The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories

  THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU.

  I.

  On the fifteenth of August, 1854, what seemed to be the entirepopulation of Wynyard's Bar was collected upon a little bluff whichoverlooked the rude wagon road that was the only approach to thesettlement. In general appearance the men differed but little fromordinary miners, although the foreign element, shown in certain Spanishpeculiarities of dress and color, predominated, and some of the menwere further distinguished by the delicacy of education and sedentarypursuits. Yet Wynyard's Bar was a city of refuge, comprised among itsinhabitants a number who were "wanted" by the State authorities, andits actual attitude at that moment was one of open rebellion against thelegal power, and of particular resistance to the apprehension by warrantof one of its prominent members. This gentleman, Major Overstone, thenastride of a gray mustang, and directing the movements of the crowd,had, a few days before, killed the sheriff of Siskyou county, who hadattempted to arrest him for the double offense of misappropriatingcertain corporate funds of the State and the shooting of the editor whohad imprudently exposed him. The lesser crime of homicide might havebeen overlooked by the authorities, but its repetition upon the bodyof their own over-zealous and misguided official could not passunchallenged if they expected to arrest Overstone for the more seriousoffense against property. So it was known that a new sheriff had beenappointed and was coming to Wynyard's Bar with an armed posse. But itwas also understood that this invasion would be resisted by the Bar toits last man.

  All eyes were turned upon a fringe of laurel and butternut thatencroached upon the road half a mile away, where it seemed that suchof the inhabitants who were missing from the bluff were hidden to givewarning or retard the approach of the posse. A gray haze, slowly risingbetween the fringe and the distant hillside, was recognized as thedust of a cavalcade passing along the invisible highway. In the hushof expectancy that followed, the irregular clatter of hoofs, the sharpcrack of a rifle, and a sudden halt were faintly audible. Themen, scattered in groups on the bluff, exchanged a smile of grimsatisfaction.

  Not so their leader! A quick start and an oath attracted attention tohim. To their surprise he was looking in another direction, but asthey looked too they saw and understood the cause. A file of horsemen,hitherto undetected, were slowly passing along the little ridge on theirright. Their compact accoutrements and the yellow braid on theirblue jackets, distinctly seen at that distance, showed them to be adetachment of United States cavalry.

  Before the assemblage could realize this new invasion, a nearer clatterof hoofs was heard along the high road, and one of the ambuscading partydashed up from the fringe of woods below. His face was flushed, buttriumphant.

  "A reg'lar skunk--by the living hokey!" he panted, pointing to the fainthaze that was again slowly rising above the invisible road. "They backeddown as soon as they saw our hand, and got a hole through their newsheriff's hat. But what are you lookin' at? What's up?"

  The leader impatiently pointed with a darkening face to the distantfile.

  "Reg'lars, by gum!" ejaculated the other. "But Uncle Sam ain't in thisgame. Wot right have THEY"--

  "Dry up!" said the leader.

  The detachment was now moving at right angles with the camp, butsuddenly halted, almost doubling upon itself in some evident commotion.A dismounted figure was seen momentarily flying down the hillsidedodging from bush to bush until lost in the underbrush. A dozen shotswere fired over its head, and then the whole detachment wheeled andcame clattering down the trail in the direction of the camp. A singleriderless horse, evidently that of the fugitive, followed.

  "Spread yourselves along the ridge, every man of you, and cover them asthey enter the gulch!" shouted the leader. "But not a shot until I givethe word. Scatter!"

  The assemblage dispersed like a startled village of prairie dogs,squatting behind every available bush and rock along the line of bluff.The leader alone trotted quietly to the head of the gulch.

  The nine cavalrymen came smartly up in twos, a young officer leading.The single figure of Major Overstone opposed them with a command tohalt. Looking up, the young officer drew rein, said a word to his fileleader, and the four files closed in a compact square motionless on theroad. The young officer's unsworded hand hung quietly at his thigh,the men's unslung carbines rested easily on their saddles. Yet at thatmoment every man of them knew that they were covered by a hundredrifles and shot guns leveled from every bush, and that they were caughthelplessly in a trap.

  "Since when," said Major Overstone with an affectation of tone andmanner different from that in which he had addressed his previouscompanions, "have the Ninth United States Cavalry helped to serve aState court's pettifogging process?"

  "We are hunting a deserter--a half-breed agent--who has just escapedus," returned the officer. His voice was boyish--so, too, was his figurein its slim, cadet-like smartness of belted tunic--but very quiet andlevel, although his face was still flushed with the shock and shame ofhis surprise.

