while the owner of the cabin stood in the entrance. The

Indian picked himself up, and at some word of Jake's which the emigrants could half follow by the fierce lift

of his arm, all got on their horses and set up a wailing, like vultures driven off. They went up the river a little

and crossed, but did not come down this side, and Mrs. Clallam was thankful when their evil noise had died

away up the valley. They had seen the wagon coming, but gave it no attention. A man soon came over the

river from the cabin, and was lounging against a tree when the emigrants drew up at the margin.

"I don't know what you know," he whined defiantly from the tree, "but I'm goin' to Cornwall, Connecticut,

and I don't care who knows it." He sent a cowed look at the cabin across the river.

"I'm going back," said the man, blinking like a scolded dog. "I ain't stayin' here for nobody. You can tell him

I said so, too." Again his eye slunk sidewise towards the cabin, and instantly back.

He came with alacrity, and made a shift of unhitching the horses. "I was better off coupling freight cars on the

Housatonic," he soon remarked. His voice came shallow, from no deeper than his throat, and a peevish

apprehension rattled through it. "That was a good job. And I've had better, too; forty, fifty, sixty dollars

"I don't know. You ever been to New Milford? I sold shoes there. Thirtyfive dollars and board."

The emigrants attended to their affairs, watering the horses and driving picket stakes. Leander uselessly

followed behind them with conversation, blinking and with lower lip sagged, showing a couple of teeth. "My

brother's in business in Pittsfield, Massachusetts," said he, "and I can get a salary in Bridgeport any day I say

Leander gave Mart a leer."That won't do," said he. "He's put you up to telling me that, and I'm going to

"I tell you we were looking for the ferry, and I signalled you across the river."

"No, no," said Leander. "I never seen you in my life. Don't you be like him and take me for a fool."

"Why?" said the man, shrilly. "Why? Hadn't they broke in and filled themselves up on his piahchuck till

"Now you're going to claim it was me drunk it and scattered all them bottles of his," screamed Leander,

backing away. "I tell you I didn't. I told him I didn't, and he knowed it well, too. But he's just that mean when

he's mad he likes to put a thing on me whether or no, when he never seen me touch a drop of whiskey, nor

any one else, neither. They were riding and shooting loose over the country like they always do on a drunk.

And I'm glad they stole his stuff. What business had he to keep it at Billy Moon's old cabin and send me away

up there to see it was all right? Let him do his own dirty work. I ain't going to break the laws on the salary he

The Clallam family had gathered round Leander, who was stricken with volubility. "It ain't once in a while,

but it's every day and every week," he went on, always in a woolly scream. "And the longer he ain't caught

the bolder he gets, and puts everything that goes wrong on to me. Was it me traded them for that liquor this

afternoon? It was his squaw, Big Tracks, and he knowed it well. He lets that mudfaced baboon run the

house when he's off, and I don't have the keys nor nothing, and never did have. But of course he had to come

in and say it was me just because he was mad about having you see them Siwashes hollering around. And he

come and shook me where I was sittin', and oh, my, he knowed well the lie he was acting. I bet I've got the

marks on my neck now. See any red marks?" Leander exhibited the back of his head, but the violence done

him had evidently been fleeting. "He'll be awful good to you, for he's that scared"

Leander stood tremulously straight in silence, his lip sagging, as WildGoose Jake called pleasantly from the

other bank. "Come to supper, you folks," said he. "Why, Andy, I told you to bring them across", and you've

let them picket their horses. Was you expectin' Mrs. Clallam to take your arm and ford six feet of water?" For

"I know, I know. Out on the shore here on this side would be a pleasanter bedroom for you, but" (he looked

So they decided to leave the wagon behind and cross to the cabin. The horses put them with not much wetting

to the other bank, where Jake, most eager and friendly, hovered to meet his party, and when they were safe

"Turn them horses into the pasture, Andy," said he, "and first feed 'em a couple of quarts." It may have been

hearing himself say this, but tone and voice dropped to the confidential and his sentences came with a

chuckle. "Quarts to the horses and quarts to the Siwashes and a skookum pack of trouble all round, Mrs.

Clallam! If I hedn't acame to stop it a while ago, why about all the spirits that's in stock jest now was bein'

traded off for some blamed ponies the bears hev let hobble on the range unswallered ever since I settled here.

A store on a trail like this here, ye see, it hez to keep spirits, of course; andwell, well! here's my room; you

It was of a surprising neatness, due all to him, they presently saw; the log walls covered with a sort of bunting

that was also stretched across to make a ceiling below the shingles of the roof; fresh soap and towels, china

service, a clean floor and bed, on the wall a print of some white and red village among elms, with a covered

bridge and the water running over an aprondam just above; and a rich smell of whiskey everywhere. "Fix up

as comfortable as yu' can," the host repeated, "and I'll see how Mrs. Jake's tossin' the flapjacks. She's Injun,

yu' know, and five years of married life hadn't learned her to toss flapjacks. Now if I was you" (he was

lingering in the doorway) "I wouldn't shet that winder so quick. It don't smell nice yet for ladies in here, and

I'd hev liked to git the time to do better for ye; but them Siwasheswell, of course, you folks see how it is.

Maybe it ain't always and only white men that patronizes our goods. Uncle Sam is a long way off, and I don't

say we'd ought to, but when the cat's away, why the mice will, ye knowthey most always will."

There was a rattle of boards outside, at which he shut the door quickly, and they heard him run. A light

muttering came in at the window, and the mother, peeping out, saw Andy fallen among a rubbish of crates

and empty cans, where he lay staring, while his two fists beat up and down like a disordered toy. WildGoose

Jake came, and having lifted him with great tenderness, was laying him flat as Elizabeth Clallam hurried to

"Thank you, ma'am," said Jake, and the pain on his face was miserable to see; "there ain't no medicine. We're

kind of used to this, Andy and me. Maybe, if you wouldn't mind stayin' till he comes toWhy, a sick man

Mrs. Jake made her first appearance upon the guests sitting down to their meal, when she waited on table,

passing busily forth from the kitchen with her dishes. She had but three or four English words, and her best

years were plainly behind her; but her cooking was good, fried and boiled with sticks of her own chopping,

and she served with industry. Indeed, a squaw is one of the few species of the domestic wife that survive

today upon our continent. Andy seemed now to keep all his dislike for her, and followed her with a scowling

eye, while he frequented Jake, drawing a chair to sit next him when he smoked by the wall after supper, and

some times watching him with a sort of clouded affection upon his face. He did not talk, and the seizure had

evidently jarred his mind as well as his frame. When the squaw was about lighting a lamp he brushed her arm

in a childish way so that the match went out, and set him laughing. She poured out a harangue in Chinook,

showing the dead match to Jake, who rose and gravely lighted the lamp himself, Andy laughing more than

ever. When Mrs. Clallam had taken Nancy with her to bed, Jake walked John Clallam to the riverbank, and

"I guess you see how it is with me. Anyway, I don't commonly hev use for strangerfolks in this house. But

that little girl of yourn started cryin' about not havin' the pump along that she'd been used to seein' in the yard

at home. And I says to myself, 'Look ahere, Jake, I don't care if they do ketch on to you and yer blamed

whiskey business. They're not the sort to tell on you.' Gee! but that about the pump got me! And I says, 'Jake,

you're goin' to give them the best you hev got.' Why, that Big Bend desert and lonesome valley of the

Columbia hez chilled my heart in the days that are gone when I weren't used to things; and the little girl hed

"And your wife was jest beautiful about Andy. You've saw me wicked to Andy. I am, and often, for I rile

turruble quick, and God forgive me! But when that boy gits at his meannessyu've seen jest a touch of it

there's scarcely livin' with him. It seems like he got reg'lar inspired. Some days he'll liemake up big lies to

the fust man comes in at the door. They ain't harmless, his lies ain't. Then he'll trick my woman, that's real

good to him; and I believe he'd lick whiskey up off the dirt. And every drop is poison for him with his

complaint. But I'd ought to remember. You'd surely think I could remember, and forbear. Most likely he

"Well, that's all true, for onced. I did think he'd been up to stealin' that whiskey gradual, 'stead of fishin', the

times he was out all day. And the salary I give him"Jake laughed a little"ain't enough to justify a man's

breaking the law. I did take his rifle away when he tried to shoot my woman. I guess it was Siwashes bruck

John began the tale of the galloping dots, and Jake stopped walking to listen the harder. "Yes," he said; "that's

He had little to say after this, but talked under his tongue as they went to the house, where he offered a bed to

Clallam and Mart. They would not turn him out, so he showed them over to a haystack, where they crawled

Most white men know when they have had enough whiskey. Most Indians do not. This is a difference

between the races of which government has taken notice. Government says that "no ardent spirits shall be

introduced under any presence into the Indian country." It also says that the white man who attempts to break

this law "shall be punished by imprisonment for not more than two years and by a fine of not more than three

hundred dollars." It further says that if any superintendent of Indian affairs has reason to suspect a man, he

may cause the "boats, stores, packages, wagons, sleds, and places of deposit" of such person to be searched,

and if ardent spirits be found it shall be forfeit, together with the boats and all other substances with it

connected, one half to the informer and the other half to the use of the United States. The courts and all legal

machines necessary for trial and punishment of offenders are oiled and ready; two years is a long while in

jail; three hundred dollars and confiscation sounds heavy; altogether the penalty looks severe on the printed

pageand all the while there's no brisker success in our far West than selling whiskey to Indians. Very few

people know what the whiskey is made of, and the Indian does not care. He drinks till he drops senseless. If

he has killed nobody and nobody him during the process, it is a good thing, for then the matter ends with his

getting sober and going home to his tent till such happy time when he can put his hand on some further

possession to trade away. The white offender is caught now and then; but Okanagon County lies pretty snug

from the arm of the law. It's against Canada to the north, and the empty county of Stevens to the east; south of

it rushes the Columbia, with the naked horrible Big Bend beyond, and to its west rises a domain of unfooted

mountains. There is law up in the top of it at Conconully sometimes, but not much even today, for that is

Consequently a cabin like WildGoose Jake's was a holiday place. The blanketed denizens of the reservation

crossed to it, and the citizens who had neighboring cabins along the trail repaired here to spend what money

they had. As Mrs. Clallam lay in her bed she heard customers arrive. Two or three loud voices spoke in

English, and several Indians and squaws seemed to be with the party, bantering in Chinook. The visitors were

in too strong force for Jake's word about coming some other night to be of any avail.

"Open your cellar and quit your talk," Elizabeth heard, and next she heard some door that stuck, pulled open

with a shriek of the warped timber. Next they were gambling, and made not much noise over it at first; but

the Indians in due time began to lose to the soberer whites, becoming quarrelsome, and raising a clumsy

disturbance, though it was plain the whites had their own way and were feared. The voices rose, and soon

there was no moment that several were not shouting curses at once, till Mrs. Clallam stopped her ears. She

was still for a time, hearing only in a muffled way, when all at once the smell of drink and tobacco, that had

sifted only a little through the cracks, grew heavy in the room, and she felt Nancy shrink close to her side.

It had gone beyond cardplaying with the company in the saloon; they seemed now to be having a savage

horseplay, those on their feet tramping in their scuffles upon others on the floor, who bellowed incoherently.

Elizabeth Clallam took Nancy in her arms and told her that nobody would come where they were.

