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A Waif of the Mountains

by Edward Sylvester Ellis · English · Gutenberg #29693 · 407,755 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: A Waif of the Mountains

Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis


        
Release date: August 15, 2009 [eBook #29693]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29693

Credits: Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WAIF OF THE MOUNTAINS ***




Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net





[Illustration: SHE STARED BEWILDERED INTO THE SHAGGY FACES AROUND
HER.--PAGE 21.]




A WAIF OF THE MOUNTAINS

BY

EDWARD S. ELLIS

AUTHOR OF "UP THE TAPAJOS," "FROM THE THROTTLE TO THE PRESIDENT'S CHAIR,"
"THE LAND OF WONDERS," ETC.

CHICAGO

GEO. M. HILL CO.

PUBLISHERS




COPYRIGHT, 1900,

BY

THE MERSHON COMPANY




A WAIF OF THE MOUNTAINS

CHAPTER I

AT NEW CONSTANTINOPLE


IT had been snowing hard for twenty-four hours at Dead Man's Gulch.
Beginning with a few feathery particles, they had steadily increased
in number until the biting air was filled with billions of snowflakes,
which whirled and eddied in the gale that howled through the gorges
and canyons of the Sierras. It was still snowing with no sign of
cessation, and the blizzard blanketed the earth to the depth of
several feet, filling up the treacherous hollows, caverns and abysses
and making travel almost impossible for man or animal.

The shanties of the miners in Dead Man's Gulch were just eleven in
number. They were strung along the eastern side of the gorge and at an
altitude of two or three hundred feet from the bed of the pass or
canyon. The site protruded in the form of a table-land, offering a
secure foundation for the structures, which were thus elevated
sufficiently to be beyond reach of the terrific torrents that
sometimes rushed through the ravine during the melting of the snow in
the spring, or after one of those fierce cloud-bursts that give
scarcely a minute's warning of their coming.

The diggings were in the mountain side at varying distances. The
success in mining had been only moderate, although several promising
finds raised hopes. The population numbered precisely thirty men,
representing all quarters of the Union, while five came from Europe.
The majority were shaggy, bronzed adventurers, the variety being
almost as great as the numbers. Some had been clerks, several were
college graduates, a number were the sons of wealthy parents, and one
was a full-fledged parson, while there was a certain percentage who
had left their homes to escape the grip of the offended law.

With that yearning for picturesqueness which is a peculiar trait of
Americans, the miners felt that when their settlement had attained the
dignity of nearly a dozen dwellings, it was entitled to an appropriate
name. The gorge, which seemed to have been gouged out of the solid
mass of boulders and rocks, when the mountains were split apart in the
remote past, was known from the first by the title already given,
which also clung to the diggings themselves.

The single saloon presided over by Max Ortigies, was the Heavenly
Bower,--so _that_ point was settled, but when it came to naming the
settlement itself, the difficulties were so numerous that days and
weeks passed without an agreement being reached. No matter how
striking and expressive the title offered by one man, the majority
promptly protested. It was too sulphurous, or too insipid or it lacked
in that nebulous characteristic which may be defined as true
Americanism. It looked as if the problem would never be solved, when
Landlord Ortigies, taking the bull by the horns, appointed a committee
of three to select a name, the others pledging themselves to accept
whatever the committee submitted.

But the mischief was to pay when on the night of the blizzard the
committee met at the Heavenly Bower to make their report. The chairman
insisted upon "E Pluribus Unum," the second member's favorite was
"Murderer's Holler," while the third would not listen to anything
except "Wolf Eye," and each was immovably set in his convictions.

Budge Isham was not a member of the committee, but he was known as a
college graduate. From his seat on an overturned box at the rear of
the room, where he was smoking a pipe, he asked troublesome questions
and succeeded in arraying the committeemen so fiercely against one
another that each was eager to vote, in the event of failing to carry
his own point, in favor of any name objectionable to the rest.

The chairman as stated favored the patriotic name "E Pluribus Unum,"
and boldly announced the fact.

"It has a lofty sound," blandly remarked Isham; "will the chairman be
good enough to translate it for us? In other words, what does 'E
Pluribus Unum' mean?"

"Why," replied the chairman with scorn in his manner; "everybody
oughter know it means, 'Hurrah for the red, white and blue.'"

"Thank you," returned Isham, puffing at his pipe.

Vose Adams, the second committeeman, felt it his duty to explain his
position.

"The trouble with that outlandish name is in the fust place that it
has three words and consequently it's too much to manage. Whoever
heard of a town with three handles to its name? Then it's foreign.
When I was in college (several disrespectful sniffs which caused the
speaker to stop and glare around in quest of the offenders); I say
when I was in college and studying Greek and Chinese and Russian, I
larned that that name was made up of all three of them languages. I
b'leve in America for the Americans, and if we can't find a name
that's in the American language, why let's wait till we can."

This sentiment was delivered with such dramatic force that several of
the miners nodded their heads in approval. It was an appeal to the
patriotic side of their nature--which was quick to respond.

"Mr. Chairman," said Budge Isham, addressing the landlord, who, by
general consent, was the presiding officer at these disputations, and
who like the others failed to see the quiet amusement the educated man
was extracting, "if it is agreeable to Mr. Adams, to whose eloquent
speech we have listened with much edification, I would like him to
give us his reasons for calling our handsome town 'Murderers'
Hollow.'"

The gentleman appealed to rose to his feet. Turning toward the man who
had called upon him, he gave him a look which ought to have made him
sink to the floor with mortification, preliminary to saying with
polished irony:

"If the gentleman had paid attention as he oughter, he would have
obsarved that I said 'Murderer's Holler,' not 'Murderers' _Hollow_.' I
would advise him not to forget that he ain't the only man in this
place that has received a college eddycation. Now as to the name: it
proclaims our stern virtue and love for law."

The orator paused, but the wondering expression of the bronzed
faces turned toward him showed that he would have to descend to
particulars.

"When violators of the law hear that name, what does it say to them?
It says that if any murderer shows his face in this place, he will
receive such rough handling that he will have to holler 'enough,' and
will be glad to get out--I don't see what there is to laugh at!"
exclaimed Vose angrily, looking threateningly around again with his
fists clenched and his gaze fixed specially upon the grinning Budge
Isham.

"There's some sense in what Vose says, which ain't often the case,"
remarked Ike Hoe, the other member of the committee, "but the trouble
will be that when folks hear of the name, they won't think to give it
the meanin' that he gives it. They'll conclude that this place is the
home of murderers, and, if it keeps on, bime by of hoss thieves. If it
warn't for that danger, I might go in for backing up Vose with his
name, but as it stands it won't do."

The argument of Ike had produced its effect. There was little sympathy
in the first place for the title, and that little was destroyed by the
words of Ike, who proceeded to plead for his own choice.

"Now as to 'Wolf Eye.' In the first place, it is short and easy to
say. There ain't any slur in the name, that might offend a new comer,
who would think the 'Murderer's Holler' contained ungentlemanly
allusions to his past. It is warning, too, that the place has got an
eye on everybody and has teeth as sharp as a wolf. Then there is
poetry in the name. Gentlemen," added Ike in a burst of enthusiasm,
"we oughter go in for poetry. How can any one live in such a glorious
country as this with the towering kenyons around him, with the
mountains thousands of feet deep, with the grand sun kissin' the
western tips in the morning and sinking to rest at night in the
east,--with the snow storms in summer and the blazing heat in
winter--with the glo----"

"Hold on! hold on!" called Budge Isham, rising solemnly to his feet,
with hands uplifted in protest; "if Ike doesn't stop, he'll have us
all standing on our heads. There's a brand of liquor down in
Sacramento called 'Wolf Eye;' I don't make any charges, gentlemen,
against my friend Ike, but you can draw your inferences. Wolf Eye
won't do."

A general laugh greeted this sally, seeing which the indignant Ike
turned the tables upon Budge with an admirable piece of sarcasm.

"Seeing as how all of us together don't know 'nough to git up a name
that will suit, I move that the college eddycated gentleman supplies
the brains and does it himself."

The crushing irony of this remark was spoiled by Budge accepting it in
all seriousness. He bowed his head and gracefully thanked the
satirical Vose.

"I shall be very glad to do so. The committee meant well enough, but
the trouble was that there were too many fools on it----"

At this point Wade Ruggles sprang to his feet, with the fierce
question:

"Does the gentleman refer to _me_?"

His hand was at his hip on the butt of his revolver and matters
looked squally, but the tactful Budge quelled the rising storm with
Chesterfieldian grace. Waving his hand and bowing, he said:

"I did not intend the remotest reference to you."

Vose Adams came up promptly.

"Then it's _me_ and I'm ready to make any man eat his words."

"My good friend is mistaken; nothing could induce me to apply such a
term to him; I hold him in too high esteem."

Since this left Ike Hoe as the only remaining member, he began to show
signs of explosion, perceiving which the incomprehensible Budge
proceeded to mollify him.

"And Ike knows that I would be the last person in the world to slur a
gentleman from whom I as well as the others have received so much
instruction."

Ike was mystified. He looked at the other members of the committee and
then into the faces of the group. He couldn't make it out.

"If it's all the same, Mr. Chairman, since the gentleman has said
there was too many fools on the committee, and has just explained that
he didn't mean any one of us three, I'll be obliged if he'll explain
who in thunder he did mean."

This sounded unanswerable, but the cunning Budge was equal to the
occasion.

"It gives me pleasure to answer the question of the gentleman: my
remark was made in a Pickwickian sense."

He leaned forward with a beaming smile, as if his explanation left
nothing to be added. No one understood to what he referred, but all
were too proud to admit the fact. There was a general nodding of
heads, and Ike, with the manner of a man who magnanimously accepts the
humble apology of him whom he has worsted, leaned back on his stool
and audibly remarked:

"That makes it all right."

Budge Isham resumed his seat, when he was reminded that he was
expected to submit a name for the new settlement.

"I beg pardon," he said, rising again, "it is a fact known to this
highly intelligent assemblage, that every city of prominence in Europe
has from one to forty namesakes in this country. There is one
exception, however; doubtless all know to what city I refer."

In response to his inquiring looks, the group tried to appear as if
the name was familiar to them, but no one spoke.

"It is hardly necessary for me to mention the city, but I may say it
is Constantinople."

A contemptuous sniff greeted this proposal.

"That's the worst yet," said Wade Ruggles, drawing a match along the
thigh of his trousers to relight his pipe, which had gone out during
the excitement; "the man that insults this party with such a
proposition, ought to be run out of the place."

"What's the matter with it?" demanded Budge.

"It's too long in the fust place," commented Ike Hoe; "it bothers a
man to git his mouth around it and it hain't any music, like the other
names such as Starvation Kenyon, Hangman's Noose, Blizzard Gorge and
the rest. I stick to mine as the purtiest of all."

"What's that?"

"'Blazes,' short and sweet and innercent like."

Landlord Ortigies was leaning with both elbows on the bar. The new
name struck him favorably.

"I'm inclined to agree with Budge," he said, "cause there hain't any
other place that's hit onto it. All of them names that you chaps have
tried to spring onto us, have been used in other places, or at least
some part of the names, but, as Budge has observed, no galoot has
scooped 'Constantinople.'"

"'Cause no one ain't fool enough," observed Ike Hoe, who noted the
drift of the sentiment.

"But they'll pounce onto it powerful quick if we don't grab it while
it's passin'; it's a good long name, and what if it does make a chap
sling the muscles of his jaw to warble it? All the better; it'll make
him think well of his town, which I prophesy is going to be the
emporium of the West."

"Let's see," growled Wade Ruggles, "Constantinople is in Ireland isn't
it?"

"Where's your eddycation?" sneered Ike Vose; "it's the oldest town in
Wales."

Landlord Ortigies raised his head and filled the room with his genial
laughter.

"If there was anything I was strong on when I led my class at the
Squankum High School it was astronermy; I was never catched in
locating places."

"If you know so much," remarked Ruggles, "you'll let us know something
'bout that town which I scorn to name."

"I'm allers ready to enlighten ign'rance, though I've never visited
Constantinople, which stands on the top of the Himalaya Mountains, in
the southern part of Iceland."

"That's very good," said Budge Isham, who with his usual tact
maneuvered to keep the ally he had gained, "but the Constantinople I
have in mind is in Turkey, which is such a goodly sized country that
it straddles from Europe to Asia."

"Which the same I suppose means to imply that this ere Constantinople
will do likewise similar."

"No doubt that's what it'll do in time," assented the landlord.

"I beg to offer an amendment to my own motion," continued the oily
Budge; "when the boom strikes this town, as it is bound soon to do,
and it rivals in size the famous city on the other side of the
Atlantic, there should be something to distinguish the two. We have no
wish to rob any other place of the honors it has taken centuries to
gain; so, while we reserve the principal name, I propose that we
distinguish it from the old city by prefixing the word 'New.'"