  The relaxation of relief went through the wrought and waiting camp. Thesoldiers were not seeking THEM. Ready as these desperate men had been todo their leader's bidding, they were well aware that a momentary victoryover the troopers would not pass unpunished, and meant the ultimatedispersion of the camp. And quiet as these innocent invaders seemedto be they would no doubt sell their lives dearly. The embattleddesperadoes glanced anxiously at their leader; the soldiers, on thecontrary, looked straight before them.

  "Process or no process," said Major Overstone with a sneer, "you'vecome to the last place to recover your deserter. We don't give up men inWynyard's Bar. And they didn't teach you at the Academy, sir, to stop totake prisoners when you were outflanked and outnumbered."

  "Bedad! They didn't teach YOU, Captain Overstone, to engage a battery atCerro Gordo with a half company, but you did it; more shame to you now,sorr, commandin' the thayves and ruffians you do."

  "Silence!" said the young officer.

  The sleeve of the sergeant who had spoken--with the chevrons of longservice upon it--went up to a salute, and dropped again over his carbineas he stared stolidly before him. But his shot had told. A flush ofmingled pride and shame passed over Overstone's face.

  "Oh! it's YOU, Murphy," he said with an affected laugh, "and you haven'timproved with your stripes."

  The young officer turned his head slightly.

  "Attention!"

  "One moment more," said Overstone coming forward. "I have told you thatwe don't give up any man who seeks our protection. But," he added witha half-careless, half-contemptuous wave of his hand, and a significantglance at his followers, "we don't prevent you from seeking him. Theroad is clear; the camp is before you."

  The young officer continued without looking at him. "Forward--in twofiles--open order. Ma-arch!"

  The little troop moved forward, passed Major Overstone at the head ofthe gully, and spread out on the hillside. The assembled camp, stillarmed, lounging out of ambush here and there, ironically made way forthem to pass. A few moments of this farcical quest, and a glance atthe impenetrably wooded heights around, apparently satisfied the youngofficer, and he turned his files again into the gully. Major Overstonewas still lingering there.

  "I hope you are satisfied," he said grimly. He then paused, and in achanged and more hesitating voice added: "I am an older soldier thanyou, sir, but I am always glad to make the acquaintance of West Point."He paused and held out his hand.

  West Point, still red and rigid, glanced at him with bright clear eyesunder light lashes and the peak of a smartly cocked cap, looked coollyat the proffered hand, raised his own to a stiff salute, said, "Goodafternoon, sir," and rode away.

  Major Overstone wheeled angrily, but in doing so came sharply upon hiscoadjutor--the leader of the ambushed party.

  "Well, Dawson," he said impatiently. "Who was it?"

  "Only one of them d----d half-breed Injin agents. He's just over therein the brush with Simpson, lying low till the soldiers clear out."

  "Did you talk to hi
m?"

  "Not much!" returned Dawson scornfully. "He ain't my style."

  "Fetch him up to my cabin; he may be of some use to us."

  Dawson looked skeptical. "I reckon he ain't no more gain here than hewas over there," he said, and turned away.

  II.

  The cabin of Major Overstone differed outwardly but little from those ofhis companions. It was the usual structure of logs, laid lengthwise, andrudely plastered at each point of contact with adobe, the material fromwhich the chimney, which entirely occupied one gable, was built. Itwas pierced with two windows and a door, roofed with smaller logs, andthatched with long half cylinders of spruce bark. But the interiorgave certain indications of the distinction as well as the peculiarexperiences of its occupant. In place of the usual bunk or berth builtagainst the wall stood a small folding camp bedstead, and upon a rudedeal table that held a tin wash-basin and pail lay two ivory-handledbrushes, combs, and other elegant toilet articles, evidently thecontents of the major's dressing-bag. A handsome leather trunk occupiedone corner, with a richly caparisoned silver-mounted Mexican saddle,a mahogany case of dueling pistols, a leather hat-box, locked andstrapped, and a gorgeous gold and quartz handled ebony "presentation"walking stick. There was a certain dramatic suggestion in thisrevelation of the sudden and hurried transition from a life ofostentatious luxury to one of hidden toil and privation, and a furthersignificance in the slow and gradual distribution and degradation ofthese elegant souvenirs. A pair of silver boot-hooks had been usedfor raking the hearth and lifting the coffee kettle; the ivory of thebrushes was stained with coffee; the cut-glass bottles had lost theirstoppers, and had been utilized for vinegar and salt; a silver-framedhand mirror hung against the blackened wall. For the major's occupancywas the sequel of a hurried flight from his luxurious hotel atSacramento--a transfer that he believed was only temporary untilthe affair blew over, and he could return in safety to brow-beat hisaccusers, as was his wont. But this had not been so easy as he hadimagined; his prosecutors were bitter, and his enforced seclusion hadbeen prolonged week by week until the fracas which ended in the shootingof the sheriff had apparently closed the door upon his return tocivilization forever. Only here was his life and person secure. ForWynyard's Bar had quickly succumbed to the domination of his recklesscourage, and the eminence of his double crime had made him respectedamong spendthrifts, gamblers, and gentlemen whose performances hadnever risen above a stage-coach robbery or a single assassination. Evencriticism of his faded luxuries had been delicately withheld.

