Page 3 of Frontier Stories

  IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS.

  CHAPTER I.

  The sun was going down on the Carquinez Woods. The few shafts ofsunlight that had pierced their pillared gloom were lost inunfathomable depths, or splintered their ineffectual lances on theenormous trunks of the redwoods. For a time the dull red of their vastcolumns, and the dull red of their cast-off bark which matted theecholess aisles, still seemed to hold a faint glow of the dying day.But even this soon passed. Light and color fled upwards. The dark,interlaced tree-tops, that had all day made an impenetrable shade,broke into fire here and there; their lost spires glittered, faded, andwent utterly out. A weird twilight that did not come from an outerworld, but seemed born of the wood itself, slowly filled and possessedthe aisles. The straight, tall, colossal trunks rose dimly like columnsof upward smoke. The few fallen trees stretched their huge length intoobscurity, and seemed to lie on shadowy trestles. The strange breaththat filled these mysterious vaults had neither coldness nor moisture;a dry, fragrant dust arose from the noiseless foot that trod theirbark-strewn floor; the aisles might have been tombs, the fallen trees,enormous mummies; the silence, the solitude of the forgotten past.

  And yet this silence was presently broken by a recurring sound likebreathing, interrupted occasionally by inarticulate and stertorousgasps. It was not the quick, panting, listening breath of some stealthyfeline or canine animal, but indicated a larger, slower, and morepowerful organization, whose progress was less watchful and guarded, oras if a fragment of one of the fallen monsters had become animate. Attimes this life seemed to take visible form, but as vaguely, asmisshapenly, as the phantom of a nightmare. Now it was a square objectmoving sideways, endways, with neither head nor tail and scarcelyvisible feet; then an arched bulk rolling against the trunks of thetrees and recoiling again, or an upright cylindrical mass, but alwaysoscillating and unsteady, and striking the trees on either hand. Thefrequent occurrence of the movement suggested the figures of some weirdrhythmic dance to music heard by the shape alone. Suddenly it eitherbecame motionless or faded away.

  There was the frightened neighing of a horse, the sudden jingling ofspurs, a shout and outcry, and the swift apparition of three dancingtorches in one of the dark aisles; but so intense was the obscuritythat they shed no light on surrounding objects, and seemed to advanceat their own volition without human guidance, until they disappearedsuddenly behind the interposing bulk of one of the largest trees.Beyond its eighty feet of circumference the light could not reach, andthe gloom remained inscrutable. But the voices and jingling spurs wereheard distinctly.

  "Blast the mare! She's shied off that cursed trail again."

  "Ye ain't lost it agin, hev ye?" growled a second voice.

  "That's jist what I hev. And these blasted pine-knots don't give lightan inch beyond 'em. D----d if I don't think they make this cursed holeblacker."

  There was a laugh--a woman's laugh--hysterical, bitter, sarcastic,exasperating. The second speaker, without heeding it, went on:

  "What in thunder skeert the hosses? Did you see or hear anything?"

  "Nothin'. The wood is like a graveyard."

  The woman's voice again broke into a hoarse, contemptuous laugh. Theman resumed angrily:

  "If you know anything, why in h--ll don't you say so, instead ofcackling like a d----d squaw there? P'raps you reckon you ken find thetrail too."

  "Take this rope off my wrist," said the woman's voice, "untie my hands,let me down, and I'll find it." She spoke quickly and with a Spanishaccent.

  It was the men's turn to laugh. "And give you a show to snatch thatsix-shooter and blow a hole through me, as you did to the Sheriff ofCalaveras, eh? Not if this court understands itself," said the firstspeaker dryly.

  "Go to the devil, then," she said curtly.

  "Not before a lady," responded the other. There was another laugh fromthe men, the spurs jingled again, the three torches reappeared frombehind the tree, and then passed away in the darkness.

  For a time silence and immutability possessed the woods; the greattrunks loomed upwards, their fallen brothers stretched their slowlength into obscurity. The sound of breathing again became audible; theshape reappeared in the aisle, and recommenced its mystic dance.Presently it was lost in the shadow of the largest tree, and to thesound of breathing succeeded a grating and scratching of bark.Suddenly, as if riven by lightning, a flash broke from the centre ofthe tree-trunk, lit up the woods, and a sharp report rang through it.After a pause the jingling of spurs and the dancing of torches wererevived from the distance.

  "Hallo?"

  No answer.

  "Who fired that shot?"

  But there was no reply. A slight veil of smoke passed away to theright, there was the spice of gunpowder in the air, but nothing more.

  The torches came forward again, but this time it could be seen theywere held in the hands of two men and a woman. The woman's hands weretied at the wrist to the horse-hair reins of her mule, while a _riata_,passed around her waist and under the mule's girth, was held by one ofthe men, who were both armed with rifles and revolvers. Theirfrightened horses curveted, and it was with difficulty they could bemade to advance.

  "Ho! stranger, what are you shooting at?"

  The woman laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Look yonder at the rootsof the tree. You're a d----d smart man for a sheriff, ain't you?"

  The man uttered an exclamation and spurred his horse forward, but theanimal reared in terror. He then sprang to the ground and approachedthe tree. The shape lay there, a scarcely distinguishable bulk.

  "A grizzly, by the living Jingo! Shot through the heart."

  It was true. The strange shape lit up by the flaring torches seemedmore vague, unearthly, and awkward in its dying throes, yet the smallshut eyes, the feeble nose, the ponderous shoulders, and half-humanfoot armed with powerful claws were unmistakable. The men turned by acommon impulse and peered into the remote recesses of the wood again.

  "Hi, Mister! come and pick up your game. Hallo there!"

  The challenge fell unheeded on the empty woods.

  "And yet," said he whom the woman had called the sheriff, "he can't befar off. It was a close shot, and the bear hez dropped in his tracks.Why, wot's this sticking in his claws?"

  The two men bent over the animal. "Why, it's sugar, brown sugar--look!"There was no mistake. The huge beast's fore paws and muzzle werestreaked with the unromantic household provision, and heightened theabsurd contrast of its incongruous members. The woman, apparentlyindifferent, had taken that opportunity to partly free one of herwrists.

  "If we hadn't been cavorting round this yer spot for the last halfhour, I'd swear there was a shanty not a hundred yards away," said thesheriff.

  The other man, without replying, remounted his horse instantly.

  "If there is, and it's inhabited by a gentleman that kin make centreshots like that in the dark, and don't care to explain how, I reckon Iwon't disturb him."

  The sheriff was apparently of the same opinion, for he followed hiscompanion's example, and once more led the way. The spurs tinkled, thetorches danced, and the cavalcade slowly reentered the gloom. Inanother moment it had disappeared.

  The wood sank again into repose, this time disturbed by neither shapenor sound. What lower forms of life might have crept close to its rootswere hidden in the ferns, or passed with deadened tread over thebark-strewn floor. Towards morning a coolness like dew fell from above,with here and there a dropping twig or nut, or the crepitant awakeningand stretching-out of cramped and weary branches. Later a dull, luriddawn, not unlike the last evening's sunset, filled the aisles. Thisfaded again, and a clear gray light, in which every object stood out insharp distinctness, took its place. Morning was waiting outside in allits brilliant, youthful coloring, but only entered as the matured andsobered day.

  Seen in that stronger light, the monstrous tree near which the deadbear lay revealed its age in its denuded and scarred trunk, and showedin its base a deep cavity, a foot or two from the ground, partly hiddenb
y hanging strips of bark which had fallen across it. Suddenly one ofthese strips was pushed aside, and a young man leaped lightly down.

  But for the rifle he carried and some modern peculiarities of dress, hewas of a grace so unusual and unconventional that he might have passedfor a faun who was quitting his ancestral home. He stepped to the sideof the bear with a light elastic movement that was as unlike customaryprogression as his face and figure were unlike the ordinary types ofhumanity. Even as he leaned upon his rifle, looking down at theprostrate animal, he unconsciously fell into an attitude that in anyother mortal would have been a pose, but with him was the picturesqueand unstudied relaxation of perfect symmetry.

  "Hallo, Mister!"

  He raised his head so carelessly and listlessly that he did nototherwise change his attitude. Stepping from behind the tree, the womanof the preceding night stood before him. Her hands were free except fora thong of the _riata_, which was still knotted around one wrist, theend of the thong having been torn or burnt away. Her eyes werebloodshot, and her hair hung over her shoulders in one long blackbraid.

  "I reckoned all along it was _you_ who shot the bear," she said; "atleast some one hidin' yer," and she indicated the hollow tree with herhand. "It wasn't no chance shot." Observing that the young man, eitherfrom misconception or indifference, did not seem to comprehend her, sheadded, "We came by here, last night, a minute after you fired."

  "Oh, that was _you_ kicked up such a row, was it?" said the young man,with a shade of interest.

  "I reckon," said the woman, nodding her head, "and them that was withme."

  "And who are they?"

  "Sheriff Dunn, of Yolo, and his deputy."

  "And where are they now?"

  "The deputy--in h--ll, I reckon. I don't know about the sheriff."

  "I see," said the young man quietly; "and you?"

  "I--got away," she said savagely. But she was taken with a suddennervous shiver, which she at once repressed by tightly dragging hershawl over her shoulders and elbows, and folding her arms defiantly.

  "And you're going?"

  "To follow the deputy, may be," she said gloomily. "But come, I say,ain't you going to treat? It's cursed cold here."

  "Wait a moment." The young man was looking at her, with his archedbrows slightly knit and a half smile of curiosity. "Ain't you Teresa?"

  She was prepared for the question, but evidently was not certainwhether she would reply defiantly or confidently. After an exhaustivescrutiny of his face she chose the latter, and said, "You can bet yourlife on it, Johnny."

  "I don't bet, and my name isn't Johnny. Then you're the woman whostabbed Dick Curson over at Lagrange's?"

  She became defiant again. "That's me, all the time. What are you goingto do about it?"

  "Nothing. And you used to dance at the Alhambra?"

  She whisked the shawl from her shoulders, held it up like a scarf, andmade one or two steps of the _sembicuacua_. There was not the leastgayety, recklessness, or spontaneity in the action; it was simplymechanical bravado. It was so ineffective, even upon her own feelings,that her arms presently dropped to her side, and she coughedembarrassedly. "Where's that whiskey, pardner?" she asked.

  The young man turned toward the tree he had just quitted, and withoutfurther words assisted her to mount to the cavity. It was anirregular-shaped vaulted chamber, pierced fifty feet above by a shaftor cylindrical opening in the decayed trunk, which was blackened bysmoke as if it had served the purpose of a chimney. In one corner lay abearskin and blanket; at the side were two alcoves or indentations, oneof which was evidently used as a table, and the other as a cupboard. Inanother hollow, near the entrance, lay a few small sacks of flour,coffee, and sugar, the sticky contents of the latter still strewing thefloor. From this storehouse the young man drew a wicker flask ofwhiskey, and handed it, with a tin cup of water, to the woman. Shewaved the cup aside, placed the flask to her lips, and drank theundiluted spirit. Yet even this was evidently bravado, for the waterstarted to her eyes, and she could not restrain the paroxysm ofcoughing that followed.

  "I reckon that's the kind that kills at forty rods," she said, with ahysterical laugh. "But I say, pardner, you look as if you were fixedhere to stay," and she stared ostentatiously around the chamber. Butshe had already taken in its minutest details, even to observing thatthe hanging strips of bark could be disposed so as to completely hidethe entrance.

  "Well, yes," he replied; "it wouldn't be very easy to pull up thestakes and move the shanty further on."

  Seeing that either from indifference or caution he had not accepted hermeaning, she looked at him fixedly, and said,--

  "What is your little game?"

  "Eh?"

  "What are you hiding for--here in this tree?"

  "But I'm not hiding."

  "Then why didn't you come out when they hailed you last night?"

  "Because I didn't care to."

  Teresa whistled incredulously. "All right--then if you're not hiding,I'm going to." As he did not reply, she went on: "If I can keep out ofsight for a couple of weeks, this thing will blow over here, and I canget across into Yolo. I could get a fair show there, where the boysknow me. Just now the trails are all watched, but no one would think oflookin' here."

  "Then how did you come to think of it?" he asked carelessly.

  "Because I knew that bear hadn't gone far for that sugar; because Iknew he hadn't stole it from a _cache_--it was too fresh, and we'd haveseen the torn-up earth; because we had passed no camp; and because Iknew there was no shanty here. And, besides," she added in a low voice,"may be I was huntin' a hole myself to die in--and spotted it byinstinct."

  There was something in this suggestion of a hunted animal that, unlikeanything she had previously said or suggested, was not exaggerated, andcaused the young man to look at her again. She was standing under thechimney-like opening, and the light from above illuminated her head andshoulders. The pupils of her eyes had lost their feverish prominence,and were slightly suffused and softened as she gazed abstractedlybefore her. The only vestige of her previous excitement was in herleft-hand fingers, which were incessantly twisting and turning adiamond ring upon her right hand, but without imparting the leastanimation to her rigid attitude. Suddenly, as if conscious of hisscrutiny, she stepped aside out of the revealing light, and by a swiftfeminine instinct raised her hand to her head as if to adjust herstraggling hair. It was only for a moment, however, for, as if aware ofthe weakness, she struggled to resume her aggressive pose.

  "Well," she said. "Speak up. Am I goin' to stop here, or have I got toget up and get?"

  "You can stay," said the young man quietly; "but as I've got myprovisions and ammunition here, and haven't any other place to go tojust now, I suppose we'll have to share it together."

  She glanced at him under her eyelids, and a half-bitter,half-contemptuous smile passed across her face. "All right, old man,"she said, holding out her hand, "it's a go. We'll start in housekeepingat once, if you like."

  "I'll have to come here once or twice a day," he said, quitecomposedly, "to look after my things, and get something to eat; butI'll be away most of the time, and what with camping out under thetrees every night I reckon my share won't incommode you."

  She opened her black eyes upon him, at this original proposition. Thenshe looked down at her torn dress. "I suppose this style of thing ain'tvery fancy, is it?" she said, with a forced laugh.

  "I think I know where to beg or borrow a change for you, if you can'tget any," he replied simply.

  She stared at him again. "Are you a family man?"

  "No."

  She was silent for a moment. "Well," she said, "you can tell your girlI'm not particular about its being in the latest fashion."

  There was a slight flush on his forehead as he turned toward the littlecupboard, but no tremor in his voice as he went on: "You'll find teaand coffee here, and, if you're bored, there's a book or two. You read,don't you--I mean English?"

  She nodded, but cast a look of un
disguised contempt upon the two worn,coverless novels he held out to her. "You haven't got last week's'Sacramento Union,' have you? I hear they have my case all in; onlythem lying reporters made it out against me all the time."

  "I don't see the papers," he replied curtly.

  "They say there's a picture of me in the 'Police Gazette,' taken in theact," and she laughed.

  He looked a little abstracted, and turned as if to go. "I think you'lldo well to rest a while just now, and keep as close hid as possibleuntil afternoon. The trail is a mile away at the nearest point, butsome one might miss it and stray over here. You're quite safe if you'recareful, and stand by the tree. You can build a fire here," he steppedunder the chimney-like opening, "without its being noticed. Even thesmoke is lost and cannot be seen so high."

  The light from above was falling on his head and shoulders, as it hadon hers. She looked at him intently.

  "You travel a good deal on your figure, pardner, don't you?" she said,with a certain admiration that was quite sexless in its quality; "but Idon't see how you pick up a living by it in the Carquinez Woods. Soyou're going, are you? You might be more sociable. Good-by."

  "Good-by!" He leaped from the opening.

  "I say, pardner!"

  He turned a little impatiently. She had knelt down at the entrance, soas to be nearer his level, and was holding out her hand. But he did notnotice it, and she quietly withdrew it.

  "If anybody dropped in and asked for you, what name will they say?"

  He smiled. "Don't wait to hear."

  "But suppose _I_ wanted to sing out for you, what will I call you?"

  He hesitated. "Call me--Lo."

  "Lo, the poor Indian?" [The first word of Pope's familiar apostrophe ishumorously used in the far West as a distinguishing title for theIndian.]

  "Exactly."

  It suddenly occurred to the woman, Teresa, that in the young man'sheight, supple, yet erect carriage, color, and singular gravity ofdemeanor there was a refined, aboriginal suggestion. He did not looklike any Indian she had ever seen, but rather as a youthful chief mighthave looked. There was a further suggestion in his fringed buckskinshirt and moccasins; but before she could utter the half-sarcasticcomment that rose to her lips he had glided noiselessly away, even asan Indian might have done.

  She readjusted the slips of hanging bark with feminine ingenuity,dispersing them so as to completely hide the entrance. Yet this did notdarken the chamber, which seemed to draw a purer and more vigorouslight through the soaring shaft that pierced the room than that whichcame from the dim woodland aisles below. Nevertheless, she shivered,and drawing her shawl closely around her began to collect somehalf-burnt fragments of wood in the chimney to make a fire. But thepreoccupation of her thoughts rendered this a tedious process, as shewould from time to time stop in the middle of an action and fall intoan attitude of rapt abstraction, with far-off eyes and rigid mouth.When she had at last succeeded in kindling a fire and raising a film ofpale blue smoke, that seemed to fade and dissipate entirely before itreached the top of the chimney shaft, she crouched beside it, fixed hereyes on the darkest corner of the cavern, and became motionless.

  What did she see through that shadow?

  Nothing at first but a confused medley of figures and incidents of thepreceding night; things to be put away and forgotten; things that wouldnot have happened but for another thing--the thing before whicheverything faded! A ball-room; the sounds of music; the one man she hadcared for insulting her with the flaunting ostentation of hisunfaithfulness; herself despised, put aside, laughed at, or worse,jilted. And then the moment of delirium, when the light danced; the onewild act that lifted her, the despised one, above them all--made herthe supreme figure, to be glanced at by frightened women, stared at byhalf-startled, half-admiring men! "Yes," she laughed; but struck by thesound of her own voice, moved twice round the cavern nervously, andthen dropped again into her old position.

  As they carried him away he had laughed at her--like a hound that hewas; he who had praised her for her spirit, and incited her revengeagainst others; he who had taught her to strike when she was insulted;and it was only fit he should reap what he had sown. She was what he,what other men, had made her. And what was she now? What had she beenonce?

  She tried to recall her childhood: the man and woman who might havebeen her father and mother; who fought and wrangled over her precociouslittle life; abused or caressed her as she sided with either; and thenleft her with a circus troupe, where she first tasted the power of hercourage, her beauty, and her recklessness. She remembered those flashesof triumph that left a fever in her veins--a fever that when it failedmust be stimulated by dissipation, by anything, by everything thatwould keep her name a wonder in men's mouths, an envious fear to women.She recalled her transfer to the strolling players; her cheappleasures, and cheaper rivalries and hatred--but always Teresa! thedaring Teresa! the reckless Teresa! audacious as a woman, invincible asa boy; dancing, flirting, fencing, shooting, swearing, drinking,smoking, fighting Teresa! "Oh, yes; she had been loved, perhaps--whoknows?--but always feared. Why should she change now? Ha, he shouldsee."

  She had lashed herself in a frenzy, as was her wont, with gestures,ejaculations, oaths, adjurations, and passionate apostrophes, but withthis strange and unexpected result. Heretofore she had always beensustained and kept up by an audience of some kind or quality, if onlyperhaps a humble companion; there had always been some one she couldfascinate or horrify, and she could read her power mirrored in theireyes. Even the half-abstracted indifference of her strange host hadbeen something. But she was alone now. Her words fell on apatheticsolitude; she was acting to viewless space. She rushed to the opening,dashed the hanging bark aside and leaped to the ground.

  She ran forward wildly a few steps, and stopped.

  "Hallo!" she cried. "Look, 'tis I, Teresa!"

  The profound silence remained unbroken. Her shrillest tones were lostin an echoless space, even as the smoke of her fire had faded into pureether. She stretched out her clenched fists as if to defy the pillaredausterities of the vaults around her.

  "Come and take me if you dare!"

  The challenge was unheeded. If she had thrown herself violently againstthe nearest tree-trunk, she could not have been stricken morebreathless than she was by the compact, embattled solitude thatencompassed her. The hopelessness of impressing these cold and passivevaults with her selfish passion filled her with a vague fear. In herrage of the previous night she had not seen the wood in its profoundimmobility. Left alone with the majesty of those enormous columns, shetrembled and turned faint. The silence of the hollow tree she had justquitted seemed to her less awful than the crushing presence of thesemute and monstrous witnesses of her weakness. Like a wounded quail withlowered crest and trailing wing, she crept back to her hiding-place.

  Even then the influence of the wood was still upon her. She picked upthe novel she had contemptuously thrown aside only to let it fall againin utter weariness. For a moment her feminine curiosity was excited bythe discovery of an old book, in whose blank leaves were pressed avariety of flowers and woodland grasses. As she could not conceive thatthese had been kept for any but a sentimental purpose, she wasdisappointed to find that underneath each was a sentence in an unknowntongue, that even to her untutored eye did not appear to be thelanguage of passion. Finally she rearranged the couch of skins andblankets, and, imparting to it in three clever shakes an entirelydifferent character, lay down to pursue her reveries. But natureasserted herself, and ere she knew it she was fast asleep.

  So intense and prolonged had been her previous excitement that, thetension once relieved, she passed into a slumber of exhaustion so deepthat she seemed scarce to breathe. High noon succeeded morning, thecentral shaft received a single ray of upper sunlight, the afternooncame and went, the shadows gathered below, the sunset fires began toeat their way through the groined roof, and she still slept. She slepteven when the bark hangings of the chamber were put aside, and theyoung man reentered.

/>   He laid down a bundle he was carrying, and softly approached thesleeper. For a moment he was startled from his indifference; she lay sostill and motionless. But this was not all that struck him; the facebefore him was no longer the passionate, haggard visage that confrontedhim that morning; the feverish air, the burning color, the strainedmuscles of mouth and brow, and the staring eyes were gone; wiped away,perhaps, by the tears that still left their traces on cheek and darkeyelash. It was a face of a handsome woman of thirty, with even asuggestion of softness in the contour of the cheek and arching of herupper lip, no longer rigidly drawn down in anger, but relaxed by sleepon her white teeth.

  With the lithe, soft tread that was habitual to him, the young manmoved about, examining the condition of the little chamber and itsstock of provisions and necessaries, and withdrew presently, toreappear as noiselessly with a tin bucket of water. This done hereplenished the little pile of fuel with an armful of bark and pinecones, cast an approving glance about him, which included the sleeper,and silently departed.