"You mean that this town shall be 'New Constantinople?'" was the
inquiring remark of the landlord.

"Precisely; and I now make the motion that that be our name."

There were seventeen persons present and it looked as if a decision
was inevitable. The landlord was shrewd. His first act was to invite
all to drink at his expense, after which he made each pledge himself
to abide by the decision, whatever it might be. These preliminaries
being arranged, a show of hands was called for. The vote was eight for
and eight against the new name.

"That's a tie," commented the landlord from behind his immense beard;
"and therefore the question ain't settled."

"It's easy 'nough to settle it," said Ike Hoe.

"How?"

"Take another vote."

"I don't see how that'll do it, onless some one changes his mind; but
again, gentlemen: all who favor the new name, raise their right
hands."

Eight horny palms were elevated in air, while the same number were
displayed in the negative. The landlord looked troubled.

"We must keep it up till some one weakens," observed Wade Ruggles.

The host scanned the earnest faces in front of him.

"Which of you gentlemen will promise to weaken if we keep this thing
up for half the night?"

"I'll stay here a week," was the reply of Vose Adams, while the
general nodding of heads showed that he echoed the sentiments of the
others. The landlord met the crisis with becoming dignity.

"Gentlemen, when I was a member of Congress, all questions that was
tied was settled by the presiding officer casting the deciding vote,
and which as aforesaid we don't lay any claim to being higher than
Congress, I therefore, by virtue of the aforesaid right vested in me,
cast my vote in favor of this city being called New Constantinople,
which the same is on me again; gentlemen, what will you have?"

It was a coup d'etat, the victory being clinched before the opposition
realized it. Ere the company had fairly recovered from their
bewilderment, Budge Isham declared that the victory was really his,
due to the good sense and high toned chivalry of his friends, and he
insisted upon doing the honors. He would accept no denial and the
engaging style in which he acquitted himself of this duty restored
good humor. Thus it was that the little mining town of the Sierras in
the days that are gone received its title.

The Heavenly Bower consisted of two large apartments, both on the
ground floor. The one at the rear was used by Landlord Ortigies for
sleeping, eating and partial storage purposes. When Vose Adams made
his quarterly visits to Sacramento, he was accompanied by two mules.
They were not necessary to take and bring the mail, since the pocket
of Adams' great coat was sufficient for that, but they carried down to
Sacramento several empty casks which came back filled, or rather they
were thus when the return journey was begun, but to the dismay of the
proprietor of the Heavenly Bower, he found that they were barely
two-thirds full, when unloaded at his place. Vose explained that the
leakage was due to the roughness of the trail. Since there seemed no
other way of overcoming this, the landlord sent an extra cask with the
request to Vose that he would confine his leakage to that and Vose
kindly obliged him.

The stuff thus provided for the Heavenly Bower was generally in
concentrated form, thereby permitting a dilution which insured a full
supply for the customers who were afflicted with an eternal thirst.

The bar room was of extensive proportions. Nearly all of one side was
occupied by the bar. Opposite was the huge fireplace, and scattered
around were a number of stools, rickety chairs and strong boxes which
served equally well for seats.

The crackling fire, the genial warmth and good cheer within the room
were the more striking because of their contrast with the howling
storm without. The gale roared around the corners of the rude but
strong structure, rattling against the massive door and the log walls,
spitting vicious gusts down the chimney and flinging great drifts
hither and yon with a fury that threatened to send the building
skurrying through the snowy space.

"It's the worst blizzard we ever had," remarked Wade Ruggles, after
one of these violent outbursts; "God pity any one that's abroad
to-night."

"It reminds me of that zephyr last winter," observed Vose Adams, "when
I was bringing your freight, Max, from Sacramento."

"I remember," nodded the landlord; "you started with two kegs and got
here with about half a one; the leakage was tremenjus on that trip."

"True; the blizzards is always rough on Mountain Dew, and sorter makes
it shrink," replied the unblushing Vose.

"Can't you stop the casks leaking so much," inquired Felix Brush, who
had been a parson in Missouri, and claimed that he had never been
"unfrocked."

The landlord solemnly swayed his head.

"Not as long as Vose has charge of the freight----"

At that instant a dull but resounding thump was heard on the roof
overhead. It shook every log in the structure, checked speech and
caused each man to look wonderingly at his neighbor.

"The mountain has fell on us!" exclaimed Ike Hoe in a husky whisper.

"If it was the mountain," said Budge Isham, slightly raising his
voice, as the courage of the party came back; "none of us would be
able to tell of it."

"Then it's a rock--well, I'm blessed! the thing is moving!"

Something was certainly astir in the mass of snow overhead.

"I guess it's a angel that has lost its way," submitted Hoe.

"More likely it's a grizzly b'ar that's stumbled off the rocks--"

But all these speculations were scattered to the winds by the sound of
a voice muffled and seemingly far away, which came to them through the
storm:

"_Helloa, the house_!"




CHAPTER II

WHAT THE BLIZZARD BROUGHT TO NEW CONSTANTINOPLE


A moment after the hail was heard from the roof, the muffled noise
which accompanied it ceased. The stranger groping about in the snowy
gloom had stepped off the roof into the huge drift outside the
Heavenly Bower, and a minute later, lifted the latch of the door and
pushed in among the astonished miners. They saw the figure of a sturdy
man holding something in his arms, so wrapped round with blankets and
coverings that no one could tell its nature. He stamped the snow from
his boots, shook himself like a shaggy dog, then walked heavily to the
chair which Budge Isham placed near the fire for him, and almost fell
into it.

"Good evening, friends," he said in a grave voice; "It was no fault of
mine that I tried at first to enter by the roof."

"When I built the Heavenly Bower," replied Landlord Ortigies; "I
meant to place a door up there, but there wasn't anybody in New
Constantinople with enough sense to know how to do it. I 'spose you
was looking fur it, stranger."

"No," was the reply, "I wasn't looking for anything; I was just
walking, walking through the storm, not knowing or caring where I
went. I can't say how far I came, but it must have been a number of
miles. I was still plodding on, when I set my foot on vacancy and down
I went."

"Gracious! you fell nearly a hundred feet," said Parson Brush; "it was
a wonderful providence that saved you from being dashed to death."

"The snow on the roof must be five or six feet deep," replied the
stranger; "for it received me as if it were a feather bed. I saw a
glow from the top of your chimney against the rocks and knew I was on
the roof of a house. I hardly felt jarred and groped my way off into a
lot more snow and here I am."

The astonishment of the listeners did not make them forget the laws of
hospitality. Budge Isham looked significantly at the landlord, but he
had already drawn a glass of spirits and was coming from behind the
bar with it.

"Stranger, swallow this; you look cold; you're welcome to the Heavenly
Bower, whether you come through the roof or down the chimbley."

"Thank you; I'll take the whiskey in a minute."

And then feeling that he owed those who made him so welcome some
explanation of his coming among them, the stranger said:

"My friends, my name is Maurice Dawson. About two months ago, I left
Independence, Missouri, with an emigrant train for the Pacific coast.
The elements, disease and the Indians made such inroads upon us that
after a time only half a dozen families remained. As if that wasn't
enough, the few survivors quarreled over the course to follow, most of
them aiming for a pass through the mountains into Southern California,
while I, the greatest fool of them all, set out to find Dead Man's
Gulch, of which I had heard from a party of trappers. My canvas
covered wagon, with a single span of horses, contained all my worldly
goods, and my companions were my wife and little girl Nellie, only
three years old. Everything might have gone well but for this
blizzard, which jumbled up the points of the compass and made
traveling so difficult that after a time it became impossible."

All were listening with the closest interest, and every heart was
touched by the emotion of the man, which he could not control for
several minutes. No one interrupted, and, feeling that his story was
not quite completed, he added:

"I fired my gun in the hope of attracting attention, but fortunately
for others I was the only one abroad. By and by the horses stopped.
They could draw the wagon no further. They stood panting and exhausted
and soon lay down in the snow. I turned to speak to my wife, when I
found she had been dead for some minutes, the cold carrying her off as
quietly as if she were dropping asleep. Before she passed away, she
wrapped nearly all her clothing about Nellie, who was cuddling beside
her, so that really the mother, like the noble woman she was, gave her
life for the little one. It was because Nellie was alive, that I
jumped out of the wagon and began floundering through the snow. I
ploughed blindly forward until providence guided me to you."

While uttering the last words, Maurice Dawson was tenderly unwrapping
the bundle in his arms. There were many folds to draw away, but at
last he reached the treasure within, which was his Nellie, still sound
asleep.

If the miners were startled by the resounding thump on the roof, they
were now almost struck dumb with amazement. They sat with open mouths,
staring eyes and for a minute no one spoke or stirred.

"God bless you, my Nellie," murmured the father, bending his head and
touching his lips to the cool forehead; "I had no hope of this when I
left your dead mother and started on my tramp through the snow."

A general sigh went up from the group of awed miners. Wade Ruggles,
who had been leaning on the bar, with his gaze fixed on that of the
handsome stranger, was the first to recover from the spell which held
them all. Tiptoeing across the room, he paused in front of the father
and his child and stared, wondering and speechless. Then one by one
the others did the same, until the whole company were grouped around
the man and child, each afraid to whisper, as if doing so would
dissolve the heavenly vision.

When the wrappings had been laid aside, and the little one was placed
upright, she stared bewildered into the shaggy faces around her. Her
big blue eyes were open to their widest extent, the mass of golden
curls rippled about her shoulders and the fairy-like feet were
inclosed in thick, warm shoes and stockings. The dress of a dull brown
color and thick texture, fitted her tiny frame perfectly and she
formed a most winsome picture of infantile beauty.

For fully five minutes all stared in silence at the marvelous picture.
As before, Wade Ruggles was the first to come to himself, but when he
spoke, it was in an awed, hesitating whisper:

"Is she really alive?"

The sorrowful face of the father lit up with a faint smile as he
answered:

"Yes; thank heaven; alive and well."

"May I touch her?" timidly asked Ike Hoe, extending his finger which
faintly brushed the rosy cheek, and was instantly snatched away as if
he felt he had done a sacrilegious thing.

"I say," ventured Ruggles gathering courage, "I wonder now if she
would let me take her in my arms for a minute or so; I won't drop her;
but that's too much to ask, howsumever."

While he stood hopeful, hesitating and doubtful, Nellie with a half
frightened smile, dived her head under the arm of her father, as if to
get away from the embarrassing situation. He gently fondled the golden
hair and drew her face into view again.

"There, little one, there's nothing to be frightened at; these people
are all your friends and will do anything they can to please you."

"You're right!" exclaimed Landlord Ortigies, with a shake of his head;
"we'll do anything in the world for you; if you say the word, I'll
stand on my head or stand any one else here the same way."

And he showed an alarming inclination to invert himself for the
amusement of the child, but she did not seem to grasp the meaning of
the offer. She fixed her eyes upon Ruggles, who made bold by what
seemed a favorable sign, took a step forward and invitingly extended
his hands. She debated for a moment, whether to meet the proffer and
then with the impulsiveness of infancy leaned toward him. With a
thrill of pleasure the grizzled miner carefully placed his huge arms
underneath hers, and lifted her as if she were a doll from her
father's knee. As he did so, every one saw the big tears trickling
down his cheeks.

"I can't help it, boys," he said apologetically; "the last child I
held in these arms was my own Jennie, and she was dead."

With infinite affection, he pressed his bearded lips against the
chubby cheek, while she, relieved of all fear, flung her dimpled arms
about his neck and kissed him in return. With one hand, she lifted the
flapping hat from his head and with the other smoothed away the
luxuriant hair from his forehead.

"I like you ever so much, but you are crying," she said sympathetically;
"what makes you do that? Haven't you got a little girl like me?"

"No, my precious child; I once had just such a sweet tot as you, but
the good Lord took her from me, and I love you just as I loved her."

"And that's what we all are going to do," remarked Ike Hoe, with a
sniff as he drew his sleeve across his eyes; "this beats anything in
the history of New Constantinople, by seven hundred and eighty-four
thousand majority."

"Come, Wade, you must be fair with us," said the landlord, reaching
out his arms; "we all claim an equal share in her."

The miner felt the truth of this, and without a word relinquished the
treasure. Drawing his handkerchief, he wiped his eyes clear of their
mist and jealously followed the surrendered one as she was fondled in
turn by the others. First one and then another, until she had
completed the round. All had something pleasant to say to her and she
replied in her sweet innocent way, causing laughter and winning her
path straight to the hearts of the hardy fellows, to whom such
endearments had been unknown for years, but whose better natures were
stirred by the presence of the child, as if she were in reality an
angel sent from heaven.