  He was leaning over his open trunk--which the camp popularly supposedto contain State bonds and securities of fabulous amount--and had takensome letters from it, when a figure darkened the doorway. He looked up,laying his papers carelessly aside. WITHIN Wynyard's Bar property wassacred.

  It was the late fugitive. Although some hours had already elapsed sincehis arrival in camp, and he had presumably refreshed himself inwardly,his outward appearance was still disheveled and dusty. Brier andmilkweed clung to his frayed blouse and trousers. What could be seen ofthe skin of his face and hands under its stains and begriming was ofa dull yellow. His light eyes had all the brightness without therestlessness of the mongrel race. They leisurely took in the wholecabin, the still open trunk before the major, and then resteddeliberately on the major himself.

  "Well," said Major Overstone abruptly, "what brought you here?"

  "Same as brought you, I reckon," responded the man almost as abruptly.

  The major knew something of the half-breed temper, and neither theretort nor its tone affected him.

  "You didn't come here just because you deserted," said the major coolly."You've been up to something else."

  "I have," said the man with equal coolness.

  "I thought so. Now, you understand you can't try anything of that kindHERE. If you do, up you go on the first tree. That's Rule 1."

  "I see you ain't pertickler about waiting for the sheriff here, youfellers."

  The major glanced at him quickly. He seemed to be quite unconscious ofany irony in his remark, and continued grimly, "And what's Rule 2?"

  "I reckon you needn't trouble yourself beyond No. 1," returned the majorwith dry significance. Nevertheless, he opened a rude cupboard in thecorner and brought out a rich silver-mounted cut-glass drinking-flask,which he handed to the stranger.

  "I say," said the half-breed, admiringly, "yours?"

  "Certainly."

  "Certainly NOW, but BEFORE, eh?"

  Rule No. 2 may have indicated that references to the past held nodishonor. The major, although accustomed to these pleasantries, laugheda little harshly.

  "Mine always," he said. "But you don't drink?"

  The half-breed's face darkened under its grime.

  "Wot you're givin' us? I've been filled chock up by Simpson over thar. Ireckon I know when I've got a load on."

  "Were you ever in Sacramento?"

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Last week."

  "Did you hear anything about me?"

  The half-breed glanced through his tangled hair at the major in somewonder, not only at the question, but at the almost childish eagernesswith which it was asked.

  "I didn't hear much of anything else," he answered grimly.

  "And--what did they SAY?"

  "Said you'd got to be TOOK anyhow! They allowed the new sheriff would doit too."

  The major laughed. "Well, you heard HOW the new sheriff did it--skunkedaway with his whole posse before one-eighth of my men! You saw how therest of this camp held up your nine troopers, and that sap-headed cubof a lieutenant--didn't you? You wouldn't have been standing here ifyou hadn't. No; there isn't the civil process nor the civil power in allCalifornia that can take me out of this camp."

  But neither his previous curiosity nor present bravado seemed to impressthe ragged stranger with much favor. He glanced sulkily around the cabinand began to shuffle towards the door.

  "Stop! Where are you going to? Sit down. I want to talk to you."

  The fugitive hesitated for a moment, and then dropped ungraciously onthe edge of a camp-stool near the door. The major looked at him.

  "I may have to remind you that I run this camp, and the boys hereaboutsdo pretty much as I say. What's your name?"

  "Tom."

  "Tom? Well, look here, Tom! D--n it all! Can't you see that when a manis stuck here alone, as I am, he wants to know what's going on outside,and hear a little fresh talk?"

  The singular weakness of this blended command and appeal apparentlystruck the fugitive curiously. He fixed his lowering eyes on the majoras if in gloomy doubt if he were really the reckless desperado he hadbeen represented. That this man--twice an assassin and the rulerof outlaws as reckless as himself--should approach him in thishalf-confidential way evidently puzzled him.

  "Wot you wanter know?" he asked gruffly.

  "Well, what's my party saying or doing about me?" said the majorimpatiently. "What's the 'Express' saying about me?"

  "I reckon they're throwing off on you all round; they allow you neverrepresented the party, but worked for yourself," said the man shortly.