But the child was shaking. "Yes, they will," she whispered, in terror. "They are!" And she began a tearless

A little sound came close by the bed, and Elizabeth's senses stopped so that for half a minute she could not

stir. She stayed rigid beneath the quilt, and Nancy clung to her. Something was moving over the floor. It

came quite near, but turned, and its slight rustle crawled away towards the window.

There was no answer, but the slow creeping continued, always close along the floor, like the folds of stuff

rubbing, and hands feeling their way in short slides against the boards. She had no way to find where her

husband was sleeping, and while she thought of this and whether or not to rush out at the door, the table was

"Only a thief," she said to herself, and in a sort of sharp joy cried out her question again.

The singular broken voice of a woman answered, seemingly in fear. "Matches," it said; and "Matches" said

a second voice, pronouncing with difficulty, like the first. She knew it was some of the squaws, and sprang

from the bed, asking what they were doing there. "Matches," they murmured; and when she had struck a

light she saw how the two were cringing, their blankets huddled round them. Their motionless black eyes

looked up at her from the floor where they lay sprawled, making no offer to get up. It was clear to her from

the pleading fear in the one word they answered to whatever she said, that they had come here to hide from

the fury of the next room; and as she stood listening to this she would have let them remain, but their escape

had been noticed. A man burst into the room, and at sight of her and Nancy stopped, and was blundering

excuses, when Jake caught his arm and had dragged him almost out, but he saw the two on the floor; at this,

getting himself free, he half swept the crouching figures with his boot as they fled out of the room, and the

door was swung shut. Mrs. Clallam heard his violent words to the squaws for daring to disturb the strangers,

and there followed the heavy lashing of a quirt, with screams and lamenting. No trouble came from the Indian

husbands, for they were stupefied on the ground, and when their intelligences quickened enough for them to

move, the punishment was long over and no one in the house awake but Elizabeth and Nancy, seated together

in their bed, watching for the day. Mother and daughter heard them rise to go out one by one, and the

hoofbeats of their horses grew distant up and down the river. As the rustling trees lighted and turned

transparent in the rising sun, Jake roused those that remained and got them away. Later he knocked at the

"I hev a little raft fixed this morning," said he, "and I guess we can swim the wagon over here."

"I am ready now. I shall want to start ferrying our things Where's Mr. Clallam? Tell him to come here."

John had slept sound in his haystack, and heard nothing. "Well," he said, after comforting his wife and

Nancy, "you were better off in the room, anyway. I'd not blame him so, Liza. How was he going to help it?"

But Elizabeth was a woman, and just now saw one thing alone: if selling whiskey led to such things in this

country, the man who sold it was much worse than any mere lawbreaker. John Clallam, being now a long

time married, made no argument. He was looking absently at the open drawer of a table. "That's queer," he

She had no curiosity for anything in that room, and he laid it in the drawer again, his thoughts being taken up

During breakfast Jake was humble about the fright the ladies had received in his house, explaining how he

thought he had acted for the best; at which Clallam and Mart said that in a rough country folks must look for

rough doings, and get along as well as they can; but Elizabeth said nothing. The little raft took all but Nancy

over the river to the wagon, where they set about dividing their belongings in loads that could be floated

back, one at a time, and Jake returned to repair some of the disorder that remained from the night at the cabin.

John and Mart poled the first cargo across, and while they were on the other side, Elizabeth looked out of the

wagon, where she was working alone, and saw five Indian riders coming down the valley. The dust hung in

the air they had rushed through, and they swung apart and closed again as she had seen before; so she looked

for a rifle; but the firearms had gone over the Okanagon with the first load. She got down and stood at the

front wheel of the wagon, confronting the riders when they pulled up their horses. One climbed unsteadily

"Drink," he grunted again, pushing the bottle at her. "Piahchuck! Skookurn!" He had a slugglish animal

grin, and when she drew back, tipped the bottle into his mouth, and directly choked, so that his friends on

their horses laughed loud as he stood coughing. "Heap good," he remarked, looking at Elizabeth, who

watched his eyes swim with the plot of the drink. "Where you come back?" he inquired, touching the wagon.

"You cross Okanagon? Me cross you; cross horses; cross all. Heap cheap. What yes?"

The Indian spoke loud and thick, and Elizabeth looked over the river where her husband was running with a

rifle, and Jake behind him, holding a warning hand on his arm. Jake called across to the Indians, who listened

"Now," said Jake to Clallam, "they ain't gone. Get your wife over here so she kin set in my room till I see

John left him at once, and crossed on the raft. His wife was stepping on it, when the noise and flight of riders

descended along the other bank, where Jake was waiting. They went in a circle, with hoarse shouts, round the

cabin as Mart with Nancy came from the pasture. The boy no sooner saw them than he caught his sister up

and carried her quickly away among the corrals and sheds, where the two went out of sight.

"Then I'll get myself over," said she. And he seized her as she would have jumped into the stream.

While they crossed, the Indians had tied their horses and rambled into the cabin. Jake came from it to stop the

"They're after your contract," said he, quietly. "They say they're going to have the job of takin' the balance of

"Me and them, ye see, ma'am, we hev a sort of bargain they're to git certain ferryin'. I can't make 'em savvy

"It ain't no joke at all, ma'am." Jake's face grew brooding. "Of course folks kin say who they'll be ferried by.

And you may believe I'd rather do it. I didn't look for jest this complication; but maybe I kin steer through;

and it's myself I've got to thank. Of course, if them Siwashes did git your job, they'd sober up gittin' ready.

The emigrants waited, but he did not go on with what was in his mind. "It's all right," said he, in a brisk tone.

"Whatever's acomin's acomin'." He turned abruptly towards the door. "Keep yerselves away jest now," he

The parents sought their children, finding Mart had concealed Nancy in the haystack. They put Mrs. Clallam

also in a protected place, as a loud altercation seemed to be rising at the cabin; this grew as they listened, and

Jake's squaw came running to hide herself. She could tell them nothing, nor make them understand more than

they knew; but she touched John's rifle, signing to know if it were loaded, and was greatly relieved when he

showed her the magazine full of cartridges. The quarrelling had fallen silent, but rose in a new gust of

fierceness, sounding as if in the open air and coming their way. No Indian appeared, however, and the noise

passed to the river, where the emigrants soon could hear wood being split in pieces.

John risked a survey. "It's the raft," he said. "They're smashing it. Now they're going back. Stay with the

John started away, heedless of his wife's despair. At his coming the Indians shouted and surrounded him,

"Drink!" said Andy, laughing with the same screech he had made at the match going out. "We re all going to

Each Indian held a tin cup, and at the instant these were emptied they were thrust towards Jake, who filled

them again, going and coming through a door that led a step or two down into a dark place which was half

underground. Once he was not quick, or was imagined to be refusing, for an Indian raised his cup and

drunkenly dashed it on Jake's head. Jake laughed goodhumoredly, and filled the cup.

"It's our one chance," said he to John as the Indian, propping himself by a hand on the wall, offered the

A third interfered, saying something in their language, at which the other two disagreed. They talked a

moment with threatening rage till suddenly all drew pistols. At this the two remaining stumbled among the

group, and a shot went into the roof. Jake was there in one step with a keg, that they no sooner saw than they

fell upon it, and the liquor jetted out as they clinched, wrestling over the room till one lay on his back with his

mouth at the open bung. It was wrenched from him, and directly there was not a drop more in it. They tilted

it, and when none ran out, flung the keg out of doors and crowded to the door of the dark place, where Jake

barred the way. "Don't take to that yet!" he said to Clallam, for John was lifting his rifle.

"Piahchuck!" yelled the Indians, scarcely able to stand. All other thought had left them, and a new thought

came to Jake. He reached for a fresh keg, while they held their tin cups in the left hand and pistols in the

right, pushing so it was a slow matter to get the keg opened. They were fast nearing the sodden stage, and one

sank on the floor. Jake glanced in at the door behind him, and filled the cups once again. While all were

drinking he went in the storeroom and set more liquor open, beckoning them to come as they looked up

from the rims to which their lips had been glued. They moved round behind the table, grasping it to keep on

their feet, with the one on the floor crawling among the legs of the rest. When they were all inside, Jake

"They kin sleep now," said he. "Gunpowder won't be needed. Keep wide away from in front."

There was a minute of stillness within, and then a groveling noise and struggle. A couple of bullets came

harmless through the door. Those inside fought together as well as they could, while those outside listened as

it grew less, the bodies falling stupefied without further sound of rising. One or two, still active, began

striking at the boards with what heavy thing they could find, until suddenly the blade of an axe crashed

"Keep away!" cried Jake. But Andy had leaped insanely in front of the door, and fell dead with a bullet

through him. With a terrible scream, Jake flung himself at the place, and poured six shots through the panel;

then, as Clallam caught him, wrenched at the lock, and they saw inside. Whiskey and blood dripped together,

and no one was moving there. It was liquor with some, and death with others, and all of it lay upon the guilty

"That's been attended to," replied Jake, and he reeled, for during his fire some Indian had shot once more.

Clallam supported him to the room where his wife and Nancy had passed the night, and laid him on the bed.

She came, dazed beyond feeling any horror, or even any joy, and she did what she could.

"It was seein' 'em hit Andy," said Jake. "Is Andy gone? Yes, I kin tell he's gone from your face." He shut his

eyes, and lay still so long a time that they thought he might be dying now; but he moved at length, and looked

slowly round the wall till he saw the print of the village among the elms and the covered bridge. His hand

lifted to show them this. "That's the road," said he. "Andy and me used to go fishin' acrosst that bridge. Did

you ever see the Housatonic River? I've fished a lot there. Cornwall, Connecticut. The hills are pretty there.

Then Andy got worse. You look in that drawer." John remembered, and when he got out the tintype, Jake

stretched for it eagerly. "His mother and him, age ten," he explained to Elizabeth, and held it for her to see,

then studied the faces in silence. "You kin tell it's Andy, can't yu'?" She told him yes. "That was before we

knowed he weren'tweren't goin' to grow up like the other boys he played with. So after a while, when she

was gone, I got ashamed seein' Andy's friends makin' their way when he couldn't seem to, and so I took him

away where nobody hed ever been acquainted with us. I was layin' money by to get him the best doctor in

A faintness mastered him, and Elizabeth would have put the picture on the table, but his hand closed round it.

They let him lie so, and Elizabeth sat there, while John, with Mart, kept Nancy away till the horror in the

outer room was made invisible. They came and went quietly, and Jake seemed in a deepening torpor, once

only rousing suddenly to call his son's name, and then, upon looking from one to the other, he recollected,

and his eyes closed again. His mind wandered, but very little, for torpor seemed to be overcoming him. The

squaw had stolen in, and sat cowering and useless. Towards sundown John's heart sickened at the sound of

"If there are Indians killed," said the sheriff, "there's still another matter for the law to settle with him. We're

"People I find always are pretty sick," said the sheriff, and pushed his way in, stopping at sight of Mrs.

Clallam and the figure on the bed. "I'm arresting that man, madam," he said, with a shade of apology. "The

Jake sat up and knew the sheriff. "You're a little late, Proctor," said he. "The Supreme Court's agoin' to call

Many fish were still in the pool; and though luck seemed to have left me, still I stood at the end of the point,

casting and casting my vain line, while the Virginian lay and watched. Noonday's extreme brightness had left

the river and the plain in cooling shadow, but spread and glowed over the yet undimmed mountains.