Felix Brush had purposely left his turn for the last, hoping thereby
to retain her longer than his friends. After chatting with her for a
moment and repeating some rigmarole that set her laughing, followed by
the request for him to say it again, he stood her on the bar. Then he
danced in front of her, swung his arms like a jumping-jack, and told
some outlandish fairy story from the stock that no one had ever
suspected he possessed.

"Can you stand on your head?" asked Nellie, rippling over with fun.

"Certainly," he replied, as without a moment's hesitation, he inverted
himself and cracked his heels together, though the attitude was such
an unfamiliar one that he careened and went over on his back with a
thump that made the room tremble. Nellie clapped her chubby hands
with delight and before Brush could repeat the performance, she
called:

"Catch me; I'm going to jump."

"All right; I'm ready for you."

She recoiled a step to gather momentum and Landlord Ortigies,
terrified at the fear that she might step off backward, made a dive
round the end of the bar, catching his foot in an obstruction and
falling with a crash that drew all attention to him.

"I'm so sorry; be you hurt?" asked Nellie, turning her head and
surveying him, as his face came up to view like the full moon rising
above the horizon.

"Not a bit; I done that on purpose to make you laugh; I always do that
to please good little girls like you."

"Bime by I'll let you fall all the time, but just see me jump."

Felix Brush was still standing, with arms outstretched, and, without a
second's hesitation the child leaped off into space. She showed no
fright, for there was no cause for it, since she was caught fairly and
securely. Inasmuch as she had been fondled by every one, and the
parson had had her longer than anyone else, he set her down on the
floor and she began running here and there, displaying a childish
curiosity to understand everything in sight. Going to the half-opened
door, communicating with the darkened apartment at the rear, she
peeped timidly in.

"Who lives in dere?" she asked, turning around and addressing the
whole group who were laughingly watching her.

"That's where I live," replied Ortigies.

"Do you live all alone?"

"Yes, my child."

"Haven't you got any little girl like me?"

"No; I'd give all I have in the world if I had."

"Wouldn't you like to have me for your little girl?"

"Indeed I would; will you be my little girl?"

The baby face became thoughtful. She thrust one finger in the corner
of her mouth and looked down at the floor.

"What would papa do and those other folks? I will be the little girl
for all of you."

This struck the party as the brightest and wittiest expression ever
made by a mortal. They laughed, clapped their hands and striking each
other on the shoulder wanted to know whether anything of the like had
ever before been heard. Certainly not. Without paying any heed to
them, Nellie was peering into the room again.

"It's dark and cold," she said in an awed voice, turning her face
around, the better to communicate the information; "but I ain't
afraid."

Before she could fairly enter the place, her father, who was
affectionately watching her, said:

"I guess you would better not go in there, Nellie; it's growing late
and is time you prepared for bed."

"I'll fix a place for her," said Ortigies; "we ain't much on style
here, but I can manage to make her comfortable."

"But will it not discommode you?"

"That little gal can't discommode any one in New Constantinople; if
she would prefer to have me go out and sleep in the snow, I'll be glad
to do it."

"I've just the place for her," interposed Wade Ruggles; "couldn't be
better if I had taken a week to get it ready."

"Can't begin with my quarters," Felix Brush hastened to say, and there
would have been a general wrangle for the privilege of accommodating
the little one, had not her father, seeing how matters were going,
smilingly raised his hand in protest.

"I cannot tell you, my friends, how much I thank you all for your
kindness. Ah, if my poor wife could have held out until she reached
here, but that was not to be. I shall be glad to stay with Mr.
Ortigies to-night, and with your permission shall remain for a few
days in your settlement. I have lost everything I owned in the world,
and will need some time to decide what is best to do. Our stay in New
Constantinople will give all a better chance to get acquainted with
Nellie. I'll surrender her to you until you get tired of her."

"Get tired of her!" repeated Vose Adams, voicing the sentiments of
all; "we're not the kind of galoots to git tired of an angel."

The father expressed his thanks with such winsome grace, that every
man instinctively felt that he was a born gentleman. There was not a
miner in the room who did not sympathize with him in his affliction,
and yet they envied him the possession of the child, whose innocence
and beauty impressed them as more wonderful than they had ever looked
upon before. When Felix Brush whispered to Budge Isham that
arrangements must be made in some way to keep the father with them,
for the sake of having the child, his friend nodded his head, and said
he had made up his mind to the same effect from the moment the parent
referred to the matter. And the sentiments of these two were those of
the rest.

"Come, Nellie, let me prepare you for bed; it's a long time since you
have had that privilege."

The little one obediently walked to her father and turned her back to
him that he might better remove her clothing.

"I suppose you have plenty of covering for her?" remarked the parent
inquiringly to the landlord.

"There's all she can need."

Lifting her on his knee, the father began removing the shoes and
stockings, the little one giving what aid she could, when it came to
the garments. One of the last acts of the affectionate mother had been
to place upon her child the gown she was accustomed to wear while
asleep. When at last she was ready, she looked up to her father and
asked in a half whisper:

"Where's mamma?"

"She will not be with us to-night."

"Then she will come in the morning?"

"Wait until then, my child; don't say anything more about mamma now."

She was satisfied, and signified that she was ready to have her father
carry her to her bed. Then she exclaimed with a laugh:

"Ain't that funny?"

"What's that?"

"I like to fordot to say my prayers."

And slipping from her father's knee, she knelt on the floor, with her
hands covering her face which, as it pressed his knee, was hidden by
the mass of golden ringlets clustering and falling about it. Not a man
stirred or spoke. All were so silent that the sifting of the snow
against the logs, the moaning of the gale and the soft rustle of the
embers that broke apart on the hearth were audible. But all these were
as the "voice of silence" itself, so that when the child began her
prayer in a low voice, every syllable was heard.

     "Now I lay me down to sleep.
     I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
     If I should die before I wake,
     I pray the Lord my soul to take.
     God bless papa, mamma and make Nellie a good girl; bless--"

Wheeling short round at the silent, awed group, she looked at the
landlord and asked:

"What is your name?"

"Or-ti-gies," he replied, pronouncing it carefully.

She made rather sorry work at first, but there could be no doubt that
the One to whom she was addressing the petition understood her wishes.
When she had satisfied herself and included the landlord in her
prayer, she ceased again, and this time looked up at her father whose
hand was resting on her head.

"I must pray for _all_ of them, musn't I?"

"Certainly, my child."

"But I don't know dere names."

"They will all tell them."

No act of worship in church or grand cathedral was more solemn and
reverential than that of the men, as each in turn stepped softly
forward with bowed head, and repeated his name to the tiny petitioner,
who immediately included it with those for whom she had already prayed
and it was wafted upward through space to Him who delights to hear and
answer such petitions.

She did not forget one. To make sure, she looked up while still on her
knees and asked:

"Did I fordot any of you?"

"No," replied the parent; "you have not missed any. That's a good
girl."

"And I know they will all be good, for I asked God to make 'em so."

The father now rose to his feet with her in his arms, and she
called a general good night, flinging a kiss to all. Landlord
Ortigies had lit an extra lamp and with it in hand, he led the way to
the rear room, where as he stated, comfortable quarters were
provided for the little one. Since the Heavenly Bower was the only
place in the mining settlement where the wanderer, who occasionally
made his way into that remote part of the world, could expect to
find sleeping accommodations, Ortigies was always prepared for
visitors. Thus he was able to furnish the father with a couch so
placed that he virtually shared the bed with his child.

Ten minutes later, when he stole back into the room with the landlord
to see whether everything was right with his child, she was found sunk
in the sweet, dreamless slumber of infancy. The picture was so winsome
as she lay with her cheek resting upon the rough pillow, that Ortigies
stepped softly to the door and beckoned to his friends. Everyone stole
forward, and stood looking down for several minutes upon the sleeper,
and, as he did so, new resolves sprang into his heart. Already it may
be said they were better men because of the blessed messenger that had
come among them.




CHAPTER III

A SLIP OR TWO


The blizzard gradually subsided toward morning, but when the fall of
snow ceased, it lay to the depth of several feet on the level, while
the gorges were choked with vast drifts. The cold was below zero and
no work could be done in the diggings until a rise in temperature
came.

It was hardly light, however, on the succeeding morning, when three of
the miners accompanied Maurice Dawson in his search for the abandoned
wagon and team. There was not a trace of anything resembling a trail,
the footprints of the man having been obliterated by the wind-driven
snow, and the skill of the party was taxed to the utmost. Several
times they were compelled to rest, and Dawson himself suggested that
the search be given up until a change in the weather; but the kind
hearted men saw how deeply he grieved, and their sympathy kept them
toiling until about noon when success came.

The wagon was so covered with snow that it resembled a hummock, which
ordinarily would have been passed without notice. The horses and the
inanimate form within were like blocks of wood. The slight figure was
lifted tenderly from its resting place and brought to Dead Man's
Gulch.

Since the last recollection of Nellie was when she supposed her mother
alive, it was deemed kinder that she should not look upon the lifeless
form again. With hard labor the picks and shovels hollowed out a
shallow grave into which the form, wrapped about with a single
blanket, was laid away to rest until the last day.

The father, when questioned by the little one, explained that her
mother had gone on a long, long journey and there was no saying when
she would be seen again. Nellie cried a good deal and it saddened her
parent's heart, when stealing softly into her room, he saw the traces
of tears on her cheeks. Who can tell the sorrows of childhood when
such a cruel affliction comes upon it? But it is a blessed truth that
time is the healer of all wounds, and after awhile the little one
ceased to ask about her mother. When the whole truth was told her, she
had become old enough to bear the blow.

Maurice Dawson's first purpose was to remain only for a week or two
with the friends of himself and child. He had set out for the Pacific
coast, and, although it was still a thousand miles distant, he felt it
his duty to press on, but he suffered himself to be dissuaded, when it
was explained that the prospect of obtaining gold was as good at New
Constantinople, whereas, if he continued his journey, he would have to
make his home among strangers, who were not likely to feel the
interest in him and his child that was felt by those who were the
means of saving their lives. Furthermore, since he had lost his team,
he was without the means of pressing on. None of the emigrant trains
turned so far out of their course as to come to Dead Man's Gulch, and
nothing was plainer than that the citizens of that place would not
give the least help in an enterprise that was to deprive them of
Nellie. It is impossible to say what would have followed, had he
persisted in his first decision, for while the men might have
consented to let him go, they would have rebelled had he attempted to
take the child from them.

And so it came about, we repeat, that Maurice Dawson decided to make
his home indefinitely in the town that had been christened New
Constantinople. With the help of his neighbors, Landlord Ortigies
divided his rear room into two apartments, one of which was turned
over to the parent and his child. Nearly every miner brought some
article, such as a fragment of mirror, a picture or trinket and
presented it to the little one, whose room naturally became the finest
in New Constantinople.

Dawson himself joined the miners at their work, all showing an
eagerness to lend him a helping hand, and there was reason to hope
that in time there would be a fair reward for their labor. He was not
only an educated man, but was strong and enterprising, considerate of
the feelings of others, and now that his life partner was gone, he had
but the little daughter to live for. Gladly he toiled for her, for no
child was ever more tenderly loved by parent than she. His thoughts
turned to the future, but for some years he believed it was better
that she should remain where she was.

Nellie Dawson became the pet of the mining town. There was not a man
in the place, no matter how rough his ways, nor how dark had been his
past, who was not made the better by her presence. She touched a
responsive chord in every heart. She awoke tones that had been silent
for years, and stirred into life resolves that had lain dormant for a
generation. When the weather grew milder with the approach of spring,
she flitted like a bird from cabin to cabin, equally at home and
dearly prized in all. Many a time when night came, the father was
unable to find her, and perhaps saw nothing of her until the next day,
but he never felt any solicitude. He knew that some of the men had
persuaded her to remain with them, and he was too considerate to rob
them of the pleasure of listening to her innocent prattle, while they
racked their ingenuity and threw dignity to the winds in the effort to
entertain her. Each one strove to make her think more of him than the
others, and it ended by her loving them all.

As a rule, Nellie ate her morning meal at home, after spending the
night with her father, and then she was off for the day, returning or
remaining away as her airy fancy prompted. Her sweet influence in the
mining camp was beyond the power of human calculation to fathom. No
gauge could be placed upon it. Like the sweep of an angel's wing, her
coming seemed to have wafted nearly all the coarseness, wrong and evil
from her path.

"There's a serious question that I want to lay afore this company,"
gravely remarked Wade Ruggles one night in the Heavenly Bower. Dawson
was absent with a brother miner at the lower end of the settlement, so
the gathering felt at liberty to discuss him and his child. Wade of
late had fallen into the habit of taking the lead in such discussions,
and Landlord Ortigies was quite willing to turn over the honors of the
chairmanship to the outspoken fellow.