  Here the major lashed out. A set of traitors and hirelings! He hadbought and paid for them all! He had sunk two thousand dollars in the"Express" and saved the editor from being horsewhipped and jailed forlibel! Half the cursed bonds that they were making such a blankedfuss about were handled by these hypocrites--blank them! They were alow-lived crew of thieves and deserters! It is presumed that the majorhad forgotten himself in this infelicitous selection of epithets, butthe stranger's face only relaxed into a grim smile. More than that, themajor had apparently forgotten his desire to hear his guest talk, for hehimself at once launched into an elaborate exposition of his own affairsand a specious and equally elaborate defense and justification ofhimself and denunciation of his accusers. For nearly half an hour hereviewed step by step and detail by detail the charges against him--withplausible explanation and sophistical argument, but always witha
singular prolixity and reiteration that spoke of incessantself-consciousness and self-abstraction. Of that dashingself-sufficiency which had dazzled his friends and awed his enemiesthere was no trace! At last, even the set smile of the degradedrecipient of these confidences darkened with a dull, bewildered disgust.Then, to his relief, a step was heard without. The major's mannerinstantly changed.

  "Well?" he demanded impatiently, as Dawson entered.

  "I came to know what you want done with HIM," said Dawson, indicatingthe fugitive with a contemptuous finger.

  "Take him to your cabin!"

  "My cabin! HIM?" ejaculated Dawson, turning sharply on his chief.

  The major's light eyes contracted and his thin lips became a straightline. "I don't think you understand me, Dawson, and another time you'dbetter wait until I'm done. I want you to take him to your cabin--andthen CLEAR OUT OF IT YOURSELF. You understand? I want him NEAR ME ANDALONE!"

  III.

  Dawson was not astonished the next morning to see Major Overstone andthe half-breed walking together down the gully road, for he had alreadycome to the conclusion that the major was planning some extraordinaryreprisals against the invaders, that would ensure the perpetual securityof the camp. That he should use so insignificant and unimportant a toolnow appeared to him to be quite natural, particularly as the servicewas probably one in which the man would be sacrificed. "The major," hesuggested to his companions, "ain't going to risk a white man's skin,when he can get an Injun's hide handy."

  The reluctant hesitating step of the half-breed as they walked alongseemed to give some color to this hypothesis. He listened sullenly tothe major as he pointed out the strategic position of the Bar. "Thatwagon road is the only approach to Wynyard's, and a dozen men along therocks could hold it against a hundred. The trail that you came by, overthe ridge, drops straight into this gully, and you saw what that wouldmean to any blanked fools who might try it. Of course we could beshelled from that ridge if the sheriff had a howitzer, or the men whoknew how to work one, but even then we could occupy the ridge beforethem." He paused a moment and then added: "I used to be in the army,Tom; I saw service in Mexico before that cub you got away from had hisfirst trousers. I was brought up as a gentleman--blank it all--and HEREI am!"

  The man slouched on by his side, casting his surly, furtive glancesfrom left to right, as if seeking to escape from these confidences.Nevertheless, the major kept on through the gully, until reaching thewagon road they crossed it, and began to ascend the opposite slope, halfhidden by the underbrush and larches. Here the major paused again andfaced about. The cabins of the settlement were already behind the bluff;the little stream which indicated the "bar"--on which some perfunctorymining was still continued--now and then rang out quite clearly at theirfeet, although the bar itself had disappeared. The sounds of occupationand labor had at last died away in the distance. They were quite alone.The major sat down on a boulder, and pointed to another. The man,however, remained sullenly standing where he was, as if to accent asstrongly as possible the enforced companionship. Either the majorwas too self-absorbed to notice it, or accepted it as a satisfactorycharacteristic of the half-breed's race. He continued confidently:--

  "Now look here, Tom. I want to leave this cursed hole, and get clear outof the State! Anywhere; over the Oregon line into British Columbia, orto the coast, where I can get a coasting vessel down to Mexico. It willcost money, but I've got it. It will cost a lot of risks, but I'll takethem. I want somebody to help me, some one to share risks with me, andsome one to share my luck if I succeed. Help to put me on the other sideof the border line, by sea or land, and I'll give you a thousand dollarsdown BEFORE WE START and a thousand dollars when I'm safe."

  The half-breed had changed his slouching attitude. It seemed moreindolent on account of the loosely hanging strap that had once held hishaversack, which was still worn in a slovenly fashion over his shoulderas a kind of lazy sling for his shiftless hand.

  "Well, Tom, is it a go? You can trust ME, for you'll have the thousandin your pocket before you start. I can trust YOU, for I'll kill youquicker than lightning if you say a word of this to any one before I go,or play a single trick on me afterwards."

  Suddenly the two men were rolling over and over in the underbrush. Thehalf-breed had thrown himself upon the major, bearing him down to theground. The haversack strap for an instant whirled like the loop of alasso in the air, and descended over the major's shoulders, pinioninghis arms to his side. Then the half-breed, tearing open his raggedblouse, stripped off his waist-belt, and as dexterously slipped it overthe ankles of the struggling man.