  It was night when she awoke. She was surrounded by a profound darkness,except where the shaft-like opening made a nebulous mist in the cornerin her wooden cavern. Providentially she struggled back toconsciousness slowly, so that the solitude and silence came upon hergradually, with a growing realization of the events of the pasttwenty-four hours, but without a shock. She was alone here, but safestill, and every hour added to her chances of ultimate escape. Sheremembered to have seen a candle among the articles on the shelf, andshe began to grope her way toward the matches. Suddenly she stopped.What was that panting?

  Was it her own breathing, quickened with a sudden nameless terror? orwas there something outside? Her heart seemed to stop beating while shelistened. Yes! it was a panting outside--a panting now increased,multiplied, redoubled, mixed with the sounds of rustling, tearing,craunching, and occasionally a quick, impatient snarl. She crept on herhands and knees to the opening and looked out. At first the groundseemed to be undulating between her and the opposite tree. But a secondglance showed her the black and gray, bristling, tossing backs oftumbling beasts of prey, charging the carcass of the bear that lay atits roots, or contesting for the prize with gluttonous choked breath,sidelong snarls, arched spines, and recurved tails. One of the boldesthad leaped upon a buttressing root of her tree within a foot of theopening.

  The excitement, awe, and terror she had undergone culminated in onewild, maddened scream, that seemed to pierce even the cold depths ofthe forest, as she dropped on her face, with her hands clasped over hereyes in an agony of fear.

  Her scream was answered, after a pause, by a sudden volley offirebrands and sparks into the midst of the panting, crowding pack; afew smothered howls and snaps, and a sudden dispersion of theconcourse. In another moment the young man, with a blazing brand ineither hand, leaped upon the body of the bear.

  Teresa raised her head, uttered a hysterical cry, slid down the tree,flew wildly to his side, caught convulsively at his sleeve, and fell onher knees beside him.

  "Save me! save me!" she gasped, in a voice broken by terror. "Save mefrom those hideous creatures. No, no!" she implored, as he endeavoredto lift her to her feet. "No--let me stay here close beside you. So,"clutching the fringe of his leather hunting-shirt, and dragging herselfon her knees nearer him--"so--don't leave me, for God's sake!"

  "They are gone," he replied, gazing down curiously at her, as she woundthe fringe around her hand to strengthen her hold; "they're only a lotof cowardly coyotes and wolves, that dare not attack anything thatlives and can move."

  The young woman responded with a nervous shudder. "Yes, that's it," shewhispered, in a broken voice; "it's only the dead they want. Promiseme--swear to me, if I'm caught, or hung, or shot, you won't let me beleft here to be torn and--ah! my God! what's that?"

  She had thrown her arms around his knees, completely pinioning him toher frantic breast. Something like a smile of disdain passed across hisface as he answered, "It's nothing. They will not return. Get up!"

  Even in her terror she saw the change in his face. "I know, I know!"she cried. "I'm frightened--but I cannot bear it any longer. Hear me!Listen! Listen--but don't move! I didn't mean to kill Curson--no! Iswear to God, no! I didn't mean to kill the sheriff--and I didn't. Iwas only bragging--do you hear? I lied! I lied--don't move, I swear toGod I lied. I've made myself out worse than I was. I have. Only don'tleave me now--and if I die--and it's not far off, may be--get me awayfrom here--and from _them_. Swear it!"

  "All right," said the young man, with a scarcely concealed movement ofirritation. "But get up now, and go back to the cabin."

  "No; not _there_ alone." Nevertheless, he quietly but firmly releasedhimself.

  "I will stay here," he replied. "I would have been nearer to you, but Ithought it better for your safety that my camp-fire should be furtheroff. But I can build it here, and that will keep the coyotes off."

  "Let me stay with you--beside you," she said imploringly.

  She looked so broken, crushed, and spiritless, so unlike the woman ofthe morning that, albeit with an ill grace, he tacitly consented, andturned away to bring his blankets. But in the next moment she was athis side, following him like a dog, silent and wistful, and evenoffering to carry his burden. When he had built the fire, for which shehad collected the pine--cones and broken branches near them, he satdown, folded his arms, and leaned back against the tree in reserved anddeliberate silence. Humble and submissive, she did not attempt to breakin upon a reverie she could not help but feel had little kindliness toherself. As the fire snapped and sparkled, she pillowed her head upon aroot, and lay still to watch it.

  It rose and fell, and dying away at times to a mere lurid glow, andagain, agitated by some breath scarcely perceptible to them, quickeninginto a roaring flame. When only the embers remained, a dead silencefilled the wood. Then the first breath of morning moved the tangledcanopy above, and a dozen tiny sprays and needles detached from theinterlocked boughs winged their soft way noiselessly to the earth. Afew fell upon the prostrate woman like a gentle benediction, and sheslept. But even then, the young man, looking down, saw that the slenderfingers were still aimlessly but rigidly twisted in the leather fringeof his hunting-shirt.

  CHAPTER II.

  It was a peculiarity of the Carquinez Wood that it stood apart anddistinct in its gigantic individuality. Even where the integrity of itsown singular species was not entirely preserved, it admitted noinferior trees. Nor was there any diminishing fringe on its outskirts;the sentinels that guarded the few gateways of the dim trails were asmonstrous as the serried ranks drawn up in the heart of the forest.Consequently, the red highway that skirted the eastern angle was bareand shadeless, until it slipped a league off into a watered valley andrefreshed itself under lesser sycamores and willows. It was here thenewly-born city of Excelsior, still in its cradle, had, like an infantHercules, strangled the serpentine North Fork of the American river,and turned its life-current into the ditches and flumes of theExcelsior miners.

  Newest of the new houses that seemed to have accidentally formed itssingle, straggling street was the residence of the Rev. Winslow Wynn,not unfrequently known as "Father Wynn," pastor of the first Baptistchurch. The "pastorage," as it was cheerfully called, had the glaringdistinction of being built of brick, and was, as had been wickedlypointed out by idle scoffers, the only "fireproof" structure in town.This sarcasm was not, however, supposed to be particularly distastefulto "Father Wynn," who enjoyed the reputation of being "hail fellow,well met" with the rough mining element, who called them by theirChristian names, had been known to drink at the bar of the Polka Saloonwhile engaged in the conversion of a prominent citizen, and waspopularly said to have no "gospel starch" about him. Certain consciousoutcasts and transgressors were touched at this apparent unbending ofthe spiritual authority. The rigid tenets of Father Wynn's faith werelost in the supposed catholicity of his humanity. "A preacher that canjine a man when he's histin' liquor into him, without jawin' about it,ought to be all
owed to wrestle with sinners and splash about in as muchcold water as he likes," was the criticism of one of his converts.Nevertheless, it was true that Father Wynn was somewhat loud andintolerant in his tolerance. It was true that he was a little morerough, a little more frank, a little more hearty, a little moreimpulsive, than his disciples. It was true that often the proclamationof his extreme liberality and brotherly equality partook somewhat of anapology. It is true that a few who might have been most benefited bythis kind of gospel regarded him with a singular disdain. It is truethat his liberality was of an ornamental, insinuating quality,accompanied with but little sacrifice; his acceptance of a collectiontaken up in a gambling-saloon for the rebuilding of his church,destroyed by fire, gave him a popularity large enough, it must beconfessed, to cover the sins of the gamblers themselves, but it was notproven that _he_ had ever organized any form of relief. But it was truethat local history somehow accepted him as an exponent of miningChristianity, without the least reference to the opinions of theChristian miners themselves.

  The Rev. Mr. Wynn's liberal habits and opinions were not, however,shared by his only daughter, a motherless young lady of eighteen.Nellie Wynn was in the eye of Excelsior an unapproachable divinity, asinaccessible and cold as her father was impulsive and familiar. Anatmosphere of chaste and proud virginity made itself felt even in thestarched integrity of her spotless skirts, in her neatly-glovedfinger-tips, in her clear amber eyes, in her imperious red lips, in hersensitive nostrils. Need it be said that the youth and middle age ofExcelsior were madly, because apparently hopelessly, in love with her?For the rest, she had been expensively educated, was profoundlyignorant in two languages, with a trained misunderstanding of music andpainting, and a natural and faultless taste in dress.

  The Rev. Mr. Wynn was engaged in a characteristic hearty parting withone of his latest converts upon his own doorstep, with admirable _alfresco_ effect. He had just clapped him on the shoulder. "Good-by,good-by, Charley, my boy, and keep in the right path; not up, or down,or round the gulch, you know--ha, ha!--but straight across lots to theshining gate." He had raised his voice under the stimulus of a fewadmiring spectators, and backed his convert playfully against the wall."You see! we're goin' in to win, you bet. Good-by! I'd ask you to stepin and have a chat, but I've got my work to do, and so have you. Thegospel mustn't keep us from that, must it, Charley? Ha, ha!"

  The convert (who elsewhere was a profane expressman, and had becomequite imbecile under Mr. Wynn's active heartiness and brotherlyhorse-play before spectators) managed, however, to feebly stammer witha blush something about "Miss Nellie."

  "Ah, Nellie. She, too, is at her tasks--trimming her lamp--you know,the parable of the wise virgins," continued Father Wynn hastily,fearing that the convert might take the illustration literally. "There,there--good-by. Keep in the right path." And with a parting shove hedismissed Charley and entered his own house.

  That "wise virgin," Nellie, had evidently finished with the lamp, andwas now going out to meet the bridegroom, as she was fully dressed andgloved, and had a pink parasol in her hand, as her father entered thesitting-room.

  His bluff heartiness seemed to fade away as he removed his soft,broad-brimmed hat and glanced across the too fresh-looking apartment.There was a smell of mortar still in the air, and a faint suggestionthat at any moment green grass might appear between the interstices ofthe red-brick hearth. The room, yielding a little in the point ofcoldness, seemed to share Miss Nellie's fresh virginity, and, barringthe pink parasol, set her off as in a vestal's cell.

  "I supposed you wouldn't care to see Brace, the expressman, so I gotrid of him at the door," said her father, drawing one of the new chairstowards him slowly, and sitting down carefully, as if it were ahitherto untried experiment.

  Miss Nellie's face took a tint of interest. "Then he doesn't go withthe coach to Indian Spring to-day?"

  "No; why?"

  "I thought of going over myself to get the Burnham girls to come tochoir-meeting," replied Miss Nellie carelessly, "and he might have beencompany."

  "He'd go now if he knew you were going," said her father; "but it'sjust as well he shouldn't be needlessly encouraged. I rather think thatSheriff Dunn is a little jealous of him. By the way, the sheriff ismuch better. I called to cheer him up to-day" (Mr. Wynn had in facttumultuously accelerated the sick man's pulse), "and he talked of you,as usual. In fact, he said he had only two things to get well for. Onewas to catch and hang that woman Teresa, who shot him; the other--can'tyou guess the other?" he added archly, with a faint suggestion of hisother manner.

  Miss Nellie coldly could not.

  The Rev. Mr. Wynn's archness vanished. "Don't be a fool," he saiddryly. "He wants to marry you, and you know it."

  "Most of the men here do," responded Miss Nellie, without the leasttrace of coquetry. "Is the wedding or the hanging to take place first,or together, so he can officiate at both?"

  "His share in the Union Ditch is worth a hundred thousand dollars,"continued her father; "and if he isn't nominated for district judgethis fall, he's bound to go to the legislature, any way. I don't thinka girl with your advantages and education can afford to throw away thechance of shining in Sacramento, San Francisco, or, in good time,perhaps even Washington."

  Miss Nellie's eyes did not reflect entire disapproval of thissuggestion, although she replied with something of her father'spractical quality.

  "Mr. Dunn is not out of his bed yet, and they say Teresa's got away toArizona, so there isn't any particular hurry."

  "Perhaps not; but see here, Nellie, I've some important news for you.You know your young friend of the Carquinez Woods--Dorman, thebotanist, eh? Well, Brace knows all about him. And what do you think heis?"

  Miss Nellie took upon herself a few extra degrees of cold, and didn'tknow.

  "An Injin! Yes, an out-and-out Cherokee. You see he calls himselfDorman--Low Dorman. That's only French for 'Sleeping Water,' his Injinname--'Low Dorman.'"

  "You mean 'L'Eau Dormante,'" said Nellie.

  "That's what I said. The chief called him 'Sleeping Water' when he wasa boy, and one of them French Canadian trappers translated it intoFrench when he brought him to California to school. But he's an Injin,sure. No wonder he prefers to live in the woods."

  "Well?" said Nellie.

  "Well," echoed her father impatiently, "he's an Injin, I tell you, andyou can't of course have anything to do with him. He mustn't come hereagain."

  "But you forget," said Nellie imperturbably, "that it was you whoinvited him here, and were so much exercised over him. You remember youintroduced him to the Bishop and those Eastern clergymen as amagnificent specimen of a young Californian. You forget what anoccasion you made of his coming to church on Sunday, and how you madehim come in his buckskin shirt and walk down the street with you afterservice!"

  "Yes, yes," said the Rev. Mr. Wynn hurriedly.

  "And," continued Nellie carelessly, "how you made us sing out of thesame book 'Children of our Father's Fold,' and how you preached at himuntil he actually got a color!"

  "Yes," said her father; "but it wasn't known then he was an Injin, andthey are frightfully unpopular with those Southwestern men among whomwe labor. Indeed, I am quite convinced that when Brace said 'the onlygood Indian was a dead one' his expression, though extravagant,perhaps, really voiced the sentiments of the majority. It would be onlykindness to the unfortunate creature to warn him from exposing himselfto their rude but conscientious antagonism."

  "Perhaps you'd better tell him, then, in your own popular way, whichthey all seem to understand so well," responded the daughter. Mr. Wynncast a quick glance at her, but there was no trace of irony in herface--nothing but a half-bored indifference as she walked toward thewindow.

  "I will go with you to the coach-office," said her father, whogenerally gave these simple paternal duties the pronounced character ofa public Christian example.

  "It's hardly worth while," replied Miss Nellie. "I've to stop at theWatsons', at the foot of the hill, and ask aft
er the baby; so I shallgo on to the Crossing and pick up the coach as it passes. Good-by."

  Nevertheless, as soon as Nellie had departed, the Rev. Mr. Wynnproceeded to the coach-office, and publicly grasping the hand of YubaBill, the driver, commended his daughter to his care in the name of theuniversal brotherhood of man and the Christian fraternity. Carried awayby his heartiness, he forgot his previous caution, and confided to theexpressman Miss Nellie's regrets that she was not to have thatgentleman's company. The result was that Miss Nellie found the coachwith its passengers awaiting her with uplifted hats and wreathed smilesat the Crossing, and the box-seat (from which an unfortunate stranger,who had expensively paid for it, had been summarily ejected) at herservice beside Yuba Bill, who had thrown away his cigar and donned anew pair of buckskin gloves to do her honor. But a more serious resultto the young beauty was the effect of the Rev. Mr. Wynn's confidencesupon the impulsive heart of Jack Brace, the expressman. It has beenalready intimated that it was his "day off." Unable to summarilyreassume his usual functions beside the driver without some practicalreason, and ashamed to go so palpably as a mere passenger, he wasforced to let the coach proceed without him. Discomfited for themoment, he was not, however, beaten. He had lost the blissful journeyby her side, which would have been his professional right, but--she wasgoing to Indian Spring! could he not anticipate her there? Might theynot meet in the most accidental manner? And what might not come fromthat meeting away from the prying eyes of their own town? Mr. Brace didnot hesitate, but saddling his fleet Buckskin, by the time thestagecoach had passed the Crossing in the high-road he had mounted thehill and was dashing along the "cut-off" in the same direction, a fullmile in advance. Arriving at Indian Spring, he left his horse at aMexican _posada_ on the confines of the settlement, and from the piled_debris_ of a tunnel excavation awaited the slow arrival of the coach.On mature reflection he could give no reason why he had not boldlyawaited it at the express office, except a certain bashfulconsciousness of his own folly, and a belief that it might be glaringlyapparent to the bystanders. When the coach arrived and he had overcomethis consciousness, it was too late. Yuba Bill had discharged hispassengers for Indian Spring and driven away. Miss Nellie was in thesettlement, but where? As time passed he became more desperate andbolder. He walked recklessly up and down the main street, glancing inat the open doors of shops, and even in the windows of privatedwellings. It might have seemed a poor compliment to Miss Nellie, butit was an evidence of his complete preoccupation, when the sight of afemale face at a window, even though it was plain or perhaps painted,caused his heart to bound, or the glancing of a skirt in the distancequickened his feet and his pulses. Had Jack contented himself withremaining at Excelsior he might have vaguely regretted, but as soonbecome as vaguely accustomed to, Miss Nellie's absence. But it was notuntil his hitherto quiet and passive love took this first step ofaction that it fully declared itself. When he had made the tour of thetown a dozen times unsuccessfully, he had perfectly made up his mindthat marriage with Nellie or the speedy death of several people,including possibly himself, was the only alternative. He regretted hehad not accompanied her; he regretted he had not demanded where she wasgoing; he contemplated a course of future action that two hours agowould have filled him with bashful terror. There was clearly but onething to do--to declare his passion the instant he met her, and returnwith her to Excelsior an accepted suitor, or not to return at all.

  Suddenly he was vexatiously conscious of hearing his name lazilycalled, and looking up found that he was on the outskirts of the town,and interrogated by two horsemen.

  "Got down to walk, and the coach got away from you, Jack, eh?"

  A little ashamed of his preoccupation, Brace stammered something about"collections." He did not recognize the men, but his own face, name,and business were familiar to everybody for fifty miles along thestage-road.

  "Well, you can settle a bet for us, I reckon. Bill Dacre thar bet mefive dollars and the drinks that a young gal we met at the edge of theCarquinez Woods, dressed in a long brown duster and half muffled up ina hood, was the daughter of Father Wynn of Excelsior. I did not get afair look at her, but it stands to reason that a high-toned young ladylike Nellie Wynn don't go trap'sing along the wood like a Pike Countytramp. I took the bet. May be you know if she's here or in Excelsior?"

  Mr. Brace felt himself turning pale with eagerness and excitement. Butthe near prospect of seeing her presently gave him back his caution,and he answered truthfully that he had left her in Excelsior, and thatin his two hours' sojourn in Indian Spring he had not once met her."But," he added, with a Californian's reverence for the sanctity of abet, "I reckon you'd better make it a standoff for twenty-four hours,and I'll find out and let you know." Which, it is only fair to say, hehonestly intended to do.

  With a hurried nod of parting, he continued in the direction of theWoods. When he had satisfied himself that the strangers had entered thesettlement and would not follow him for further explanation, hequickened his pace. In half an hour he passed between two of thegigantic sentinels that guarded the entrance to a trail. Here he pausedto collect his thoughts. The Woods were vast in extent, the trail dimand uncertain--at times apparently breaking off, or intersectinganother trail as faint as itself. Believing that Miss Nellie haddiverged from the highway only as a momentary excursion into the shade,and that she would not dare to penetrate its more sombre and unknownrecesses, he kept within sight of the skirting plain. By degrees thesedate influence of the silent vaults seemed to depress him. The ardorof the chase began to flag. Under the calm of their dim roof the feverof his veins began to subside; his pace slackened; he reasoned moredeliberately. It was by no means probable that the young woman in abrown duster was Nellie; it was not her habitual traveling dress; itwas not like her to walk unattended in the road; there was nothing inher tastes and habits to take her into this gloomy forest, allowingthat she had even entered it; and on this absolute question of heridentity the two witnesses were divided. He stopped irresolutely, andcast a last, long, half-despairing look around him. Hitherto he hadgiven that part of the wood nearest the plain his greatest attention.His glance now sought its darker recesses. Suddenly he becamebreathless. Was it a beam of sunlight that had pierced the groined roofabove, and now rested against the trunk of one of the dimmer, moresecluded giants? No, it was moving; even as he gazed it slipped away,glanced against another tree, passed across one of the vaulted aisles,and then was lost again. Brief as was the glimpse, he was notmistaken--it was the figure of a woman.

  In another moment he was on her track, and soon had the satisfaction ofseeing her reappear at a lesser distance. But the continualintervention of the massive trunks made the chase by no means an easyone, and as he could not keep her always in sight he was unable tofollow or understand the one intelligent direction which she seemed toinvariably keep. Nevertheless, he gained upon her breathlessly, and,thanks to the bark-strewn floor, noiselessly. He was near enough todistinguish and recognize the dress she wore, a pale yellow, that hehad admired when he first saw her. It was Nellie, unmistakably; if itwere she of the brown duster, she had discarded it, perhaps for greaterfreedom. He was near enough to call out now, but a sudden nervoustimidity overcame him; his lips grew dry. What should he say to her?How account for his presence? "Miss Nellie, one moment!" he gasped. Shedarted forward and--vanished.

  At this moment he was not more than a dozen yards from her. He rushedto where she had been standing, but her disappearance was perfect andcomplete. He made a circuit of the group of trees within whose radiusshe had last appeared, but there was neither trace of her, norsuggestion of her mode of escape. He called aloud to her; the vacantWoods let his helpless voice die in their unresponsive depths. He gazedinto the air and down at the bark-strewn carpet at his feet. Like mostof his vocation, he was sparing of speech, and epigrammatic after hisfashion. Comprehending in one swift but despairing flash ofintelligence the existence of some fateful power beyond his own weakendeavor, he accepted its logical result with characteris
tic grimness,threw his hat upon the ground, put his hands in his pockets, and said--

  "Well, I'm d----d!"

  CHAPTER III.

  Out of compliment to Miss Nellie Wynn, Yuba Bill, on reaching IndianSpring, had made a slight _detour_ to enable him to ostentatiously setdown his fair passenger before the door of the Burnhams. When it hadclosed on the admiring eyes of the passengers and the coach had rattledaway, Miss Nellie, without any undue haste or apparent change in herusual quiet demeanor, managed, however, to dispatch her businesspromptly, and, leaving an impression that she would call again beforeher return to Excelsior, parted from her friends, and slipped awaythrough a side street, to the General Furnishing Store of IndianSpring. In passing this emporium, Miss Nellie's quick eye haddiscovered a cheap brown linen duster hanging in its window. Topurchase it, and put it over her delicate cambric dress, albeit with ashivering sense that she looked like a badly-folded brown-paper parcel,did not take long. As she left the shop it was with mixed emotions ofchagrin and security that she noticed that her passage through thesettlement no longer turned the heads of its male inhabitants. Shereached the outskirts of Indian Spring and the high-road at about thetime Mr. Brace had begun his fruitless patrol of the main street. Farin the distance a faint olive-green table mountain seemed to riseabruptly from the plain. It was the Carquinez Woods. Gathering herspotless skirts beneath her extemporized brown domino, she set outbriskly towards them.