The remainder of the company were smoking, drinking and talking as the
mood took them, and all looked inquiringly at the speaker, seeing
which Wade continued with the same earnestness he had shown at first:

"It is this: that little angel that was tossed down here in the
blizzard is growing fast; she's larning something cute every day; she
notices things that you don't think of; fact is she's the smartest
youngster that was ever born. Does any gent feel disposed to dispoot
the aforesaid statement?" he abruptly asked, laying his hand on the
butt of his revolver and looking severely around in the faces of his
friends.

No one questioned the assertion. Had it been left to them to choose
the words, they would have made them stronger.

"Wal, the remark I was about to remark is that I hear some coarse
observations once in awhile. I may say that I have indulged in a few
myself when the 'casion was suitable and called for 'em, but I want to
give notice that the thing must stop in the presence of the angel."

"Your suggestions generally ain't worth listenin' to," observed Ike
Hoe, "but there's solid sense in them words. I have been troubled over
the same thing and was goin' to submit a proposition."

"You're a purty one to do it," commented Vose Adams scornfully; "why
it's only yesterday that I heerd you say 'darn' just because I
happened to smash the end of your finger, with the hammer I was
drivin' a nail with."

"Did the little one hear him?" asked Wade Ruggles, while an expression
of horror settled on every countenance.

"No, sir!" declared Ike; "afore I indulged in the expression, so
proper under the tryin' circumstances, I looked round to make sartin
she wasn't in hearing distance."

"You must have looked very quick," said Vose; "for the horrible words
was simultaneous with the flattenin' of your big forefinger.
Howsumever, I gazed round myself and am happy to say she warn't in
sight. If she had been, I'd smashed all your fingers."

"A very proper Christian spirit," commended Wade; "I hope all the rest
of you will strive to emerlate it."

Felix Brush was leaning on the end of the bar with a glass of steaming
toddy, which he had partly sipped, and was now caressing with his
hand.

"Gentlemen," said he impressively, "permit me a word. Wade has touched
a subject which appeals to us all. I have given it much thought for
the past few days and feel it my duty to look after the religious
instruction of the child."

Two or three disrespectful snickers followed this declaration. The
parson instantly flared up.

"If any reprobate here feels a desire to scoff, he's only to step
outside for a few minutes and see who can get the drop on the other."

Everybody knew that the parson was always well heeled, and no one
questioned his courage. His friends contented themselves with pitying
smiles and significant glances at one another. Felix hastily
swallowed his toddy, with the evident intention of airing his emphatic
views, when Wade Ruggles interposed:

"Pards, you're gettin' off the track; we hain't got to the religious
racket yit; that'll come later. What I want to 'rive at is as to using
cuss words and unproper language where the angel hears it. It ain't
'nough for us to agree that we won't do it; it must be fixed so we
don't take no chances."

This was not exactly clear and Wade was asked to be more explicit.

"I mean that there must be a penalty, such as will stop a galoot that
has once offended from doing the same thing again."

This clearly intimated that the punishment which the chairman had in
mind was of a frightful nature. The landlord begged Wade to come down
to particulars.

"My idee is that whoever offends this little one by unproper language
shall be filled full of bullet holes: how does _that_ strike you?"

"It hits me just right!" responded the landlord, with several nods of
his head; "but there's one thing in the way."

"What's that?" demanded Wade, showing some temper at this attack upon
his scheme.

"It 'lows a man to say the unproper words in the hearin' of the angel,
_afore_ he's shot; so it won't prevent her ears from being 'fended.
Can't we fix it some way, so that she shan't hear 'em at all?"

"There's no trouble about that," solemnly remarked Budge Isham from
his seat at the further end of the room; "You have only to find out
when a fellow has made up his mind to use improper language in the
presence of the child, and then shoot him before he can say the
words."

"But how shall we know he's going to say 'em?" inquired the chairman,
who in the earnestness of his feelings felt no suspicion of the
honesty of his friend.

"You will have to judge that by the expression of his countenance. I
think when a fellow has made up his mind to swear his looks give
notice of what is coming. The rest of us must be on the alert and pick
him off before the words get out of his mouth. And yet I am sorry to
say," added Budge gravely rising to his feet, "that there is one
serious drawback to my proposition."

"The chairman is anxious to hear it."

"There might be mistakes made. A man's expression is not always an
index of his thoughts. He might be suffering from some inward pain,
and be in the act of uttering some expression, but his face could have
so mean a look that if our law was in force, he would be shot on
sight. For instance, studying these faces all turned toward me, I
should say, speaking on general principles, that all except one or
two deserve, not shooting, but hanging, and if looks were to determine
a man's depth of infamy, mighty few of you would live five minutes."

Budge sank gravely into his seat and resumed smoking, while his
friends, understanding his trifling character, contemptuously refused
attention to his disrespectful remarks. In the general discussion
which followed, several insisted that the only proper punishment for
the grave offence was death; but the sentiment crystallized into the
feeling that that penalty was somewhat severe for the first breaking
of the law. It was proper enough for the second crime, but a man who
had been accustomed to picturesque and emphatic words was liable to
err once at least while on the road to reformation. The agreement
finally reached was that the offender should be heavily fined,
compelled to fast several days, or, more frightful than all, be
deprived of the privileges of the bar for the same length of time.
When the last penalty was fixed there were several suppressed groans
and a general setting of lips, with the unshakable resolve to steer
clear of that appalling punishment.

Everything was serene for several days, when, as might have been
anticipated, the explosion came. Al Bidwell, in coming out of the
Heavenly Bower, caught the toe of one of his boots and fell forward on
his hands and knees. Two of his friends seeing him naturally laughed,
whereupon, as he picked himself up, he demanded in the name of the
presiding genius of hades, what they saw to laugh at. By way of
answer, one of them pointed to Nellie Dawson, who ran forward to help
him to his feet.

"Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Bidwell? I's so sorry."

"You may well be, little one," was the bitter response, as he realized
his awful offence; "for this will play thunder with me--there it goes
agin! Please don't say another word," he exclaimed desperately,
striding down the street to save himself from piling up a mountain of
unpardonable crimes.

The committee did not gather until late that evening, for Nellie was
at home and it was thought advisable to wait until she was asleep, so
that she should not know anything of what was in the air. The
conversation was in subdued tones until Mr. Dawson tip-toed out of the
rear room, with the announcement that the little one was sunk in
slumber.

"Such bein' the case," remarked Wade Ruggles, with becoming gravity,
"this meeting will proceed to bus'ness. Pards, a hein'us crime has
been committed among us. In the proud history of New Constantinople,
we've had hangin' bees; we've shot three Injins 'cause they _was_
Injins; there has been any number of holes plugged inter them as was a
little careless of speech, and more'n once there has been the devil to
pay, but nothin' like this, _never_! Vose Adams, you was one as heard
this wretch Bidwell indulge in his shocking profanity. You'll be good
'nough to give the partic'lars to the gents that I must warn to brace
themselves fur the shock."

Vose Adams told the story which was familiar to all. He and Budge
Isham were approaching the Heavenly Bower that forenoon, the cause
being a due regard for the requirement of the laws of health, when
Albert Bidwell, the accused, stubbed his toe. Hearing a laugh, he
looked up and demanded to know what the ---- they were laughing at.
While the query, though objectionable on aesthetic grounds, might have
passed muster in the diggings or anywhere in New Constantinople
previous to the advent of the angel at present making her home with
them, yet the horror of the thing was that the aforesaid angel heard
it. She ran to the help of the villain, who added to his monumental
crime by calmly remarking to her that what he had just said would play
thunder with him.

This second offence was unanimously felt by those present to be more
unpardonable than the first, since it was in the nature of an
addendum, had nothing to do with the business proper, and worst of
all, was addressed to Nellie herself.

Chairman Ruggles turned his severest frown upon the prisoner, who was
sitting disconsolately on a box, and drawing at his brier wood pipe,
which in the depth of his emotion, he failed to notice was unlighted.

"What has the prisoner to say fur himself?"

Bidwell shuffled to his feet, took the pipe from his mouth and looked
around upon the cold, unsympathetic faces.

"Wal, pards," he remarked, heaving a great sigh, "I don't see that
there's anything partic'lar fur me to say. When a thing is fairly
proved onto you, you can't make nothin' by denyin' of the same. I've
been tryin' to walk a chalk line ever since the angel arrove among us.
Two or three times I fell over backward and bruised my head, owin' to
my tryin' to stand up too straight. I was just bracin' myself to do
the same as aforesaid, when comin' out of this disgraceful place, when
I took a headlong dive and struck the earth so hard, I must have made
a bulge in China. Two unmannerly ijuts that happened to see me,
instead of expressin' sorrer for my mishap, broke out laughin', and in
my righteous indignation, I asked them a emphatic question."

"Ord'narily," observed the Court, "your explanation would do. In the
old times, nothin' would have been said if you'd drawed your gun and
give 'em a lesson in manners, but that aint the question afore the
house: Why did you do it in the presence of the angel?"

"Didn't see her till after the crime was committed."

"But why didn't you look fur her to larn whether she was in sight or
was liable to hear your shocking words?"

"Didn't think of it."

"Your reply only aggervates the offence. If any man feels that he must
swear or bust, he must bust, purvided the little one is in sight; or
he must hold in till he can climb on top of the rocks, or creep among
the foothills where he's sure of being alone. The Court hain't any
'bjection to your thinking all the cuss words you want to, but you
mus'n't speak 'em when she's about. You understand the position of the
Court?"

"I'd be a fool if I didn't," growled the accused.

"It's onnecessary to understand 'em in order to be a fool, Mr.
Bidwell, but how 'bout your second offence, when you used the word
'thunder,' and addressed it to the gal herself?"

The prisoner felt that nothing could be said in palliation of this
charge.

"That _was_ bad bus'ness, I'll confess; but I was so disgusted with
myself that I didn't know what I was doing or saying; the words come
out afore I had time to pull myself together. I was so afeard of
adding something still worser that I just rushed off to git out of
danger."

[Illustration: AS HE PICKED HIMSELF UP, HE DEMANDED IN THE NAME OF THE
PRESIDING GENIUS OF HADES WHAT THEY SAW TO LAUGH AT.--PAGE 43.]

"There's where you showed the first grain of sense the Court ever
knowed you to show. If I had been in your place, I would have jumped
off the rocks, into the kenyon, two thousand feet below. If you'd done
that you'd been saved the disgrace of being put on trial in this
honorable Court. Gents," added Ruggles, glancing from the prisoner
into the expectant faces, "since the man owns up, it rests with you to
fix the penalty for his crime of bigamous murder."

The prisoner resumed his seat and the chairman looked around, as an
invitation for those present to express their views. When they came to
do so, a wide diversity came to the surface. Vose Adams suggested that
the criminal be compelled to go without any food for three days, but
this was not favorably received, since the rough, trying life which
each man had been compelled to follow at times during the past years,
made the punishment much less than it appeared to be.

Ike Hoe suggested that instead of food, the accused's liquid
refreshment should be shut off for the time named. The accused
groaned.

When this had continued for some time, Felix Brush, the parson, took
the floor.

"Gentlemen, it's a principle in law to be lenient with the first
offence, and, since this is the first time that Bidwell has offended
and he deeply feels his disgrace, why not require him to apologize to
the young lady and stand treat for the crowd, with the understanding
that his next crime shall be visited with condign punishment?"

"Do you propose to let him off?" demanded the wrathful chairman.

"Yes; for this once, but never again."

"I'll never consent to anything of the kind! The dignity of the Court
must be preserved; the law must be executed, and any man who says
'devil' or 'thunder' in the presence of the little gal, I don't care
what the circumstances, orter to be shot, so that there wont be any
delay in his going to the devil, where he belongs."

"_O, Mr. Ruggles, I heard you_!"

A little figure dressed in white stood at the door leading to the rear
room, and the startled auditors turning their heads, saw Nellie
Dawson, with her chubby finger pointed reprovingly at the dumbfounded
chairman.




CHAPTER IV

SUITING THE PUNISHMENT TO THE CRIME


Wade Ruggles was speechless. He sat with his mouth wide open and his
eyes staring at the little figure, as if it were a veritable
apparition. All the others looked in the same direction. Nellie Dawson
stood for a moment with her finger pointed reprovingly at the
chairman, and then turning about ran back into the rear room and
plunged into her bed.

"Max, quick!" said Ruggles faintly, pointing to the black bottle at
the rear of the bar. The landlord hastily poured out some of the fiery
stuff, and the miserable fellow swallowed it at a gulp. It served
partly to revive him, but he was really on the verge of collapse.