  It was all over in a moment. Neither had spoken a word. Only their rapidpanting broke the profound silence. Each probably knew that no outcrywould be overheard.

  For the first time the half-breed sat down. But there was no trace oftriumph or satisfaction in his face, which wore the same lowering lookof disgust, as he gazed upon the prostrate man.

  "I want to tell you first," he said, slowly wiping his face, "that Ididn't kalkilate upon doin' this in this yer kind o' way. I expectedmore of a stan' up fight from you--more risk in gettin' you out o' thathole--and a different kind of a man to tackle. I never expected youto play into my hand like this--and it goes against me to hev to takeadvantage of it."

  "Who are you?" said the major, pantingly.

  "I'm the new sheriff of Siskyou!"

  He drew from beneath his begrimed shirt a paper wrapping, from whichhe gingerly extracted with the ends of his dirty fingers a clean,legal-looking folded paper.

  "That's my warrant! I've kept it fresh for you. I reckon you don't careto read it--you've seen it afore. It's just the same as t'other sheriffhad--what you shot."

  "Then this was a plant of yours, and that whelp's troopers?" said themajor.

  "Neither him nor the sojers knows any more about it than you," returnedthe sheriff slowly. "I enlisted as Injin guide or scout ten days ago.I deserted just as reg'lar and nat'ral like when we passed that ridgeyesterday. I could be took to-morrow by the sojers if they caught sighto' me and court-martialed--it's as reg'lar as THAT! But I timed to havemy posse, under a deputy, draw you off by an attack just as the escortreached the ridge. And here I am."

  "And you're no half-breed?"

  "There's nothin' Injin about me that water won't wash off. I kalkilatedyou wouldn't suspect anything so insignificant as an INJIN, when I fixedmyself up. You saw Dawson didn't hanker after me much. But I didn'treckon on YOUR tumbling to me so quick. That's what gets me! You musthev been pretty low down for kempany when you took a man like me interyour confidence. I don't see it yet."

  He looked inquiringly at his captive--with the same wondering surliness.Nor could he understand another thing which was evident. After the firstshock of resistance the major had exhibited none of the indignation ofa betrayed man, but actually seemed to accept the situation with acalmness that his captor lacked. His voice was quite unemotional as hesaid:

  "And how are you going to get me away from here?"

  "That's MY look out, and needn't trouble you, major; but, seein' as howconfidential you've been to me, I don't mind tellin' you. Last nightthat posse of mine that you 'skunked,' you know, halted at the crossroads till them sojers went by. They has only to SEE THEM to know that Ihad got away. They'll hang round the cross roads till they see my signalon top of the ridge, and then they'll make another show against thatpass. Your men will have their hands full, I reckon, without huntin' forYOU, or noticin' the three men o' mine that will come along this ridgewhere the sojers come yesterday--to help me get you down in the sameway. You see, major, your little trap in that gully ain't in thisfight--WE'RE THE OTHER SIDE OF IT. I ain't much of a sojer, but Ireckon I've got you there! And it's all owing to YOU. I ain't," he addedgloomily, "takin' much pride in it MYSELF."

  "I shouldn't think you would," said the major, "and look here! I'lldouble that offer I made you just now. Set me down just as I am on thedeck of some coasting vessel, and I'll pay you four thousand dollars
.You may have all the glory of having captured me, HERE, and of makingyour word good before your posse. But you can arrange afterwards on theway to let me give you the slip somewhere near Sacramento."

  The sheriff's face actually brightened. "Thanks for that, major. I wasgettin' a little sick of my share in this job, but, by God, you've putsome sand in me. Well, then! there ain't gold enough in all Californy tomake me let you go. You hear me; so drop that. I've TOOK you, and TOOKye'll remain until I land you in Sacramento jail. I don't want to killyou, though your life's forfeit a dozen times over, and I reckon youdon't care for it either way, but if you try any tricks on me I may haveto MAIM ye to make you come along comf'able and easy. I ain't hankerin'arter THAT either, but come you shall!"

  "Give your signal and have an end of this," said the major curtly.

  The sheriff looked at him again curiously. "I never had my hands inanother man's pockets before, major, but I reckon I'll have to take yourderringers from yours." He slipped his hand into the major's waistcoatand secured the weapons. "I'll have to trouble you for your sash, too,"he said, unwinding the knitted silken girdle from the captive's waist."You won't want it, for you ain't walking, and it'll come in handy to mejust now."