  But her progress was scarcely free or exhilarating. She was notaccustomed to walking in a country where "buggy-riding" was consideredthe only genteel young, lady-like mode of progression, and its regularprovision the expected courtesy of mankind. Always fastidiously booted,her low-quartered shoes were charming to the eye, but hardly adapted tothe dust and inequalities of the high-road. It was true that she hadthought of buying a coarser pair at Indian Spring, but once face toface with their uncompromising ugliness, she had faltered and fled. Thesun was unmistakably hot, but her parasol was too well known andoffered too violent a contrast to the duster for practical use. Onceshe stopped with an exclamation of annoyance, hesitated, and lookedback. In half an hour she had twice lost her shoe and her temper; apink flush took possession of her cheeks, and her eyes were bright withsuppressed rage. Dust began to form grimy circles around their orbits;with cat-like shivers she even felt it pervade the roots of her blondehair. Gradually her breath grew more rapid and hysterical, her smartingeyes became humid, and at last, encountering two observant horsemen inthe road, she turned and fled, until, reaching the wood, she began tocry.

  Nevertheless she waited for the two horsemen to pass, to satisfyherself that she was not followed; then pushed on vaguely, until shereached a fallen tree, where, with a gesture of disgust, she tore offher hapless duster and flung it on the ground. She then sat downsobbing, but after a moment dried her eyes hurriedly and started to herfeet. A few paces distant, erect, noiseless, with outstretched hand,the young solitary of the Carquinez Woods advanced towards her. Hishand had almost touched hers, when he stopped.

  "What has happened?" he asked gravely.

  "Nothing," she said, turning half away, and searching the ground withher eyes, as if she had lost something. "Only I must be going backnow."

  "You shall go back at once, if you wish it," he said, flushingslightly. "But you have been crying; why?"

  Frank as Miss Nellie wished to be, she could not bring herself to saythat her feet hurt her, and the dust and heat were ruining hercomplexion. It was therefore with a half-confident belief that hertroubles were really of a moral quality that she answered,"Nothing--nothing, but--but--it's wrong to come here."

  "But you did not think it was wrong when you agreed to come, at ourlast meeting," said the young man, with that persistent logic whichexasperates the inconsequent feminine mind. "It cannot be any morewrong to-day."

  "But it was not so far off," murmured the young girl, without lookingup.

  "Oh, the distance makes it more improper, then," he said abstractedly;but after a moment's contemplation of her half-averted face, he askedgravely, "Has any one talked to you about me?"

  Ten minutes before, Nellie had been burning to unburden herself of herfather's warning, but now she felt she would not. "I wish you wouldn'tcall yourself Low," she said at last.

  "But it's my name," he replied quietly.

  "Nonsense! It's only a stupid translation of a stupid nickname. Theymight as well call you 'Water' at once."

  "But you said you liked it."

  "Well, so I do. But don't you see--I--oh dear! you don't understand."

  Low did not reply, but turned his head with resigned gravity towardsthe deeper woods. Grasping the barrel of his rifle with his left hand,he threw his right arm across his left wrist and leaned slightly uponit with the habitual ease of a Western hunter--doubly picturesque m hisown lithe, youthful symmetry. Miss Nellie looked at him from under hereyelids, and then half defiantly raised her head and her dark lashes.Gradually an almost magical change came over her features; her eyesgrew larger and more and more yearning, until they seemed to draw andabsorb in their liquid depths the figure of the young man before her;her cold face broke into an ecstasy of light and color; her humid lipsparted in a bright, welcoming smile, until, with an irresistibleimpulse, she arose, and throwing back her head stretched towards himtwo hands full of vague and trembling passion.

  In another moment he had seized them, kissed them, and, as he drew hercloser to his embrace, felt them tighten around his neck. "But whatname do you wish to call me?" he asked, looking down into her eyes.

  Miss Nellie murmured something confidentially to the third button ofhis hunting-shirt. "But that," he replied, with a faint smile, "_that_wouldn't be any more practical, and you wouldn't want others to call medar--" Her fingers loosened around his neck, she drew her head back,and a singular expression passed over her face, which to any calmerobserver than a lover would have seemed, however, to indicate morecuriosity than jealousy.

  "Who else _does_ call you so?" she added earnestly. "How many, forinstance?"

  Low's reply was addressed not to her ear, but her lips. She did notavoid it, but added, "And do you kiss them all like that?" Taking himby the shoulders, she held him a little way from her, and gazed at himfrom head to foot. Then drawing him again to her embrace, she said, "Idon't care, at least no woman has kissed you like that." Happy,dazzled, and embarrassed, he was beginning to stammer the truthfulprotestation that rose to his lips, but she stopped him: "No, don'tprotest! say nothing! Let _me_ love _you_--that is all. It is enough."He would have caught her in his arms again, but she drew back. "We arenear the road," she said quietly. "Come! you promised to show me whereyou camped. Let us make the most of our holiday. In an hour I mustleave the woods."

  "But I shall accompany you, dearest."

  "No, I must go as I came--alone."

  "But Nellie"--

  "I tell you no," she said, with an almost harsh practical decision,incompatible with her previous abandonment. "We might be seentogether."

  "Well, suppose we are; we must be seen together eventually," heremonstrated.

  The young girl made an involuntary gesture of impatient negation, butchecked herself. "Don't let us talk of that now. Come, while I am hereunder your own roof"--she pointed to the high interlaced boughs abovethem--"you must be hospitable. Show me your home; tell me, isn't it alittle gloomy sometimes?"

  "It never has been; I never thought it _would_ be until the moment youleave it to-day."

  She pressed his hand briefly and in a half-perfunctory way, as if hervanity had accepted and dismissed the compliment. "Take me somewhere,"she said inquisitively, "where you stay most; I do not seem to see you_here_," she added, looking around her with a slight shiver. "It is sobig and so high. Have you no place where you eat and rest and sleep?"

  "Except in the rainy season, I camp all over the place--at any spotwhere I may have been shooting or collecting."

  "Collecting?" queried Nellie.

  "Yes; with the herbarium, y
ou know."

  "Yes," said Nellie dubiously. "But you told me once--the first time weever talked together," she added, looking in his eyes--"something aboutyour keeping your things like a squirrel in a tree. Could we not gothere? Is there not room for us to sit and talk without beingbrowbeaten and looked down upon by these supercilious trees?"

  "It's too far away," said Low truthfully, but with a somewhatpronounced emphasis, "much too far for you just now; and it lies onanother trail that enters the wood beyond. But come, I will show you aspring known only to myself, the wood ducks, and the squirrels. Idiscovered it the first day I saw you, and gave it your name. But youshall christen it yourself. It will be all yours, and yours alone, forit is so hidden and secluded that I defy any feet but my own or whososhall keep step with mine to find it. Shall that foot be yours,Nellie?"

  Her face beamed with a bright assent. "It may be difficult to track itfrom here," he said, "but stand where you are a moment, and don't move,rustle, nor agitate the air in any way. The woods are still now." Heturned at right angles with the trail, moved a few paces into the fernsand underbrush, and then stopped with his finger on his lips. For aninstant both remained motionless; then, with his intent face bentforward and both arms extended, he began to sink slowly upon one kneeand one side, inclining his body with a gentle, perfectly-graduatedmovement until his ear almost touched the ground. Nellie watched hisgraceful figure breathlessly, until, like a bow unbent, he stoodsuddenly erect again, and beckoned to her without changing thedirection of his face.

  "What is it?" she asked eagerly.

  "All right; I have found it," he continued, moving forward withoutturning his head.

  "But how? What did you kneel for?" He did not reply, but taking herhand in his continued to move slowly on through the underbrush, as ifobeying some magnetic attraction. "How did you find it?" again askedthe half-awed girl, her voice unconsciously falling to a whisper. Stillsilent, Low kept his rigid face and forward tread for twenty yardsfurther; then he stopped and released the girl's half-impatient hand."How did you find it?" she repeated sharply.

  "With my ears and nose," replied Low gravely.

  "With your nose?"

  "Yes; I smelt it."

  Still fresh with the memory of his picturesque attitude, the youngman's reply seemed to involve something more irritating to her feelingsthan even that absurd anti-climax. She looked at him coldly andcritically, and appeared to hesitate whether to proceed. "Is it far?"she asked.

  "Not more than ten minutes now, as I shall go."

  "And you won't have to smell your way again?"

  "No; it is quite plain now," he answered seriously, the young girl'ssarcasm slipping harmlessly from his Indian stolidity. "Don't you smellit yourself?"

  But Miss Nellie's thin, cold nostrils refused to take that vulgarinterest.

  "Nor hear it? Listen!"

  "You forget I suffer the misfortune of having been brought up under aroof," she replied coldly.

  "That's true," repeated Low, in all seriousness; "it's not your fault.But do you know, I sometimes think I am peculiarly sensitive to water;I feel it miles away. At night, though I may not see it or even knowwhere it is, I am conscious of it. It is company to me when I am alone,and I seem to hear it in my dreams. There is no music as sweet to me asits song. When you sang with me that day in church, I seemed to hear itripple in your voice. It says to me more than the birds do, more thanthe rarest plants I find. It seems to live with me and for me. It is myearliest recollection; I know it will be my last, for I shall die inits embrace. Do you think, Nellie," he continued, stopping short andgazing earnestly in her face--"do you think that the chiefs knew thiswhen they called me 'Sleeping Water'?"

  To Miss Nellie's several gifts I fear the gods had not added poetry. Aslight knowledge of English verse of a select character, unfortunately,did not assist her in the interpretation of the young man's speech, norrelieve her from the momentary feeling that he was at times deficientin intellect. She preferred, however, to take a personal view of thequestion, and expressed her sarcastic regret that she had not knownbefore that she had been indebted to the great flume and ditch atExcelsior for the pleasure of his acquaintance. This pert remarkoccasioned some explanation, which ended in the girl's accepting a kissin lieu of more logical argument. Nevertheless, she was still consciousof an inward irritation--always distinct from her singular andperfectly material passion--which found vent as the difficulties oftheir undeviating progress through the underbrush increased. At lastshe lost her shoe again, and stopped short. "It's a pity your Indianfriends did not christen you 'Wild Mustard' or 'Clover,'" she saidsatirically, "that you might have had some sympathies and longings forthe open fields instead of these horrid jungles! I know we will not getback in time."

  Unfortunately, Low accepted this speech literally and with hisremorseless gravity. "If my name annoys you, I can get it changed bythe legislature, you know, and I can find out what my father's namewas, and take that. My mother, who died in giving me birth, was thedaughter of a chief."

  "Then your mother was really an Indian?" said Nellie, "and youare"--She stopped short.

  "But I told you all this the day we first met," said Low with graveastonishment. "Don't you remember our long talk coming from church?"

  "No," said Nellie, coldly, "you didn't tell me." But she was obliged todrop her eyes before the unwavering, undeniable truthfulness of his.

  "You have forgotten," he said calmly; "but it is only right you shouldhave your own way in disposing of a name that I have cared little for;and as you're to have a share of it"--

  "Yes, but it's getting late, and if we are not goingforward"--interrupted the girl impatiently.

  "We _are_ going forward," said Low imperturbably; "but I wanted to tellyou, as we were speaking on _that_ subject" (Nellie looked at herwatch), "I've been offered the place of botanist and naturalist inProfessor Grant's survey of Mount Shasta, and if I take it--why when Icome back, darling--well"--

  "But you're not going just yet," broke in Nellie, with a new expressionin her face.

  "No."

  "Then we need not talk of it now," she said with animation.

  Her sudden vivacity relieved him. "I see what's the matter," he saidgently, looking down at her feet, "these little shoes were not made tokeep step with a moccasin. We must try another way." He stooped as ifto secure the erring buskin, but suddenly lifted her like a child tohis shoulder. "There," he continued, placing her arm around his neck,"you are clear of the ferns and brambles now, and we can go on. Are youcomfortable?" He looked up, read her answer in her burning eyes and thewarm lips pressed to his forehead at the roots of his straight darkhair, and again moved onward as in a mesmeric dream. But he did notswerve from his direct course, and with a final dash through theundergrowth parted the leafy curtain before the spring.

  At first the young girl was dazzled by the strong light that came froma rent in the interwoven arches of the wood. The breach had been causedby the huge bulk of one of the great giants that had half fallen, andwas lying at a steep angle against one of its mightiest brethren,having borne down a lesser tree in the arc of its downward path. Two ofthe roots, as large as younger trees, tossed their blackened and barelimbs high in the air. The spring--the insignificant cause of this vastdisruption--gurgled, flashed, and sparkled at the base; the limpid babyfingers that had laid bare the foundations of that fallen column playedwith the still clinging rootlets, laved the fractured and twistedlimbs, and, widening, filled with sleeping water the graves from whichthey had been torn.

  "It had been going on for years, down there," said Low, pointing to acavity from which the fresh water now slowly welled, "but it had beenquickened by the rising of the subterranean springs and rivers whichalways occurs at a certain stage of the dry season. I remember that onthat very night--for it happened a little after midnight, when allsounds are more audible--I was troubled and oppressed in my sleep bywhat you would call a nightmare; a feeling as if I was kept down bybonds and pinions that I longed
to break. And then I heard a crash inthis direction, and the first streak of morning brought me the soundand scent of water. Six months afterwards I chanced to find my wayhere, as I told you, and gave it your name. I did not dream that Ishould ever stand beside it with you, and have you christen ityourself."

  He unloosed the cup from his flask, and filling it at the spring handedit to her. But the young girl leant over the pool, and pouring thewater idly back said, "I'd rather put my feet in it. Mayn't I?"

  "I don't understand you," he said wonderingly.

  "My feet are _so_ hot and dusty. The water looks deliciously cool. MayI?"

  "Certainly."

  He turned away as Nellie, with apparent unconsciousness, seated herselfon the bank, and removed her shoes and stockings. When she had dabbledher feet a few moments in the pool, she said over her shoulder--

  "We can talk just as well, can't we?"

  "Certainly."

  "Well, then, why didn't you come to church more often, and why didn'tyou think of telling father that you were convicted of sin and wantedto be baptized?"

  "I don't know," hesitated the young man.

  "Well, you lost the chance of having father convert you, baptize you,and take you into full church fellowship."

  "I never thought,"--he began.

  "You never thought. Aren't you a Christian?"

  "I suppose so."

  "He supposes so! Have you no convictions--no professions?"

  "But, Nellie, I never thought that you"--"Never thought that I--what?Do you think that I could ever be anything to a man who did not believein justification by faith, or in the covenant of church fellowship? Doyou think father would let me?"

  In his eagerness to defend himself he stepped to her side. But seeingher little feet shining through the dark water, like outcroppings ofdelicately veined quartz, he stopped embarrassed. Miss Nellie, however,leaped to one foot, and, shaking the other over the pool, put her handon his shoulder to steady herself. "You haven't got a towel--or," shesaid dubiously, looking at her small handkerchief, "anything to drythem on?"

  But Low did not, as she perhaps expected, offer his own handkerchief.

  "If you take a bath after our fashion," he said gravely, "you mustlearn to dry yourself after our fashion."

  Lifting her again lightly in his arms, he carried her a few steps tothe sunny opening, and bade her bury her feet in the dried mosses andbaked withered grasses that were bleaching in a hollow. The young girluttered a cry of childish delight, as the soft ciliated fibres touchedher sensitive skin.

  "It is healing, too," continued Low; "a moccasin filled with it after aday on the trail makes you all right again."

  But Miss Nellie seemed to be thinking of something else.

  "Is that the way the squaws bathe and dry themselves?"

  "I don't know; you forget I was a boy when I left them."

  "And you're sure you never knew any?"

  "None."

  The young girl seemed to derive some satisfaction in moving her feet upand down for several minutes among the grasses in the hollow; then,after a pause, said, "You are quite certain I am the first woman thatever touched this spring?"

  "Not only the first woman, but the first human being, except myself."

  "How nice!"

  They had taken each other's hands; seated side by side, they leanedagainst a curving elastic root that half supported, half encompassedthem. The girl's capricious, fitful manner succumbed as before to thenear contact of her companion. Looking into her eyes, Low fell into asweet, selfish lover's monologue, descriptive of his past and presentfeelings towards her, which she accepted with a heightened color, aslight exchange of sentiment, and a strange curiosity. The sun hadpainted their half-embraced silhouettes against the slantingtree-trunk, and began to decline unnoticed; the ripple of the watermingling with their whispers came as one sound to the listening ear;even their eloquent silences were as deep, and, I wot, perhaps asdangerous, as the darkened pool that filled so noiselessly a dozenyards away. So quiet were they that the tremor of invading wings onceor twice shook the silence, or the quick scamper of frightened feetrustled the dead grass. But in the midst of a prolonged stillness theyoung man sprang up so suddenly that Nellie was still half clinging tohis neck as he stood erect. "Hush!" he whispered; "some one is near!"

  He disengaged her anxious hands gently, leaped upon the slantingtree-trunk, and running half-way up its incline with the agility of asquirrel, stretched himself at full length upon it and listened.

  To the impatient, inexplicably startled girl, it seemed an age beforehe rejoined her.

  "You are safe," he said; "he's going by the western trail toward IndianSpring."

  "Who is _he_?" she asked, biting her lips with a poorly restrainedgesture of mortification and disappointment.

  "Some stranger," replied Low.

  "As long as he wasn't coming here, why did you give me such a fright?"she said pettishly. "Are you nervous because a single wayfarer happensto stray here?"

  "It was no wayfarer, for he tried to keep near the trail," said Low."He was a stranger to the wood, for he lost his way every now and then.He was seeking or expecting some one, for he stopped frequently andwaited or listened. He had not walked far, for he wore spurs thattinkled and caught in the brush; and yet he had not ridden here, for nohorse's hoofs passed the road since we have been here. He must havecome from Indian Spring."

  "And you heard all that when you listened just now?" asked Nellie halfdisdainfully.

  Impervious to her incredulity, Low turned his calm eyes on her face."Certainly, I'll bet my life on what I say. Tell me: do you knowanybody in Indian Spring who would likely spy upon you?"

  The young girl was conscious of a certain ill-defined uneasiness, butanswered, "No."

  "Then it was not _you_ he was seeking," said Low thoughtfully. MissNellie had not time to notice the emphasis, for he added, "You must goat once, and lest you have been followed I will show you another wayback to Indian Spring. It is longer, and you must hasten. Take yourshoes and stockings with you until we are out of the bush."

  He raised her again in his arms and strode once more out through thecovert into the dim aisles of the wood. They spoke but little; shecould not help feeling that some other discordant element, affectinghim more strongly than it did her, had come between them, and was halfperplexed and half frightened. At the end of ten minutes he seated herupon a fallen branch, and telling her he would return by the time shehad resumed her shoes and stockings glided from her like a shadow. Shewould have uttered an indignant protest at being left alone, but he wasgone ere she could detain him. For a moment she thought she hated him.But when she had mechanically shod herself once more, not withoutnervous shivers at every falling needle, he was at her side.

  "Do you know any one who wears a frieze coat like that?" he asked,handing her a few torn shreds of wool affixed to a splinter of bark.

  Miss Nellie instantly recognized the material of a certainsporting-coat worn by Mr. Jack Brace on festive occasions, but astrange yet infallible instinct that was part of her nature made herinstantly disclaim all knowledge of it.

  "No," she said.

  "Not any one who scents himself with some doctor's stuff like cologne?"continued Low, with the disgust of keen olfactory sensibilities.

  Again Miss Nellie recognized the perfume with which the gallantexpressman was wont to make redolent her little parlor, but again sheavowed no knowledge of its possessor. "Well," returned Low, with somedisappointment, "such a man has been here. Be on your guard. Let us goat once."

  She required no urging to hasten her steps, but hurried breathlessly athis side. He had taken a new trail by which they left the wood at rightangles with the highway, two miles away. Following an almost effacedmule track along a slight depression of the plain, deep enough,however, to hide them from view, he accompanied her, until, rising tothe level again, she saw they were beginning to approach the highwayand the distant roofs of Indian Spring. "Nobody meeting you now," hewhi
spered, "would suspect where you had been. Good night! until nextweek--remember."

  They pressed each other's hands, and standing on the slight ridgeoutlined against the paling sky, in full view of the highway, partingcarelessly, as if they had been chance met travellers. But Nellie couldnot restrain a parting backward glance as she left the ridge. Low haddescended to the deserted trail, and was running swiftly in thedirection of the Carquinez Woods.

  CHAPTER IV.

  Teresa awoke with a start. It was day already, but how far advanced theeven, unchanging, soft twilight of the woods gave no indication. Hercompanion had vanished, and to her bewildered senses so had thecamp-fire, even to its embers and ashes. Was she awake, or had shewandered away unconsciously in the night? One glance at the tree aboveher dissipated the fancy. There was the opening of her quaint retreatand the hanging strips of bark, and at the foot of the opposite treelay the carcass of the bear. It had been skinned, and, as Teresathought with an inward shiver, already looked half its former size.

  Not yet accustomed to the fact that a few steps in either directionaround the circumference of those great trunks produced the suddenappearance or disappearance of any figure, Teresa uttered a slightscream as her young companion unexpectedly stepped to her side. "Yousee a change here," he said; "the stamped-out ashes of the camp-firelie under the brush," and he pointed to some cleverly scattered boughsand strips of bark which completely effaced the traces of last night'sbivouac. "We can't afford to call the attention of any packer or hunterwho might straggle this way to this particular spot and this particulartree; the more naturally," he added, "as they always prefer to campover an old fire." Accepting this explanation meekly, as partly areproach for her caprice of the previous night, Teresa hung her head.

  "I'm very sorry," she said, "but wouldn't that," pointing to thecarcass of the bear, "have made them curious?"

  But Low's logic was relentless.

  "By this time there would have been little left to excite curiosity ifyou had been willing to leave those beasts to their work."

  "I'm very sorry," repeated the woman, her lips quivering.

  "They are the scavengers of the wood," he continued in a lighter tone;"if you stay here you must try to use them to keep your house clean."

  Teresa smiled nervously.

  "I mean that they shall finish their work to-night," he added, "and Ishall build another camp-fire for us a mile from here until they do."

  But Teresa caught his sleeve.

  "No," she said hurriedly, "don't, please, for me. You must not take thetrouble, nor the risk. Hear me; do, please. I can bear it, I _will_bear it--to-night. I would have borne it last night, but it was sostrange--and"--she passed her hands over her forehead--"I think I musthave been half mad. But I am not so foolish now."

  She seemed so broken and despondent that he replied reassuringly:"Perhaps it would be better that I should find another hiding-place foryou, until I can dispose of that carcass, so that it will not draw dogsafter the wolves, and men after _them_. Besides, your friend thesheriff will probably remember the bear when he remembers anything, andtry to get on its track again."

  "He's a conceited fool," broke in Teresa in a high voice, with a slightreturn of her old fury, "or he'd have guessed where that shot camefrom; and," she added in a lower tone, looking down at her limp andnerveless fingers, "he wouldn't have let a poor, weak, nervous wretchlike me get away."