Westward, the Tetons lifted their peaks pale and keen as steel through the high, radiant air. Deep down

between the blue gashes of their canons the sun sank long shafts of light, and the glazed laps of their

snowfields shone separate and white upon their lofty vastness, like handkerchiefs laid out to dry. Opposite,

above the valley, rose that other range, the Continental Divide, not sharp, but long and ample. It was bare in

some high places, and below these it stretched everywhere, high and low, in brown and yellow parks, or in

purple miles of pine a world of serene undulations, a great sweet country of silence.

A passing band of antelope stood herded suddenly together at sight of us; then a little breeze blew for a

moment from us to them, and they drifted like phantoms away, and were lost in the levels of the sagebrush.

"Tell a foe by the smell of him," explained the cowpuncher; "at fifty yardsor a mile."

"A woman needs it most," he murmured. He lay down again in his lounging sprawl, with his grave eyes

The gradual day mounted up the hills farther from the floor of earth. Warm airs eddied in its wake slowly,

stirring the scents of the plain together. I looked at the Southerner; and there was no guessing what his

thoughts might be at work upon behind that drowsy glance. Then for a moment a trout rose, but only to look

and whip down again into the pool that wedged its calm into the riffle from below

"Second thoughts," mused the Virginian; and as the trout came no more, "Second thoughts," he repeated;

"and even a fish will have them sooner than folks has them in this mighty hasty country." And he rolled over

At whom or what was he aiming these shafts of truth? Or did he moralize merely because health and the

weather had steeped him in that serenity which lifts us among the spheres? Well, sometimes he went on from

"I reckon," said he, presently, "that knowing when to change your mind would be pretty near knowledge

Since my acquaintance with himthis was the second summer of itI had come to understand him enough

to know that he was unfathomable. Still, for a moment it crossed my thoughts that perhaps now he was

discoursing about himself. He had allowed a jealous foreman to fall out with him at Sunk Creek ranch in the

spring, during Judge Henry's absence. The man, having a brief authority, parted with him. The Southerner

had chosen that this should be the means of ultimately getting the foreman dismissed and himself recalled. It

was strategic. As he put it to me: "When I am gone, it will be right easy for the Judge to see which of us two

he wants. And I'll not have done any talking." All of which duly befell in the autumn as he had planned: the

foreman was sent off, his assistant promoted, and the Virginian again hired. But this was meanwhile. He was

indulging himself in a several months' drifting, and while thus drifting he had written to me. That is how we

two came to be on our way from the railroad to hunt the elk and the mountainsheep, and were pausing to

fish where Buffalo Fork joins its waters with Snake River. In those days the antelope still ran there in

hundreds, the Yellowstone Park was a new thing, and mankind lived very far away. Since meeting me with

the horses in Idaho the Virginian had been silent, even for him. So now I stood casting my fly, and trusting

"Have yu' studded much about marriage?" he now inquired. His serious eyes met mine as he lay stretched

Forthwith we shook off our boots and dropped our few clothes, and heedless of what fish we might now drive

away, we went into the cool, slow, deep breadth of backwater which the bend makes just there. As he came

up near me, shaking his head of black hair, the cowpuncher was smiling a little.

"Not that any number of baths," he remarked, "would conceal a man's objectionableness from an

We dried before the fire, without haste. To need no clothes is better than purple and fine linen. Then he tossed

the flapjacks, and I served the trout, and after this we lay on our backs upon a buffalohide to smoke and

The Virginian nodded. "It gives all the peace o' being asleep with all the pleasure o' feeling the widest kind of

awake," said he. "Yu' might say the whole year's strength flows hearty in every waggle of your thumb." We

"Inventions, of course," said he, "these hyeh telephones an' truck yu' see so much about in the papersbut I

ain't speaking o' such things of the brain. It is just the common things I mean. The things that a livin', noticin'

man is liable to see and maybe sample for himself. How many o' them kind can surprise yu' still?"

"Most everything surprised me onced," the cowpuncher continued, in his gentle Southern voice. "I must

have been a mighty green boy. Till I was fourteen or fifteen I expect I was astonished by ten o'clock every

morning. But a man begins to ketch on to folks and things after a while. I don't consideh that whenthat

afteh a man is, say twentyfive, it is creditable he should get astonished too easy. And so yu've not examined

"Well, there's two things anywayI know them for surethat I expect will always get medon't care if I

live to thirtyfive, or fortyfive, or eighty. And one's the ways lightning can strike." He paused. Then he got

up and kicked the fire, and stood by it, staring at me. "And the other is the people that other people will

"The people that other people will marry," he repeated. "That will surprise me till I die."

But the brief sound that he gave was answer enough, and more than enough cure for my levity.

"No," said he, reflectively; "not any such thing as a fam'ly for me, yet. Never, it may be. Not till I can't help

it. And that woman has not come along so far. But I have been sorry for a woman lately. I keep thinking what

she will do. For she will have to do something. Do yu' know Austrians? Are they quick in their feelings, like

Italians? Or are they apt to be sluggish, same as Norwegians and them other Dutchspeakin' races?"

"This woman is the first I have ever saw of 'em," he continued. "Of course men will stampede into marriage

in this hyeh Western country, where a woman is a scanty thing. It ain't what Hank has done that surprises me.

And it is not on him that the sorrow will fall. For she is good. She is very good. Do yu' remember little black

Hank? From Texas he claims he is. He was working on the main ditch over at Sunk Creek last summer when

that Em'ly hen was around. Well, seh, yu' would not have pleasured in his company. And this year Hank is

placermining on Galena Creek, where we'll likely go for sheep. There's Honey Wiggin and a young fello'

named Lin McLean, and some others along with the outfit. But Hank's woman will not look at any of them,

though the McLean boy is a likely hand. I have seen that; for I have done a right smart o' business

thataway myself, here and there. She will mend their clothes for them, and she will cook lunches for them

any time o' day, and her conduct gave them hopes at the start. But I reckon Austrians have good religion."

But the Virginian shook his head. "Better'n what I've saw any Americans have. Of course I am not judging a

whole nation by one citizen, and especially her a woman. And of course in them big Austrian towns the folks

has shook their virtuous sayin's loose from their daily doin's, same as we have. I expect selling yourself

brings the quickest returns to man or woman all the world over. But I am speakin' not of towns, but of the

back country, where folks don't just merely arrive on the cyars, but come into the world the natural way, and

grow up slow. Onced a week anyway they see the bunch of old gravestones that marks their fam'ly. Their

blood and name are knowed about in the neighborhood, and it's not often one of such will sell themselves.

But their religion ain't to them like this woman's. They can be ripsnortin' or'tn'ary in ways. Now she is

getting naught but hindrance and temptation and meanness from her husband and every livin' thing around

heryet she keeps right along, nor does she mostly bear any signs in her face. She has cert'nly come from

where they are used to believing in God and a hereafter mighty hard, and all day long. She has got one o'

them crucifixes, and Hank can't make her quit prayin' to it. But what is she going to do?"

"Yes," said the Virginian"leave her. Alone; her money all spent; knowin' maybe twenty words of English;

and thousands of miles away from everything she can understand. For our words and ways is all alike strange

There was surprise in the grave glance which the cowpuncher gave me. "Why, any man would," he

I looked at this son of the wilderness, standing thoughtful and splendid by the fire, and unconscious of his

own religion that had unexpectedly shone forth in these last words. But I said nothing; for words too intimate,

"I had forgot to mention her looks to yu'." he pursued, simply. "She is fit for a man." He stopped again.

"Then there was her wages that Hank saw paid to her," he resumed. "And so marriage was but a little thing to

Hankagaynst such a heap of advantages. As for her idea in takin' such as himmaybe it was that he was

small and she was big; tall and big. Or maybe it was just his white teeth. Them ridiculous reasons will bring a

woman to a man, haven't yu' noticed? But maybe it was just her sorrowful, helpless state, left stranded as she

"I had been seein' this hyeh Yellowstone Park, takin' in its geysers, and this and that, for my enjoyment; and

when I found what they claimed about its strange sights to be pretty near so, I landed up at Galena Creek to

watch the boys prospectin'. Honey Wiggin, yu' know, and McLean, and the rest. And so they got me to go

down with Hank to Gardner for flour and sugar and truck, which we had to wait for. We lay around the

Mammoth Springs and Gardner for three days, playin' cyards with friends. And I got plumb interested in

them tourists. For I had partly forgot about Eastern people. And hyeh they came fresh every day to remind a

man of the great size of his country. Most always they would talk to yu' if yu' gave 'em the chance; and I did.

I have come mighty nigh regrettin' that I did not keep a tally of the questions them folks asked me. And as

they seemed genuwinely anxious to believe anything at all, and the worser the thing the believinger they'd

"So I fooled and I fooled. And one noon I was on the front poach of the big hotel they have opened at the

Mammoth Springs for tourists, and the hotel kid, bein' on the watchout, he sees the dust comin' up the hill,

"Yu've not saw that hotel yet, seh? Well, when the kid says 'Stage,' the consequences is most sudden. About

as conspicuous, yu' may say, as when Old Faithful Geyser lets loose. Yu' see, one batch o' tourists pulls out

right after breakfast for Norris Basin, leavin' things empty and yawnin'. By noon the whole hotel outfit has

been slumberin' in its chairs steady for three hours. Maybe yu' might hear a fly buzz, but maybe not.

Everything's liable to be restin', barrin' the kid. He's awatchin' out. Then he sees the dust, and he says

'Stage!' and it touches the folks off like a hot pokeh. The Syndicate manager he lopes to a lookin'glass, and

then organizes himself behind the book; and the young photograph chap bounces out o' his private door like

one o' them cuckoo clocks; and the fossil man claws his specimens and curiosities into shape, and the porters

line up same as parade, and away goes the piano and fiddles upstairs. It is mighty conspicuous. So Hank he

"Then out gets a tall woman, and I noticed her yello' hair. She was kind o' dumbeyed, yet fine to see. I

reckon Hank noticed her too, right away. And right away her trouble begins. For she was a lady's maid, and

her lady was out of the stage and roundin' her up quick. And it's ' Where have you put the keys, Willomene?'

The lady was rich and stinkin' lookin', and had come from New Yawk in her husband's private cyar.

"Well, Willomene fussed around in her pockets, and them keys was not there. So she started explaining in

tanglefoot English to her lady how her lady must have took them from her before leavin' the cyar. But the

lady seemed to relish hustlin' herself into a rage. She got tolerable conspicuous, too. And after a heap o'

words, 'You are discharged,' she says; and off she struts. Soon her husband came out to Willomene, still

standin' like statuary, and he pays her a good sum of cash, and he goes away, and she keeps a standing yet for

a spell. Then all of a sudden she says something I reckon was 'O, Jesus,' and sits down and starts a cryin'.

"I would like to have given her comfort. But we all stood around on the hotel poach, and the right thing

would not come into my haid. Then the baggagewagon came in from Cinnabar, and they had picked the

keys up on the road between Cinnabar and Gardner. So the lady and her toilet was rescued, but that did no

good to Willomene. They stood her trunk down along with the resta brassnailed little old concernand

there was Willomene out of a job and afoot a long, long ways from her own range; and so she kept sitting,

and onced in a while she'd cry some more. We got her a room in the cheap hotel where the Park drivers

sleeps when they're in at the Springs, and she acted grateful like, thanking the boys in her tanglefoot English.