  He bent over, and, passing it across the major's breast with moregentleness and solicitude than he had yet shown, secured him in an easysitting posture against the tree. Then, after carefully trying the knotsand straps that held his prisoner, he turned and lightly bounded up thehill.

  He was absent scarcely ten minutes, yet when he returned the major'seyes were half closed. But not his lips. "If you expect to hold me untilyour posse comes you had better take me to some less exposed position,"he said dryly. "There's a man just crossed the gully, coming into thebrush below in the wood."

  "None of your tricks, major!"

  "Look for yourself."

  The sheriff glanced quickly below him. A man with an axe on his shouldercould be seen plainly making his way through the underbrush not ahundred yards away. The sheriff instantly clapped his hand upon hiscaptive's mouth, but at a look from his eyes took it away again.

  "I see," he said grimly, "you don't want to lure that man within reachof my revolver by calling to him."

  "I could have called him while you were away," returned the majorquietly.

  The sheriff with a darkened face loosened the sash that bound hisprisoner to the tree, and then, lifting him in his arms, began to ascendthe hill cautiously, dipping into the heavier shadows. But the ascentwas difficult, the load a heavy one, and the sheriff was agile ratherthan muscular. After a few minutes' climbing he was forced to pause andrest his burden at the foot of a tree. But the valley and the man in theunderbrush were no longer in view.

  "Come," said the major quietly, "unstrap my ankles and I'll WALK up.We'll never get there at this rate."

  The sheriff paused, wiped his grimy face with his grimier blouse, andstood looking at his prisoner. Then he said slowly:--

  "Look yer! Wot's your little game? Blessed if I kin follow suit."

  For the first time the major burst into a rage. "Blast it all! Don't yousee that if I'm discovered HERE, in this way, there's not a man on theBar who would believe that I walked into your trap, not a man, by God,who wouldn't think it was a trick of yours and mine together?"

  "Or," interrupted the sheriff slowly, fixing his eyes on his prisoner,"not a man who would ever trust Major Overstone for a leader again?"

  "Perhaps," said the major, unmovedly again, "I don't think EITHER OF USwould ever get a chance of being trusted again by any one."

  The sheriff still kept his eyes fixed on his prisoner, his gloomy facegrowing darker under its grime. "THAT ain't the reason, major. Life anddeath don't mean much more to you than they do to me in this yer game. Iknow that you'd kill me quicker nor lightning if you got the chance; YOUknow that I'm takin' you to the gallows."

  "The reason is that I want to leave Wynyard's Bar," said the majorcoolly; "and even this way out of it will suit me."

  The sheriff took his revolver from his pocket and deliberately cockedit. Then, leaning down, he unbuckled the strap from the major's ankles.A wild hope that his incomprehensible captive might seize that moment todevelop his real intent--that he might fly, fight, or in some way act upto his reckless reputation--sustained him for a moment, but in the nextproved futile. The major only said, "Thank you, Tom," and stretched hiscramped legs.

  "Get up and go on," said the sheriff roughly.

  The major began to slowly ascend the hill, the sheriff close on hisheels, alert, tingling, and watchful of every movement. For a fewmoments this strain upon his faculties seemed to invigorate him, and hisgloom relaxed, but presently it became too evident that the prisoner'spinioned arms made it impossible for him to balance or help himself onthat steep trail, and once or twice he stumbled and reeled dangerouslyto one side. With an oath the sheriff caught him, and tore from his armsthe only remaining bonds that fettered him. "There!" he said savagely;"go on; we're equal!"

  Without replying, the major continued his ascent; it became steeperas they neared the crest, and at last they were both obliged to dragthemselves up by clutching the vines and underbrush. Suddenly the majorstopped with a listening gesture. A strange roaring--as of wind orwater--was distinctly audible.

  "How did you signal?" asked the major abruptly.

  "Made a smoke," said the sheriff as abruptly.

  "I thought so--well! you've set the woods on fire."

  They both plunged upwards again, now quite abreast, vying with eachother to reach the summit as if with the one thought only. Already thesting and smart of acrid fumes were in their eyes and nostrils; whenthey at last stood on level ground again, it was hidden by a thin filmof grayish blue haze that seemed to be creeping along it. But abovewas the clear sky, seen through the interlacing boughs, and totheir surprise--they who had just come from the breathless, stagnanthillside--a fierce wind was blowing! But the roaring was louder thanbefore.

  "Unless your three men are already here, your game is up," said themajor calmly. "The wind blows dead along the ridge where they shouldcome, and they can't get through the smoke and fire."