The only one of the company not impressed was Maurice Dawson, father
of the little girl. He was sitting well back of the rest, where no one
paid attention to him. Comprehending the meaning of this incident, he
drew his hand across his mouth to conceal the smile that could not be
wholly restrained. Then he hurried back into the room to see that his
child was "tucked up" and properly covered for the night. Finding
himself in the dark, where he could not be observed, he laughed
deeply and silently, his mirth all the greater because of the
oppressive gravity of every one else. Then bending over, he said, as
he kissed the little one:

"I thought you were asleep, Nellie?"

"So I was, but Mr. Ruggles spoke those bad words so loud he woked
me."

"You mustn't get up again, will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"I have just told you I don't wish you to."

"Then I wont get up."

The father lingered in the room, until he mastered his disposition to
laugh, and then, when he walked out among his friends no countenance
was graver than his.

"I say, Dawson," said Ruggles, swallowing a lump in his throat, "will
you oblige me by acting as chairman?--I don't feel--very--well."

The gentleman walked forward to where Ruggles had been standing with
his back against the bar, looking down in the faces of his friends.
The poor fellow seemed to have aged ten years, as he slouched off to
an upturned box near the door, where he dejectedly seated himself.

"What is your pleasure, gentlemen?" asked Dawson, as if presiding over
the deliberations of one of the most august assemblages in the land;
"I am ready to hear any suggestion or motion."

Al Bidwell rose to his feet.

"Mr. Chairman, I wish to endorse with all my heart, the soul-stirring,
eloquent address to which we have just listened from the late Mr.
Ruggles,--I mean the late Chairman. Them sentiments of his is as sound
as a gold dollar. He maintains that any gent that uses an unproper
word, such as he used and which I scorn to repeat, in the presence of
the young lady, who has just listened to his remarks, oughter to be
sent to the individooal whose name is too shocking fur me to
pronounce, since the aforesaid young lady is in the adjoining
apartment, from whence she was awoke by the awful profanity of the
gent who lately served as our chairman."

And having gotten back on Ruggles in this masterly manner, Bidwell sat
down, slung one leg over the other, and relit his pipe. The oppressive
silence was broken by a prodigious sigh from Ruggles.

Parson Brush, after the stillness had continued some minutes, rose to
his feet.

"Mr. Chairman, an extraordinary state of affairs has arisen. You have
not forgotten that I plead for charity for Mr. Bidwell, because it was
his first offence. My plea was not well received, but my sentiments
are unchanged, and I now make the same plea for Mr. Ruggles and on the
same grounds. When he was denouncing in fitting terms the sin of
Bidwell, he had no thought of committing the crime himself, but in
his earnestness he did. This being plain to all of us, I renew----"

Wade Ruggles bounded to his feet.

"I don't want any one to plead for me! I ain't pleading fur myself! I
can take my medicine like a man; if there's any galoot here----"

He suddenly checked himself with an apprehensive glance at the door of
the rear room, and then resumed in a more subdued voice:

"I insist that Al Bidwell shall suffer for his onspeakable crime and
me too, 'cause mine was onspeakabler. Jedgin' from the evidence that
showed itself, I must have awoke the little gal from peaceful slumber,
by them awful words of mine."

He paused and looked inquiringly at the chairman, who calmly returned
his gaze, without speaking. It was Parson Brush who interposed:

"I should like to ask, Mr. Dawson, whether the supposition of Mr.
Ruggles has any foundation in fact."

"It has; when I asked Nellie what caused her to awake, she said it was
Mr. Ruggles when he used those bad words."

"Just what I thought!" exclaimed Ruggles, as if he enjoyed heaping
fire upon his own head; "there ain't any depth of infamy which I
hain't reached. For me to try to sneak out now, when I made such
a----(Here he again threw a startled glance at the rear of the room)
would be to do something which Wade Ruggles never done in his
variegated career of nigh onto forty years. All I ask is that you'll
git through it as soon as you kin and fix our terms of imprisonment or
our deaths and hev done with it."

Al Bidwell took an unworthy delight in prodding the man who had been
so severe upon him.

"I beg humbly to suggest to the gent that there are plenty of places
in the mountains where he can make a jump of a thousand feet or two
into the kenyons. Wouldn't it be a good idee fur the gent to try it?"

"I will if you'll join me," retorted Wade, turning upon him like a
flash.

"I'll let you try it first and see how it works," replied Bidwell, so
crushed that he remained silent henceforward.

"Since I am chairman," said Dawson, with becoming dignity, "it is my
duty to listen to suggestions and to hear motions. What is your
pleasure, gentlemen?"

No one in looking at the countenance of Maurice Dawson would have
suspected he was extracting the keenest enjoyment from these
proceedings, yet such was the fact. There was something so intensely
ludicrous in the whole business, that only by assuming preternatural
gravity could he refrain from breaking into merriment. His policy was
to egg on the discussion until the company were ready for a decision,
when he would interpose with the proposal to wipe out the whole matter
and begin over again. The earnestness of Wade Ruggles, however,
threatened to check anything of that nature. He was on his feet
several times until Budge Isham, who shrewdly suspected the sentiments
of the chairman, protested.

"With all due respect to the parson, to Ruggles and to Bidwell, it
strikes me, Mr. Chairman, that they should give the rest of us a show.
We have listened to their yawping until it has grown monotonous.
Having told us a dozen times, more or less, that he wants us to punish
him all he deserves, Mr. Ruggles ought to let it rest with that; but
he shouldn't forget," added Budge, with the solemn manner which always
marked his waggery, "that, if we took him at his word, he would be
kicking vacancy this minute. However, this hasn't anything to do with
his general cussedness, but concerns his offence against the young
lady. That is all there is before the house, and I insist that we
confine ourselves to that----"

"Isn't that what I've been insistin' on?" demanded Wade Ruggles.

"There you go again! I have the floor, and you have no parliamentary
right to interrupt me with your frivolous remarks. Am I correct, Mr.
Chairman?"

"You are most unquestionably; proceed."

"Well, to bring this tiresome matter to a close, I move that Mr.
Bidwell be deprived of the bar privileges of the Heavenly Bower for a
period of four days, and that the same be denied to Mr. Ruggles for a
period of one week. Did I hear a groan?" asked Budge, looking round at
the two men, who were trying bravely to bear up under the threatened
punishment.

Both shook their heads, afraid to trust their voices by way of reply.

"If the gentlemen will permit me," said the chairman, "I should like
to say a few words."

"I am sure we shall be glad to hear from Mr. Dawson," remarked the
parson.

"Thank you. What I had in mind is this:--It is creditable to your
honor that you should pledge yourselves to refrain from unbecoming
language in the hearing of my little girl, for you cannot help being
her instructors, no matter how much you may wish it were otherwise.
But you are magnifying the matter. I am sure every man of you will
strive just as hard, without being incited thereto by the fear of
punishment. I would beg to suggest----"

He paused, for, looking at Wade Ruggles, he saw it was useless to go
further. Bidwell would have been glad to receive leniency, but his
partner in crime was immovable, and it would not do to punish one and
allow the other to go free. Dawson was wise enough to accept the
situation promptly.

"You have heard the penalties suggested for the offences of the two
gentlemen accused. All who favor such punishment will show it by
raising their right hands."

Every man in the room, except the chairman, voted in the affirmative.

"It isn't worth while to put the negative. The accused have heard the
verdict, which is that Mr. Bidwell shall not drink a drop of anything
except water or coffee for a period of four days, dating from this
moment, while Mr. Ruggles is to undergo the same penalty for a period
of one week."

"That's right," growled Bidwell; "for he drank about half of what was
in the bottle only a few minutes ago."

"And you would have drunk it all," retorted Ruggles, "if you'd knowed
what was coming."




CHAPTER V

A HUNDRED FOLD


All this may seem a trifling matter to the reader who does not
understand the real punishment suffered by these two men, who, like
all the rest of their companions, had been accustomed to the use of
ardent spirits for many years. There was no deprivation which they
could not have borne with less distress, but their great consolation
was that both knew the penalty was fully deserved, and they would not
have complained had it been made more severe.

"I tell you," said Bidwell, at the end of the fourth day, when he had
celebrated his release from purgatory, "it pays, Ruggles."

"What pays?"

"The reward you git for all this. At the end of a week you'll have a
thirst that you wouldn't take a thousand dollars fur."

"But the week isn't much more'n half gone and I'd sell my thirst
mighty cheap now."

"Don't you do it! Hold fast to it."

"That's what I'm doing, 'cause I can't help myself. Howsumever it's
the thirst that's holding fast to me."

"That's the beauty of it; it'll git stronger and stronger, and then
it's so big that you can't well handle it. It seems to me that ten
minutes after I've had a drink, I'm thirsty agin, which reminds me;
I'd like to invite you, Wade."

"Invite all you want to, 'cause it won't do any more hurt than good;
don't let me keep you," added Ruggles, observing the longing eyes his
friend cast in the direction of the Heavenly Bower. Bidwell moved off
with pretended reluctance, out of consideration for the feelings of
his friend, but once inside, he gave another demonstration of the
truth of his remarks concerning thirst.

As for Ruggles, only he who has been similarly placed can appreciate
his trial. No man is so deserving of sympathy as he who is making a
resolute effort to conquer the debasing appetite that has brought him
to the gutter.

On that fourth night the thirst of the fellow was a raging fever. He
drank copious draughts of spring water, but all the help it gave was
to fill him up. The insatiate craving remained and could not be
soothed. It seemed as if every nerve was crying out for the stimulant
which it was denied.

"The only time I ever went through anything like this," he said to
himself, "was twenty years ago, when a party of us were lost in the
Death Valley. Three of 'em died of thirst, and I come so nigh it that
it makes me shudder to think of it even at this late day."

A wonderful experience came to Wade Ruggles. To his unbounded
amazement, he noticed a sensible diminution, on the fifth day, of his
thirst. It startled him at first and caused something in the nature of
alarm. He feared some radical change had taken place in his system
which threatened a dangerous issue. When this misgiving passed, it was
succeeded by something of the nature of regret. One consoling
reflection from the moment his torture began, was the reward which Al
Bidwell had named, that is,--the glorious enjoyment of fully quenching
his terrific craving, but, if that craving diminished, the future
bliss must shrink in a corresponding ratio, and _that_ was a calamity
to make a man like him shudder.

On the evening of the fifth day, he ventured for the first time during
his penal term, to enter the Heavenly Bower. He wished to test his
self-control. When he sat quietly and saw his friends imbibing, and
was yet able to restrain himself from a headlong rush to join them, he
knew that beyond all question, his fearful appetite had lost a part of
its control over him. Still he believed it was only a temporary
disarrangement, and that the following day would bring a renewal of
his thirst, with all its merciless violence.

But lo! on the sixth morning, the appetite was weaker than ever. His
craving was so moderate that, after a deep draught of mountain spring
water, he was hardly conscious of any longing for liquor. He seemed to
be losing his memory of it.

"I don't understand it," he mused, keeping the astonishing truth to
himself; "It's less than a week ago that I was one of the heaviest
drinkers in New Constantinople, and if anyone had told me of this, I
would have been sure he'd lost his senses, which the same may be
what's the matter with me."

But there was no awakening of his torment during the day, and when he
lay down at night, he was disturbed by strange musings.

"If we had a doctor in the place, I would ask him to tell me what it
means. The queerest thing 'bout the whole bus'ness is that I feel
three thousand per cent. better. I wonder if it can be on 'count of my
not swallerin' any of Ortigies' pison which the same he calls Mountain
Dew. I guess it must be that."

But that night he was restless, and gradually his thoughts turned into
a new channel. A momentous problem presented itself for solution.

"If I've improved so much after goin' six days without drinkin', won't
I feel a blamed sight better, if I try it for six weeks--six
months--six years--_forever_."

And as an extraordinary, a marvelous resolution simmered and finally
crystallized, he chortled.

"What'll the boys say? What'll the parson think? What'll I think? What
would that good old mother of mine think, if she was alive? But she
died afore she knowed what a good for nothin' man her boy turned out
to be. God rest her soul!" he added softly, "she must have prayed over
me a good many hundred times; if she's kept track of me all these
years, this is an answer to her prayers."

Budge Isham was the partner of Wade, and shared his cabin with him. He
slept across the room, and noticed how his friend tossed and muttered
in his sleep.

"Great Gee!" he exclaimed, "but Wade's got it pretty bad; I wonder if
it's the jim jams that is getting hold of him; I'll sleep with one eye
open, for he will need looking after. What a blessed thing it is that
he has only one more day. Then he can celebrate and be happy. I have
no doubt that by the end of another week, he will have brought things
up to their old average."

And with this conclusion, the man who a few years before took the
first honors at Yale, shifted his position, so as to keep an eye on
his comrade, and straightway proceeded to drop into a sound slumber,
which was not broken until the sun rose on the following morning.

The sympathy for Wade was general. Had he not insisted upon carrying
out in spirit and letter the full punishment pronounced upon him,
there would have been a unanimous agreement to commute his term by
one or two days at least; but all knew the grit or "sand" of the
fellow too well to propose it.