  "But his deputy may put two and two together, and connect your escapewith it."

  Teresa's eyes flashed. "It would be like the dog, just to save hispride, to swear it was an ambush of my friends, and that he wasoverpowered by numbers. Oh yes! I see it all!" she almost screamed,lashing herself into a rage at the bare contemplation of thisdiminution of her glory. "That's the dirty lie he tells everywhere, andis telling now."

  She stamped her feet and glanced savagely around, as if at any risk toproclaim the falsehood. Low turned his impassive, truthful face towardsher.

  "Sheriff Dunn," he began gravely, "is a politician, and a fool when hetakes to the trail as a hunter of man or beast. But he is not a cowardnor a liar. Your chances would be better if he were--if he laid yourescape to an ambush of your friends, than if his pride held you aloneresponsible."

  "If he's such a good man, why do you hesitate?" she replied bitterly."Why don't you give me up at once, and do a service to one of yourfriends?"

  "I do not even know him," returned Low, opening his clear eyes uponher. "I've promised to hide you here, and I shall hide you as well fromhim as from anybody."

  Teresa did not reply, but suddenly dropping down upon the ground buriedher face in her hands and began to sob convulsively. Low turnedimpassively away, and putting aside the bark curtain climbed into thehollow tree. In a few moments he reappeared, laden with provisions anda few simple cooking utensils, and touched her lightly on the shoulder.She looked up timidly; the paroxysm had passed, but her lashes yetglittered.

  "Come," he said, "come and get some breakfast. I find you have eatennothing since you have been here--twenty-four hours."

  "I didn't know it," she said, with a faint smile. Then seeing hisburden, and possessed by a new and strange desire for some menialemployment, she said hurriedly, "Let me carry something--do, please,"and even tried to disencumber him.

  Half annoyed, Low at last yielded, and handing his rifle said, "There,then, take that; but be careful--it's loaded!"

  A cruel blush burnt the woman's face to the roots of her hair as shetook the weapon hesitatingly in her hand.

  "No!" she stammered, hurriedly lifting her shame-suffused eyes to his;"no! no!"

  He turned away with an impatience which showed her how completelygratuitous had been her agitation and its significance, and said,"Well, then give it back if you are afraid of it." But she as suddenlydeclined to return it; and shouldering it deftly, took her place by hisside. Silently they moved from the hollow tree together.

  During their walk she did not attempt to invade his taciturnity.Nevertheless she was as keenly alive and watchful of his every movementand gesture as if she had hung enchanted on his lips. The unerring waywith which he pursued a viewless, undeviating path through thosetrackless woods, his quick reconnaissance of certain trees or openings,his mute inspection of some almost imperceptible footprint of bird orbeast, his critical examination of certain plants which he plucked anddeposited in his deerskin haversack, were not lost on the quick-wittedwoman. As they gradually changed the clear, unencumbered aisles of thecentral woods for a more tangled undergrowth, Teresa felt that subtleadmiration which culminates in imitation, and simulating perfectly thestep, tread, and easy swing of her companion, followed so accuratelyhis lead that she won a gratified exclamation from him when their goalwas reached--a broken, blackened shaft, splintered by long-forgottenlightning, in the centre of a tangled carpet of wood-clover.

  "I don't wonder you distanced the deputy," he said cheerfully, throwingdown his burden, "if you can take the hunting-path like that. In a fewdays, if you stay here, I can venture to trust you alone for a little_pasear_ when you are tired of the tree."

  Teresa looked pleased, but busied herself with arrangements for thebreakfast, while he gathered the fuel for the roaring fire which soonblazed beside the shattered tree.

  Teresa's breakfast was a success. It was a revelation to the youngnomad, whose ascetic habits and simple tastes were usually content withthe most primitive forms of frontier cookery. It was at least asurprise to him to know that without extra trouble kneaded flour,water, and saleratus need not be essentially heavy; that coffee neednot be boiled with sugar to the consistency of syrup; that even thatrarest delicacy, small shreds of venison covered with ashes and broiledupon the end of a ramrod boldly thrust into the flames, would be betterand even more expeditiously cooked upon burning coals. Moved in hispractical nature, he was surprised to find this curious creature ofdisorganized nerves and useless impulses informed with an intelligencethat did not preclude the welfare of humanity or the existence of asoul. He
respected her for some minutes, until in the midst of aculinary triumph a big tear dropped and spluttered in the saucepan. Buthe forgave the irrelevancy by taking no notice of it, and by doing fulljustice to that particular dish.

  Nevertheless, he asked several questions based upon these recentlydiscovered qualities. It appeared that in the old days of herwanderings with the circus troupe she had often been forced toundertake this nomadic housekeeping. But she "despised it," had neverdone it since, and always had refused to do it for "him"--the personalpronoun referring, as Low understood, to her lover Curson. Not caringto revive these memories further, Low briefly concluded:--

  "I don't know what you were, or what you may be, but from what I see ofyou you've got all the _sabe_ of a frontierman's wife."

  She stopped and looked at him, and then, with an impulse of impudencethat only half concealed a more serious vanity, asked, "Do you think Imight have made a good squaw?"

  "I don't know," he replied quietly. "I never saw enough of them toknow."

  Teresa, confident from his clear eyes that he spoke the truth, buthaving nothing ready to follow this calm disposal of her curiosity,relapsed into silence.

  The meal finished, Teresa washed their scant table equipage in a littlespring near the camp-fire; where, catching sight of her disordereddress and collar, she rapidly threw her shawl, after the nationalfashion, over her shoulder and pinned it quickly. Low _cached_ theremaining provisions and the few cooking-utensils under the dead embersand ashes, obliterating all superficial indication of their camp-fireas deftly and artistically as he had before.

  "There isn't the ghost of a chance," he said in explanation, "thatanybody but you or I will set foot here before we come back to supper,but it's well to be on guard. I'll take you back to the cabin now,though I bet you could find your way there as well as I can."

  On their way back Teresa ran ahead of her companion, and plucking a fewtiny leaves from a hidden oasis in the bark-strewn trail brought themto him.

  "That's the kind you're looking for, isn't it?" she said, half timidly.

  "It is," responded Low, in gratified surprise; "but how did you knowit? You're not a botanist, are you?"

  "I reckon not," said Teresa; "but you picked some when we came, and Inoticed what they were."

  Here was indeed another revelation. Low stopped and gazed at her withsuch frank, open, utterly unabashed curiosity that her black eyes fellbefore him.

  "And do you think," he asked with logical deliberation, "that you couldfind any plant from another I should give you?"

  "Yes."

  "Or from a drawing of it?"

  "Yes; perhaps even if you described it to me."

  A half-confidential, half fraternal silence followed.

  "I tell you what. I've got a book"--

  "I know it," interrupted Teresa; "full of these things."

  "Yes. Do you think you could"--

  "Of course I could," broke in Teresa, again.

  "But you don't know what I mean," said the imperturbable Low.

  "Certainly I do. Why, find 'em, and preserve all the different ones foryou to write under--that's it, isn't it?"

  Low nodded his head, gratified but not entirely convinced that she hadfully estimated the magnitude of the endeavor.

  "I suppose," said Teresa, in the feminine postscriptum voice which itwould seem entered even the philosophical calm of the aisles they weretreading--"I suppose that _she_ places great value on them?"

  Low had indeed heard Science personified before, nor was it at allimpossible that the singular woman walking by his side had also. Hesaid "Yes;" but added, in mental reference to the Linnean Society ofSan Francisco, that "_they_ were rather particular about the rarerkinds."

  Content as Teresa had been to believe in Low's tender relations withsome favored _one_ of her sex, this frank confession of a pluraldevotion staggered her.

  "They?" she repeated.

  "Yes," he continued calmly. "The Botanical Society I correspond withare more particular than the Government Survey."

  "Then you are doing this for a society?" demanded Teresa, with a stare.

  "Certainly. I'm making a collection and classification of specimens. Iintend--but what are you looking at?"

  Teresa had suddenly turned away. Putting his hand lightly on hershoulder, the young man brought her face to face with him again. Shewas laughing.

  "I thought all the while it was for a girl," she said; "and"--But herethe mere effort of speech sent her off into an audible and genuineoutburst of laughter. It was the first time he had seen her even smileother than bitterly. Characteristically unconscious of any humor in hererror, he remained unembarrassed. But he could not help noticing achange in the expression of her face, her voice, and even herintonation. It seemed as if that fit of laughter had loosed the lastties that bound her to a self-imposed character, had swept away thelast barrier between her and her healthier nature, had dispossessed apainful unreality, and relieved the morbid tension of a purely nervousattitude. The change in her utterance and the resumption of her softerSpanish accent seemed to have come with her confidences, and Low tookleave of her before their sylvan cabin with a comrade's heartiness, anda complete forgetfulness that her voice had ever irritated him.

  When he returned that afternoon he was startled to find the cabinempty. But instead of bearing any appearance of disturbance or hurriedflight, the rude interior seemed to have magically assumed a decorousorder and cleanliness unknown before. Fresh bark hid the inequalitiesof the floor. The skins and blankets were folded in the corners, therude shelves were carefully arranged, even a few tall ferns and brightbut quickly fading flowers were disposed around the blackened chimney.She had evidently availed herself of the change of clothing he hadbrought her, for her late garments were hanging from thehastily-devised wooden pegs driven in the wall. The young man gazedaround him with mixed feelings of gratification and uneasiness. Hispresence had been dispossessed in a single hour; his ten years oflonely habitation had left no trace that this woman had not effacedwith a deft move of her hand. More than that, it looked as if she hadalways occupied it; and it was with a singular conviction that evenwhen she should occupy it no longer it would only revert to him as herdwelling that he dropped the bark shutters athwart the opening, andleft it to follow her.

  To his quick ear, fine eye, and abnormal senses, this was easy enough.She had gone in the direction of this morning's camp. Once or twice hepaused with a half-gesture of recognition and a characteristic "Good!"at the place where she had stopped, but was surprised to find that hermain course had been as direct as his own. Deviating from this directline with Indian precaution he first made a circuit of the camp, andapproached the shattered trunk from the opposite direction. Heconsequently came upon Teresa unawares. But the momentary astonishmentand embarrassment were his alone.

  He scarcely recognized her. She was wearing the garments he had broughther the day before--a certain discarded gown of Miss Nellie Wynn, whichhe had hurriedly begged from her under the pretext of clothing the wifeof a distressed over-land emigrant then on the way to the mines.Although he had satisfied his conscience with the intention ofconfessing the pious fraud to her when Teresa was gone and safe frompursuit, it was not without a sense of remorse that he witnessed thesacrilegious transformation. The two women were nearly the same heightand size; and although Teresa's maturer figure accented the outlinesmore strongly, it was still becoming enough to increase his irritation.

  Of this becomingness she was doubtless unaware at the moment that hesurprised her. She was conscious of having "a change," and this hademboldened her to "do her hair" and otherwise compose herself. Aftertheir greeting she was the first to allude to the dress, regrettingthat it was not more of a rough disguise, and that, as she must nowdiscard the national habit of wearing her shawl "manta" fashion overher head, she wanted a hat. "But you must not," she said, "borrow anymore dresses for me from your young woman. Buy them for me at someshop. They left me enough money for that." Low gently put a
side the fewpieces of gold she had drawn from her pocket, and briefly reminded herof the suspicion such a purchase by him would produce. "That's so," shesaid, with a laugh. "_Caramba_! what a mule I'm becoming! Ah! wait amoment. I have it! Buy me a common felt hat--a man's hat--as if foryourself, as a change to that animal," pointing to the fox-tailed caphe wore summer and winter, "and I'll show you a trick. I haven't run atheatrical wardrobe for nothing." Nor had she, for the hat thusprocured, a few days later, became, by the aid of a silk handkerchiefand a bluejay's feather, a fascinating "pork pie."

  Whatever cause of annoyance to Low still lingered in Teresa's dress, itwas soon forgotten in a palpable evidence of Teresa's value asbotanical assistant. It appeared that during the afternoon she had notonly duplicated his specimens, but had discovered one or two rareplants as yet unclassified in the flora of the Carquinez Woods. He wasdelighted, and in turn, over the camp-fire, yielded up some details ofhis present life and some of his earlier recollections.

  "You don't remember anything of your father?" she asked. "Did he evertry to seek you out?"

  "No! Why should he?" replied the imperturbable Low; "he was not aCherokee."

  "No, he was a beast," responded Teresa promptly. "And your mother--doyou remember her?"

  "No, I think she died."

  "You _think_ she died? Don't you know?"

  "No!"

  "Then you're another!" said Teresa. Notwithstanding this frankness,they shook hands for the night; Teresa nestling like a rabbit in ahollow by the side of the camp-fire; Low with his feet towards it,Indian-wise, and his head and shoulders pillowed on his haversack, onlyhalf distinguishable in the darkness beyond.

  With such trivial details three uneventful days slipped by. Theirretreat was undisturbed, nor could Low detect, by the least evidence tohis acute perceptive faculties, that any intruding feet had sincecrossed the belt of shade. The echoes of passing events at IndianSpring had recorded the escape of Teresa as occurring at a remote andpurely imaginative distance, and her probable direction the county ofYolo.

  "Can you remember," he one day asked her, "what time it was when youcut the _riata_ and got away?"

  Teresa pressed her hands upon her eyes and temples.

  "About three, I reckon."

  "And you were here at seven; you could have covered some ground in fourhours?"

  "Perhaps--I don't know," she said, her voice taking up its old qualityagain. "Don't ask me--I ran all the way."

  Her face was quite pale as she removed her hands from her eyes, and herbreath came as quickly as if she had just finished that race for life.

  "Then you think I am safe here?" she added, after a pause.

  "Perfectly--until they find you are _not_ in Yolo. Then they'll lookhere. And _that's_ the time for you to go _there_." Teresa smiledtimidly.

  "It will take them some time to search Yolo--unless," she added,"you're tired of me here." The charming _non sequitur_ did not,however, seem to strike the young man. "I've got time yet to find a fewmore plants for you," she suggested.

  "Oh, certainly!"

  "And give you a few more lessons in cooking."

  "Perhaps."

  The conscientious and literal Low was beginning to doubt if she werereally practical. How otherwise could she trifle with such a situation?

  It must be confessed that that day and the next she did trifle with it.She gave herself up to a grave and delicious languor that seemed toflow from shadow and silence and permeate her entire being. She passedhours in a thoughtful repose of mind and spirit that seemed to falllike balm from those steadfast guardians, and distill their gentleether in her soul; or breathed into her listening ear immunity from theforgotten past, and security for the present. If there was no dream ofthe future in this calm, even recurrence of placid existence, so muchthe better. The simple details of each succeeding day, the quainthousekeeping, the brief companionship and coming and going of her younghost--himself at best a crystallized personification of the sedate andhospitable woods--satisfied her feeble cravings. She no longerregretted the inferior passion that her fears had obliged her to takethe first night she came; she began to look up to this young man--somuch younger than herself--without knowing what it meant; it was notuntil she found that this attitude did not detract from hispicturesqueness that she discovered herself seeking for reasons todegrade him from this seductive eminence.

  A week had elapsed with little change. On two days he had been absentall day, returning only in time to sup in the hollow tree, which,thanks to the final removal of the dead bear from its vicinity, was nowconsidered a safer retreat than the exposed camp-fire. On the first ofthese occasions she received him with some preoccupation, paying butlittle heed to the scant gossip he brought from Indian Spring, andretiring early under the plea of fatigue, that he might seek his owndistant camp-fire, which, thanks to her stronger nerves and regainedcourage, she no longer required so near. On the second occasion, hefound her writing a letter more or less blotted with her tears. When itwas finished, she begged him to post it at Indian Spring, where in twodays an answer would be returned, under cover, to him.

  "I hope you will be satisfied then," she added.

  "Satisfied with what?" queried the young man.

  "You'll see," she replied, giving him her cold hand. "Good-night."

  "But can't you tell me now?" he remonstrated, retaining her hand.

  "Wait two days longer--it isn't much," was all she vouchsafed toanswer.

  The two days passed. Their former confidence and good fellowship werefully restored when the morning came on which he was to bring theanswer from the post-office at Indian Spring. He had talked again ofhis future, and had recorded his ambition to procure the appointment ofnaturalist to a Government Surveying Expedition. She had even jocularlyproposed to dress herself in man's attire and "enlist" as hisassistant.

  "But you will be safe with your friends, I hope, by that time,"responded Low.

  "Safe with my friends," she repeated in a lower voice. "Safe with myfriends--yes!" An awkward silence followed; Teresa broke it gayly: "Butyour girl, your sweetheart, my benefactor--will _she_ let you go?"

  "I haven't told her yet," said Low, gravely, "but I don't see why sheshould object."

  "Object, indeed!" interrupted Teresa in a high voice and a sudden andutterly gratuitous indignation; "how should she? I'd like to see her doit!"

  She accompanied him some distance to the intersection of the trail,where they parted in good spirits. On the dusty plain without a galewas blowing that rocked the high tree-tops above her, but, tempered andsubdued, entered the low aisles with a fluttering breath of morning anda sound like the cooing of doves. Never had the wood before shown sosweet a sense of security from the turmoil and tempest of the worldbeyond; never before had an intrusion from the outer life--even in theshape of a letter--seemed so wicked a desecration. Tempted by thesolicitation of air and shade, she lingered, with Low's herbarium slungon her shoulder.

  A strange sensation, like a shiver, suddenly passed across her nerves,and left them in a state of rigid tension. With every sense morbidlyacute, with every faculty strained to its utmost, the subtle instinctsof Low's woodcraft transformed and possessed her. She knew it now! Anew element was in the wood--a strange being--another life--another manapproaching! She did not even raise her head to look about her, butdarted with the precision and fleetness of an arrow in the direction ofher tree. But her feet were arrested, her limbs paralyzed, her veryexistence suspended, by the sound of a voice:

  "Teresa!"

  It was a voice that had rung in her ears for the last two years in allphases of intensity, passion, tenderness, and anger; a voice upon whosemodulations, rude and unmusical though they were, her heart and soulhad hung in transport or anguish. But it was a chime that had rung itslast peal to her senses as she entered the Carquinez Woods, and for thelast week had been as dead to her as a voice from the grave. It was thevoice of her lover--Dick Curson!

  CHAPTER V.

  The wind was blowing
towards the stranger, so that he was nearly uponher when Teresa first took the alarm. He was a man over six feet inheight, strongly built, with a slight tendency to a roundness of bulkwhich suggested reserved rather than impeded energy. His thick beardand moustache were closely cropped around a small and handsome mouththat lisped except when he was excited, but always kept fellowship withhis blue eyes in a perpetual smile of half-cynical good-humor. Hisdress was superior to that of the locality; his general expression thatof a man of the world, albeit a world of San Francisco, Sacramento, andMurderer's Bar. He advanced towards her with a laugh and anoutstretched hand.

  "_You_ here!" she gasped, drawing back.

  Apparently neither surprised nor mortified at this reception, heanswered frankly, "Yeth. You didn't expect me, I know. But Dolorethshowed me the letter you wrote her, and--well--here I am, ready to helpyou, with two men and a thpare horthe waiting outside the woodth on theblind trail."

  "You--_you_--here?" she only repeated.

  --Curson shrugged his shoulders. "Yeth. Of courth you never expected tothee me again, and leatht of all _here_. I'll admit that; I'll thay Iwouldn't if I'd been in your plathe. I'll go further, and thay youdidn't want to thee me again--anywhere. But it all cometh to the thamething; here I am; I read the letter you wrote Doloreth. I read how youwere hiding here, under Dunn'th very nothe, with his whole pothe out,cavorting round and barkin' up the wrong tree. I made up my mind tocome down here with a few nathty friends of mine and cut you out underDunn'th nothe, and run you over into Yuba--that 'th all."

  "How dared she show you my letter--_you_ of all men? How dared she ask_your_ help?" continued Teresa, fiercely.

  "But she didn't athk my help," he responded coolly. "D----d if I don'tthink she jutht calculated I'd be glad to know you were being hunteddown and thtarving, that I might put Dunn on your track."

  "You lie!" said Teresa, furiously; "she was my friend. A better friendthan those who professed--_more_, she added, with a contemptuousdrawing away of her skirt as if she feared Curson's contamination.

  "All right. Thettle that with her when you go back," continued Cursonphilosophically. "We can talk of that on the way. The thing now ith toget up and get out of thethe woods. Come!"

  Teresa's only reply was a gesture of scorn.

  "I know all that," continued Curson half soothingly, "but they'rewaiting."

  "Let them wait. I shall not go."

  "What will you do?"

  "Stay here--till the wolves eat me."

  "Teresa, listen. D----it all--Teresa!--Tita! see here," he said withsudden energy. "I swear to God it's all right. I'm willing to letby-gones be by-gones and take a new deal. You shall come back as ifnothing had happened, and take your old place as before. I don't minddoing the square thing, all round. If that's what you mean, if that'sall that stands in the way, why, look upon the thing as settled. There,Tita, old girl, come."

  Careless or oblivious of her stony silence and starting eyes, heattempted to take her hand. But she disengaged herself with a quickmovement, drew back, and suddenly crouched like a wild animal about tospring. Curson folded his arms as she leaped to her feet; the littledagger she had drawn from her garter flashed menacingly in the air, butshe stopped.

  The man before her remained erect, impassive, and silent; the greattrees around and beyond her remained erect, impassive, and silent;there was no sound in the dim aisles but the quick panting of her madpassion, no movement in the calm, motionless shadow but the tremblingof her uplifted steel. Her arm bent and slowly sank, her fingersrelaxed, the knife fell from her hand.

  "That'th quite enough for a thow," he said, with a return to his formercynical ease and a perceptible tone of relief in his voice. "It'th thethame old Teretha. Well, then, if you won't go with me, go without me;take the led horthe and cut away. Dick Athley and Petereth will followyou over the county line. If you want thome money, there it ith." Hetook a buckskin purse from his pocket. "If you won't take it fromme"--he hesitated as she made no reply--"Athley'th flush and ready tolend you thome."

  She had not seemed to hear him, but had stooped in some embarrassment,picked up the knife and hastily hid it, then with averted face andnervous fingers was beginning to tear strips of loose bark from thenearest trunk.

  "Well, what do you thay?"

  "I don't want any money, and I shall stay here." She hesitated, lookedaround her, and then added, with an effort, "I suppose you meant well.Be it so! Let bygones be by-gones. You said just now, 'It's the sameold Teresa.' So she is, and seeing she's the same she's better herethan anywhere else."

  There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for Curson'shalf-perfunctory sympathy.

  "That be d----d," he responded quickly. "Jutht thay you'll come, Tita,and"--

  She stopped his half-spoken sentence with a negative gesture. "Youdon't understand. I shall stay here."