  It was indeed true! In the scarce twenty minutes that had elapsed sincethe sheriff's return the dry and brittle underbrush for half a mile oneither side had been converted into a sheet of flame, which at timesrose to a furnace blast through the tall chimney-like conductors of treeshafts, from whose shriveled sides bark was crackling, and lighted deadlimbs falling in all directions. The whole valley, the gully, the Bar,the very hillside they had just left, were blotted out by a creeping,stifling smoke-fog that scarcely rose breast high, but was beaten downor cut off cleanly by the violent wind that swept the higher levelof the forest. At times this gale became a sirocco in temperature,concentrating its heat in withering blasts which they could not face, orfocusing its intensity upon some mass of foliage that seemed to shrinkat its touch and open a scathed and quivering aisle to its approach. Theenormous skeleton of a dead and rotten redwood, not a hundred yards totheir right, broke suddenly like a gigantic firework into sparks andflame.

  The sheriff had grasped the full meaning of their situation. In spite ofhis first error--the very carelessness of familiarity--his knowledgeof woodcraft was greater than his companion's, and he saw their danger."Come," he said quickly, "we must make for an opening or we shall becaught."

  The major smiled in misapprehension.

  "Who could catch us here?"

  The sheriff pointed to the blazing tree.

  "THAT," he said. "In five minutes IT will have a posse that will wipe usboth out."

  He caught the major by the arm and rushed him into the smoke,apparently in the direction of the greatest mass of flame. The heat wassuffocating, but it struck the major that the more they approached theactual scene of conflagration the heat and smoke became less, until hesaw that the fire was retreating before them and the following wind.In a few moments their haven of safety--the expanse already burntover--came in sight.
Here and there, seen dimly through the driftingsmoke, the scattered embers that still strewed the forest floor glowedin weird nebulous spots like will-o'-the-wisps. For an instant the majorhesitated; the sheriff cast a significant glance behind them.

  "Go on; it's our only chance," he said imperatively.

  They darted on, skimming the blackened or smouldering surface, which attimes struck out sparks and flame from their heavier footprints as theypassed. Their boots crackled and scorched beneath them; their shredsof clothing were on fire; their breathing became more difficult, until,providentially, they fell upon an abrupt, fissure-like depression of thesoil, which the fire had leaped, and into which they blindly plunged androlled together. A moment of relief and coolness followed, as they creptalong the fissure, filled with damp and rotting leaves.

  "Why not stay here?" said the exhausted prisoner.

  "And be roasted like sweet potatoes when these trees catch," returnedthe sheriff grimly. "No." Even as he spoke, a dropping rain offire spattered through the leaves from a splintered redwood, beforeoverlooked, that was now blazing fiercely in the upper wind. A vague andindefinable terror was in the air. The conflagration no longer seemedto obey any rule of direction. The incendiary torch had passedinvisibly everywhere. They scrambled out of the hollow, and again dasheddesperately forward.

  Beaten, bruised, blackened, and smoke-grimed--looking less human thanthe animals who had long since deserted the crest--they at last limpedinto a "wind opening" in the woods that the fire had skirted. The majorsank exhaustedly to the ground; the sheriff threw himself beside him.Their strange relations to each other seemed to have been forgotten;they looked and acted as if they no longer thought of anything beyondthe present. And when the sheriff finally arose and, disappearing forseveral minutes, brought his hat full of water for his prisoner from adistant spring that they had passed in their flight, he found him wherehe had left him--unchanged and unmoved.

  He took the water gratefully, and after a pause fixed his eyes earnestlyupon his captor. "I want you to do a favor to me," he said slowly. "I'mnot going to offer you a bribe to do it either, nor ask you anythingthat isn't in a line with your duty. I think I understand you now, if Ididn't before. Do you know Briggs's restaurant in Sacramento?"

  The sheriff nodded.

  "Well! over the restaurant are my private rooms, the finest inSacramento. Nobody knows it but Briggs, and he has never told. They'vebeen locked ever since I left; I've got the key still in my pocket. Nowwhen we get to Sacramento, instead of taking me straight to jail, I wantyou to hold me THERE as your prisoner for a day and a night. I don'twant to get away; you can take what precautions you like--surround thehouse with policemen, and sleep yourself in the ante-room. I don't wantto destroy any papers or evidence; you can go through the rooms andexamine everything before and after; I only want to stay there a day anda night; I want to be in my old rooms, have my meals from the restaurantas I used to, and sleep in my own bed once more. I want to live for oneday like a gentleman, as I used to live before I came here. That's all!It isn't much, Tom. You can do it and say you require to do it to getevidence against me, or that you want to search the rooms."

  The expression of wonder which had come into the sheriff's face atthe beginning of this speech deepened into his old look of surlydissatisfaction. "And that's all ye want?" he said gloomily. "Ye don'twant no friends--no lawyer? For I tell you, straight out, major, thereain't no hope for ye, when the law once gets hold of ye in Sacramento."

  "That's all. Will you do it?"