Next mawnin' her folks druv off in a private team to Norris Basin, and she seemed dazed. For I talked with

her then, and questioned her as to her wishes, but she could not say what she wished, nor if it was East or

"Our stuff for Galena Creek delayed on the railroad, and I got to know her, and then I quit givin' Hank cause

for jealousy. I kept myself with the boys, and I played more cyards, while Hank he sca'cely played at all. One

night I came on themHank and Willomenewalkin' among the pines where the road goes down the hill.

Yu' should have saw that pair o' lovers. Her big shape was plain and kind o' steadfast in the moon, and

alongside of her little black Hank! And there it was. Of course it ain't nothing to be surprised at that a mean

and triflin' man tries to seem what he is not when he wants to please a good woman. But why does she get

fooled, when it's so plain to other folks that are not givin' it any special thought? All the rest of the men and

women at the Mammoth under stood Hank. They knowed he was a worthless proposition. And I cert'nly

relied on his gettin' back to his whiskey and openin' her eyes that way. But he did not. I met them next

evening again by the Liberty Cap. Sup posin' I'd been her brother or her mother, what use was it me warning

"The railroad brought the stuff for Galena Creek, and Hank would not look at it on account of his courtin'. I

took it alone myself by Yancey's and the second bridge and Miller Creek to the camp, nor I didn't tell

The Virginian shifted his position, and jerked his overalls to a more comfortable fit. Then he continued:

"They was married the Tuesday after at Livingston, and Hank must have been pow'ful pleased at himself. For

he gave Willomene a wedding present, with the balance of his cash, spending his last nickel on buying her a

redtailed parrot they had for sale at the First National Bank. The sonofagun hollad so freely at the bank,

the president awde'd the cashier to get shed of the outragious bird, or he would wring its neck.

"So Hank and Willomene stayed a week up in Livingston on her money, and then he fetched her back to

Gardner, and bought their grub, and bride and groom came up to the camp we had on Galena Creek.

"She had never slep' out before. She had never been on a hawss, neither. And she mighty near rolled off down

into Pitchstone Canyon, comin' up by the cutoff trail. Why, seh, I would not willingly take you through that

place, except yu' promised me yu' would lead your hawss when I said to. But Hank takes the woman he had

married, and he takes heavyloaded packhawsses. 'Tis the first time such a thing has been known of in the

country. Yu' remember them big tall grasstopped mountains over in the Hoodoo country, and how they

descends slam down through the crosstimber that yu' can't scatcely work through afoot, till they pitches over

into lots an' lots o' little canyons, with maybe two inches of water runnin' in the bottom? All that is East Fork

water, and over the divide is Clark's Fork, or Stinkin' Water, if yu' take the country yondeh to the southeast.

But any place yu' go is them undesirable steep slopes, and the cutoff trail takes along about the worst in the

"Well, Hank he got his outfit over it somehow, and, gentlemen, hush! but yu'd ought t've seen him and that

poor girl pull into our camp. Yu'd cert'nly never have conjectured them two was a weddin' journey. He was

leadin', but skewed around in his saddle to jaw back at Willomene for riding so ignorant. Suppose it was a

thing she was responsible for, yu'd not have talked to her thataway even in private; and hyeh was the camp

alookin', and alistenin', and some of us ashamed. She was setting straddleways like a mountain, and

between him and her went the three packanimals, plumb shiverin' played out, and the flourthey had two

hundred poundstilted over hellwards, with the redtailed parrot shoutin' landslides in his cage tied on top

"It was that mean to see, that shameless and unkind, that even a thoughtless kid like the McLean boy felt

offended, and favorable to some sort of remonstrance. 'The sonofa!' he said to me. 'The sonofa! If

"But Hank he quit. 'Twas plain to see he'd got a genuwine scare comin' through Pitchstone Canyon, and it

turned him sour, so he'd hardly talk to us, but just mumbled 'How!' kind o' gruff, when the boys come up to

"But Willomene, she says when she saw me, 'Oh, I am so glad!' and we shook hands right friendly. And I

wished I'd told her goodbye that day at the Mammoth. For she bore no spite, and maybe I had forgot her

feelings in thinkin' of my own. I had talked to her down at the Mammoth at first, yu' know, and she said a

word about old friends. Our friendship was three weeks old that day, but I expect her new experiences looked

"Yu' ain't ever been over that trail, seh? Yu' cert'nly must see Pitchstone Canyon. But we'll not go there with

packs. And we will get off our hawsses a good ways back. For many animals feels that there's something the

"The Grand Canyon is grand, and makes yu' feel good to look at it, and a geyser is grand and all right, too.

But this hyeh Pitchstone hole, if Willomene had went down into that well, I'll tell yu', that you may judge.

"She seen the trail adrawin' nearer and nearer the aidge, between the timber and the jumpin'off place, and

she seen how them little loose stones and the crumble stuff would slide and slide away under the hawss's feet.

She could hear the stuff rattlin' continually from his steps, and when she turned her haid to look, she seen it

goin' down close beside her, but into what it went she could not see. Only, there was a queer steam would

come up now and agayn, and her hawss trembled. So she tried to get off and walk without sayin' nothin' to

Hank. He kep' on ahaid, and her hawss she had pulled up started to follo' as she was half off him, and that

gave her a tumble, but there was an old crooked dead tree. It growed right out o' the aidge. There she hung.

"Down below is a little green water tricklin', green as the stuff that gets on brass, and tricklin' along over soft

creamcolored formation, like pie. And it ain't so far to fall but what a man might not be too much hurt for

crawlin' out. But there ain't no crawlin' out o' Pitchstone Canyon, they say. Down in there is caves that yu'

cannot see. 'Tis them that coughs up the stream now and agayn. With the wind yu' can smell 'em a mile away,

and in the night I have been layin' quiet and heard 'em. Not that it's a big noise, even when a man is close up.

It's a fluffy kind of a sigh. But it sounds as if some awful thing was amakin' it deep down in the guts of the

world. They claim there's poison air comes out o' the caves and lays low along the water. They claim if a bear

or an elk strays in from below, and the caves sets up their coughin', which they don't regular every day, the

animals die. I have seen it come in two seconds. And when it comes thataway risin' upon yu' with that

"So Hank he happened to look back and see Willomene hangin' at the aidge o' them black rocks. And his

scare made him mad. And his mad stayed with him till they come into camp. She looked around, and when

she seen Hank's tent that him and her was to sleep in she showed surprise. And he showed surprise when he

"'What kind of a Dutch woman are yu',' says he, strainin' for a joke, 'if yu' can't use a Dutchoven?'

"'You say to me you have a house to live in,' says Willomene. 'Where is that house?'

"'I did not figure on gettin' a woman when I left camp,' says Hank, grinnin', but not pleasant, 'or I'd have

"He was buildin' one. When I left Galena Creek and come away from that country to meet you, the house was

finished enough for the couple to move in. I hefted her brassnailed trunk up the hill from their tent myself,

and I watched her take out her crucifix. But she would not let me help her with that. She'd not let me touch it.

She'd fixed it up agaynst the wall her own self her own way. But she accepted some flowers I picked, and set

them in a can front of the crucifix. Then Hank he come in, and seein', says to me, 'Are you one of the kind

that squats before them silly dolls?' 'I would tell yu', I answered him; 'but it would not interest yu'.' And I

"Already they had quit havin' much to say to each other down in their tent. The only steady talkin' done in

that house was done by the parrot. I've never saw any go ahaid of that bird. I have told yu' about Hank, and

how when he'd come home and see her prayin' to that crucifix he'd always get riled up. He would mention it

freely to the boys. Not that she neglected him, yu' know. She done her part, workin' mighty hard, for she was

a willin' woman. But he could not make her quit her religion; and Willomene she had got to bein' very silent

before I come away. She used to talk to me some at first, but she dropped it. I don't know why. I expect

maybe it was hard for her to have us that close in camp, witnessin' her troubles every day, and she a

foreigner. I reckon if she got any comfort, it would be when we was off prospectin' or huntin', and she could

"It will soon be a month since I left Galena Creek," he resumed. "But I cannot get the business out o' my haid.

His talk was done. He had unburdened his mind. Night lay deep and quiet around us, with no sound far or

We left Snake River. We went up Pacific Creek, and through Two Ocean Pass, and down among the watery

willowbottoms and beaverdams of the Upper Yellowstone. We fished; we enjoyed existence along the lake.

Then we went over Pelican Creek trail and came steeply down into the giant country of grasstopped

mountains. At dawn and dusk the elk had begun to call across the stillness. And one morning in the Hoodoo

country, where we were looking for sheep, we came round a jut of the strange, organpipe formation upon a

"I guess so," returned the boy, equally matteroffact."Yu' seem to be around yourself," he added.

They might have been nextdoor neighbors, meeting in a town street for the second time in the same day.

Knowing the ways of the country, I said no word. It was bootless to interrupt their own methods of getting at

"I seen your horses a while ago," he said. "Camp far from here?" he asked the Virginian.

"That's what I'm after for camp," said McLean. "All of us is out on a hunt today except him."

"Oh, some days the gold washes out good in the pan, and others it's that fine it'll float off without settlin'."

"Huntin'! We left him layin' out in that clump o'brush below their cabin. Been drinkin' all night."

The Virginian broke off a piece of the Hoodoo mudrock from the weird eroded pillar that we stood beside.

He threw it into a bank of last year's snow. We all watched it as if it were important. Up through the mountain

silence pierced the long quivering whistle of a bullelk. It was like an unearthly singer practising an

"That's so," said McLean. "That's so, you bet! Nothin' just like Hank over there, neither."

"Well, flesh is mostly flesh in all lands, I reckon," said the Virginian. "I expect yu' can be drunk and

disorderly in every language. But an Austrian Hank would be liable to respect her crucifix.""

"Oh, the camp is backin' her. The camp has explained that to him several times, you bet! And what's more,

"She has downed him with her eye. Just by endurin' him peacefully; and with her eye. I've saw it. Things

changed some after yu' pulled out. We had a good crowd still, and it was pleasant, and not too lively nor yet

too slow. And Willomene, she come more among us. She'd not stay shut indoors, like she done at first. I'd

Young McLean reddened, and threw a furtive look upon me, the stranger, the outsider. "Oh, well," he said, "I

done nothing onusual. But that's all different now. All of us likes her and respects her, and makes allowances

"Shucks!" said McLean, scornfully. And her so big and him so puny! She'd ought to lift him off the earth

"Maybe that's why she don't," mused the Virginian, slowly; "because she is so big. Big in the spirit, I mean.

She'd not stoop to his level. Don't yu' see she is kind o' way up above him and camp and everythingjust her

"Her and her crucifix!" repeated young Lin McLean, staring at this interpretation, which was beyond his

lively understanding. "Her and her crucifix. Turruble lonesome company! Well, them are things yu' don't

know about. I kind o' laughed myself the first time I seen her at it. Hank, he says to me soft, 'Come here, Lin,'

and I peeped in where she was aprayin'. She seen us two, but she didn't quit. So I quit, and Hank came with

me, sayin' tough words about it. Yes, them are things yu' sure don't know about. What's the matter with you

We had been going to visit them the next day. We made it today, instead. And Mr. McLean helped us with

our packs, and we carried our welcome in the shape of elk meat. So we turned our faces down the

grasstopped mountains towards Galena Creek. Once, far through an open gap away below us, we sighted

"Welloneasy in her presence. Not that she's liable to be in there now. She don't stay inside nowadays so

much. She's been comin' round the ditch, silentlike but friendly. And she'll watch us workin' for a spell, and

then she's apt to move off alone into the woods, singin' them Dutch songs of hern that ain't got no toon. I've

met her walkin' that way, tall and earnest, lots of times. But she don't want your company, though she'll patch

Thus we proceeded down from the open summits into the close pines; and while we made our way among the

crosstimber and over the little streams, McLean told us of various days and nights at the camp, and how

"Why, he informed her one day when he was goin' take his dust to town, that if he come back and found that

thing in the house, he'd do it up for her. 'So yu' better pack off your wooden dummy somewheres,' says he.