  "But even if they don't theek you here, you can't live here forever.The friend that you wrote about who wath tho good to you, you know,can't keep you here alwayth; and are you thure you can alwayth truthther?"

  "It isn't a woman; it's a man." She stopped short, and colored to theline of her forehead. "Who said it was a woman?" she continuedfiercely, as if to cover her confusion with a burst of gratuitousanger. "Is that another of your lies?"

  Curson's lips, which for a moment had completely lost their smile, werenow drawn together in a prolonged whistle. He gazed curiously at hergown, at her hat, at the bow of bright ribbon that tied her black hair,and said, "Ah!"

  "A poor man who has kept my secret," she went on hurriedly--"a man asfriendless and lonely as myself. Yes," disregarding Curson's cynicalsmile, "a man who has shared everything"--

  "Naturally," suggested Curson.

  "And turned himself out of his only shelter to give me a roof andcovering," she continued mechanically, struggling with the new andhorrible fancy that his words awakened.

  "And thlept every night at Indian Thpring to save your reputation,"said Curson. "Of courthe."

  Teresa turned very white. Curson was prepared for an outburst offury--perhaps even another attack. But the crushed and beaten womanonly gazed at him with frightened and imploring eyes. "For God's sake,Dick, don't say that!"

  The amiable cynic was staggered. His good-humor and a certainchivalrous instinct he could not repress got the better of him. Heshrugged his shoulders. "What I thay, and what you _do_, Teretha,needn't make us quarrel. I've no claim on you--I know it. Only"--avivid sense of the ridiculous, powerful in men of his stamp, completedher victory--"only don't thay anything about my coming down here to cutyou out from the--the--_the sheriff_." He gave utterance to a short butunaffected laugh, made a slight grimace, and turned to go.

  Teresa did not join in his mirth. Awkward as it would have been if hehad taken a severer view of the subject, she was mortified even amidsther fears and embarrassment at his levity. Just as she had becomeconvinced that his jealousy had made her over-conscious, his apparentgood-humored indifference gave that over-consciousness a guiltysignificance. Yet this was lost in her sudden alarm as her companion,looking up, uttered an exclamation, and placed his hand upon hisrevolver. With a sinking conviction that the climax had come, Teresaturned her eyes. From the dim aisles beyond, Low was approaching. Thecatastrophe seemed complete.

  She had barely time to utter an imploring whisper: "In the name of God,not a word to him." But a change had already come over her companion.It was no longer a parley with a foolish woman; he had to deal with aman like himself. As Low's dark face and picturesque figure camenearer, Mr. Curson's proposed method of dealing with him was madeaudible.

  "Ith it a mulatto or a Thircuth, or both?" he asked, with affectedanxiety.

  Low's Indian phlegm was impervious to such assault. He turned toTeresa, without apparently noticing her companion. "I turned back," hesaid quietly, "as soon as I knew there were strangers here; I thoughtyou might need me." She noticed for the first time that, in addition tohis rifle, he carried a revolver and hunting-knife in his belt. r />
  "Yeth," returned Curson, with an ineffectual attempt to imitate Low'sphlegm; "but ath I did n't happen to be a sthranger to thith lady,perhaps it wathn't nethethary, particularly ath I had two friends"--

  "Waiting at the edge of the wood with a led horse," interrupted Low,without addressing him, but apparently continuing his explanation toTeresa. But she turned to Low with feverish anxiety.

  "That's so--he is an old friend"--she gave a quick, imploring glance atCurson--"an old friend who came to help me away--he is very kind," shestammered, turning alternately from the one to the other; "but I toldhim there was no hurry--at least to-day--that you--were--verygood--too, and would hide me a little longer until your plan--you know_your_ plan," she added, with a look of beseeching significance toLow--"could be tried." And then, with a helpless conviction that herexcuses, motives, and emotions were equally and perfectly transparentto both men, she stopped in a tremble.

  "Perhapth it'th jutht ath well, then, that the gentleman came thraighthere, and didn't tackle my two friendth when he pathed them," observedCurson, half sarcastically.

  "I have not passed your friends, nor have I been near them," said Low,looking at him for the first time, with the same exasperating calm, "orperhaps I should not be _here_ or they _there_. I knew that one manentered the wood a few moments ago, and that two men and four horsesremained outside."

  "That's true," said Teresa to Curson excitedly--"that's true. He knowsall. He can see without looking, hear without listening. He--he"--shestammered, colored, and stopped.

  The two men had faced each other. Curson, after his first good-naturedimpulse, had retained no wish to regain Teresa, whom he felt he nolonger loved, and yet who, for that very reason perhaps, had awakenedhis chivalrous instincts. Low, equally on his side, was altogetherunconscious of any feeling which might grow into a passion, and preventhim from letting her go with another if for her own safety. They wereboth men of a certain taste and refinement. Yet, in spite of all this,some vague instinct of the baser male animal remained with them, andthey were moved to a mutually aggressive attitude in the presence ofthe female.

  One word more, and the opening chapter of a sylvan Iliad might havebegun. But this modern Helen saw it coming, and arrested it with aninspiration of feminine genius. Without being observed, she disengagedher knife from her bosom and let it fall as if by accident. It struckthe ground with the point of its keen blade, bounded and rolled betweenthem. The two men started and looked at each other with a foolish air.Curson laughed.

  "I reckon she can take care of herthelf," he said, extending his handto Low. "I'm off. But if I'm wanted _she'll_ know where to find me."Low took the proffered hand, but neither of the two men looked atTeresa. The reserve of antagonism once broken, a few words of caution,advice, and encouragement passed between them, in apparentobliviousness of her presence or her personal responsibility. As Cursonat last nodded a farewell to her, Low insisted upon accompanying him asfar as the horses, and in another moment she was again alone.

  She had saved a quarrel between them at the sacrifice of herself, forher vanity was still keen enough to feel that this exhibition of herold weakness had degraded her in their eyes, and, worse, had lost therespect her late restraint had won from Low. They had treated her likea child or a crazy woman, perhaps even now were exchanging criticismsupon her--perhaps pitying her! Yet she had prevented a quarrel, afight, possibly the death of either one or the other of these men whodespised her, for none better knew than she the trivial beginning anddesperate end of these encounters. Would they--would Low ever realizeit, and forgive her? Her small, dark hands went up to her eyes and shesank upon the ground. She looked through tear-veiled lashes upon themute and giant witnesses of her deceit and passion, and tried to draw,from their immovable calm, strength and consolation as before. But eventhey seemed to stand apart, reserved and forbidding.

  When Low returned she hoped to gather from his eyes and manner what hadpassed between him and her former lover. But beyond a mere gentleabstraction at times he retained his usual calm. She was at last forcedto allude to it herself with simulated recklessness.

  "I suppose I didn't get a very good character from my last place?" shesaid, with a laugh.

  "I don't understand you," he replied, in evident sincerity.

  She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were returning home, shesaid gently, "I hope you were not angry with me for the lie I told whenI spoke of 'your plan.' I could not give the real reason for notreturning with--with--that man. But it's not all a lie. I have aplan--if you haven't. When you are ready to go to Sacramento to takeyour place, dress me as an Indian boy, paint my face, and let me gowith you. You can leave me--there--you know."

  "It's not a bad idea," he responded gravely. "We will see."

  On the next day, and the next, the _rencontre_ seemed to be forgotten.The herbarium was already filled with rare specimens. Teresa had evenovercome her feminine repugnance to "bugs" and creeping things so faras to assist in his entomological collection. He had drawn from asacred _cache_ in the hollow of a tree the few worn textbooks fromwhich he had studied.

  "They seem very precious," she said, with a smile.

  "Very," he replied gravely. "There was one with plates that the antsate up, and it will be six months before I can afford to buy another."

  Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin suit, at hiscalico shirt with its pattern almost obliterated by countless washings,and became thoughtful.

  "I suppose you couldn't buy one at Indian Spring?" she said innocently.

  For once Low was startled out of his phlegm. "Indian Spring!" heejaculated; "perhaps not even in San Francisco. These came from theStates."

  "How did you get them?" persisted Teresa.

  "I bought them for skins I got over the ridge."

  "I didn't mean that--but no matter. Then you mean to sell thatbearskin, don't you?" she added.

  Low had, in fact, already sold it, the proceeds having been invested ina gold ring for Miss Nellie, which she scrupulously did not wear exceptin his presence. In his singular truthfulness he would have franklyconfessed it to Teresa, but the secret was not his own. He contentedhimself with saying that he had disposed of it at Indian Spring. Teresastarted, and communicated unconsciously some of her nervousness to hercompanion. They gazed in each other's eyes with a troubled expression.

  "Do you think it was wise to sell that particular skin, which might beidentified?" she asked timidly.

  Low knitted his arched brows, but felt a strange sense of relief."Perhaps not," he said carelessly; "but it's too late now to mendmatters."

  That afternoon she wrote several letters, and tore them up. One,however, she retained, and handed it to Low to post at Indian Spring,whither he was going. She called his attention to the superscriptionbeing the same as the previous letter, and added, with affected gayety,"But if the answer isn't as prompt, perhaps it will be pleasanter thanthe last." Her quick feminine eye noticed a little excitement in hismanner and a more studious attention to his dress. Only a few daysbefore she would not have allowed this to pass without some mischievousallusion to his mysterious sweetheart; it troubled her greatly now tofind that she could not bring herself to this household pleasantry, andthat her lip trembled and her eye grew moist as he parted from her.

  The afternoon passed slowly; he had said he might not return to supperuntil late, nevertheless a strange restlessness took possession of heras the day wore on. She put aside her work, the darning of hisstockings, and rambled aimlessly through the woods. She had wanderedshe knew not how far, when she was suddenly seized with the same vaguesense of a foreign presence which she had felt before. Could it beCurson again, with a word of warning? No! she knew it was not he; sosubtle had her sense become that she even fancied that she detected inthe invisible aura projected by the unknown no significance or relationto herself or Low, and felt no fear. Nevertheless she deemed it wisestto seek the protection of her sylvan bower, and hurried swiftlythither.

  But not so
quickly nor directly that she did not once or twice pause inher flight to examine the new-comer from behind a friendly trunk. Hewas a stranger--a young fellow with a brown mustache, wearing heavyMexican spurs in his riding-boots, whose tinkling he apparently did notcare to conceal. He had perceived her, and was evidently pursuing her,but so awkwardly and timidly that she eluded him with ease. When shehad reached the security of the hollow tree and had pulled the curtainof bark before the narrow opening, with her eye to the interstices, shewaited his coming. He arrived breathlessly in the open space before thetree where the bear once lay; the dazed, bewildered, and half awedexpression of his face, as he glanced around him and through theopenings of the forest aisles, brought a faint smile to her saddenedface. At last he called in a half embarrassed voice:

  "Miss Nellie!"

  The smile faded from Teresa's cheek. Who was "Miss Nellie"? She pressedher ear to the opening. "Miss Wynn!" the voice again called, but waslost in the echoless woods. Devoured with a new and gratuitouscuriosity, in another moment Teresa felt she would have disclosedherself at any risk, but the stranger rose and began to retrace hissteps. Long after his tinkling spurs were lost in the distance, Teresaremained like a statue, staring at the place where he had stood. Thenshe suddenly turned like a mad woman, glanced down at the gown she waswearing, tore it from her back as if it had been a polluted garment,and stamped upon it in a convulsion of rage. And then, with herbeautiful bare arms clasped together over her head, she threw herselfupon her couch in a tempest of tears.

  CHAPTER VI.

  When Miss Nellie reached the first mining extension of Indian Spring,which surrounded it like a fosse, she descended for one instant intoone of its trenches, opened her parasol, removed her duster, hid itunder a bowlder, and with a few shivers and cat-like strokes of hersoft hands not only obliterated all material traces of the stolen creamof Carquinez Woods, but assumed a feline demureness quite inconsistentwith any moral dereliction. Unfortunately, she forgot to remove at thesame time a certain ring from her third finger, which she had put onwith her duster and had worn at no other time. With this slightexception, the benignant fate which always protected that young personbrought her in contact with the Burnham girls at one end of the mainstreet as the returning coach to Excelsior entered the other, andenabled her to take leave of them before the coach office with acertain ostentation of parting which struck Mr. Jack Brace, who waslingering at the doorway, into a state of utter bewilderment.

  Here was Miss Nellie Wynn, the belle of Excelsior, calm, quiet,self-possessed, her chaste cambric skirts and dainty shoes as fresh aswhen she had left her father's house; but where was the woman of thebrown duster, and where the yellow-dressed apparition of the woods? Hewas feebly repeating to himself his mental adjuration of a few hoursbefore when he caught her eye, and was taken with a blush and a fit ofcoughing. Could he have been such an egregious fool, and was it notplainly written on his embarrassed face for her to read?

  "Are we going down together?" asked Miss Nellie, with an exceptionallygracious smile.

  There was neither affectation nor coquetry in this advance. The girlhad no idea of Brace's suspicion of her, nor did any uneasy desire toplacate or deceive a possible rival of Low's prompt her graciousness.She simply wished to shake off in this encounter the already staleexcitement of the past two hours, as she had shaken the dust of thewoods from her clothes. It was characteristic of her irresponsiblenature and transient susceptibilities that she actually enjoyed therelief of change; more than that, I fear, she looked upon thisinfidelity to a past dubious pleasure as a moral principle. A mild,open flirtation with a recognized man like Brace, after her secretpassionate tryst with a nameless nomad like Low, was an ethicalequipoise that seemed proper to one of her religious education.

  Brace was only too happy to profit by Miss Nellie's condescension; heat once secured the seat by her side, and spent the four hours and ahalf of their return journey to Excelsior in blissful but timidcommunion with her. If he did not dare to confess his past suspicions,he was equally afraid to venture upon the boldness he had premeditateda few hours before. He was therefore obliged to take a middle course ofslightly egotistical narration of his own personal adventures, withwhich he beguiled the young girl's ear. This he only departed fromonce, to describe to her a valuable grizzly bearskin which he had seenthat day for sale at Indian Spring, with a view to divining herpossible acceptance of it for a "buggy robe;" and once to comment upona ring which she had inadvertently disclosed in pulling off her glove.

  "It's only an old family keepsake," she added, with easy mendacity; andaffecting to recognize in Mr. Brace's curiosity a not unnatural excusefor toying with her charming fingers, she hid them in chaste andvirginal seclusion in her lap, until she could recover the ring andresume her glove.

  A week passed--a week of peculiar and desiccating heat for even thosedry Sierra table-lands. The long days were filled with impalpable dustand acrid haze suspended in the motionless air; the nights werebreathless and dewless; the cold wind which usually swept down from thesnow line was laid to sleep over a dark monotonous level, whose horizonwas pricked with the eating fires of burning forest crests. The laggingcoach of Indian Spring drove up at Excelsior, and precipitated itspassengers with an accompanying cloud of dust before the ExcelsiorHotel. As they emerged from the coach, Mr. Brace, standing in thedoorway, closely scanned their begrimed and almost unrecognizablefaces. They were the usual type of travelers: a single professional manin dusty black, a few traders in tweeds and flannels, a sprinkling ofminers in red and gray shirts, a Chinaman, a negro, and a Mexicanpacker or muleteer. This latter for a moment mingled with the crowd inthe bar-room, and even penetrated the corridor and dining-room of thehotel, as if impelled by a certain semi-civilized curiosity, and thenstrolled with a lazy, dragging step--half impeded by the enormousleather leggings, chains, and spurs, peculiar to his class--down themain street. The darkness was gathering, but the muleteer indulged inthe same childish scrutiny of the dimly lighted shops, magazines, andsaloons, and even of the occasional groups of citizens at the streetcorners. Apparently young, as far as the outlines of his figure couldbe seen, he seemed to show even more than the usual concern ofmasculine Excelsior in the charms of womankind. The few female figuresabout at that hour, or visible at window or veranda, received hismarked attention; he respectfully followed the two auburn-haireddaughters of Deacon Johnson on their way to choir meeting to the doorof the church. Not content with that act of discreet gallantry, afterthey had entered he managed to slip in unperceived behind them.

  The memorial of the Excelsior gamblers' generosity was a modernbuilding, large and pretentious for even Mr. Wynn's popularity, and hadbeen good-humoredly known, in the characteristic language of thegenerous donors, as one of the "biggest religious bluffs" on record.Its groined rafters, which were so new and spicy that they stillsuggested their native forest aisles, seldom covered more than ahundred devotees, and in the rambling choir, with its bare space forthe future organ, the few choristers, gathered round a small harmonium,were lost in the deepening shadow of that summer evening. The muleteerremained hidden in the obscurity of the vestibule. After a few moments'desultory conversation, in which it appeared that the unexpectedabsence of Miss Nellie Wynn, their leader, would prevent theirpracticing, the choristers withdrew. The stranger, who had listenedeagerly, drew back in the darkness as they passed out, and remained fora few moments a vague and motionless figure in the silent church. Thencoming cautiously to the window, the flapping broad-brimmed hat was putaside, and the faint light of the dying day shone in the black eyes ofTeresa! Despite her face, darkened with dye and disfigured with dust,the matted hair piled and twisted around her head, the strange dressand boyish figure, one swift glance from under her raised lashesbetrayed her identity.

  She turned aside mechanically into the first pew, picked up and openeda hymn-book. Her eyes became riveted on a name written on thetitle-page, "Nellie Wynn." _Her_ name, and _her_ book. The instinctthat had guided her here was right;
the slight gossip of herfellow-passengers was right; this was the clergyman's daughter, whosepraise filled all mouths. This was the unknown girl the stranger wasseeking, but who in her turn perhaps had been seeking Low--the girl whoabsorbed his fancy--the secret of his absences, his preoccupation, hiscoldness! This was the girl whom to see, perhaps in his arms, she wasnow periling her liberty and her life unknown to him! A slight odor,some faint perfume of its owner, came from the book; it was the sameshe had noticed in the dress Low had given her. She flung the volume tothe ground, and, throwing her arms over the back of the pew before her,buried her face in her hands.

  In that light and attitude she might have seemed some rapt acolyteabandoned to self-communion. But whatever yearning her soul might havehad for higher sympathy or deeper consolation, I fear that thespiritual Tabernacle of Excelsior and the Reverend Mr. Wynn did notmeet that requirement. She only felt the dry, oven-like heat of thatvast shell, empty of sentiment and beauty, hollow in its pretense anddreary in its desolation. She only saw in it a chief altar for theglorification of this girl who had absorbed even the pure worship ofher companion, and converted and degraded his sublime paganism to herpetty creed. With a woman's withering contempt for her own artdisplayed in another woman, she thought how she herself could havetouched him with the peace that the majesty of their woodlandaisles--so unlike this pillared sham--had taught her own passionateheart, had she but dared. Mingling with this imperfect theology, shefelt she could have proved to him also that a brunette and a woman ofher experience was better than an immature blonde. She began to loatheherself for coming hither, and dreaded to meet his face. Here a suddenthought struck her. What if he had not come here? What if she had beenmistaken? What if her rash interpretation of his absence from the woodthat night was simple madness? What if he should return--if he hadalready returned? She rose to her feet, whitening yet joyful with thethought. She would return at once; what was the girl to her now? Yetthere was time to satisfy herself if he were at _her_ house. She hadbeen told where it was; she could find it in the dark; an open door orwindow would betray some sign or sound of the occupants. She rose,replaced her hat over her eyes, knotted her flaunting scarf around herthroat, groped her way to the door, and glided into the outer darkness.

  CHAPTER VII.

  It was quite dark when Mr. Jack Brace stopped before Father Wynn's opendoor. The windows were also invitingly open to the wayfarer, as werethe pastoral counsels of Father Wynn, delivered to some favored guestwithin, in a tone of voice loud enough for a pulpit. Jack Brace paused.The visitor was the convalescent sheriff, Jim Dunn, who had publiclycommemorated his recovery by making his first call upon the father ofhis inamorata. The Reverend Mr. Wynn had been expatiating upon theunremitting heat as a possible precursor of forest fires, andexhibiting some catholic knowledge of the designs of a Deity in thatregard, and what should be the policy of the Legislature, when Mr.Brace concluded to enter. Mr. Wynn and the wounded man, who occupied anarm-chair by the window, were the only occupants of the room. But inspite of the former's ostentatious greeting, Brace could see that hisvisit was inopportune and unwelcome. The sheriff nodded a quick,impatient recognition, which, had it not been accompanied by ananathema on the heat, might have been taken as a personal insult.Neither spoke of Miss Nellie, although it was patent to Brace that theywere momentarily expecting her. All of which went far to strengthen acertain wavering purpose in his mind.

  "Ah, ha! strong language, Mr. Dunn," said Father Wynn, referring to thesheriff's adjuration, "but 'out of the fullness of the heart the mouthspeaketh.' Job, sir, cursed, we are told, and even expressed himself invigorous Hebrew regarding his birthday. Ha, ha! I'm not opposed tothat. When I have often wrestled with the spirit I confess I havesometimes said, 'D----n you.' Yes, sir, 'D----n you.'"

  There was something so unutterably vile in the reverend gentleman'sutterance and emphasis of this oath that the two men, albeit both easyand facile blasphemers, felt shocked; as the purest of actresses is aptto overdo the rakishness of a gay Lothario, Father Wynn's immaculateconception of an imprecation was something terrible. But he added, "Thelaw ought to interfere with the reckless use of camp-fires in the woodsin such weather by packers and prospecters."

  "It isn't so much the work of white men," broke in Brace, "as it is ofGreasers, Chinamen, and Diggers, especially Diggers. There's thatblasted Low, ranges the whole Carquinez Woods as if they were his. Ireckon he ain't particular just where he throws his matches.'"

  "But he's not a Digger; he's a Cherokee, and only a half-breed atthat," interpolated Wynn. "Unless," he added, with the artfulsuggestion of the betrayed trust of a too credulous Christian, "hedeceived me in this as in other things."

  In what other things Low had deceived him he did not say; but, to theastonishment of both men, Dunn growled a dissent to Brace'sproposition. Either from some secret irritation with that possiblerival, or impatience at the prolonged absence of Nellie, he had "hadenough of that sort of hog-wash ladled out to him for genuine liquor."As to the Carquinez Woods, he [Dunn] "didn't know why Low hadn't asmuch right there as if he'd grabbed it under a preemption law anddidn't live there." With this hint at certain speculations of FatherWynn in public lands for a homestead, he added that "If they [Brace andWynn] could bring him along any older American settler than an Indian,they might rake down his [Dunn's] pile." Unprepared for this turn inthe conversation, Wynn hastened to explain that he did not refer to thepure aborigine, whose gradual extinction no one regretted more thanhimself, but to the mongrel, who inherited only the vices ofcivilization. "There should be a law, sir, against the mingling ofraces. There are men, sir, who violate the laws of the Most High byliving with Indian women--squaw men, sir, as they are called."