  The sheriff's face grew still darker. After a pause he said: "I don'tsay 'no,' and I don't say 'yes.' But," he added grimly, "it strikes mewe'd better wait till we get clear o' these woods afore you think o'your Sacramento lodgings."

  The major did not reply. The day had worn on, but the fire, nowcompletely encircling them, opposed any passage in or out of thatfateful barrier. The smoke of the burning underbrush hung low aroundthem in a bank equally impenetrable to vision. They were as alone asshipwrecked sailors on an island, girded by a horizon of clouds.

  "I'm going to try to sleep," said the major; "if your men come you canwaken me."

  "And if YOUR men come?" said the sheriff dryly.

  "Shoot me."

  He lay down, closed his eyes, and to the sheriff's astonishmentpresently fell asleep. The sheriff, with his chin in his grimy hands,sat and watched him as the day slowly darkened around them and thedistant fires came out in more lurid intensity. The face of the captiveand outlawed murderer was singularly peaceful; that of the captor andman of duty was haggard, wild, and perplexed.

  But even this changed soon. The sleeping man stirred restlessly anduneasily; his face began to work, his lips to move. "Tom," he gaspedsuddenly, "Tom!"

  The sheriff bent over him eagerly. The sleeping man's eyes were stillclosed; beads of sweat stood upon his forehead. He was dreaming.

  "Tom," he whispered, "take me out of this place--take me out fromthese dogs and pimps and beggars! Listen, Tom!--they're Sydney ducks,ticket-of-leave men, short card sharps, and sneak thieves! There isn't agentleman among 'em! There isn't one I don't loathe and hate--and wouldgrind under my heel, elsewhere. I'm a gentleman, Tom--yes, by God--anofficer and a gentleman! I've served my country in the 9th Cavalry.That cub of West Point knows it and despises me, seeing me here in suchcompany. That sergeant knows it--I recommended him for his first stripesfor all he taunts me,--d--n him!"

  "Come, wake up!" said the sheriff harshly.

  The prisoner did not heed him; the sheriff shook him roughly, so roughlythat the major's waistcoat and shirt dragged open, disclosing his finesilk undershirt, delicately worked and embroidered with golden thread.At the sight of this abased and faded magnificence the sheriff's handwas stayed; his eye wandered over the sleeping form before him. Yes, thehair was dyed too; near the roots it was quite white and grizzled; thepomatum was coming off the pointed moustache and imperial; the face inthe light was very haggard; the lines from the angles of the nostril andmouth were like deep, half-healed gashes. The major was, without doubt,prematurely worn and played out.

  The sheriff's persistent eyes, however, seemed to effect what his ruderhand could not. The sleeping man stirred, awoke to full consciousness,and sat up.

  "Are they here? I'm ready," he said calmly.

  "No," said the sheriff deliberately; "I only woke ye to say that I'vebeen thinkin' over what ye asked me, and if we get to Sacramento allright, why, I'll do it and give ye that day and night at your oldlodgings."

  "Thank you."

  The major reached out his hand; the sheriff hesitated, and then extendedhis own. The hands of the two men clasped for the first, and it wouldseem, the last time.

  For the "cub of West Point" was, like most cubs, irritable whenthwarted. And having been balked of his prey, the deserter, and possiblychaffed by his comrades for his profitless invasion of Wynyard's Bar, hehad persuaded his commanding officer to give him permission to effect arecapture. Thus it came about that at dawn, filing along the ridge, onthe outskirts of the fire, his heart was gladdened by the sight ofthe half-breed--with his hanging haversack belt and tattered armytunic--evidently still a fugitive, not a hundred yards away on the otherside of the belt of fire, running down the hill with another raggedfigure at his side. The command to "halt" was enforced by a single rifleshot over the fugitives' heads--but they still kept on their flight.Then the boy-officer snatched a carbine from one of his men, a volleyrang out from the little troop--the shots of the privates mercifullyhigh, those of the officer and sergeant leveled with wounded pride andfull of deliberate purpose. The half-breed fell; so did his companion,and, rolling over together, both lay still.

  But between the hunters and their fallen quarry reared a cheval defrise of flame and fallen timber impossible to cross. The young officerhesitated, shrugged his shoulders, wheeled his men about, and left thefire to correct any irregularity in his action.

  It did not, however, change contemporaneous history, for a week later,when Wynyard's
Bar discovered Major Overstone lying beside the man nowrecognized by them as the disguised sheriff of Siskyou, they rejoiced atthis unfailing evidence of their lost leader's unequaled prowess. Thathe had again killed a sheriff and fought a whole posse, yielding onlywith his life, was never once doubted, and kept his memory green inSierran chronicles long after Wynyard's Bar had itself become a memory.