His actions on the seventh day caused considerable disquietude. He had
labored in the mines, in a desultory fashion up to that time, but he
did not do a stroke of work during the concluding hours of his ordeal.
It was observed by his partner, Budge Isham, that his appetite was
unusually good and he seemed to be in high spirits. His friends
attributed this to the closeness of his reward for his abstention, but
he took several walks up the mountain side and was gone for a good
while. He wore a smiling face and Vose Adams declared that he
overheard him communing with himself, when he thought he was too far
off for the act to be noticed.

"No use of talkin'," whispered Vose; "Wade ain't quite himself; he's a
little off and won't be exactly right till after two or three days."

"He has my sympathy," remarked the parson, "but it will serve as a
lesson which he will always remember."

"And won't _we_ remember it?" said Ike Hoe, with a shudder. "When
we're disposed to say one of them unproper words, the picture of that
miserable scamp going a full week without a touch of Mountain Dew,
will freeze up our lips closer than a clam."

That night the usual group was gathered at the Heavenly Bower. There
were the same merry jests, the reminiscences, the conjectures how
certain diggings would pan out, the small talk and the general good
feeling. Common hardship and suffering had brought these rough men
close to one another. They were indulgent and charitable and each one
would have eagerly risked his life for the sake of the rest. Quick to
anger, they were equally quick to forgive, mutually rejoicing in good
fortune, and mutually sympathetic in sorrow.

There was more than one furtive glance at Ruggles, who was among the
first arrivals. Whispers had passed around of his strange actions, and
the surprise would not have been great had it been found that he had
gone clean daft; but nothing in his manner indicated anything of that
nature. He was as full of quip and jest as ever, and none was in
higher or more buoyant spirits than he.

He suddenly called:

"Dawson, what time is it?"

The latest comer among them carried a watch which he drew out and
examined.

"It is exactly half-past nine."

"When did my punishment begin?"

"A week ago to-night, precisely at this hour; I began to fear that you
had forgotten it."

"No danger of my ever forgetting it," grimly responded Ruggles; "what
I want to know is whether I have served out my full term."

"You have unquestionably."

"Is there anyone here disposed to dispute this statement?" asked Wade,
standing very erect and looking around in the faces of his friends.

No one interposed an objection. He had not only the sympathy but the
respect of every one.

"You sarved your time like a man," remarked Ike Hoe; "the week is up
and you've give good measure."

"Which the same being the case, I invite all to come forward and
liquidate."

Never was an invitation responded to with more enthusiasm. The
grinning Ortigies set out a couple of bottles, intending as a matter
of course to join in the celebration. He feelingly remarked:

"Wade, my heart bled for you and thar ain't a pard here that wouldn't
have been willing to take your place--that is for a limited time," the
landlord hastened to add.

Each tumbler was half-filled with the fiery stuff and all looked in
smiling expectancy at their host to give the cue. He poured a small
quantity into his glass, and elevating it almost to a level with his
lips, looked over the top.

"Are you ready, pards? here goes."

Up went every glass and down went the stuff. But there was one
exception. While the glass was at his lips, and while the familiar
odor was in his nostrils, Wade Ruggles deliberately inverted the
tumbler and emptied the contents on the floor.

It was the strangest incident that had ever occurred in New
Constantinople.




CHAPTER VI

TEACHER AND PUPIL


The group looked at Wade Ruggles in breathless amazement. He had
invited them to the bar to join in celebrating his release from
thralldom; all had filled their glasses and he had raised his own to
his lips, though several noticed that there was only a small amount of
liquid in the tumbler. Then, when every glass was upraised and there
was a general gurgling, he had turned his glass upside down and
spilled every drop on the floor.

Before anyone could think of suitable terms in which to express his
emotions, Wade said, with a smile that rather added than detracted
from his seriousness:

"Pards, never again does a drop of that stuff go down my throat! I've
suffered hell, but I've come out of the flames, and the one that
fetched me through is the little gal which lays asleep in the next
room."

He did not attempt to deliver a temperance lecture to his friends, nor
did they trifle with him. They questioned him closely as to how he had
reached this extraordinary decision, and he gave a vivid and truthful
account of his experience. It made several of the men thoughtful, but
most of them felt dubious about his persistence in the new path he had
laid out for himself.

"You know, boys, whether I've got a will of my own," he quietly
replied; "just wait and see how this thing comes out."

It was noticed that Parson Brush was the most interested inquirer,
and, though he had comparatively little to say, he left the Bower
unusually early. He had begun his system of instruction with Nellie
Dawson, and reported that she was making remarkably good progress. Had
the contrary been the fact, it may be doubted whether it would have
been safe for him to proclaim it.

And now the scene changes. It is the close of a radiant summer day in
the Sierras. Far down in the canyon-like chasm between the mountainous
spurs, nestled the little mining settlement, which had been christened
but a short time before, New Constantinople. Here and there tiny
wounds had been gouged into the ribs of the mountain walls, and the
miners were pecking away with pick and shovel, deepening the hurts in
their quest for the yellow atoms or dark ore which had been the means
of bringing every man thousands of miles to the spot.

Far up toward the clouds were the towering, craggy peaks, with many a
rent and yawn and table-land and lesser elevation, until, as if to
check the climbing ambition of the prodigious monster, nature had
flung an immense blanket of snow, whose ragged and torn edges lapped
far down the sides of the crests. Ages ago the chilling blanket was
tucked around the mountain tops, there to remain through the long
stretch of centuries to follow.

Down the valley, at the bottom of the winding canyon, the air
palpitated with the fervor of the torrid zone. He who attempted to
plod forward panted and perspired, but a little way up the mountain
side, the cool breath crept downward from the regions of perpetual ice
and snow, through the balsamic pines and cedars, with a revivifying
power that was grateful to all who felt its life-giving embrace.

The sun hovered in a sky of unclouded azure. It shot its arrows into
the gullies, ravines and gorges, but made no impression on the frozen
covering far up in cloudland itself. Long pointed ravelings on the
lower edge of the mantle showed where some of the snow had turned to
water, which changed again to ice, when the sun dipped below the
horizon.

The miners were pigmies as they toiled in the sides of the towering
mountain walls, where they had toiled for many a day. On the lip of a
projecting crag, half a mile above were three other pigmies, who
neither toiled nor spun. Viewed through a glass, it was seen that they
wore stained feathers in their black hair dangling about their
shoulders, with the blankets wrapped round their forms descending to
their moccasined feet. They were watching in grim silence these proofs
of the invasion of their homes by the children of another race, and
mayhap were conjuring some scheme for driving them back into the great
sea across which they had sailed to occupy the new land.

One of the Indians was a chieftain. He had come in violent contact
with these hated creatures and he bore on his person the scars of such
meeting. All carried bows and arrows, though others of their tribe had
learned the use of the deadly firearms, which has played such havoc
with the American race.

Suddenly the chief uttered an exclamation. Then drawing an arrow from
the quiver over his shoulder, he fitted it to the string of his long
bow, and pointing downward toward the group of miners, launched the
shaft. Except for the power of gravity, it would have been a foolhardy
effort, but guided by the wisp of feather twisted around the reed, the
missile spun far outward over the canyon, and dived through the vast
reach of space, as if it were endowed with life and determined to seek
out and pierce the intruders. The black eyes of the three warriors
followed the arrow until it was only a flickering speck, far below
them; but, before that moment arrived, they saw that it was speeding
wide of the mark. When at last, the sharp point struck the flinty
rock, and the missile doubled over upon itself and dropped harmlessly
to the bottom of the canyon, it was at such a distance from the miners,
that they knew nothing of it. They never looked up, nor were they
aware of the futile anger of the red men, who seeing how useless was
everything of that nature, turned about and soon passed from view.

The incident was typical of the futility of the red man struggling
against his inevitable doom at the hands of his white brother.

Half way between the bottom of the canyon and the lower fringe of the
vast mantle of snow, a waterfall tumbled over the edge of a rock, and
with many a twist and eddy found its way to the small stream, which
rippled along the bottom of the gorge, until its winding course
carried it beyond sight. Now and then a rift of wind blew aside some
of the foam, like a wisp of snow, and brought the murmur more clearly
to the ear of the listener, shutting out for the time, the faint
hollow roar that was wafted from the region of pines and cedars. It
was a picture of lonely grandeur and desolation, made all the more
impressive by the tiny bits of life, showing in the few spots along
the mountain wall.

[Illustration: THE TEACHER HAD MARKED ON THE DARK FACE OF THE ROCK WITH A
SPECIES OF CHALK ALL THE LETTERS OF THE ALPHABET.--PAGE 71.]

At the rear of the row of cabins, and elevated perhaps fifty feet
above, was the comparatively smooth face of a rock, several square
rods in extent. At the base was abundant footing for two persons,
Parson Brush and Nellie Dawson. The teacher had marked on the dark
face of the rock with a species of chalk, all the letters large and
small of the alphabet. They were well drawn, for the parson, like
others in the settlement, was a man of education, though his many
years of roughing it had greatly rusted his book knowledge.

Standing to one side of his artistic work, like a teacher of the olden
time, the parson, with a long, trimmed branch in his hand, pointed at
the different letters in turn and patiently waited for his little
pupil to pronounce their names.

It never would have done to make the child keep her feet like an
ordinary mortal. With great labor, three of the miners had carried a
stone of considerable size to the spot, which served her as a seat,
while receiving instruction. It is true that she never sat still for
more than three minutes at a time, but that was enough to establish
the indispensable necessity of a chair.

"You are doing very well, my dear," said the parson, encouragingly;
"you have received only a few lessons, but have mastered the alphabet.
I notice that the 'd's' and 'b's' and 'h's' and 'q's' puzzle you a
little now and then, but you have got them straight, and it is now
time that we took a lesson in spelling."

"Oh, I can't do that, Mr. Brush," protested the queen, rising from
the chair, adjusting her skirts and sitting down again; "I never can
spell."

"What is it to spell?"

"I don't know; what is it?"

"I can best answer your question by showing you. Have you ever seen a
cat?"

"Do you mean a pussy?"

"Yes; some folks call it that."

"Oh, yes; when we came from where we used to live,--I guess it must
have been three or four hundred years ago, we brought my pussy along.
Her name was Nellie, the same as mine."

"What became of her?"

"She died," was the sorrowful reply; "I guess she was homesick."

"That was too bad. Now will you tell me what letter that is?"

"Why, Mr. Brush, don't you know?"

"Yes, but I wish to find out whether you know."

"It is C; anybody knows that."

"And this one?"

"A."

"That is right; now this one?"

"T; I hope you will remember, Mr. Brush, because I don't like to tell
you so often."

The teacher continued to drill her, skipping about and pointing at the
letters so rapidly in turn that he was kept bowing and straightening
up like a jumping-jack. Then, allowing her to rest, he pronounced the
letters in their regular order, giving them the sounds proper to the
word itself. Nellie, who was watching closely and listening, suddenly
exclaimed with glowing face:

"Why, that's 'cat'!"

"Of course; now can you say the letters without looking at them?"

After one or two trials she did it successfully.

"There! you have learned to spell 'cat.' You see how easy it is."

"Does that spell 'pussy' too?"

"No,--only 'cat.' After a time you will be able to spell big words."

"Let me try something else, Mr. Brush."

The next word tackled was 'dog,' which was soon mastered. When this
was accomplished, the teacher paused for a moment. He was trying to
think of another word of three letters, but oddly enough could not
readily do so.

"Ah," he exclaimed, "here is another. Now give me the name of that
letter,"

"D."

"And that?"

"A."

"And that?"

"M."

"Now say them quickly, 'd-a-m;' what is the word?"

"Why, it's 'dam'; O, Mr. Brush, I heard you say that is a bad word."

The teacher was thunderstruck and stammered:

"I didn't think of that, but there are two kinds of 'dam' and this one
is not a bad word. It means a bank of earth or stones or wood, that is
put up to stop the flow of water."




CHAPTER VII

PUPIL AND TEACHER


Mr. Brush glanced nervously around, to learn whether any of his
friends were within hearing, shuddering to think what the consequences
might be. He believed that he could explain the matter to some of the
folks, but the majority were so radical in their views that they would
refuse to admit the distinction, and would take him to task for
teaching improper language to his young pupil. It caused him another
shudder at the thought that the same penalty that Wade Ruggles had
undergone might be visited upon him, though it is doubtful if the
issue would have been similar.

"Ahem, Miss Nellie, when we go back home, will you promise me to say
nothing about this part of your lesson?"

"You mean 'bout that bad word?"

"Yes,--let's forget all about it."

"I'll try, but mebbe I'll forget to forget it."

"Likely enough," gloomily reflected the parson; "suppose we try some
other words. Ah, we have a visitor."