  Dunn rose with a face livid with weakness and passion. "Who dares saythat? They are a d---d sight better than sneaking NorthernAbolitionists, who married their daughters to buck niggers like"--But aspasm of pain withheld this Parthian shot at the politics of his twocompanions, and he sank back helplessly in his chair.

  An awkward silence ensued. The three men looked at each other inembarrassment and confusion. Dunn felt that he had given way to agratuitous passion; Wynn had a vague presentiment that he had saidsomething that imperiled his daughter's prospects; and Brace wasdivided between an angry retort and the secret purpose already alludedto.

  "It's all the blasted heat," said Dunn, with a forced smile, pushingaway the whiskey which Wynn had ostentatiously placed before him.

  "Of course," said Wynn hastily; "only it's a pity Nellie ain't here togive you her smelling-salts. She ought to be back now," he added, nolonger mindful of Brace's presence; "the coach is over-due now, thoughI reckon the heat made Yuba Bill take it easy at the up grade."

  "If you mean the coach from Indian Spring," said Brace quietly, "it'sin already; but Miss Nellie didn't come on it."

  "Maybe she got out at the Crossing," said Wynn cheerfully; "shesometimes does."

  "She didn't take the coach at Indian Spring," returned Brace, "becauseI saw it leave, and passed it on Buckskin ten minutes ago, coming upthe hills."

  "She's stopped over at Burnham's," said Wynn reflectively. Then, inresponse to the significant silence of his guests, he added, in a toneof chagrin which his forced heartiness could not disguise, "Well, boys,it's a disappointment all round; but we must take the lesson as itcomes. I'll go over to the coach office and see if she's sent any word.Make yourselves at home until I return."

  When the door had closed behind him, Brace arose and took his hat as ifto go. With his hand on the lock, he turned to his rival, who,half-hidden in the gathering darkness, still seemed unable tocomprehend his ill-luck.

  "If you're waiting for that bald-headed fraud to come back with thetruth about his daughter," said Brace coolly, "you'd better send foryour things and take up your lodgings here."

  "What do you mean?" said Dunn sternly.

  "I mean that she's not at the Burnhams'; I mean that he does or doesnot know _where_ she is, and that in either case he
is not likely togive you information. But I can."

  "You can?"

  "Yes."

  "Then, where is she?"

  "In the Carquinez Woods, in the arms of the man you were justdefending--Low, the half-breed."

  The room had become so dark that from the road nothing could bedistinguished. Only the momentary sound of struggling feet was heard.

  "Sit down," said Brace's voice, "and don't be a fool. You're too weak,and it ain't a fair fight. Let go your hold. I'm not lying--I wish toGod I was!"

  There was a silence, and Brace resumed, "We've been rivals, I know.Maybe I thought my chance as good as yours. If what I say ain't truth,we'll stand as we stood before; and if you're on the shoot, I'm yourman when you like, where you like, or on sight if you choose. But Ican't see another man played upon as I've been played upon--given deadaway as I have been. It ain't on the square.

  "There," he continued, after a pause, "that's right; now steady.Listen. A week ago that girl went down just like this to Indian Spring.It was given out, like this, that she went to the Burnhams'. I don'tmind saying, Dunn, that I went down myself, all on the square, thinkingI might get a show to talk to her, just as _you_ might have done, youknow, if you had my chance. I didn't come across her anywhere. But twomen that I met thought they recognized her in a disguise going into thewoods. Not suspecting anything, I went after her; saw her at a distancein the middle of the woods in another dress that I can swear to, andwas just coming up to her when she vanished--went like a squirrel up atree, or down like a gopher in the ground, but vanished."

  "Is that all?" said Dunn's voice. "And just because you were a d----dfool, or had taken a little too much whiskey, you thought"--

  "Steady! That's just what I said to myself," interrupted Brace coolly,"particularly when I saw her that same afternoon in another dress,saying good-by to the Burnhams, as fresh as a rose and as cold as thosesnow-peaks. Only one thing--she had a ring on her finger she never worebefore, and didn't expect me to see."

  "What if she did? She might have bought it. I reckon she hasn't toconsult you," broke in Dunn's voice sternly.

  "She didn't buy it," continued Brace quietly. "Low gave that Jew tradera bearskin in exchange for it, and presented it to her. I found thatout two days afterwards. I found out that out of the whole afternoonshe spent less than an hour with the Burnhams. I found out that shebought a duster like the disguise the two men saw her in. I found theyellow dress she wore that day hanging up in Low's cabin--the placewhere I saw her go--the _rendezvous where she meets him_. Oh, you'relistenin', are you? Stop! SIT DOWN!

  "I discovered it by accident," continued the voice of Brace when allwas again quiet; "it was hidden as only a squirrel or an Injin can hidewhen they improve upon nature. When I was satisfied that the girl hadbeen in the woods, I was determined to find out where she vanished, andwent there again. Prospecting around, I picked up at the foot of one ofthe biggest trees this yer old memorandum-book, with grasses and herbsstuck in it. I remembered that I'd heard old Wynn say that Low, likethe d----d Digger that he was, collected these herbs; only he pretendedit was for science. I reckoned the book was his and that he mightn't befar away. I lay low and waited. Bimeby I saw a lizard running down theroot. When he got sight of me he stopped."

  "D----n the lizard! What's that got to do with where she is now?"

  "Everything. That lizard had a piece of sugar in his mouth. Where didit come from? I made him drop it, and calculated he'd go back for more.He did. He scooted up that tree and slipped in under some hangingstrips of bark. I shoved 'em aside, and found an opening to the hollowwhere they do their housekeeping."

  "But you didn't see her there--and how do you know she is there now?"

  "I determined to make it sure. When she left to-day, I started an hourahead of her, and hid myself at the edge of the woods. An hour afterthe coach arrived at Indian Spring, she came there in a brown dusterand was joined by him. I'd have followed them, but the d----d hound hasthe ears of a squirrel, and though I was five hundred yards from him hewas on his guard."

  "Guard be blessed! Wasn't you armed? Why didn't you go for him?" saidDunn, furiously.

  "I reckoned I'd leave that for you," said Brace coolly. "If he'd killedme, and if he'd even covered me with his rifle, he'd be sure to letdaylight through me at double the distance. I shouldn't have been anybetter off, nor you either. If I'd killed _him_, it would have beenyour duty as sheriff to put me in jail; and I reckon it wouldn't havebroken your heart, Jim Dunn, to have got rid of _two_ rivals instead ofone. Hullo! Where are you going?"

  "Going?" said Dunn hoarsely. "Going to the Carquinez Woods, by God! tokill him before her. _I'll_ risk it, if you daren't. Let me succeed,and you can hang _me_ and take the girl yourself."

  "Sit down, sit down. Don't be a fool, Jim Dunn! You wouldn't keep thesaddle a hundred yards. Did I say I wouldn't help you? No. If you'rewilling, we'll run the risk together, but it must be in my way. Hearme. I'll drive you down there in a buggy before daylight, and we'llsurprise them in the cabin or as they leave the wood. But you must comeas if to arrest him for some offense--say, as an escaped Digger fromthe Reservation, a dangerous tramp, a destroyer of public property inthe forests, a suspected road agent, or anything to give you the rightto hunt him. The exposure of him and Nellie, don't you see, must beaccidental. If he resists, kill him on the spot, and nobody'll blameyou; if he goes peaceably with you, and you once get him in Excelsiorjail, when the story gets out that he's taken the belle of Excelsiorfor his squaw, if you'd the angels for your posse you couldn't keep theboys from hanging him to the first tree. What's that?"

  He walked to the window, and looked out cautiously.

  "If it was the old man coming back and listening," he said, after apause, "it can't be helped. He'll hear it soon enough, if he don'tsuspect something already."

  "Look yer, Brace," broke in Dunn hoarsely. "D----d if I understand youor you me. That dog Low has got to answer to _me_, not to the _law_!I'll take my risk of killing him, on sight and on the square. I don'treckon to handicap myself with a warrant, and I am not going to drawhim out with a lie. You hear me? That's me all the time!"

  "Then you calkilate to go down thar," said Brace contemptuously, "yellout for him and Nellie, and let him line you on a rest from the firsttree as if you were a grizzly."

  There was a pause. "What's that you were saying just now about abearskin he sold?" asked Dunn slowly, as if reflecting.

  "He exchanged a bearskin," replied Brace, "with a single hole rightover the heart. He's a dead shot, I tell you."

  "D----n his shooting," said Dunn. "I'm not thinking of that. How longago did he bring in that bearskin?"

  "About two weeks, I reckon. Why?"

  "Nothing! Look yer, Brace, you mean well--thar's my hand. I'll go downwith you there, but not as the sheriff. I'm going there as Jim Dunn,and you can come along as a white man, to see things fixed on thesquare. Come!"

  Brace hesitated. "You'll think better of my plan before you get there;but I've said I'd stand by you, and I will Come, then. There's no timeto lose."

  They passed out into the darkness together.

  "What are you waiting for?" said Dunn impatiently, as Brace, who wassupporting him by the arm, suddenly halted at the corner of the house.

  "Some one was listening--did you not see him? Was it the old man?"asked Brace hurriedly.

  "Blast the old man! It was only one of them Mexican packers chock-fullof whiskey, and trying to hold up the house. What are you thinking of?We shall be late."

  In spite of his weakness, the wounded man hurriedly urged Braceforward, until they reached the latter's lodgings. To his surprise, thehorse and buggy were already before the door.

  "Then you reckoned to go, any way?" said Dunn, with a searching look athis companion.

  "I calkilated _somebody_ would go," returned Brace, evasively, pattingthe impatient Buckskin; "but come in and take a drink before we leave."

  Dunn started out of a momentary abstraction, put his hand
on his hip,and mechanically entered the house. They had scarcely raised theglasses to their lips when a sudden rattle of wheels was heard in thestreet. Brace set down his glass and ran to the window.

  "It's the mare bolted," he said, with an oath. "We've kept her too longstanding. Follow me;" and he dashed down the staircase into the street.Dunn followed with difficulty; when he reached the door he wasconfronted by his breathless companion. "She's gone off on a run, andI'll swear there was a man in the buggy!" He stopped and examined thehalter-strap, still fastened to the fence. "Cut! by God!"

  Dunn turned pale with passion. "Who's got another horse and buggy?" hedemanded.

  "The new blacksmith in Main Street; but we won't get it by borrowing,"said Brace.

  "How, then?" asked Dunn savagely.

  "Seize it, as the sheriff of Yuba and his deputy, pursuing aconfederate of the Injin Low--THE HORSE THIEF!"

  CHAPTER VIII.

  The brief hour of darkness that preceded the dawn was that nightintensified by a dense smoke, which, after blotting out horizon andsky, dropped a thick veil on the highroad and the silent streets ofIndian Spring. As the buggy containing Sheriff Dunn and Brace dashedthrough the obscurity, Brace suddenly turned to his companion.

  "Some one ahead!"

  The two men bent forward over the dashboard. Above the steady plungingof their own horse-hoofs they could hear the quicker irregular beat ofother hoofs in the darkness before them.

  "It's that horse thief!" said Dunn, in a savage whisper. "Bear to theright, and hand me the whip."

  A dozen cuts of the cruel lash, and their maddened horse, bounding ateach stroke, broke into a wild canter. The frail vehicle swayed fromside to side at each spring of the elastic shafts. Steadying himself byone hand on the low rail, Dunn drew his revolver with the other. "Singout to him to pull up, or we'll fire. My voice is clean gone," headded, in a husky whisper.

  They were so near that they could distinguish the bulk of a vehiclecareering from side to side in the blackness ahead. Dunn deliberatelyraised his weapon. "Sing out!" he repeated impatiently. But Brace, whowas still keeping in the shadow, suddenly grasped his companion's arm.

  "Hush! It's _not_ Buckskin," he whispered hurriedly.

  "Are you sure?"

  "_Don't you see we're gaining on him_?" replied the othercontemptuously. Dunn grasped his companion's hand and pressed itsilently. Even in that supreme moment this horseman's tribute to thefugitive Buckskin forestalled all baser considerations of pursuit andcapture!

  In twenty seconds they were abreast of the stranger, crowding his horseand buggy nearly into the ditch; Brace keenly watchful, Dunn suppressedand pale. In half a minute they were leading him a length; and whentheir horse again settled down to his steady work, the stranger wasalready lost in the circling dust that followed them. But the victorsseemed disappointed. The obscurity had completely hidden all but thevague outlines of the mysterious driver.

  "He's not our game, any way," whispered Dunn. "Drive on."

  "But if it was some friend of his," suggested Brace uneasily, "whatwould you do?"

  "What I _said_ I'd do," responded Dunn savagely. "I don't want fiveminutes to do it in, either; we'll be half an hour ahead of that d----dfool, whoever he is. Look here; all you've got to do is to put me inthe trail to that cabin. Stand back of me, out of gun-shot, alone, ifyou like, as my deputy, or with any number you can pick up as my posse.If he gets by me as Nellie's lover, you may shoot him or take him as ahorse thief, if you like."

  "Then you won't shoot him on sight?"

  "Not till I've had a word with him."

  "But"--

  "I've chirped," said the sheriff gravely. "Drive on."

  For a few moments only the plunging hoofs and rattling wheels wereheard. A dull, lurid glow began to define the horizon. They were silentuntil an abatement of the smoke, the vanishing of the gloomy horizonline, and a certain impenetrability in the darkness ahead showed themthey were nearing the Carquinez Woods. But they were surprised onentering them to find the dim aisles alight with a faint mystic Aurora.The tops of the towering spires above them had caught the gleam of thedistant forest fires, and reflected it as from a gilded dome.

  "It would be hot work if the Carquinez Woods should conclude to take ahand in this yer little game that's going on over on the Divideyonder," said Brace, securing his horse and glancing at the spiresoverhead. "I reckon I'd rather take a back seat at Injin Spring whenthe show commences."

  Dunn did not reply, but, buttoning his coat, placed one hand on hiscompanion's shoulder, and sullenly bade him "lead the way." Advancingslowly and with difficulty, the desperate man might have been taken fora peaceful invalid returning from an early morning stroll. His righthand was buried thoughtfully in the side-pocket of his coat. Only Braceknew that it rested on the handle of his pistol.

  From time to time the latter stopped and consulted the faint trail witha minuteness that showed recent careful study. Suddenly he paused. "Imade a blaze hereabouts to show where to leave the trail. There it is,"he added, pointing to a slight notch cut in the trunk of an adjoiningtree.

  "But we've just passed one," said Dunn, "if that's what you are lookingafter, a hundred yards back."

  Brace uttered an oath, and ran back in the direction signified by hiscompanion. Presently he returned with a smile of triumph.

  "They've suspected something. It's a clever trick, but it won't holdwater. That blaze which was done to muddle you was cut with an axe;this which I made was done with a bowie-knife. It's the real one. We'renot far off now. Come on."

  They proceeded cautiously, at right angles with the "blazed" tree, forten minutes more. The heat was oppressive; drops of perspiration rolledfrom the forehead of the sheriff, and at times, when he attempted tosteady his uncertain limbs, his hands shrank from the heated,blistering bark he touched with ungloved palms.

  "Here we are," said Brace, pausing at last. "Do you see that biggesttree, with the root stretching out half-way across to the oppositeone?"

  "No; it's further to the right and abreast of the dead brush,"interrupted Dunn quickly, with a sudden revelation that this was thespot where he had found the dead bear in the night Teresa escaped.

  "That's so," responded Brace, in astonishment.

  "And the opening is on the other side, opposite the dead brush," saidDunn.

  "Then you know it?" said Brace suspiciously.

  "I reckon!" responded Dunn, grimly. "That's enough! Fall back!"

  To the surprise of his companion, he lifted his head erect, and with astrong, firm step walked directly to the tree. Reaching it, he plantedhimself squarely before the opening.

  "Halloo!" he said.

  There was no reply. A squirrel scampered away close to his feet. Brace,far in the distance, after an ineffectual attempt to distinguish hiscompanion through the intervening trunks, took off his coat, leanedagainst a tree, and lit a cigar.

  "Come out of that cabin!" continued Dunn, in a clear, resonant voice."Come out before I drag you out!"

  "All right, 'Captain Scott.' Don't shoot, and I'll come down," said avoice as clear and as high as his own. The hanging strips of bark weredashed aside, and a woman leaped lightly to the ground.

  Dunn staggered back. "Teresa! by the Eternal!"

  It was Teresa! the old Teresa! Teresa, a hundred times more vicious,reckless, hysterical, extravagant, and outrageous than before,--Teresa,staring with tooth and eye, sunburnt and embrowned, her hair hangingdown her shoulders, and her shawl drawn tightly around her neck.

  "Teresa it is! the same old gal! Here we are again! Return of thefavorite in her original character! For two weeks only! Houp la! Tshk!"and, catching her yellow skirt with her fingers, she pirouetted beforethe astounded man, and ended in a pose. Recovering himself with aneffort, Dunn dashed forward and seized her by the wrist.

  "Answer me, woman! Is that Low's cabin?"

  "It is."

  "Who occupies it besides?"

  "I do."

  "And who else?"

/>   "Well," drawled Teresa slowly, with an extravagant affectation ofmodesty, "nobody else but us, I reckon. Two's company, you know, andthree's none."

  "Stop! Will you swear that there isn't a young girl, his--hissweetheart--concealed there with you?"

  The fire in Teresa's eye was genuine as she answered steadily, "Well,it ain't my style to put up with that sort of thing; at least, itwasn't over at Yolo, and you know it, Jim Dunn, or I wouldn't be here."

  "Yes, yes," said Dunn hurriedly. "But I'm a d----d fool, or worse, thefool of a fool. Tell me, Teresa, is this man Low your lover?"

  Teresa lowered her eyes as if in maidenly confusion.

  "Well, if I'd known that _you_ had any feeling of your own about it--ifyou'd spoken sooner"--

  "Answer me, you devil!"

  "He is."

  "And he has been with you here--yesterday--tonight?"

  "He has."

  "Enough." He laughed a weak, foolish laugh, and turning pale, suddenlylapsed against a tree. He would have fallen, but with a quick instinctTeresa sprang to his side, and supported him gently to a root. Theaction over they both looked astounded.

  "I reckon that wasn't much like either you or me," said Dunn slowly,"was it? But if you'd let me drop then you'd have stretched out thebiggest fool in the Sierras." He paused, and looked at her curiously."What's come over you; blessed if I seem to know you now."

  She was very pale again, and quiet; that was all.

  "Teresa! d----n it, look here! When I was laid up yonder in Excelsior Isaid I wanted to get well for only two things. One was to hunt youdown, the other to marry Nellie Wynn. When I came here I thought thatlast thing could never be. I came here expecting to find her here withLow, and kill him--perhaps kill her too. I never even thought of you;not once. You might have risen up before me--between me and him--andI'd have passed you by. And now that I find it's all a mistake, and itwas you, not her, I was looking for, why"--

  "Why," she interrupted bitterly, "you'll just take me, of course, tosave your time and earn your salary. I'm ready."

  "But _I'm_ not, just yet," he said faintly. "Help me up." Shemechanically assisted him to his feet.

  "Now stand where you are," he added, "and don't move beyond this treetill I return."

  He straightened himself with an effort, clenched his fists until thenails were nearly buried in his palms, and strode with a firm, steadystep in the direction he had come. In a few moments he returned andstood before her.

  "I've sent away my deputy--the man who brought me here, the fool whothought you were Nellie. He knows now he made a mistake. But who it washe mistook for Nellie he does not know, nor shall ever know, nor shallany living being know, other than myself. And when I leave the woodto-day I shall know it no longer. You are safe here as far as I amconcerned, but I cannot screen you from others prying. Let Low take youaway from here as soon as he can."

  "Let him take me away? Ah, yes. For what?"

  "To save you," said Dunn. "Look here, Teresa! Without knowing it, youlifted me out of hell just now; and because of the wrong I might havedone her--for _her_ sake, I spare you and shirk my duty."

  "For her sake!" gasped the woman--"for her sake! Oh, yes! Go on."

  "Well," said Dunn gloomily, "I reckon perhaps you'd as lieve left me inhell, for all the love you bear me. And maybe you've grudge enough aginme still to wish I'd found her and him together."

  "You think so?" she said, turning her head away.

  "There, d----n it! I didn't mean to make you cry. Maybe you wouldn't,then. Only tell that fellow to take you out of this, and not run awaythe next time he sees a man coming."

  "He didn't run," said Teresa, with flashing eyes. "I--I--I sent himaway," she stammered. Then, suddenly turning with fury upon him, shebroke out, "Run! Run from you! Ha, ha! You said just now I'd a grudgeagainst you. Well, listen, Jim Dunn. I'd only to bring you in range ofthat young man's rifle, and you'd have dropped in your tracks like"--

  "Like that bar, the other night," said Dunn, with a short laugh. "So_that_ was your little game?" He checked his laugh suddenly--a cloudpassed over his face. "Look here, Teresa," he said, with an assumptionof carelessness that was as transparent as it was utterly incompatiblewith his frank, open selfishness. "What became of that bar? Theskin--eh? That was worth something?"

  "Yes," said Teresa quietly. "Low exchanged it and got a ring for mefrom that trader Isaacs. It was worth more, you bet. And the ringdidn't fit either"--

  "Yes," interrupted Dunn, with an almost childish eagerness.

  "And I made him take it back, and get the value in money. I hear thatIsaacs sold it again and made another profit; but that's like thosetraders." The disingenuous candor of Teresa's manner was in exquisitecontrast to Dunn. He rose and grasped her hand so heartily she wasforced to turn her eyes away.

  "Good-by!" he said.

  "You look tired," she murmured, with a sudden gentleness that surprisedhim; "let me go with you a part of the way."

  "It isn't safe for you just now," he said, thinking of the possibleconsequences of the alarm Brace had raised.

  "Not the way _you_ came," she replied; "but one known only to myself."

  He hesitated only a moment. "All right, then," he said finally; "let usgo at once. It's suffocating here, and I seem to feel this dead barkcrinkle under my feet."

  She cast a rapid glance around her, and then seemed to sound with hereyes the far-off depths of the aisles, beginning to grow pale with theadvancing day, but still holding a strange quiver of heat in the air.When she had finished her half abstracted scrutiny of the distance, shecast one backward glance at her own cabin and stopped.

  "Will you wait a moment for me?" she asked gently.

  "Yes--but--no tricks, Teresa! It isn't worth the time."

  She looked him squarely in the eyes without a word.

  "Enough," he said; "go!"

  She was absent for some moments. He was beginning to become uneasy,when she made her appearance again, clad in her old faded black dress.Her face was very pale, and her eyes were swollen, but she placed hishand on her shoulder, and bidding him not to fear to lean upon her, forshe was quite strong, led the way.