And she just looked at him kind o' stonelike and solemn. For she don't care for his words no more.

"And while he was away she'd have us all in to supper up at the shack, and look at us eatin' while she'd walk

around puttin' grub on your plate. Day time she'd come around the ditch, watchin' for a while, and move off

slow, singin' her Dutch songs. And when Hank comes back from spendin' his dust, he sees the crucifix same

as always, and he says, 'Didn't I tell yu' to take that down?' 'You did,' says Willomene, lookin' at him very

"And Honey Wiggin says to him, 'Hank, leave her alone.' And Hank, bein' all trembly from spreein' in town,

"Well, we've studied over that some," McLean answered. "But what's to be done with Willomene?"

"The boys got together night before last," continued McLean, "and after holdin' a unanimous meetin', we

visited her and spoke to her about goin' back to her home. She was slow in corrallin' our idea on account of

her bein' no English scholar. But when she did, after three of us takin' their turn at puttin' the proposition to

her, she would not accept any of our dust. And though she started to thank us the handsomest she knowed

how, it seemed to grieve her, for she cried. So we thought we'd better get out. She's tried to tell us the name

As we went down the mountains, we talked of other things, but always came back to this; and we were

turning it over still when the sun had departed from the narrow cleft that we were following, and shone only

"We'll all soon have to move out of this camp, anyway," said McLean, unstrapping his coat from his saddle

and drawing it on. "It gets chill now in the afternoons. D' yu' see the quakin'asps all turned yello', and the

leaves keeps fallin' without no wind to blow 'em down? We're liable to get snowed in on short notice in this

mountain country. If the water goes to freeze on us we'll have to quit workin'. There's camp."

We had rounded a corner, and once more sighted the cabin. I suppose it may have been still half a mile away,

upon the further side of a ravine into which our little valley opened. But fieldglasses were not needed now

to make out the cabin clearly, windows and door. Smoke rose from it; for suppertime was nearing, and we

stopped to survey the scene. As we were looking, another hunter joined us, coming from the deep woods to

the edge of the pines where we were standing. This was Honey Wiggin. He had killed a deer, and he surmised

that all the boys would be back soon. Others had met luck besides himself; he had left one dressing an elk

over the next ridge. Nobody seemed to have got in yet, from appearances. Didn't the camp look lonesome?

The Virginian took the glasses. "I reckonyes, that's Hank. The cold has woke him up, and he's comin' in

Each of us took the glasses in turn; and I watched the figure go up the hill to the door of the cabin. It seemed

to pause and diverge to the window. At the window it stood still, head bent, looking in. Then it returned

quickly to the door. It was too far to discern, even through the glasses, what the figure was doing. Whether

the door was locked, whether he was knocking or fumbling with a key, or whether he spoke through the door

to the person withinI cannot tell what it was that came through the glasses straight to my nerves, so that I

jumped at a sudden sound; and it was only the distant shrill call of an elk. I was handing the glasses to the

Virginian for him to see when the figure opened the door and disappeared in the dark interior. As I watched

the square of darkness which the door's opening made, something seemed to happen thereor else it was a

But at that same instant the Virginian dashed forward upon his horse, leaving the glasses in my hand. And

with the contagion of his act the rest of us followed him, leaving the pack animals to follow us as they should

I saw the tall figure of a woman rush out of the door and pass quickly round the house.

But the man's figure did not appear in pursuit. Instead of this, the woman returned as quickly as she had gone,

The rough steepness of our trail had brought us down to a walk, and as we continued to press forward at this

pace as fast as we could, we compared a few notes. McLean did not think he saw any flash. Wiggin thought

that he had heard a sound, but it was at the moment when the Virginian's horse had noisily started away.

Our trail had now taken us down where we could no longer look across and see the cabin. And the halfmile

proved a long one over this ground. At length we reached and crossed the rocky ford, overtaking the

"These hawsses," said he, "are played out. We'll climb up to camp afoot. And just keep behind me for the

We obeyed our natural leader, and made ready for whatever we might be going into. We passed up the steep

bank and came again in sight of the door. It was still wide open. We stood, and felt a sort of silence which the

approach of two newcomers could not break. They joined us. They had been coming home from hunting,

and had plainly heard a shot here. We stood for a moment more after learning this, and then one of the men

called out the names of Hank and Willomene. Again weor I at leastfelt that same silence, which to my

"There's nobody in there," stated the Virginian. "Nobody that's alive," he added. And he crossed the cabin and

Though he made no gesture, I saw astonishment pass through his body, as he stopped still; and all of us came

after him. There hung the crucifix, with a round hole through the middle of it. One of the men went to it and

took it down; and behind it, sunk in the log, was the bullet. The cabin was but a single room, and every object

that it contained could be seen at a glance; nor was there hidingroom for anything. On the floor lay the axe

from the woodpile; but I will not tell of its appearance. So he had shot her crucifix, her Rock of Ages, the

thing which enabled her to bear her life, and that lifted her above life; and shebut there was the axe to

show what she had done then. Was this cabin really empty? I looked more slowly about, half dreading to find

that I had overlooked something. But it was as the Virginian had said; nobody was there.

As we were wondering, there was a noise above our heads, and I was not the only one who started and stared.

It was the parrot; and we stood away in a circle, looking up at his cage. Crouching flat on the floor of the

cage, his wings huddled tight to his body, he was swinging his head from side to side; and when he saw that

we watched him, he began a low croaking and monotonous utterance, which never changed, but remained

rapid and continuous. I heard McLean whisper to the Virginian, "You bet he knows."

The Virginian stepped to the door, and then he bent to the gravel and beckoned us to come and see. Among

the recent footprints at the threshold the man's bootheel was plain, as well as the woman's broad tread. But

while the man's steps led into the cabin, they did not lead away from it. We tracked his course just as we had

seen it through the glasses: up the hill from the brush to the window, and then to the door. But he had never

walked out again. Yet in the cabin he was not; we tore up the halffloor that it had. There was no use to dig

in the earth. And all the while that we were at this search the parrot remained crouched in the bottom of his

The latest heavy set of footprints led us from the door along the ditch, where they sank deep in the softer soil;

The tracks were very clear, and evidently had been made by a person moving slowly. Whatever theories our

various minds were now shaping, no one spoke a word to his neighbor, but we went along with a hush over

We had come to the edge of the timber, where a narrow black canyon began, and ahead of us the trail drew

near a slanting ledge, where the footing was of small loose stones. I recognized the odor, the volcanic whiff,

that so often prowls and meets one in the lonely woods of that region, but at first I failed to make out what

"Is he looking down into the hole himself?" some one asked; and then I did see a figure, the figure I had

looked at through the glasses, leaning strangely over the edge of Pitchstone Canyon, as if indeed he was

We came near. But those eyes were sightless, and in the skull the story of the axe was carved. By a piece of

his clothing he was hooked in the twisted roots of a dead tree, and hung there at the extreme verge. I went to

look over, and Lin McLean caught me as I staggered at the sight I saw. He would have lost his own foothold

She was there below; Hank's woman, brought from Austria to the New World. The vision of that brown

bundle lying in the water will never leave me, I think. She had carried the body to this point; but had she

intended this end? Or was some part of it an accident? Had she meant to take him with her? Had she meant to

stay behind herself? No word came from these dead to answer us. But as we stood speaking there, a giant

"He's talkin' to her! I tell yu' he's talkin' to her!" burst out McLean, suddenly, in such a voice that we stared as

he pointed at the man in the tree. "See him lean over! He's sayin', 'I have yu' beat after all.'" And McLean fell

Wiggin took the boy's arm kindly and walked him along the trail. He did not seem twenty yet. Life had not

It seemed one more pitiful straw that the lonely bundle should be left in such a vault of doom, with no last

touches of care from its fellowbeings, and no heap of kind earth to hide it. But whether the place is deadly

or not, man dares not venture into it. So they took Hank from the tree that night, and early next morning they

But the thought of Willomene lying in Pitchstone Canyon had kept sleep from me through that whole night,

nor did I wish to attend Hank's burial. I rose very early, while the sunshine had still a long way to come down

to us from the mountaintops, and I walked back along the cutoff trail. I was moved to look once more upon

that frightful place. And as I came to the edge of the timber, there was the Virginian. He did not expect any

one. He had set up the crucifix as near the dead tree as it could be firmly planted.

Some lines of verse came into my memory, and with a change or two I wrote them as deep as I could with my

"Call for the robin redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with flowers and leaves

do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call to this funeral dole The ant, the fieldmouse, and the

"That kind o' quaint language reminds me of a play I seen onced in Saynt Paul," said the Virginian. "About

"They are both good writers," said the Virginian. And as he was finishing the monument that we had made,

young Lin McLean joined us. He was a little ashamed of the feelings that he had shown yesterday, a little

"Well," he said, taking an offish, manoftheworld tone, "all this fuss just because a woman believed in

"You have put it down wrong," said the Virginian; "it's just because a man didn't."

At Santa Ysabel del Mar the season was at one of its moments when the air hangs quiet over land and sea.

The old breezes had gone; the new ones were not yet risen. The flowers in the mission garden opened wide,

for no wind came by day or night to shake the loose petals from their stems. Along the basking, silent,

manycolored shore gathered and lingered the crisp odors of the mountains. The dust floated golden and

motionless long after the rider was behind the hill, and the Pacific lay like a floor of sapphire, on which to

walk beyond the setting sun into the East. One white sail shone there. Instead of an hour, it had been from

dawn till afternoon in sight between the short headlands; and the padre had hoped that it might be his ship.

But it had slowly passed. Now from an arch in his garden cloisters he was watching the last of it. Presently it

was gone, and the great ocean lay empty. The padre put his glasses in his lap. For a short while he read in his

breviary, but soon forgot it again. He looked at the flowers and sunny ridges, then at the huge blue triangle of

sea which the opening of the hills let into sight."Paradise," he murmured, "need not hold more beauty and

peace. But I think I would exchange all my remaining years of this for one sight again of Paris or Seville.

Across the unstirred fragrance of oleanders the bell for vespers began to ring. Its tones passed over the padre

as he watched the sea in his garden. They reached his parishioners in their adobe dwellings near by. The

gentle circles of sound floated outward upon the smooth immense silenceover the vines and peartrees;

down the avenues of the olives; into the planted fields, whence women and children began to return; then out

of the lap of the valley along the yellow uplands, where the men that rode among the cattle paused, looking

down like birds at the map of their home. Then the sound widened, faint, unbroken, until it met Temptation

riding towards the padre from the south, and cheered the steps of Temptation's jaded horse

"For a day, one single day of Paris!" repeated the padre, gazing through his cloisters at the empty sea.