At that moment Budge Isham climbed into view and sauntered smilingly
toward them. Brush added a whispered warning to the little one not to
forget her promise, though, since Isham was an educated man, there
ought not to have been anything to fear in his case, but the teacher
knew his waggish nature, and had good reason to fear the mischief he
would delight in creating.

"Good day," was his cheery greeting, as he came up; "I hope I am not
intruding, but I thought I should like to see how you are getting on,
Nellie."

"Oh, Mr. Brush says I am learning real fast; I can spell 'cat,' and
'dog,' and 'dam.'"

Budge raised his hands in horror.

"What in the name of heaven, parson, does she mean?"

"Mr. Isham," said the gentleman, severely, "are you aware that you are
using improper language in the presence of this young lady?"

"Explain yourself."

"It is wrong for you to appeal to heaven on so trifling a question; it
is such a near approach to profanity that the dividing line is
imperceptible. I am sorry you forgot yourself, but I will overlook it
this time."

Budge was really frightened, for though the distinction was quite
fine, he felt there was some justice in the position of the parson,
but he bluffed it out.

"I doubt whether a jury would find me guilty, and in the meantime
explain the remark just made by Nellie, if you please."

Thus cornered, the parson made a clean breast of it. Isham assumed a
grave expression.

"The only criticism I can make is upon your taste in selecting a word,
susceptible of a questionable meaning. You know as well as I that if
this should be submitted to a jury at the Heavenly Bower this evening,
the majority would sit down on you, and it would be hard work for you
to escape the penalty."

"I'm afraid it would," responded the parson; "it was a piece of
forgetfulness on my part----"

"Which is the plea that Bidwell and Ruggles made, but it didn't
answer. However, I'll say nothing about it, knowing you will be more
careful in the future, while I shall not forget to put a bridle on my
own tongue. The trouble, however," he added with a smile, "is to make
_her_ overlook it."

"She has promised she will do so."

"Since that promise was made just before I got here, she has shown how
readily she can forget it."

"I will give her a longer lesson than usual and thus drive all
remembrance out of her mind," said the parson resolutely.

Budge Isham folded his arms, prepared to look on and listen, but the
queen of the proceedings checked it all by an unexpected veto.

"Mr. Brush, I feel so tired."

Her face wore a bored expression and she looked wistfully away from
the blackboard toward the cabins below them.

"Does your head hurt you?" inquired the teacher with much solicitude,
while the single auditor was ready to join in the protest.

"No, but mebbe it will hurt me one of these days."

"It isn't wise, parson, to force the child; a great deal of injury is
done to children by cramming their heads with useless knowledge."

The teacher could not feel sure that this counsel was disinterested,
for there could be no danger of his taxing the mental powers of the
little one too severely, but her protest could not pass unheeded.

"You have done very well, my child; you are learning fast, so we'll
leave the spelling for to-morrow. Suppose we now try the commandments:
can you repeat the first one?"

Nellie gave it correctly, as she did with slight assistance, the
remaining ones. She was certainly gifted with a remarkable memory and
possessed an unusually bright mind. Budge Isham was impressed by her
repetition of the decalogue, whose meaning she was unable fully to
grasp. His frivolous disposition vanished, as he looked upon the
innocent child and watched the lips from which the sacred words
flowed. He quietly decided that it would be inexcusably mean to seek
any amusement at the expense of the parson, and it may as well be
added that he never afterward referred to the incident, while it
seemed to have passed wholly from the mind of Nellie herself. At the
conclusion of the lesson, Budge complimented teacher and pupil and
said he would be glad to certify that Mr. Brush was the best teacher
in New Constantinople, and that it was impossible for any one to take
his place. Then he bade them good day and walked thoughtfully away,
leaving them once more to themselves.

These were the most precious moments of all to the teacher, when the
formal lesson was completed, and he sat down for a little talk with
his pupil. He occupied the stone which served her for a seat, while
one arm loosely clasped the figure which stood between his knees. She
patted his cheek, played with his rough collar and shaggy whiskers,
while as he listened and replied to her prattle, felt as never before
the truth of the declaration that of such is the kingdom of heaven.

"Mr. Brush," she finally said, "do you know why I love you?"

"I suppose it must be because I am so handsome," he replied with a
smile.

"No; it isn't that, for you _ain't_ handsome."

"Whew! but you are not afraid to speak the truth, little one, and I
hope you will always do that. No; I don't know why you love me,
unless you are so good yourself that you can't help it."

This was not exactly clear to the little one, and she stood silent for
a minute, gently fingering his long beard. Then she thought it best to
clear up the mystery without further parley.

"I love you 'cause you're good."

Even though the avowal was delightful, it caused a pang, like a
knife-thrust from his accusing conscience.

"I am thankful to hear you say that, but, Nellie, I am not good."

"Yes, you is, but if you ain't good, why ain't you good?"

The logic of the reply of the adult was of the same grade as that of
the child.

"I suppose the true reason is because I am bad. I am sorry to say it,
but I have drifted far away from where I ought to be."

The dimpled hand continued to fondle the whiskers, and the little
brain was busy, but a wisdom that was more than human guided it.
Turning those lustrous blue eyes upon him she softly asked:

"Will you do what I ask you?"

He almost gasped, for he instinctively suspected what was coming, but
he answered without hesitation:

"If it is my power I will do it, though it kills me."

"Oh, I don't want it to kill you; this won't hurt you; will you do it,
Mr. Brush?"

"Yes, God helping me."

"Do like Mr. Ruggles."

"How's that?" asked the parson with a sinking heart.

"Don't drink any more of that red water, which makes men talk loud and
sometimes say bad words."

"Heavens!" thought the parson; "she little dreams what she is asking
me, but it is not she but some One who is thus calling me back to
duty. Yes, my child, I will do what you ask."

"You is as good and nice as you can be now, but then you will be a
good deal gooder and nicer," said she, warmly kissing him.

"I hope so," he added, rising to his feet, with the feeling that he
was not himself but some one else, and that that some one else was the
young man away among the distant hills of Missouri, before he wandered
to the West, and in doing so, wandered from the path along which he
had attempted to guide and lead others.

"I call myself her teacher," he mused, as he reached down and took the
tiny hand in his own, "but she is the teacher and I am the pupil."

They had started in the direction of the cabins, when they heard
curious shouts and outcries in that direction. "There's something
strange going on down there," he said, peering toward the point; "I
wonder what it can be; let us hurry and find out."

Firmly clasping her hand, the two hastened down the incline, wondering
what it was that caused all the noise and confusion.




CHAPTER VIII

THE PASSING YEARS


THE excitement in New Constantinople was caused by the arrival of Vose
Adams, the mail carrier and messenger, with his budget of letters and
freight for the Heavenly Bower.

These periodical journeys never occupied less than two weeks, and in
the present instance he had been absent several days beyond that
period, so that some anxiety was felt for him, since every trip was
attended with more or less danger. He was exposed to the peril of
storms, snowslides, wild animals and hostile Indians. The elemental
disturbances in the Sierras are sometimes of a terrific nature. Twice
he had lost a mule, and once both animals went spinning down a
precipice for a thousand feet, in an avalanche of snow and were never
found again. Vose's only consolation in the last instance was that it
occurred when on his way to Sacramento, while in the former case he
saved one of the precious kegs, which he insisted was the means of
saving him in turn from perishing in the Arctic temperature.

The shadowy trail wound in and out among the gorges and canyons,
beside towering mountain walls, at a dizzying elevation, over ridges
above the snow line, across table lands, through forests of pine and
cedar and tumultuous mountain torrents, where he took his life in his
hands every time he made the venture.

The unerring marksmanship of Vose and his alertness reduced the danger
from the fierce grizzly bears and ravening mountain wolves to the
minimum, but the red men were an ever present peril. He had served as
the target of many a whizzing arrow and stealthy rifle shot, but thus
far had emerged with only a few insignificant hurts. He was ready at
the stated times to set out on his journey, and appeared indeed to
welcome the change in the existence which otherwise became tiresome
and monotonous. It mattered not that his friends often intimated that
he was starting on his last venture of that nature, for he believed
that his "time" had been set and it mattered naught what he did, since
it could not be changed.

Vose explained that the cause of his last delay was the old
one--Indians. They had pursued and pestered him so persistently that
he was compelled to hunt out a new trail, longer and more difficult
that the old one, and which came within a hair of landing him into the
very camp of his enemies. However, everything had turned out well, and
he brought with him the most prized cargo that ever arrived in New
Constantinople.

First of all, were the two casks of freight, which had suffered so
slight leakage, that Landlord Ortigies complimented the vigilance of
the messenger. Then he brought with him fully a hundred letters and
newspapers. Each citizen received one, and many had several. In every
instance, the grateful recipient paid Vose a dollar for his mail, so
that the reward was generous, including as it did a liberal honorarium
from the proprietor of the Heavenly Bower.

In addition to the mail and freight, there were a number of articles
to which no special reference is needed. In one package, however,
every one was deeply interested, and Nellie Dawson more than the
others. Unknown to the father, a goodly sum had been entrusted to
Adams, with which to purchase such articles as it was believed the
child needed. These included material for numerous new dresses of
gorgeous pattern, stockings, shoes, slippers, ribbons, hats and even
gloves, trinkets and playthings beyond enumeration.

When these were spread out before the little one, she clapped her
hands and danced with delight. She had never dreamed of or seen such
bewildering wealth, and the miners were repaid a hundred fold, while
the grateful parent thanked them for their thoughtful kindness.

With no other person of her sex in the settlement, it would naturally
be thought that she lacked in many of the little attentions which only
a mother or adult female friend can give, but such was not the case.
There was not a man among them all, who had not been taught in the
hard school of necessity to become his own tailor and conservator of
clothing. Many had natural taste, and had not wholly forgotten the
education and training received in the homes of civilization, before
they became adventurers and wanderers. A consensus of views, all moved
by the same gentle impulse, resulted in Nellie Dawson being clothed in
a garb which would hardly have caused criticism in the metropolis of
our country. Not only that, but she was abundantly provided against
all kinds of weather, and with Vose Adams making his regular trips
westward, there was no possibility of her ever knowing the want of
thoughtful care.

The education of the little one was never neglected. Enough has been
told to show her brightness, and even had not her teacher been
inspired by his affection for the little one, the task of imparting
knowledge to such an apt pupil must have been a constant pleasure.
This work, as we have shown, fell by common consent to the parson,
Felix Brush, though his choice at first was not unanimous. Wade
Ruggles was so insistent that he should have a part in the work, that
he was allowed a trial, but it cannot be said the result of several
days' effort was satisfactory. A stealthy inspection of the blackboard
by Budge Isham and the parson disclosed that Ruggles had constructed
the alphabet on a system of his own. Some of the letters were
reversed, several inverted, while the forms of others prevented any
one from identifying them except the teacher himself.

An examination of the pupil developed the same startling originality
in Ruggles's system of orthography, which seemed to be a mixture of
the phonetic and the prevailing awkward method. Thus he insisted that
"purp" was the right way to spell the name of a young dog, whose
correct title was "dorg." Ruggles was finally persuaded to resign,
though he displayed considerable ill feeling and intimated that the
movement was inspired by jealousy of his success.

Budge Isham not only refrained from referring to the slip which the
parson made in his spelling lesson, but spoke in such high terms of
his success with Nellie, that every one conceded the right teacher had
been selected, and it would be a misfortune for any one to assume to
take the place of the parson.

Not until the final summing up of all accounts, will the full measure
of the influence of the little one be known. It was gentle, subtle,
almost imperceptible. Wade Ruggles never broke his resolve not to
touch liquor. Inasmuch as an appetite nourished for years, cannot be
wholly extirpated in a day, he had his moments of intense yearning for
stimulants, when the temptation was powerful, but his will was still
more so, and the time came when the terrific thirst vanished
entirely, though he knew it was simply "asleep" and could be roused
into resistless fury by indulgence in a single glass.

The parson had a severer struggle. After holding out for days, he
yielded, and by his inordinate dissipation brought back matters to a
fair average. Then he set about manfully to retrieve himself. A second
time he fell, and then, thank heaven! he gained the mastery.
Henceforward he was safe.

Maurice Dawson himself had been an occasional tippler for years, but
he felt the influence of example and experienced no trouble in giving
up the habit. Several others did the same, while more tried but "fell
by the wayside."

Landlord Ortigies noticed the diminution in his receipts, but, strange
as it may sound, down in his heart he was not sorry. Like nine out of
ten engaged in his business he was dissatisfied, and like the same
nine out of ten, he longed for the chance to take up some other
calling which would bring him bread and butter and no accusing pangs
of conscience.

Before the coming of Nellie Dawson, brawls and personal encounters
often occurred. The walls of the Heavenly Bower contained several
pounds of lead. Blood had been shed, and the history of the settlement
showed that three persons had died with their boots on, but those
stirring days seemed to have departed forever.