  "You look more like yourself now, and yet--blast it all!--you don'teither," said Dunn, looking down upon her. "You've changed in some way.What is it? Is it on account of that Injin? Couldn't you have found awhite man in his place?"

  "I reckon he's neither worse nor better for that," she repliedbitterly; "and perhaps he wasn't as particular in his taste as a whiteman might have been. But," she added, with a sudden spasm of her oldrage, "it's a lie; he's _not_ an Indian, no more than I am. Not unlessbeing born of a mother who scarcely knew him, of a father who nevereven saw him, and being brought up among white men and wild beasts lesscruel than they were, could make him one!"

  Dunn looked at her in surprise not unmixed with admiration. "IfNellie," he thought, "could but love _me_ like that!" But he only said:

  "For all that, he's an Injin. Why, look at his name. It ain't Low. It's_L'Eau Dormante_, Sleeping Water, an Injin name."

  "And what does that prove?" returned Teresa. "Only that Indians clap anickname on any stranger, white or red, who may camp with them. Why,even his own father, a white man, the wretch who begot him andabandoned him,--_he_ had an Indian name--_Loup Noir_."

  "What name did you say?"

  "_Le Loup Noir_, the Black Wolf. I suppose you'd call him an Indian,too? Eh? What's the matter? We're walking too fast. Stop a moment andrest. There--there, lean on me!"

  She was none too soon; for, after holding him upright a moment, hislimbs failed, and stooping gently she was obliged to support him halfreclining against a tree.

  "It's the heat!" he said. "Give me some whiskey from my flask. Nevermind the water," he added faintly, with a forced laugh, after he hadtaken a draught at the strong spirit. "Tell me more about the otherwater--the Sleeping Water, you know. How do you know all this about himand his--father?"

  "Partly from him and partly from Curson, who
wrote to me about him,"she answered, with some hesitation.

  But Dunn did not seem to notice this incongruity of correspondence witha former lover. "And _he_ told you?"

  "Yes; and I saw the name on an old memorandum-book he has, which hesays belonged to his father. It's full of old accounts of some tradingpost on the frontier. It's been missing for a day or two, but it willturn up. But I can swear I saw it."

  Dunn attempted to rise to his feet. "Put your hand in my pocket," hesaid in a hurried whisper. "No, there!--bring out a book. There, Ihaven't looked at it yet. Is that it?" he added, handing her the bookBrace had given him a few hours before.

  "Yes," said Teresa, in surprise. "Where did you find it?"

  "Never mind! Now let me see it, quick. Open it, for my sight isfailing. There--thank you--that's all!"

  "Take more whiskey," said Teresa, with a strange anxiety creeping overher. "You are faint again."

  "Wait! Listen, Teresa--lower--put your ear lower. Listen! I came nearkilling that chap Low to-day. Wouldn't it have been ridiculous?"

  He tried to smile, but his head fell back. He had fainted.

  CHAPTER IX.

  For the first time in her life Teresa lost her presence of mind in anemergency. She could only sit staring at the helpless man, scarcelyconscious of his condition, her mind filled with a sudden propheticintuition of the significance of his last words. In the light of thatnew revelation she looked into his pale, haggard face for someresemblance to Low, but in vain. Yet her swift feminine instinct metthe objection. "It's the mother's blood that would show," she murmured,"not this man's."

  Recovering herself, she began to chafe his hands and temples, andmoistened his lips with the spirit. When his respiration returned witha faint color to his cheeks, she pressed his hand eagerly and leanedover him.

  "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "Of what?" he whispered faintly.

  "That Low is really your son?"

  "Who said so?" he asked, opening his round eyes upon her.

  "You did yourself, a moment ago," she said quickly. "Don't youremember?"

  "Did I?"

  "You did. Is it so?"

  He smiled faintly. "I reckon."

  She held her breath in expectation. But only the ludicrousness of thediscovery seemed paramount to his weakened faculties. "Isn't it justabout the ridiculousest thing all round?" he said, with a feeblechuckle. "First _you_ nearly kill me before you know I am Low's father;then I'm just spoilin' to kill him before I know he's my son; then thatgod-forsaken fool Jack Brace mistakes you for Nellie, and Nellie foryou. Ain't it just the biggest thing for the boys to get hold of? Butwe must keep it dark until after I marry Nellie, don't you see? Thenwe'll have a good time all round, and I'll stand the drinks. Think ofit, Teresha! You don'no me, I do'no you, nobody knowsh anybody elsh. Itry kill Lo'. Lo' wants kill Nellie. No thath no ri'"--but the potentliquor, overtaking his exhausted senses, thickened, impeded, and atlast stopped his speech. His head slipped to her shoulder, and hebecame once more unconscious.

  Teresa breathed again. In that brief moment she had abandoned herselfto a wild inspiration of hope which she could scarcely define. Not thatit was entirely a wild inspiration; she tried to reason calmly. What ifshe revealed the truth to him? What if she told the wretched man beforeher that she had deceived him; that she had overheard his conversationwith Brace; that she had stolen Brace's horse to bring Low warning;that, failing to find Low in his accustomed haunts, or at thecamp-fire, she had left a note for him pinned to the herbarium,imploring him to fly with his companion from the danger that wascoming; and that, remaining on watch, she had seen them both--Brace andDunn--approaching, and had prepared to meet them at the cabin? Wouldthis miserable and maddened man understand her self-abnegation? Wouldhe forgive Low and Nellie?--she did not ask for herself. Or would therevelation turn his brain, if it did not kill him outright? She lookedat the sunken orbits of his eyes and hectic on his cheek, andshuddered.

  Why was this added to the agony she already suffered? She had beenwilling to stand between them with her life, her liberty and even--thehot blood dyed her cheek at the thought--with the added shame of beingthought the cast-off mistress of that man's son. Yet all this she hadtaken upon herself in expiation of something--she knew not clearlywhat; no, for nothing--only for _him_. And yet this very situationoffered her that gleam of hope which had thrilled her; a hope so wildin its improbability, so degrading in its possibility, that at firstshe knew not whether despair was not preferable to its shame. And yetwas it unreasonable? She was no longer passionate; she would be calmand think it out fairly.

  She would go to Low at once. She would find him somewhere--and even ifwith that girl, what mattered?--and she would tell him all. When heknew that the life and death of his father lay in the scale, would helet his brief, foolish passion for Nellie stand in the way? Even if hewere not influenced by filial affection or mere compassion, would hispride let him stoop to a rivalry with the man who had deserted hisyouth? Could he take Dunn's promised bride, who must have coquettedwith him to have brought him to this miserable plight? Was this likethe calm, proud young god she knew? Yet she had an uneasy instinct thatcalm, proud young gods and goddesses did things like this, and felt theweakness of her reasoning flush her own conscious cheek.

  "Teresa!"

  She started. Dunn was awake, and was gazing at her curiously.

  "I was reckoning it was the only square thing for Low to stop thispromiscuous picnicking here and marry you out and out."

  "Marry me!" said Teresa in a voice that, with all her efforts, shecould not make cynical.

  "Yes," he repeated, "after I've married Nellie; tote you down to SanAngeles, and there take my name like a man, and give it to you.Nobody'll ask after _Teresa_, sure--you bet your life. And if they do,and he can't stop their jaw, just you call on the old man. It's mightyqueer, ain't it, Teresa, to think of you being my daughter-in-law?"

  It seemed here as if he was about to lapse again into unconsciousnessover the purely ludicrous aspect of the subject, but he haply recoveredhis seriousness. "He'll have as much money from me as he wants to gointo business with. What's his line of business, Teresa?" asked thisprospective father-in-law, in a large, liberal way.

  "He is a botanist!" said Teresa, with a sudden childish animation thatseemed to keep up the grim humor of the paternal suggestion; "and oh,he is too poor to buy books! I sent for one or two for him myself, theother day"--she hesitated--"it was all the money I had, but it wasn'tenough for him to go on with his studies."

  Dunn looked at her sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, and becamethoughtful. "Curson must have been a d----d fool," he said finally.

  Teresa remained silent. She was beginning to be impatient and uneasy,fearing some mischance that might delay her dreaded yet longed-formeeting with Low. Yet she could not leave this sick and exhausted man,_his father_, now bound to her by more than mere humanity.

  "Couldn't you manage," she said gently, "to lean on me a few stepsfurther, until I could bring you to a cooler spot and nearerassistance?"

  He nodded. She lifted him almost like a child to his feet. A spasm ofpain passed over his face. "How far is it?" he asked.

  "Not more than ten minutes," she replied.

  "I can make a spurt for that time," he said coolly, and began to walkslowly but steadily on. Only his face, which was white and set, and theconvulsive grip of his hand on her arm, betrayed the effort. At the endof ten minutes she stopped. They stood before the splintered,lightning-scarred shaft in the opening of the woods, where Low hadbuilt her first camp-fire. She carefully picked up the herbarium, buther quick eye had already detected in the distance, before she hadallowed Dunn to enter the opening with her, that her note was gone. Lowhad been there before them; he had been warned, as his absence from thecabin showed; he would not return there. They were free frominterruption--but where had he gone?

  The sick man drew a long breath of relief as she seated him in theclover-grown hollow where she had slept the seco
nd night of her stay."It's cooler than those cursed woods," he said. "I suppose it's becauseit's a little like a grave. What are you going to do now?" he added, asshe brought a cup of water and placed it at his side.

  "I am going to leave you here for a little while," she said cheerfully,but with a pale face and nervous hands. "I'm going to leave you while Iseek Low."

  The sick man raised his head. "I'm good for a spurt, Teresa, like thatI've just got through, but I don't think I'm up to a family party.Couldn't you issue cards later on?"

  "You don't understand," she said. "I'm going to get Low to send someone of your friends to you here. I don't think he'll begrudge leaving_her_ a moment for that," she added to herself bitterly.

  "What's that you're saying?" he queried, with the nervous quickness ofan invalid.

  "Nothing--but that I'm going now." She turned her face aside to hideher moistened eyes. "Wish me good luck, won't you?" she asked, halfsadly, half pettishly.

  "Come here!"

  She came and bent over him. He suddenly raised his hands, and, drawingher face down to his own, kissed her forehead.

  "Give that to _him_," he whispered, "from _me_."

  She turned and fled, happily for her sentiment, not hearing the feeblelaugh that followed, as Dunn, in sheer imbecility, again referred tothe extravagant ludicrousness of the situation. "It is about thebiggest thing in the way of a sell all round," he repeated, lying onhis back, confidentially to the speck of smoke-obscured sky above him.He pictured himself repeating it, not to Nellie--her severe proprietymight at last overlook the fact, but would not tolerate the joke--butto her father! It would be just one of those characteristic Californianjokes Father Wynn would admire.

  To his exhaustion fever presently succeeded, and he began to growrestless. The heat too seemed to invade his retreat, and from time totime the little patch of blue sky was totally obscured by clouds ofsmoke. He amused himself with watching a lizard who was investigating afolded piece of paper, whose elasticity gave the little creature livelyapprehensions of its vitality. At last he could stand the stillness ofhis retreat and his supine position no longer, and rolled himself outof the bed of leaves that Teresa had so carefully prepared for him. Herose to his feet stiff and sore, and, supporting himself by the nearesttree, moved a few steps from the dead ashes of the camp-fire. Themovement frightened the lizard, who abandoned the paper and fled. Witha satirical recollection of Brace and his "ridiculous" discoverythrough the medium of this animal, he stooped and picked up the paper."Like as not," he said to himself, with grim irony, "these yer lizardsare in the discovery business. P'r'aps this may lead to anothermystery;" and he began to unfold the paper with a smile. But the smileceased as his eye suddenly caught his own name.

  A dozen lines were written in pencil on what seemed to be a blank leaforiginally torn from some book. He trembled so that he was obliged tosit down to read these words:--

  "When you get this keep away from the woods. Dunn and another man arein deadly pursuit of you and your companion. I overheard their plan tosurprise you in our cabin. _Don't go there_, and I will delay them andput them off the scent. Don't mind me. God bless you, and if you neversee me again think sometimes of

  TERESA."

  His trembling ceased; he did not start, but rose in an abstracted way,and made a few deliberate steps in the direction Teresa had gone. Eventhen he was so confused that he was obliged to refer to the paperagain, but with so little effect that he could only repeat the lastwords, "think sometimes of Teresa." He was conscious that this was notall; he had a full conviction of being deceived, and knew that he heldthe proof in his hand, but he could not formulate it beyond thatsentence. "Teresa"--yes, he would think of her. She would think of him.She would explain it. And here she was returning.

  In that brief interval her face and manner had again changed. She waspale and quite breathless. She cast a swift glance at Dunn and thepaper he mechanically held out, walked up to him, and tore it from hishand.

  "Well," she said hoarsely, "what are you going to do about it?"

  He attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. Even then he wasconscious that if he had spoken he would have only repeated, "thinksometimes of Teresa." He looked longingly but helplessly at the spotwhere she had thrown the paper, as if it had contained his unutteredwords.

  "Yes," she went on to herself, as if he was a mute, indifferentspectator--"yes, they're gone. That ends it all. The game's played out.Well!" suddenly turning upon him, "now you know it all. Your Nellie_was_ here with him, and is with him now. Do you hear? Make the most ofit; you've lost them--but here I am."

  "Yes," he said eagerly--"yes, Teresa."

  She stopped, stared at him; then taking him by the hand led him like achild back to his couch. "Well," she said, in half-savage explanation,"I told you the truth when I said the girl wasn't at the cabin lastnight, and that I didn't know her. What are you glowerin' at? No! Ihaven't lied to you, I swear to God, except in one thing. Do you knowwhat that was? To save him I took upon me a shame I don't deserve. Ilet you think I was his mistress. You think so now, don't you? Well,before God to-day--and He may take me when He likes--I'm no more to himthan a sister! I reckon your Nellie can't say as much."

  She turned away, and with the quick, impatient stride of some cagedanimal made the narrow circuit of the opening, stopping a momentmechanically before the sick man, and again, without looking at him,continuing her monotonous round. The heat had become excessive, but sheheld her shawl with both hands drawn tightly over her shoulders.Suddenly a wood-duck darted out of the covert blindly into the opening,struck against the blasted trunk, fell half stunned near her feet, andthen, recovering, fluttered away. She had scarcely completed anothercircuit before the irruption was followed by a whirring bevy of quail,a flight of jays, and a sudden tumult of wings swept through the woodlike a tornado. She turned inquiringly to Dunn, who had risen to hisfeet, but the next moment she caught convulsively at his wrist: a wolfhad just dashed through the underbrush not a dozen yards away, and oneither side of them they could hear the scamper and rustle of hurryingfeet like the outburst of a summer shower. A cold wind arose from theopposite direction, as if to contest this wild exodus, but it wasfollowed by a blast of sickening heat. Teresa sank at Dunn's feet in anagony of terror.

  "Don't let them touch me!" she gasped; "keep them off! Tell me, forGod's sake, what has happened!"

  He laid his hand firmly on her arm, and lifted her in his turn to herfeet like a child. In that supreme moment of physical danger, hisstrength, reason, and manhood returned in their plenitude of power. Hepointed coolly to the trail she had quitted, and said:

  "The Carquinez Woods are on fire!"

  CHAPTER X.

  The nest of the tuneful Burnhams, although in the suburbs of IndianSpring, was not in ordinary weather and seasons hidden from the longingeyes of the youth of that settlement. That night, however, it wasveiled in the smoke that encompassed the great highway leading toExcelsior. It is presumed that the Burnham brood had long since foldedtheir wings, for there was no sign of life nor movement in the house asa rapidly driven horse and buggy pulled up before it. Fortunately, thepaternal Burnham was an early bird, in the habit of picking up thefirst stirring mining worm, and a resounding knock brought him halfdressed to the street door. He was startled at seeing Father Wynnbefore him, a trifle flushed and abstracted.

  "Ah ha! up betimes, I see, and ready. No sluggards here--ha, ha!" hesaid heartily, slamming the door behind him, and by a series of pokesin the ribs genially backing his host into his own sitting-room. "I'mup, too, and am here to see Nellie. She's here, eh--of course?" headded, darting a quick look at Burnham.

  But Mr. Burnham was one of those large, liberal Western husbands whoclassified his household under the general title of "woman folk," forthe integers of which he was not responsible. He hesitated, and thenpropounded over the balusters to the upper story the direct query--"Youdon't happen to have Nellie Wynn up there, do ye?"

  T
here was an interval of inquiry proceeding from half a dozen reluctantthroats, more or less cottony and muffled, in those various degrees ofgrievance and mental distress which indicate too early roused youngwomanhood. The eventual reply seemed to be affirmative, albeitaccompanied with a suppressed giggle, as if the young lady had justbeen discovered as an answer to an amusing conundrum.

  "All right," said Wynn, with an apparent accession of boisterousgeniality. "Tell her I must see her, and I've only got a few minutes tospare. Tell her to slip on anything and come down; there's no one herebut myself, and I've shut the front door on Brother Burnham. Ha, ha!"and suiting the action to the word, he actually bundled the admiringBrother Burnham out on his own doorstep. There was a light pattering onthe staircase, and Nellie Wynn, pink with sleep, very tall, very slim,hastily draped in a white counterpane with a blue border and a generalclassic suggestion, slipped into the parlor. At the same moment thefather shut the door behind her, placed one hand on the knob, and withthe other seized her wrist.

  "Where were you yesterday?" he asked.

  Nellie looked at him, shrugged her shoulders, and said, "Here."

  "You were in the Carquinez Woods with Low Dorman; you went there indisguise; you've met him there before. He is your clandestine lover;you have taken pledges of affection from him; you have"--

  "Stop!" she said.

  He stopped.

  "Did he tell you this?" she asked, with an expression of disdain.

  "No; I overheard it. Dunn and Brace were at the house waiting for you.When the coach did not bring you, I went to the office to inquire. As Ileft our door I thought I saw somebody listening at the parlor windows.It was only a drunken Mexican muleteer leaning against the house; butif _he_ heard nothing, _I_ did. Nellie, I heard Brace tell Dunn that hehad tracked you in your disguise to the woods--do you hear? that whenyou pretended to be here with the girls you were with Low--alone; thatyou wear a ring that Low got of a trader here; that there was a cabinin the woods"--

  "Stop!" she repeated.

  Wynn again paused.

  "And what did _you_ do?" she asked.

  "I heard they were starting down there to surprise you and himtogether, and I harnessed up and got ahead of them in my buggy."

  "And found me here," she said, looking full into his eyes.

  He understood her and returned the look. He recognized the fullimportance of the culminating fact conveyed in her words, and wasobliged to content himself with its logical and worldly significance.It was too late now to take her to task for mere filial disobedience;they must become allies.

  "Yes," he said hurriedly; "but if you value your reputation, if youwish to silence both these men, answer me fully."

  "Go on," she said.

  "Did you go to the cabin in the woods yesterday?"

  "No."

  "Did you ever go there with Low?"

  "No; I do not know even where it is."

  Wynn felt that she was telling the truth. Nellie knew it; but as shewould have been equally satisfied with an equally efficaciousfalsehood, her face remained unchanged.

  "And when did he leave you?"

  "At nine o'clock, here. He went to the hotel."

  "He saved his life, then, for Dunn is on his way to the woods to killhim."

  The jeopardy of her lover did not seem to affect the young girl withalarm, although her eyes betrayed some interest.

  "Then Dunn has gone to the woods?" she said thoughtfully.

  "He has," replied Wynn.

  "Is that all?" she asked.

  "I want to know what you are going to do?"

  "I _was_ going back to bed."

  "This is no time for trifling, girl."

  "I should think not," she said, with a yawn; "it's too early, or toolate."

  Wynn grasped her wrist more tightly. "Hear me! Put whatever face youlike on this affair, you are compromised--and compromised with a manyou can't marry."

  "I don't know that I ever wanted to marry Low, if you mean him," shesaid quietly.

  "And Dunn wouldn't marry you now."

  "I'm not so sure of that either."

  "Nellie," said Wynn excitedly, "do you want to drive me mad? Have younothing to say--nothing to suggest?"

  "Oh, you want me to help you, do you? Why didn't you say that first?Well, go and bring Dunn here."

  "Are you mad? The man has gone already in pursuit of your lover,believing you with him."

  "Then he will the more readily come and talk with me without him. Willyou take the invitation--yes or no?"

  "Yes, but"--

  "Enough. On your way there you will stop at the hotel and give Low aletter from me."

  "Nellie!"

  "You shall read it, of course," she said scornfully, "for it will beyour text for the conversation you will have with him. Will you pleasetake your hand from the lock and open the door?"

  Wynn mechanically opened the door. The young girl flew up-stairs. In avery few moments she returned with two notes: one contained a few linesof formal invitation to Dunn; the other read as follows:--

  "DEAR MR. DORMAN: My father will tell you how deeply I regret that ourrecent botanical excursions in the Carquinez Woods have been a sourceof serious misapprehension to those who had a claim to myconsideration, and that I shall be obliged to discontinue them for thefuture. At the same time he wishes me to express my gratitude for yourvaluable instruction and assistance in that pleasing study, even thoughapproaching events may compel me to relinquish it for other duties. MayI beg you to accept the enclosed ring as a slight recognition of myobligations to you?

  "Your grateful pupil,

  "NELLIE WYNN."

  When he had finished reading the letter, she handed him a ring, whichhe took mechanically. He raised his eyes to hers with perfectly genuineadmiration. "You're a good girl, Nellie," he said, and, in a moment ofparental forgetfulness, unconsciously advanced his lips towards hercheek. But she drew back in time to recall him to a sense of that humanweakness.

  "I suppose I'll have time for a nap yet," she said, as a gentle hint toher embarrassed parent. He nodded and turned towards the door.

  "If I were you," she continued, repressing a yawn, "I'd manage to beseen on good terms with Low at the hotel; so perhaps you need not givethe letter to him until the last thing. Good-by."

  The sitting-room door opened and closed behind her as she slippedup-stairs, and her father, without the formality of leave-taking,quietly let *himselt out by the front door.

  When he drove into the highroad again, however, an overlookedpossibility threatened for a moment to indefinitely postpone hisamiable intentions regarding Low. The hotel was at the farther end ofthe settlement toward the Carquinez Woods, and as Wynn had nearlyreached it he was recalled to himself by the sounds of hoofs and wheelsrapidly approaching from the direction of the Excelsior turnpike. Wynnmade no doubt it was the sheriff and Brace. To avoid recognition atthat moment, he whipped up his horse, intending to keep the lead untilhe could turn into the first cross-road. But the coming travelers hadthe fleetest horse; and finding it impossible to distance them, hedrove close to the ditch, pulling up suddenly as the strange vehiclewas abreast of him, and forcing them to pass him at full speed, withthe result already chronicled. When they had vanished in the darkness,Mr. Wynn, with a heart overflowing with Christian thankfulness anduniversal benevolence, wheeled round, and drove back to the hotel hehad already passed. To pull up at the veranda with a stentorian shout,to thump loudly at the deserted bar, to hilariously beat the panels ofthe landlord's door, and commit a jocose assault and battery upon thathalf-dressed and half-awakened man, was eminently characteristic ofWynn, and part of his amiable plans that morning.