Once in the year the motherworld remembered him. Once in the year a barkentine came sailing with news

and tokens from Spain. It was in 1685 that a galleon had begun such voyages up to the lower country from

Acapulco, where she loaded the cargo that had come across Tehuantepec on mules from Vera Cruz. By 1768

she had added the new mission of San Diego to her ports. In the year that we, a thin strip of colonists away

over on the Atlantic edge of the continent, declared ourselves an independent nation, that Spanish ship, in the

name of Saint Francis, was unloading the centuries of her own civilization at the Golden Gate. Then, slowly,

as mission after mission was planted along the soft coast wilderness, she made new stopsat Santa Barbara,

for instance; and by Point San Luis for San Luis Obispo, that lay inland a little way up the gorge where it

opened among the hills. Thus the world reached these places by water; while on land, through the mountains,

a road came to lead to them, and also to many more that were too distant behind the hills for ships to

servea long, lonely, rough road, punctuated with church towers and gardens. For the fathers gradually so

stationed their settlements that the traveller might each morning ride out from one mission and by evening of

a day's fair journey ride into the next. A long, rough road; and in its way pretty to think of now.

So there, byandby, was our continent, with the locomotive whistling from Savannah to Boston along its

eastern edge, and on the other the scattered chimes of Spain ringing among the unpeopled mountains. Thus

grew the two sorts of civilizationnot equally. We know what has happened since. Today the locomotive

is whistling also from the Golden Gate to San Diego; but the old mission road goes through the mountains

still, and on it the steps of vanished Spain are marked with roses, and white cloisters, and the crucifix.

But this was 1855. Only the barkentine brought the world that he loved to the padre. As for the new world

which was making a rude noise to the northward, he trusted that it might keep away from Santa Ysabel, and

he waited for the vessel that was overdue with its package containing his single worldly indulgence.

As the little, ancient bronze bell continued its swinging in the tower, its plaintive call reached something in

the padre's memory. Without knowing, he began to sing. He took up the slow strain not quite correctly, and

At length he heard himself, and glancing at the belfry, smiled a little. "It is a pretty tune," he said, "and it

always made me sorry for poor Fra Diavolo. Auber himself confessed to me that he had made it sad and put

the hermitage bell to go with it because he too was grieved at having to kill his villain, and wanted him to die,

if possible, in a religious frame of mind. And Auber touched glasses with me and saidhow well I

remember it! 'Is it the good Lord, or is it merely the devil, that makes me always have a weakness for

rascals?' I told him it was the devil. I was not a priest then. I could not be so sure with my answer now." And

then Padre Ignazio repeated Auber's remark in French: "'Estce le bon Dieu, on estce bien le diable, qui me

fait tonjours aimer les coquins?' I don't know! I don't know! I wonder if Auber has composed anything lately?

He cast a farewell look at the ocean, and took his steps between the monastic herbs and the oleanders to the

sacristy. "At least," be said, "if we cannot carry with us into exile the friends and the places that we have

loved, music will go where we go, even to such an end of the world as this. Felipe!" he called to his organist.

"Then we will have that. And, Felipe" The padre crossed the chancel to the small shabby organ. "Rise, my

child, and listen. Here is something you can learn. Why, see now if you cannot learn it with a single hearing."

The swarthy boy of sixteen stood watching his master's fingers, delicate and white, as they played. So of his

own accord he had begun to watch them when a child of six; and the padre had taken the wild, halfscared,

"There, Felipe!" he said now. "Can you do it? Slower, and more softly, muchacho. It is about the death of a

The boy listened. "Then the father has played it a tone too low," said he; "for our bell rings the note of sol, or

something very near it, as the father must surely know." He placed the melody in the right keyan easy

"Ah, my Felipe," he exclaimed, "what could you and I not do if we had a better organ! Only a little better!

See! above this row of keys would be a second row, and many more stops. Then we would make such music

as has never been heard in California yet. But my people are so poor and so few! And some day I shall have

"They care nothing for us, Felipe. They are not of our religionor of any religion, from what I can hear.

Don't forget my Dixit Dominus." And the padre retired once more to the sacristy, while the horse that carried

The hour of service drew near; and as he waited, the padre once again stepped out for a look at the ocean; but

the blue triangle of water lay like a picture in its frame of land, empty as the sky. "I think, from the color,

The bell rang a last short summons to prayer. Along the road from the south a young rider, leading one

packanimal, ambled into the mission and dismounted. Church was not so much in his thoughts as food and,

in due time after that, a bed; but the doors stood open, and as everybody was going into them, more variety

was to be gained by joining this company than by waiting outside alone until they should return from their

devotions. So he seated himself at the back, and after a brief, jaunty glance at the sunburnt, shaggy

congregation, made himself as comfortable as might be. He had not seen a face worth keeping his eyes open

for. The simple choir and simple fold gathered for evensong, and paid him no attention on their parta

rough American bound for the mines was no longer anything but an object of aversion to them.

The padre, of course, had been instantly aware of the stranger's presence. For this is the sixth sense with

vicars of every creed and heresy; and if the parish is lonely and the worshippers few and seldom varying, a

newcomer will gleam out like a new book to be read. And a trained priest learns to read shrewdly the faces of

those who assemble to worship under his guidance. But American vagrants, with no thoughts save of

golddigging, and an overweening illiterate jargon for their speech, had long ceased to interest this priest,

even in his starvation for company and talk from the outside world; and therefore after the intoning, he sat

with his homesick thoughts unchanged, to draw both pain and enjoyment from the music that he had set to

the Dixit Dominus. He listened to the tender chorus that opens "William Tell"; and as the Latin psalm

proceeded, pictures of the past rose between him and the altar. One after another came these strains which he

had taken from the operas famous in their day, until at length the padre was murmuring to some music

seldom long out of his heartnot the Latin verse which the choir sang, but the original French words:

"Ah, voile man envie, Voila mon seul desir: Rendez moi ma patrie, Ou laissez moi mourir."

Then it happened that he saw the stranger in the back of the church again, and forgot his Dixit Dominus

straightway. The face of the young man was no longer hidden by the slouching position he had at first taken.

"I only noticed his clothes before," thought the padre. Restlessness was plain upon the handsome brow, and

in the mouth there was violence; but Padre Ignazio liked the eyes. "He is not saying any prayers," he

surmised, presently. "I doubt if he has said any for a long while. And he knows my music. He is of educated

people. He cannot be American. And nowyes, he has takenI think it must be a flower, from his pocket. I

shall have him to dine with me." And vespers ended with rosy clouds of eagerness drifting across the padre's

But the stranger made his own beginning. As the priest came from the church, the rebellious young figure

was waiting. "Your organist tells me," he said, impetuously, "that it is you who"

"May I ask with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?" said the padre, putting formality to the front

The stranger reddened, and became aware of the padre's features, moulded by refinement and the world. "I

beg your lenience," said he, with a graceful and confident utterance, as of equal to equal. "My name is Gaston

"Indeed yes, padre. But your music has astonished me to pieces. If you carried such associations as Ah! the

days and the nights!" he broke off. "To come down a California mountain," he resumed, "and find Paris at the

The young man gave an exclamation. "The whole world is ringing with it," he said.

"But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way from the whole world," said Padre Ignazio.

"Indeed it would not appear to be so," returned young Gaston. "I think the Comedie Francaise must be round

A thrill went through the priest at the theatre's name. "And have you been long in America?" he asked.

"An American!" said the surprised padre, with perhaps a flavor of disappointment in his voice." But no

Americans who have yet come this way have beenhave been"he veiled the too blunt expression of his

thought"have been familiar with 'The Huguenots,'" he finished, making a slight bow.

Villere took his undermeaning. "I come from New Orleans," he returned. "And in New Orleans there live

many of us who can recognize awho can recognize good music wherever we meet it." And he made a

The padre laughed outright with pleasure, and laid his hand upon the young man's arm. "You have no

It was with the air and gait of mutual understanding that the two now walked on together towards the padre's

"I should have thought," said Gaston, looking lightly at the empty mountains, "that now and again you might

The evening had now ripened to the long afterglow of sunset. The sea was the purple of grapes, and wine

Often he had thought of this resemblance, but never heard it told to him before. The courtly proprietor of San

Fernando, and the other patriarchal rancheros with whom he occasionally exchanged visits across the

wilderness, knew hospitality and inherited gentle manners, sending to Europe for silks and laces to give their

daughters; but their eyes had not looked upon Granada, and their ears had never listened to "William Tell."

"It is quite singular," pursued Gaston, "how one nook in the world will suddenly remind you of another nook

that may be thousands of miles away. One morning, behind the Quai Voltaire, an old yellow house with rusty

"I heard Rachel in 'Valerie' that night," the young man went on. "Did you know that she could sing too? She

sang several verses by an astonishing little Jew musician that has come up over there."

The padre gazed down at his blithe guest. "To see somebody, somebody, once again," he said, "is very

They had delayed on the threshold to look at the beauty of the evening, and now the priest watched his

parishioners come and go. "How can one make companions" he began; then, checking himself, he said:

"Their souls are as sacred and immortal as mine, and God helps me to help them. But in this world it is not

immortal souls that we choose for companions; it is kindred tastes, intelligences, andand so I and my

books are growing old together, you see," he added, more lightly. "You will find my volumes as behind the

He had fallen into talk more intimate than he wished; and while the guest was uttering something polite about

the nobility of missionary work, he placed him in an easychair and sought aguardiente for his immediate

refreshment. Since the year's beginning there had been no guest for him to bring into his rooms, or to sit

Such another library was not then in California; and though Gaston Villere, in leaving Harvard College, had

shut Horace and Sophocles forever at the earliest instant possible under academic requirements, he knew the

Greek and Latin names that he now saw as well as he knew those of Shakespeare, Dante, Moliere, and

Cervantes. These were here also; nor could it be precisely said of them, either, that they made a part of the

young man's daily reading. As he surveyed the padre's august shelves, it was with a touch of the florid

Southern gravity which his Northern education had not wholly schooled out of him that he said:

"I fear that I am no scholar, sir. But I know what writers every gentleman ought to respect."

It was when his eyes caught sight of the music that the young man felt again at ease, and his vivacity returned

to him. Leaving his chair, he began enthusiastically to examine the tall piles that filled one side of the room.

The volumes lay richly everywhere, making a pleasant disorder; and as perfume comes out of a flower,

memories of singers and chandeliers rose bright from the printed names. "Norma," "Tancredi," "Don

Pasquale," "La Vestale"dim lights in the fashions of todaysparkled upon the exploring Gaston,

conjuring the radiant halls of Europe before him. "'The Barber of Seville!'" he presently exclaimed."And I

But Seville's name brought over the padre a new rush of home thoughts. "Is not Andalusia beautiful?" he

"'Semiramide!'" cried Gaston, lighting upon that opera. "That was a week! I should like to live it over, every

"Then you saw Provence! And did you go, perhaps, from Avignon to Nismes by the Pont du Gard? There is a

place I have made herea little, little placewith olivetrees. And now they have grown, and it looks

something like that country, if you stand in a particular position. I will take you there tomorrow. I think you

"Another resemblance!" said the volatile and happy Gaston. "We both seem to have an eye for them. But,

believe me, padre, I could never stay here planting olives. I should go back and see the original onesand

then I'd hasten up to Paris. "And, with a volume of Meyerbeer open in his hand, Gaston hummed: "'Robert,

Robert, toi que j'aime.' Why, padre, I think that your library contains none of the masses and all of the operas

"I will make you a little confession," said Padre Ignazio, "and then you shall give me a little absolution."

"I suppose that I could not permit myself this indulgence," began the padre, pointing to his operas; "and teach

these to my choir, if the people had any worldly associations with the music. But I have reasoned that the

The ringing of a bell here interrupted him. "In fifteen minutes," he said, "our poor meal will be ready for

you." The good padre was not quite sincere when he spoke of a poor meal. While getting the aguardiente for

his guest he had given orders, and he knew how well such orders could be carried out. He lived alone, and

generally supped simply enough, but not even the ample table at San Fernando could surpass his own on

"Your halfbreeds will think I am one of themselves," said Gaston, showing his dusty clothes. "I am not fit to

be seated with you." He, too, was not more sincere than his host. In his pack, which an Indian had brought

from his horse, he carried some garments of civilization. And presently, after fresh water and not a little

painstaking with brush and scarf, there came back to the padre a young guest whose elegance and bearing and

ease of the great world were to the exiled priest as sweet as was his traveled conversation.

They repaired to the hall and took their seats at the head of the long table. For the stately Spanish centuries of

They were the only persons of quality present; and between themselves and the gente de razon a space

intervened. Behind the padre's chair stood an Indian to wait upon him, and another stood behind the chair of

Gaston Villere. Each of these servants wore one single white garment, and offered the many dishes to the

gente fina and refilled their glasses. At the lower end of the table a general attendant waited upon the

mescladosthe halfbreeds. There was meat with spices, and roasted quail, with various cakes and other

preparations of grain; also the black fresh olives, and grapes, with several sorts of figs and plums, and

preserved fruits, and white and red winethe white fifty years old. Beneath the quiet shining of candles,

There at one end of this feast sat the wild, pastoral, gaudy company, speaking little over their food; and there

at the other the pale padre, questioning his visitor about Rachel. The mere name of a street would bring

memories crowding to his lips; and when his guest would tell him of a new play, he was ready with old

quotations from the same author. Alfred de Vigny they had, and Victor Hugo, whom the padre disliked. Long

after the dulce, or sweet dish, when it was the custom for the vaqueros and the rest of the retainers to rise and

leave the gente fina to themselves, the host sat on in the empty hall, fondly telling the guest of his bygone

Paris, and fondly learning of the Paris that was today. And thus the two lingered, exchanging their fervors,

while the candles waned, and the longhaired Indians stood silent behind the chairs.

"But we must go to my piano," the host exclaimed. For at length they had come to a lusty difference of

opinion. The padre, with ears critically deaf, and with smiling, unconvinced eyes, was shaking his head,

while young Gaston sang "Trovatore" at him, and beat upon the table with a fork.

"Come and convert me, then," said Padre Ignazio, and he led the way. "Donizetti I have always admitted.

There, at least, is refinement. If the world has taken to this Verdi, with his streetband musicBut there,

now! Sit down and convert me. Only don't crush my poor little Erard with Verdi's hoofs. I brought it when I

came. It is behind the times too. And, oh, my dear boy, our organ is still worse. So old, so old! To get a

proper one I would sacrifice even this piano of mine in a momentonly the tinkling thing is not worth a sou

to anybody except its master. But there! Are you quite comfortable?" And having seen to his guest's needs,

and placed spirits and cigars and an ashtray within his reach, the padre sat himself luxuriously in his chair to

By midnight all of the opera that Gaston could recall had been played and sung twice. The convert sat in his

chair no longer, but stood singing by the piano. The potent swing and flow of tunes, the torrid, copious

inspiration of the South, mastered him. "Verdi has grown," he cried. "Verdi has become a giant." And he

swayed to the beat of the melodies, and waved an enthusiastic arm. He demanded every crumb. Why did not

Gaston remember it all? But if the barkentine would arrive and bring the whole music, then they would have

it right! And he made Gaston teach him what words he knew."'Non ti scordar,"' he sang"'non ti scordar di

me.' That is genius. But one sees how the world; moves when one is out of it. 'A nostri monti ritorneremo';

home to our mountains. Ah, yes, there is genius again." And the exile sighed and his spirit went to distant

Then the host remembered his guest. "I am ashamed of my selfishness," he said. "It is already tomorrow."

"I have sat later in less good company," answered the pleasant Gaston. "And I shall sleep all the sounder for

"You have dispensed roadside alms," said the padre, smiling. "And that should win excellent dreams."

Thus, with courtesies more elaborate than the world has time for at the present day, they bade each other

goodnight and parted, bearing their late candles along the quiet halls of the mission. To young Gaston in his

bed easy sleep came without waiting, and no dreams at all. Outside his open window was the quiet, serene

darkness, where the stars shone clear, and tranquil perfumes hung in the cloisters. And while the guest lay

sleeping all night in unchanged position like a child, up and down between the oleanders went Padre Ignazio,

Day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirror breathed upon; and there between

the short headlands came a sail, gray and plain against the flat water. The priest watched through his glasses,

and saw the gradual sun grow strong upon the canvas of the barkentine. The message from his world was at

hand, yet today he scarcely cared so much. Sitting in his garden yesterday he could never have imagined

such a change. But his heart did not hail the barkentine as usual. Books, music, pale paper, and printthis

was all that was coming to him, and some of its savor had gone; for the siren voice of life had been speaking

with him face to face, and in his spirit, deep down, the love of the world was restlessly answering that call.

Young Gaston showed more eagerness than the padre over this arrival of the vessel that might be bringing

"Trovatore" in the nick of time. Now he would have the chance, before he took his leave, to help rehearse the

new music with the choir. He would be a missionary too. A perfectly new experience.

"And you still forgive Verdi the sins of his youth?" he said to his host. "I wonder if you could forgive mine?"

"Ah, don't go away soon!" pleaded the exile. It was the plainest burst that had escaped him, and he felt instant

But Gaston was too much elated with the enjoyment of each new day to understand. The shafts of another's

pain might scarcely pierce the bright armor of his gayety. He mistook the priest's exclamation for anxiety

"Stay here under your care?" he said. "It would do me no good, padre. Temptation sticks closer to me than a

brother!" and he gave that laugh of his which disarmed severer judges than his host. "By next week I should

have introduced some sin or other into your beautiful Garden of Ignorance here. It will be much safer for

Soon after breakfast the padre had his two mules saddled, and he and his guest set forth down the hills

together to the shore. And beneath the spell and confidence of pleasant, slow riding, and the loveliness of

"And, seriously," said he, "if I missed nothing else at Santa Ysabel, I should long to hear the birds. At home

our gardens are full of them, and one smells the jasmine, and they sing and sing! When our ship from the

Isthmus put into San Diego, I decided to go on by land and see California. Then, after the first days, I began

to miss something. All that beauty seemed empty, in a way. And suddenly I found it was the birds. For these

little scampering quail are nothing. There seems a sort of death in the air where no birds ever sing."

"I shall find life!" exclaimed Gaston. "And my fortune at the mines, I hope. I am not a bad fellow, father. You

can easily guess all the things that I do. I have never, to my knowledge, harmed any one. I did not even try to

kill my adversary in an affair of honor. I gave him a mere flesh wound, and by this time he must be quite

Gaston stopped; and the padre, looking keenly at him, saw the violence that he had noticed in church pass

"I've nothing to confess," said Gaston, frankly. "I left New Orleans at once, and have travelled an innocent

journey straight to you. And when I make my fortune I shall be in a position to return and"

"Ah, you remember how those things are!" said Gaston; and he laughed also and blushed.

"Yes," said the padre, looking at the anchored barkentine, "I remember how those things are." And for a

while the vessel and its cargo and the landed men and various business and conversations occupied them. But

the freight for the mission once seen to, there was not much else to hang about here for.

The barkentine was only a coaster like many others which now had begun to fill the sea a little more of late

years, and presently host and guest were riding homeward. And guessing at the two men from their outsides,

any one would have got them precisely wrong; for within the turbulent young figure of Gaston dwelt a spirit

that could not be more at ease, while revolt was steadily smouldering beneath the schooled and placid mask

Yet still the strangeness of his being at such a place came back as a marvel into the young man's lively mind.

Twenty years in prison, he thought, and hardly aware of it! And he glanced at the silent priest. A man so

evidently fond of music, of theatres, of the world, to whom pressed flowers had meant something onceand

now contented to bleach upon these wastes! Not even desirous of a brief holiday, but finding an old organ

and some old operas enough recreation! "It is his age, I suppose," thought Gaston. And then the notion of

"Do you know, I do not believe," said he, "that I should ever reach such contentment as yours."

"I am certain that it must be a great possession," Gaston continued; "and yetand yetdear me! life is a

"Only one for me!" cried Gaston. "Action, men, women, thingsto be there, to be known, to play a part, to

sit in the front seats; to have people tell each other, 'There goes Gaston Villere!' and to deserve one's

prominence. Why, if I were Padre of Santa Ysabel del Mar for twenty yearsno! for one yeardo you

know what I should have done? Some day it would have been too much for me. I should have left these

savages to a pastor nearer their own level, and I should have ridden down this canyon upon my mule, and

stepped on board the barkentine, and gone back to my proper sphere. You will understand, sir, that I am far

from venturing to make any personal comment. I am only thinking what a world of difference lies between

men's natures who can feel alike as we do upon so many subjects. Why, not since leaving New Orleans have I

met any one with whom I could talk, except of the weather and the brute interests common to us all. That

"And, sirpardon me if I do say thisare you not wasted at Santa Ysabel del Mar? I have seen the priests at

the other missions They arethe sort of good men that I expected. But are you needed to save such souls as

"But the body and the mind!" cried Gaston. "My God, are they nothing? Do you think that they are given to

us for nothing but a trap? You cannot teach such a doctrine with your library there. And how about all the

cultivated men and women away from whose quickening society the brightest of us grow numb? You have

held out. But will it be for long? Do you not owe yourself to the saving of higher game henceforth? Are not

twenty years of mesclados enough? No, no!" finished young Gaston, hot with his unforeseen eloquence; "I

"No. Anything but that. You are surprised that I shouldchooseto stay here. Perhaps you may have

"Oh no. Put such an idea out of your head, my son. You may remember that I was going to make you a

"You have seen," began Padre Ignazio, "what sort of a man Iwas once. Indeed, it seems very strange to

myself that you should have been here not twentyfour hours yet, and know so much of me. For there has

come no one else at all"the padre paused a moment and mastered the unsteadiness that he had felt

approaching in his voice"there has been no one else to whom I have talked so freely. In my early days I

had no thought of being a priest. My parents destined me for a diplomatic career. There was plenty of money

andand all the rest of it; for by inheritance came to me the acquaintance of many people whose names you

would be likely to have heard of. Cities, people of fashion, artiststhe whole of it was my element and my

choice; and byandby I married, not only where it was desirable, but where I loved. Then for the first time

Death laid his staff upon my enchantment, and I understood many things that had been only words to me

hitherto. Looking back, it seemed to me that I had never done anything except for myself all my days. I left

the world. In due time I became a priest and lived in my own country. But my worldly experience and my

secular education had given to my opinions a turn too liberal for the place where my work was laid. I was

soon advised concerning this by those in authority over me. And since they could not change me and I could

not change them, yet wished to work and to teach, the New World was suggested, and I volunteered to give

the rest of my life to missions. It was soon found that some one was needed here, and for this little place I

sailed, and to these humble people I have dedicated my service. They are pastoral creatures of the soil. Their

vineyard and cattle days are apt to be like the sun and storm around themstrong alike in their evil and in

their good. All their years they live as childrenchildren with men's passions given to them like deadly

weapons, unable to measure the harm their impulses may bring. Hence, even in their crimes, their hearts will

generally open soon to the one great key of love, while civilization makes locks which that key cannot always

fit at the first turn. And coming to know this," said Padre Ignazio, fixing his eyes steadily upon Gaston, "you

will understand how great a privilege it is to help such people, and hour the sense of something

"Yes," said Gaston Villere. Then, thinking of himself, "I can understand it in a man like you."