  "Something to wash this wood smoke from my throat, Brother Carter, andabout as much again to prop open your eyes," he said, dragging Carterbefore the bar, "and glasses round for as many of the boys as are upand stirring after a hard-working Christian's rest. How goes the honestpublican's trade, and who have we here?"

  "Thar's Judge Rob
inson and two lawyers from Sacramento, Dick Cursonover from Yolo," said Carter, "and that ar young Injin yarb doctor fromthe Carquinez Woods. I reckon he's jist up--I noticed a light under hisdoor as I passed."

  "He's my man for a friendly chat before breakfast," said Wynn. "Youneedn't come up. I'll find the way. I don't want a light; I reckon myeyes ain't as bright nor as young as his, but they'll see almost as farin the dark--he-he!" And, nodding to Brother Carter, he strode alongthe passage, and with no other introduction than a playful andpreliminary "Boo!" burst into one of the rooms. Low, who by the lightof a single candle was bending over the plates of a large quarto,merely raised his eyes and looked at the intruder. The young man'snatural imperturbability, always exasperating to Wynn, seemed accentedthat morning by contrast with his own over-acted animation.

  "Ah ha!--wasting the midnight oil instead of imbibing the morningdews," said Father Wynn archly, illustrating his metaphor with amovement of his hand to his lips. "What have we here?"

  "An anonymous gift," replied Low simply, recognizing the father ofNellie by rising from his chair. "It's a volume I've longed to possess,but never could afford to buy. I cannot imagine who sent it to me."

  Wynn was for a moment startled by the thought that this recipient ofvaluable gifts might have influential friends. But a glance at the bareroom, which looked like a camp, and the strange, unconventional garb ofits occupant, restored his former convictions. There might be a promiseof intelligence, but scarcely of prosperity, in the figure before him.

  "Ah! We must not forget that we are watched over in the night season,"he said, laying his hand on Low's shoulder, with an illustration ofcelestial guardianship that would have been impious but for itspalpable grotesqueness. "No, sir, we know not what a day may bringforth."

  Unfortunately, Low's practical mind did not go beyond a mere humaninterpretation. It was enough, however, to put a new light in his eyeand a faint color in his cheek.

  "Could it have been Miss Nellie?" he asked, with half-boyishhesitation.

  Mr. Wynn was too much of a Christian not to bow before what appeared tohim the purely providential interposition of this suggestion. Seizingit and Low at the same moment, he playfully forced him down again inhis chair.

  "Ah, you rascal!" he said, with infinite archness; "that's your game,is it? You want to trap poor Father Wynn. You want to make him say'No.' You want to tempt him to commit himself. No, sir!--never,sir!--no, no!"

  Firmly convinced that the present was Nellie's and that her father onlygood-humoredly guessed it, the young man's simple, truthful nature wasembarrassed. He longed to express his gratitude, but feared to betraythe young girl's trust. The Reverend Mr. Wynn speedily relieved hismind.

  "No," he continued, bestriding a chair, and familiarly confronting Lowover its back. "No, sir--no! And you want me to say 'No,' don't you,regarding the little walks of Nellie and a certain young man in theCarquinez Woods?--ha, ha! You'd like me to say that I knew nothing ofthe botanizings, and the herb collectings, and the picnickingsthere--he-he!--you sly dog! Perhaps you'd like to tempt Father Wynnfurther and make him swear he knows nothing of his daughter disguisingherself in a duster and meeting another young man--isn't it anotheryoung man?--all alone, eh? Perhaps you want poor old Father Wynn to say'No.' No, sir, nothing of the kind ever occurred. Ah, you youngrascal!"

  Slightly troubled, in spite of Wynn's hearty manner, Low, with hisusual directness however, said, "I do not want any one to deny that Ihave seen Miss Nellie."

  "Certainly, certainly," said Wynn, abandoning his method, considerablydisconcerted by Low's simplicity, and a certain natural reserve thatshook off his familiarity. "Certainly it's a noble thing to be able toput your hand on your heart and say to the world, 'Come on, all of you!Observe me; I have nothing to conceal. I walk with Miss Wynn in thewoods as her instructor--her teacher, in fact. We cull a flower hereand there; we pluck an herb fresh from the hand of the Creator. Welook, so to speak, from Nature to Nature's God.' Yes, my young friend,we should be the first to repel the foul calumny that couldmisinterpret our most innocent actions."

  "Calumny?" repeated Low, starting to his feet. "What calumny?"

  "My friend, my noble young friend, I recognize your indignation. I knowyour worth. When I said to Nellie, my only child, my perhaps too simpleoffspring--a mere wildflower like yourself--when I said to her, 'Go, mychild, walk in the woods with this young man, hand in hand. Let himinstruct you from the humblest roots, for he has trodden in the ways ofthe Almighty. Gather wisdom from his lips, and knowledge from hissimple woodman's craft. Make, in fact, a collection not only of herbs,but of moral axioms and experience,'--I knew I could trust you, and,trusting you, my young friend, I felt I could trust the world. PerhapsI was weak, foolish. But I thought only of her welfare. I even recallhow that, to preserve the purity of her garments, I bade her don asimple duster; that, to secure her from the trifling companionship ofothers, I bade her keep her own counsel, and seek you at seasons knownbut to yourselves."

  "But ... did Nellie ... understand you?" interrupted Low hastily.

  "I see you read her simple nature. Understand me? No, not at first! Hermaidenly instinct--perhaps her duty to another--took the alarm. Iremember her words. 'But what will Dunn say?' she asked. 'Will he notbe jealous?'"

  "Dunn! jealous! I don't understand," said Low, fixing his eyes on Wynn.

  "That's just what I said to Nellie. 'Jealous!' I said. 'What, Dunn,your affianced husband, jealous of a mere friend--a teacher, a guide, aphilosopher. It is impossible.' Well, sir, she was right. He isjealous. And, more than that, he has imparted his jealousy to others!In other words, he has made a scandal!"

  Low's eyes flashed. "Where is your daughter now?" he said sternly.

  "At present in bed, suffering from a nervous attack brought on by theseunjust suspicions. She appreciates your anxiety, and, knowing that youcould not see her, told me to give you this." He handed Low the ringand the letter.

  The climax had been forced, and, it must be confessed, was by no meansthe one Mr. Wynn had fully arranged in his own inner consciousness. Hehad intended to take an ostentatious leave of Low in the bar-room,deliver the letter with archness, and escape before a possibleexplosion. He consequently backed towards the door for an emergency.But he was again at fault. That unaffected stoical fortitude in acutesuffering, which was the one remaining pride and glory of Low's race,was yet to be revealed to Wynn's civilized eyes.

  The young man took the letter, and read it without changing a muscle,folded the ring in it, and dropped it into his haversack. Then hepicked up his blanket, threw it over his shoulder, took his trustyrifle in his hand, and turned toward Wynn as if coldly surprised thathe was still standing there.

  "Are you--are you--going?" stammered Wynn.

  "Are you _not_?" replied Low dryly, leaning on his rifle for a momentas if waiting for Wynn to precede him. The preacher looked at him amoment, mumbled something, and then shambled feebly and ineffectivelydown the staircase before Low, with a painful suggestion to theordinary observer of being occasionally urged thereto by the moccasinof the young man behind him.

  On reaching the lower hall, however, he endeavored to create adiversion in his favor by dashing into the barroom and clapping theoccupants on the back with indiscriminate playfulness. But here againhe seemed to be disappointed. To his great discomfiture, a large mannot only returned his salutation with powerful levity, but with equalplayfulness seized him in his arms, and after an ingenious simulationof depositing him in the horse-trough set him down in affectedamazement. "Bleth't if I didn't think from the weight of your hand itwath my old friend, Thacramento Bill," said Curson apologetically, witha wink at the bystanders. "That'th the way Bill alwayth uthed to tacklehith friendth, till he wath one day bounthed by a prithe-fighter inFrithco, whom he had mithtaken for a mithionary." As Mr. Curson'sreputation was of a quality that made any form of apology from himinstantly acceptable, the amused spectators made way for him as,recognizing Low, who was just leaving the hotel, he turned
coolly fromthem and walked towards him.

  "Halloo!" he said, extending his hand. "You're the man I'm waiting for.Did you get a book from the exthpreth offithe latht night?"

  "I did. Why?"

  "It'th all right. Ath I'm rethponthible for it, I only wanted to know."

  "Did _you_ send it?" asked Low, quickly fixing his eyes on his face.

  "Well, not exactly _me_. But it'th not worth making a mythtery of it.Teretha gave me a commithion to buy it and thend it to youanonymouthly. That'th a woman'th nonthenth, for how could thee get aretheipt for it?"

  "Then it was _her_ present," said Low gloomily.

  "Of courthe. It wathn't mine, my boy. I'd have thent you a Tharp'thrifle in plathe of that muthle loader you carry, or thomethingthenthible. But, I thay! what'th up? You look ath if you had beenrunning all night."

  Low grasped his hand. "Thank you," he said hurriedly; "but it'snothing. Only I must be back to the woods early. Good-by."

  But Curson retained Low's hand in his own powerful grip.

  "I'll go with you a bit further," he said. "In fact, I've gotthomething to thay to you; only don't be in thuch a hurry; the woodthcan wait till you get there." Quietly compelling Low to alter his owncharacteristic Indian stride to keep pace with his, he went on: "Idon't mind thaying I rather cottoned to you from the time you actedlike a white man--no offenthe--to Teretha. She thayth you were leftwhen a child lying round, jutht ath promithcuouthly ath she wath; andif I can do anything towardth putting you on the trail of your people,I'll do it. I know thome of the _voyageurth_ who traded with theCherokeeth, and your father wath one--wasn't he?" He glanced at Low'sutterly abstracted and immobile face. "I thay, you don't theem to takea hand in thith game, pardner. What 'th the row? Ith anything wrongover there?" and he pointed to the Carquinez Woods, which were justlooming out of the morning horizon in the distance.

  Low stopped. The last words of his companion seemed to recall him tohimself. He raised his eyes automatically to the woods, and started.

  "There _is_ something wrong over there," he said breathlessly. "Look!"

  "I thee nothing," said Curson, beginning to doubt Low's sanity;"nothing more than I thaw an hour ago."

  "Look again. Don't you see that smoke rising straight up? It isn'tblown over from the Divide; it's new smoke! The fire is in the woods!"

  "I reckon that 'th so," muttered Curson, shading his eyes with hishand. "But, hullo! wait a minute! We'll get hortheth. I say!" heshouted, forgetting his lisp in his excitement--"stop!" But Low hadalready lowered his head and darted forward like an arrow.

  In a few moments he had left not only his companion but the laststraggling houses of the outskirts far behind him, and had struck outin a long, swinging trot for the disused "cut-off." Already he fanciedhe heard the note of clamor in Indian Spring, and thought hedistinguished the sound of hurrying hoofs on the great highway. But thesunken trail hid it from his view. From the column of smoke now plainlyvisible in the growing morning light he tried to locate the scene ofthe conflagration. It was evidently not a fire advancing regularly fromthe outer skirt of the wood, communicated to it from the Divide; it wasa local outburst near its centre. It was not in the direction of hiscabin in the tree. There was no immediate danger to Teresa, unless feardrove her beyond the confines of the wood into the hands of those whomight recognize her. The screaming of jays and ravens above his headquickened his speed, as it heralded the rapid advance of the flames;and the unexpected apparition of a bounding body, flattened and flyingover the yellow plain, told him that even the secure retreat of themountain wild-cat had been invaded. A sudden recollection of Teresa'suncontrollable terror that first night smote him with remorse andredoubled his efforts. Alone in the track of these frantic andbewildered beasts, to what madness might she not be driven!

  The sharp crack of a rifle from the highroad turned his coursemomentarily in that direction. The smoke was curling lazily over theheads of a party of men in the road, while the huge bulk of a grizzlywas disappearing in the distance. A battue of the escaping animals hadcommenced! In the bitterness of his heart he caught at the horriblesuggestion, and resolved to save her from them or die with her there.

  How fast he ran, or the time it took him to reach the woods, has neverbeen known. Their outlines were already hidden when he entered them. Toa sense less keen, a courage less desperate, and a purpose lessunaltered than Low's, the wood would have been impenetrable. Thecentral fire was still confined to the lofty tree-tops, but thedownward rush of wind from time to time drove the smoke into the aislesin blinding and suffocating volumes. To simulate the creeping animals,and fall to the ground on hands and knees, feel his way through theunderbrush when the smoke was densest, or take advantage of itsmomentary lifting, and without uncertainty, mistake, or hesitationglide from tree to tree in one undeviating course, was possible only toan experienced woodsman. To keep his reason and insight so clear as tobe able in the midst of this bewildering confusion to shape that courseso as to intersect the wild and unknown tract of an inexperienced,frightened wanderer belonged to Low, and to Low alone. He was makinghis way against the wind towards the fire. He had reasoned that she waseither in comparative safety to windward of it, or he should meet herbeing driven towards him by it, or find her succumbed and fainting atits feet. To do this he must penetrate the burning belt, and then passunder the blazing dome. He was already upon it; he could see thefalling fire dropping like rain or blown like gorgeous blossoms of theconflagration across his path. The space was lit up brilliantly. Thevast shafts of dull copper cast no shadow below, but there was no signnor token of any human being. For a moment the young man was at fault.It was true this hidden heart of the forest bore no undergrowth; thecool matted carpet of the aisles seemed to quench the glowing fragmentsas they fell. Escape might be difficult, but not impossible; yet everymoment was precious. He leaned against a tree, and sent his voice likea clarion before him: "Teresa!" There was no reply. He called again. Afaint cry at his back from the trail he had just traversed made himturn. Only a few paces behind him, blinded and staggering, butfollowing like a beaten and wounded animal, Teresa halted, knelt,clasped her hands, and dumbly held them out before her. "Teresa!" hecried again, and sprang to her side.

  She caught him by the knees, and lifted her face imploringly to his.

  "Say that again!" she cried, passionately. "Tell me it was Teresa youcalled, and no other! You have come back for me! You would not let medie here alone!"

  He lifted her tenderly in his arms, and cast a rapid glance around him.It might have been his fancy, but there seemed a dull glow in thedirection he had come.

  "You do not speak!" she said. "Tell me! You did not come here to seekher?"

  "Whom?" he said quickly.

  "Nellie!"

  With a sharp cry he let her slip to the ground. All the pent-up agony,rage, and mortification of the last hour broke from him in thatinarticulate outburst. Then, catching her hands again, he dragged herto his level.

  "Hear me!" he cried, disregarding the whirling smoke and the fierybaptism that sprinkled them--"hear me! If you value your life, if youvalue your soul, and if you do not want me to cast you to the beastslike Jezebel of old, never--never take that accursed name again uponyour lips. Seek her--_her_? Yes! Seek her to tie her like a witch'sdaughter of hell to that blazing tree!" He stopped. "Forgive me," hesaid in a changed voice. "I'm mad, and forgetting myself and you.Come."

  Without noticing the expression of half savage delight that had passedacross her face, he lifted her in his arms.

  "Which way are you going?" she asked, passing her hands vaguely acrosshis breast, as if to reassure herself of his identity.

  "To our camp by the scarred tree," he replied.

  "Not there, not there," she said, hurriedly. "I was driven from therejust now. I thought the fire began there until I came here."

  Then it was as he feared. Obeying the same mysterious law that hadlaunched this fatal fire like a thunderbolt from the burning mountaincrest five miles awa
y into the heart of the Carquinez Woods, it hadagain leaped a mile beyond, and was hemming them between two narrowinglines of fire. But Low was not daunted. Retracing his steps through theblinding smoke, he strode off at right angles to the trail near thepoint where he had entered the wood. It was the spot where he had firstlifted Nellie in his arms to carry her to the hidden spring. If anyrecollection of it crossed his mind at that moment, it was only shownin his redoubled energy. He did not glide through the thick underbrush,as on that day, but seemed to take a savage pleasure in breakingthrough it with sheer brute force. Once Teresa insisted upon relievinghim of the burden of her weight, but after a few steps she staggeredblindly against him, and would fain have recourse once more to hisstrong arms. And so, alternately staggering, bending, crouching, orbounding and crashing on, but always in one direction, they burstthrough the jealous rampart, and came upon the sylvan haunt of thehidden spring. The great angle of the half fallen tree acted as abarrier to the wind and drifting smoke, and the cool spring sparkledand bubbled in the almost translucent air. He laid her down beside thewater, and bathed her face and hands. As he did so his quick eye caughtsight of a woman's handkerchief lying at the foot of the disruptedroot. Dropping Teresa's hand, he walked towards it, and with the toe ofhis moccasin gave it one vigorous kick into the ooze at the overflow ofthe spring. He turned to Teresa, but she evidently had not noticed theact.

  "Where are you?" she asked, with a smile.

  Something in her movement struck him. He came towards her, and bendingdown looked into her face.

  "Teresa! Good God!--look at me! What has happened?"

  She raised her eyes to his. There was a slight film across them; thelids were blackened; the beautiful lashes gone forever!

  "I see you a little now, I think," she said, with a smile, passing herhands vaguely over his face. "It must have happened when he fainted,and I had to drag him through the blazing brush; both my hands werefull, and I could not cover my eyes."

  "Drag whom?" said Low, quickly.

  "Why, Dunn."

  "Dunn! He here?" said Low, hoarsely.

  "Yes; didn't you read the note I left on the herbarium? Didn't you cometo the camp-fire?" she asked hurriedly, clasping his hands. "Tell mequickly!"

  "No!"

  "Then you were not there--then you didn't leave me to die?"

  "No! I swear it, Teresa!" the stoicism that had upheld his own agonybreaking down before her strong emotion.

  "Thank God!" She threw her arms around him, and hid her aching eyes inhis troubled breast.

  "Tell me all, Teresa," he whispered in her listening ear. "Don't move;stay there, and tell me all."

  With her face buried in his bosom, as if speaking to his heart alone,she told him part, but not all. With her eyes filled with tears, but asmile on her lips, radiant with new-found happiness, she told him howshe had overheard the plans of Dunn and Brace, how she had stolen theirconveyance to warn him in time. But here she stopped, dreading to say aword that would shatter the hope she was building upon his suddenrevulsion of feeling for Nellie. She could not bring herself to repeattheir interview--that would come later, when they were safe and out ofdanger; now not even the secret of his birth must come between themwith its distraction, to mar their perfect communion. She faltered thatDunn had fainted from weakness, and that she had dragged him out ofdanger. "He will never interfere with us--I mean," she said softly,"with _me_ again. I can promise you that as well as if he had swornit."

  "Let him pass now," said Low; "that will come later on," he added,unconsciously repeating her thought in a tone that made her heart sick."But tell me, Teresa, why did you go to Excelsior?"

  She buried her head still deeper, as if to hide it. He felt her brokenheart beat against his own; he was conscious of a depth of feeling herrival had never awakened in him. The possibility of Teresa loving himhad never occurred to his simple nature. He bent his head and kissedher. She was frightened, and unloosed her clinging arms; but heretained her hand, and said, "We will leave this accursed place, andyou shall go with me as you said you would; nor need you ever leave me,unless you wish it."

  She could hear the beating of her own heart through his words; shelonged to look at the eyes and lips that told her this, and read themeaning his voice alone could not entirely convey. For the first timeshe felt the loss of her sight. She did not know that it was, in thismoment of happiness, the last blessing vouchsafed to her miserablelife.

  A few moments of silence followed, broken only by the distant rumor ofthe conflagration and the crash of falling boughs. "It may be an houryet," he whispered, "before the fire has swept a path for us to theroad below. We are safe here, unless some sudden current should drawthe fire down upon us. You are not frightened?" She pressed his hand;she was thinking of the pale face of Dunn, lying in the secure retreatshe had purchased for him at such a sacrifice. Yet the possibility ofdanger to him now for a moment marred her present happiness andsecurity. "You think the fire will not go north of where you found me?"she asked softly.

  "I think not," he said; "but I will reconnoitre. Stay where you are."

  They pressed hands and parted. He leaped upon the slanting trunk andascended it rapidly. She waited in mute expectation.

  There was a sudden movement of the root on which she sat, a deafeningcrash, and she was thrown forward on her face.

  The vast bulk of the leaning tree, dislodged from its aerial support bythe gradual sapping of the spring at its roots, or by the crumbling ofthe bark from the heat, had slipped, made a half revolution, and,falling, overbore the lesser trees in its path, and tore, in itsresistless momentum, a broad opening to the underbrush.

  With a cry to Low, Teresa staggered to her feet. There was an intervalof hideous silence, but no reply. She called again. There was a suddendeepening roar, the blast of a fiery furnace swept through the opening,a thousand luminous points around her burst into fire, and in aninstant she was lost in a whirlwind of smoke and flame! From the onsetof its fury to its culmination twenty minutes did not elapse; but inthat interval a radius of two hundred yards around the hidden springwas swept of life and light and motion.

  For the rest of that day and part of the night a pall of smoke hungabove the scene of desolation. It lifted only towards the morning, whenthe moon, riding high, picked out in black and silver the shrunken andsilent columns of those roofless vaults, shorn of base and capital. Itflickered on the still, overflowing pool of the hidden spring, andshone upon the white face of Low, who, with a rootlet of the fallentree holding him down like an arm across his breast, seemed to besleeping peacefully in the sleeping water.

  * * * * *

  Contemporaneous history touched him as briefly, but not as gently. "Itis now definitely ascertained," said "The Slumgullion Mirror," "thatSheriff Dunn met his fate in the Carquinez Woods in the performance ofhis duty; that fearless man having received information of theconcealment of a band of horse thieves in their recesses. Thedesperadoes are presumed to have escaped, as the only remains found arethose of two wretched tramps, one of whom is said to have been adigger, who supported himself upon roots and herbs, and the other adegraded half-white woman. It is not unreasonable to suppose that thefire originated through their carelessness, although Father Wynn of theFirst Baptist Church, in his powerful discourse of last Sunday, pointedat the warning and lesson of such catastrophes. It may not be out ofplace here to say that the rumors regarding an engagement between thepastor's accomplished daughter and the late lamented sheriff areutterly without foundation, as it has been an _on dit_ for some time inall well-informed circles that the indefatigable Mr. Brace, of Wells,Fargo & Co.'s Express, will shortly lead the lady to the hymenealaltar."