"Do not speak of me at all!" exclaimed the padre, almost passionately. "But pray Heaven that you may find

"That is the whole of my story," the priest continued, with no more of the recent stress in his voice. "And now

I have talked to you about myself quite enough. But you must have my confession." He had now resumed

entirely his halfplayful tone. "I was just a little mistaken, you see too selfreliant, perhapswhen I

supposed, in my first missionary ardor, that I could get on without any remembrance of the world at all. I

found that I could not. And so I have taught the old operas to my choirsuch parts of them as are within our

compass and suitable for worship. And certain of my friends still alive at home are good enough to remember

this taste of mine, and to send me each year some of the new music that I should never hear of otherwise.

Then we study these things also. And although our organ is a miserable affair, Felipe manages very cleverly

to make it do. And while the voices are singing these operas, especially the old ones, what harm is there if

sometimes the priest is thinking of something else? So there's my confession! And now, whether 'Trovatore'

has come or not, I shall not allow you to leave us until you have taught all you know of it to Felipe."

The new opera, however, had duly arrived. And as he turned its pages Padre Ignazio was quick to seize at

once upon the music that could be taken into his church. Some of it was ready fitted. By that afternoon Felipe

and his choir could have rendered "Ah! se l'error t' ingombra" without slip or falter.

Those were strange rehearsals of "Il Trovatore" upon this California shore. For the padre looked to Gaston to

say when they went too fast or too slow, and to correct their emphasis. And since it was hot, the little Erard

piano was carried each day out into the mission garden. There, in the cloisters among the oleanders, in the

presence of the tall yellow hills and the blue triangle of sea, the "Miserere" was slowly learned. The

Mexicans and Indians gathered, swarthy and blackhaired, around the tinkling instrument that Felipe played;

and presiding over them were young Gaston and the pale padre, walking up and down the paths, beating time,

or singing now one part and now another. And so it was that the wild cattle on the uplands would hear

"Trovatore" hummed by a passing vaquero, while the same melody was filling the streets of the faroff

For three days Gaston Villere remained at Santa Ysabel del Mar; and though not a word of the sort came

from him, his host could read San Francisco and the goldmines in his countenance. No, the young man

could not have stayed here for twenty years! And the padre forbore urging his guest to extend his visit.

"But the world is small," the guest declared at parting. "Some day it will not be able to spare you any longer.

Again, as upon the first evening, the two exchanged a few courtesies, more graceful and particular than we,

who have not time, and fight no duels, find worth a man's while at the present day. For duels are gone, which

is a very good thing, and with them a certain careful politeness, which is a pity; but that is the way in the

general profit and loss. So young Gaston rode northward out of the mission, back to the world and his

fortune; and the padre stood watching the dust after the rider had passed from sight. Then he went into his

room with a drawn face. But appearances at least had been kept up to the end; the youth would never know of

Temptation had arrived with Gaston, but was going to make a longer stay at Santa Ysabel del Mar. Yet it was

something like a week before the priest knew what guest he had in his house now. The guest was not always

Sail away on the barkentine? That was a wild notion, to be sure, although fit enough to enter the brain of such

a young scapegrace. The padre shook his head and smiled affectionately when he thought of Gaston Villere.

The youth's handsome, reckless countenance would come before him, and he repeated Auber's old remark,

"Is it the good Lord, or is it merely the devil, that always makes me have a weakness for rascals?"

Sail away on the barkentine! Imagine taking leave of the people hereof Felipe! In what words should he

tell the boy to go on industriously with his music? No, this could not be imagined. The mere parting alone

would make it forever impossible that he should think of such a thing. "And then," he said to himself each

new morning, when he looked out at the ocean, "I have given my life to them. One does not take back a gift."

Pictures of his departure began to shine and melt in his drifting fancy. He saw himself explaining to Felipe

that now his presence was wanted elsewhere; that there would come a successor to take care of Santa

Ysabela younger man, more useful, and able to visit sick people at a distance. "For I am old now. I should

not be long here in any case." He stopped and pressed his hands together; he had caught his temptation in the

very act. Now he sat staring at his temptation's face, close to him, while there in the triangle two ships went

One morning Felipe told him that the barkentine was here on its return voyage south. "Indeed?" said the

padre, coldly. "The things are ready to go, I think." For the vessel called for mail and certain boxes that the

mission sent away. Felipe left the room, in wonder at the padre's manner. But the priest was laughing alone

inside to see how little it was to him where the barkentine was, or whether it should be coming or going. But

in the afternoon, at his piano, he found himself saying, "Other ships call here, at any rate." And then for the

first time he prayed to be delivered from his thoughts. Yet presently he left his seat and looked out of the

The season of the winemaking passed, and the putting up of all the fruits that the mission fields grew.

Lotions and medicines were distilled from the garden herbs. Perfume was manufactured from the petals of the

flowers and certain spices, and presents of it despatched to San Fernando and Ventura, and to friends at other

places; for the padre had a special receipt. As the time ran on, two or three visitors passed a night with him;

and presently there was a word at various missions that Padre Ignazio had begun to show his years. At Santa

Ysabel del Mar they whispered, "The padre is getting sick." Yet he rode a great deal over the hills by himself,

and down the canyon very often, stopping where he had sat with Gaston, to sit alone and look up and down,

now at the hills above, and now at the ocean below. Among his parishioners he had certain troubles to soothe,

certain wounds to heal; a home from which he was able to drive jealousy; a girl whom he bade her lover set

right. But all said, "The padre is sick." And Felipe told them that the music seemed nothing to him any more;

he never asked for his Dixit Dominus nowadays. Then for a short time he was really in bed, feverish with the

two voices that spoke to him without ceasing ."You have given your life," said one voice. "And therefore,"

said the other, "have earned the right to go home and die." "You are winning better rewards in the service of

God," said the first voice. "God can be served in other places than this," answered the second. As he lay

listening he saw Seville again, and the trees of Aranhal, where he had been born. The wind was blowing

through them; and in their branches he could hear the nightingales. "Empty! Empty!" he said, aloud. "He was

right about the birds. Death does live in the air where they never sing." And he lay for two days and nights

hearing the wind and the nightingales in the trees of Aranhal. But Felipe, watching, heard only the padre

Then the wind in the trees died down, and the padre could get out of bed, and soon could be in the garden.

But the voices within him still talked all the while as he sat watching the sails when they passed between the

headlands. Their words, falling forever the same way, beat his spirit sore, like bruised flesh. If he could only

"Has the padre any mail for Santa Barbara?" said Felipe. "The ship bound southward should be here

At Felipe's words the voices had stopped, a clock done striking. Silence, strained like expectation, filled the

padre's soul. But in place of the voices came old sights of home again, the waving trees at Aranhal; then

would be Rachel for a moment, deciaiming tragedy while a houseful of faces that he knew by name watched

her; and through all the panorama rang the pleasant laugh of Gaston. For a while in the evening the padre sat

at his Erard playing "Trovatore." Later, in his sleepless bed he lay, saying now a then: "To die at home!

Surely I may granted at least this." And he listened for the inner voices. But they were not speaking any

more, and the black hole of silence grew more dreadful to him than their arguments. Then the dawn came in

at his window, and he lay watching its gray grow warm into color, us suddenly he sprang from his bed and

looked the sea. The southbound ship was coming. People were on board who in a few weeks would be sailing

the Atlantic, while he would stand here looking out of the same window. "Merciful God!" he cried, sinking

on knees. "Heavenly Father, Thou seest this evil in my heart. Thou knowest that my weak hand cannot pluck

it out. My strength is breaking, and still Thou makest my burden heavier than I can bear." He stopped,

breathless and trembling. The same visions were flitting across his closed eyes; the same silence gaped like a

dry crater in his soul. "There is no help in earth or heaven," he said, very quietly; and he dressed himself.

It was so early still that none but a few of the Indians were stirring, and one of them saddled the padre's mule.

Felipe was not yet awake, and for a moment it came in the priest's mind to open the boy's door softly, look at

him once more, and come away. But this he did not do, nor even take a farewell glance at the church and

organ. He bade nothing farewell, but, turning his back upon his room and his garden, rode down the caution.

The vessel lay at anchor, and some one had landed from her and was talking with other men on the shore.

"Then you will save me a journey. I promised him to deliver these into your own hands."

"A bag of golddust," he explained, "and a letter. I wrote it from his dictation while he was dying. He lived

The stranger bowed his head at the stricken cry which his news elicited from the priest, who, after a few

MY DEAR FRIEND,It is through no man's fault but mine that I have come to this. I have had plenty of

luck, and lately have been counting the days until I should return home. But last night heavy news from New

Orleans reached me, and I tore the pressed flower to pieces. Under the first smart and humiliation of broken

faith I was rendered desperate, and picked a needless quarrel. Thank God, it is I who have the punishment.

My dear friend, as I lie here, leaving a world that no man ever loved more, I have come to understand you.

For you and your mission have been much in my thoughts. It is strange how good can be done, not at the time

when it is intended, but afterwards; and you have done this good to me. I say over your words, Contentment

with renunciation, and believe that at this last hour I have gained something like what you would wish me to

feel. For I do not think that I desire it otherwise now. My life would never have been of service, I am afraid.

You are the last person in this world who has spoken serious words to me, and I want you to know that now

at length I value the peace of Santa Ysabel as I could never have done but for seeing your wisdom and

goodness. You spoke of a new organ for your church. Take the golddust that will reach you with this, and

do what you will with it. Let me at least in dying have helped some one. And since there is no aristocracy in

soulsyou said that to me; do you remember?perhaps you will say a mass for this departing soul of mine.

I only wish, since my body must go underground in a strange country, that it might have been at Santa Ysabel

"'At Santa Ysabel del Mar, where your feet would often pass.'" The priest repeated this final sentence aloud,

"Those are the last words he ever spoke," said the stranger, "except bidding goodbye to me."

The priest looked at the ship that would sail onward this afternoon. Then a smile of great beauty passed over

his face, and he addressed the stranger. "I thank you," said he. "You will never know what you have done for

"It is nothing," answered the stranger, awkwardly. "He told me you set great store on a new organ."

Padre Ignazio turned away from the ship and rode back through the gorge. When he reached the shady place

where once he had sat with Gaston Villere, he dismounted and again sat there, alone by the stream, for many

hours. Long rides and outings had been lately so much his custom, that no one thought twice of his absence;

and when he returned to the mission in the afternoon, the Indian took his mule, and he went to his seat in the

garden. But it was with another look that he watched the sea; and presently the sail moved across the blue

triangle, and soon it had rounded the headland. Gaston's first coming was in the padre's mind; and as the

vespers bell began to ring in the cloistered silence, a fragment of Auber's plaintive tune passed like a sigh

But for the repose of Gaston's soul they sang all that he had taught them of "Il Trovatore."

Thus it happened that Padre Ignazio never went home, but remained cheerful master of the desires to do so

that sometimes visited him, until the day came when he was called altogether away from this world, and