Parson Brush did a good deal of thinking. When through with his pupil,
he was accustomed to take long walks into the mountains, his hands
clasped behind his back and his head bowed in meditation. It is safe
to conclude that Conscience was getting in its work with him.

And so the seasons came and went and the years rolled on. Varick
Thomson, an old miner, who had spent years of fruitless toil in the
diggings of Australia, lay down and died, and the parson officiated at
his funeral. Two other miners grew weary of the poor success in Dead
Man's Gulch and went off on a prospecting tour deeper into the
mountains. A year later another prospecting party came upon two
skeletons, near a small stream of water, which after careful
examination, were pronounced to be those of their former friends,
doubtless victims of the ferocity of the red men. Three vagrant miners
straggled into New Constantinople one night and were hospitably
entertained at the Heavenly Bower. Their appearance was against them,
and, when they announced their intention of making their home at Dead
Man's Gulch, the suggestion to them to move on was made in such terms
that they acted upon it and were never seen there again. Thus it came
about that New Constantinople, instead of increasing in population
and making a bid for the chieftaincy among the new towns in the West,
was actually shrinking in numbers.

And all this time, Nellie Dawson was growing fast. Her beautiful mind
kept pace with the expansion of her body. Her natural grace and
perfection of figure would have roused admiration anywhere. Her
innocence and goodness were an ever present benison to the rough
miners, who had long since learned to check the hasty word, to
restrain the rising temper and to crush the wrongful thought in her
presence.

After a time, Maurice Dawson took possession of one of the deserted
cabins which he fitted up, or rather the community fitted up the
principal apartment for the young queen, whose rule was supreme. No
one else was permitted to share the building with them, though
visitors were constant and Nellie herself continually passed to and
fro among her friends.

But those who watched Dawson saw that a change had come over him.
Formerly there was a quiet waggery in his nature, much like that of
Budge Isham, which led him to enjoy the rough pleasantries of his
companions, though he rarely took part in them, except as an inciting
cause. One of his greatest pleasures had been to sit in the Heavenly
Bower and exchange reminiscences with his friends, but all that came
to an end. Night after night passed without his face being seen in
the place. Those who called at the cabin were treated hospitably, but
he was reserved and moody, and often failed to hear the words
addressed to him. It was evident that there was something on his mind,
though he showed no disposition to make a confidant of any one.




CHAPTER IX

THE CLOUD OF WAR


"I KNOW the cause of Dawson's trouble," remarked Vose Adams, late one
night at the Heavenly Bower.

"What is it?" asked Wade Ruggles, while the rest listened intently.

"On my last trip to Sacramento, two months ago, I brought him a thick
letter: that's what is raising the mischief with him."

"But what was in the letter to make him act so queer?"

"How should I know? do you expect me to open and read all the letters
I bring through the mountains?"

"Bein' as you couldn't read the big letters the parson has painted on
the side of the rock a foot high," said Al Bidwell sarcastically,
"there ain't much danger of your doin' that, which the same is lucky
for them as gits love letters like myself regular by each mail."

"Which the same you won't git any more onless you sling your remarks a
little more keerful," warned the mail carrier.

"And the same being that you can't read the directions writ onto
them, I don't see how you're going to help yourself."

"The postmaster at Sacramento is very obligin'," was the significant
comment of Vose.

Bidwell saw the dangerous ground on which he was treading, and made it
safe by a jesting remark and an invitation to Adams and the rest to
join him at the bar.

"We was on the subject of Dawson," remarked Ruggles from his seat, for
all had learned long before of the uselessness of inviting him to
drink; "and it's the opinion of Vose, I understand, that it was the
letter that has made the change in him."

"There ain't any doubt about it," said Adams; "fur the attack took him
right after; I noticed the difference in him the next day. He sets by
himself these evenings after the little gal has gone to bed, smoking
his pipe, without any light in his shanty, and thinking hard."

Wade smoked thoughtfully a minute and then remarked:

"I wonder whether it wouldn't be a good idee to app'int a committee to
wait on Dawson and ask him what the blazes is the matter and whether
we can't do nothin' to make a man of him agin."

Since Ruggles had become accustomed to act as chairman at the
discussions in the Heavenly Bower, he had developed a strong faith in
committees.

"That's a piece of the most onspeakable foolishness that I've run
aginst since I settled in New Constantinople," observed the landlord
with a contemptuous sniff; "the minute the committee arrove and stated
their bus'ness, Dawson would kick 'em out of his shanty and clean
across the street, and he'd be lacking in the instincts of a man if he
didn't do that same thing."

"Mr. Ortigies forgits that I didn't mean to suggest that _he_ was to
be a member of the committee; I meant they should be _gentlemen_;
consequently that bars him out and there wouldn't be no trouble."

"I understand your sarcasm, Wade, but your words would leave you off
the committee likewise; but may I ask what the members would ask him
when they knocked at his door?"

"Any gentleman wouldn't be at a loss what to say, fur he would only
hev to remark sorter careless like that he had observed the man was
acting so queer that we was afeard he was troubled with remorse over
some crime he'd committed, and about which he had got notice that the
officers was lookin' fur him, but that if he'd trust us and give a
description of the officers, so there wouldn't be any mistake, we'd
watch fur 'em up the trail and pick 'em off afore they could profane
New Constantinople with their presence."

This was a prodigious sentence for Wade, and he leaned back and smoked
his pipe with considerable self-complacency, but it impressed none of
his hearers as he expected. Parson Brush shook his head.

"It isn't a very wise way of introducing yourself to a man by assuming
that he is a fugitive from justice. In the first place, I am sure
there is nothing of the kind in the case of Dawson. He has probably
heard some news from the East that troubles him."

"That's just what I was sayin'," broke in Ruggles.

"But not of the nature intimated by you."

"What else can it be?"

"It might be one of a dozen things; I know you are all wrong in your
guesses."

Every eye was fixed upon the parson, for all were anxious to learn at
what he was hinting. His face was unusually grave, but he stopped
speaking, as if he deemed it indiscreet to say anything more. He
noticed the looks and whetted the curiosity by adding:

"I have been so disturbed over the change in Dawson that I called on
him last night and had a talk with him."

"And what did you learn?" asked Budge Isham, the moment Brush showed
an inclination to stop talking.

"Well, it was hard work to draw him out, but finally he told me he had
received a letter from the East, which made him think he would have to
leave us. That isn't the worst."

All were breathless, afraid to give utterance to the dread that until
then was vague and indistinct in their minds.

"He thinks he must take his daughter Nellie with him."

"What! Take her away from us? That can never be allowed."

None felt the anguish of the announcement keener than the man who made
it, but he looked calmly into the angry faces and said:

"You forget, my friends, that she is his child and he has the moral
and legal right to do what he thinks is best for her."

"But where are _our_ rights?" demanded Wade Ruggles; "they mustn't be
forgot."

"We haven't any,--not a single one. But I am satisfied that one cause
of Dawson's distress of mind is the very question you have asked. He
can never cease to be deeply grateful to all of us for what we have
done for him and his child. He doesn't wish to take her away for it
will be as painful to her as to us. But friends," continued the
parson, with a sense of right that was creditable to him, "Dawson's
first duty is to his child. She is now twelve years old, quite a large
girl and is growing fast. She has never seen girl or woman since she
was brought here; she will soon be a young woman; she requires
association with others of her own sex; her welfare demands this; her
education and proper training can never be obtained in this mining
settlement."

"Eddycation!" exclaimed Vose Adams; "what have you been doing with her
all this time? She must be as far along in her studies and eddycation
as me and Ruggles."

"It is to be hoped so," replied the parson with a smile; "I doubt
whether she will meet any one of her age as proficient in book
learning as herself, but there remains music, etiquette, and above
all, the social customs and accomplishments which can be acquired
nowhere except in the abode of civilization. There is none upon whom
this blow will fall more heavily than myself, but I have no right to
interpose when a man is doing his duty."

An exploding bomb could not have caused more consternation than the
news brought by the parson. Every one felt the truth of his words and
respected him for their utterance, but it was like asking them to
consent to the blotting of the sun from the heavens.

"I see a way out of it," finally remarked Wade Ruggles with a
brightening face; "we can compermise."

"In what way?"

"Why, if Dawson feels that he and the gal must go, let him split the
difference atween us; he can go and leave her; that will satisfy
everybody."

"It will hardly satisfy him, since the whole question is that of
taking her with him. He must be left free to do whatever he chooses."

The parson looked into the gloomy faces turned toward him.

"Boys, you have all heard the news brought by the last papers. Fort
Sumter has been fired on; President Lincoln has called for volunteers;
the Southern Confederacy has been declared and civil war has begun. It
is the intention of Dawson to offer his services to the cause of the
Union."

"And I shall enlist too," declared Wade Ruggles, compressing his lips,
"but it will be on the other side."

"I'm with you," added Budge Isham; "I am from Alabama, and if she
secedes, as she is sure to do, I am ready to lay down my life in her
defence."

"Sorry, pards, but that shoves me into the Union army," remarked Al
Bidwell, puffing quietly at his pipe; "we must keep the balance right,
but we'll part friends here and we'll be friends till we shoulder our
muskets. Then we'll do all we can to kill each other."

Further discussion disclosed that the citizens of New Constantinople
were about equally divided in their allegiance, but all of them were
not yet ready to take up arms in support of the cause with which they
sympathized. There were eight who announced their intention of making
their way to San Francisco, there to find the most available route to
the points necessary to reach. It was typical of that stupendous
struggle, the greatest of modern times, that four of these recruits
were ardent supporters of one cause and four equally eager to risk
their lives for the other. They were the warmest of friends and had
been for years, willing to face any danger for the sake of the
remainder. It would be the same until they parted, and then, as one of
them had already expressed it, they would devote every energy to
trying to kill one another.

None of the volunteers faltered until Maurice Dawson decided to leave
his daughter at the settlement until his return, if so be he should be
permitted to return. He knew of no better or safer place for her, nor
of any friends to whose care he would more cheerfully commit her, in
case it should be his lot to fall on the field of battle.

It had been Parson Brush's intention to be Dawson's comrade in his
perils, but when the father begged him to stay behind to look after
his child he consented. And so the programme, so fraught with
momentous consequences, was arranged.




CHAPTER X

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY


The four years of stupendous war came to an end. The sun of the
Southern Confederacy went down in gloom and defeat behind the hills of
Appomattox, never to rise again, and blessed peace brooded over a
reunited nation, which shall endure through the coming ages to the end
of time.

It was only the faint echoes of the mighty struggle that, faintly
reverberating across prairie and mountain, reached the little mining
settlement nestling among the solitudes of the Sierras. Vose Adams
made more frequent journeys to Sacramento, in order to gather news of
the terrific events, which were making history at an appalling rate.
Upon his return, the miners gathered round Parson Brush, or some other
one with a good voice, who stood up, with every eye centred on him and
every ear keyed to the highest point and they listened with breathless
interest until the thrilling story was read through to the end.

The same diversity of sentiment that appeared at first continued to
the last, but the parson's earnest words and his insistence that no
quarrels should take place among the neighbors prevented any
outbreak, though more than once the point was perilously near.

"If your sympathies are with the Union or with the South," he said
impressively, "there is nothing to prevent your taking up arms, but it
must be on the battle field and not here."

And this wise counsel prevailed. Now and then some ardent partisan
shouldered his rifle, bade his friends a hasty good-by and hurried
away. One by one, they went until the new recruits numbered five. Thus
the population of New Constantinople dwindled to about one-half, and
retaining its exclusive tastes, permitted no new comers to join them,
so that the boom which in its early days was so confidently looked for
sank to zero and vanished. In truth it looked as if New Constantinople
was doomed to die of dry rot.

Strange news came now and then from the men who had gone to the war.
Maurice Dawson wrote often to his daughter Nellie, whose letters, it
can well be understood were the bright spots in his life of adventure
and danger. She had improved wonderfully under the careful tuition of
Parson Brush, who, gaining experience, as he saw the brightness of her
mind, found his work of the most pleasant nature conceivable. She
displayed a thirst for knowledge and made advances which astonished
him. The books needed for her instruction were procured by Vose Adams
in Sacramento, and she valued such presents more than anything else.
The teacher declared many a time, with a certain pride, that she put
him upon his mettle to make clear the abstruse problems with which he
wrestled when in college.

"How she will surprise the boys and her father when they come back,"
reflected the parson; "it won't take her much longer to reach the
point beyond which I cannot lead her."

To her friends who remained, the growth and improvement of the girl
were astonishing. Probably no one of her sex ever gave nature itself a
better chance to show what she can do with a healthy frame, when
untrammeled by the fashions and requirements of modern usages. Her
lithe, comely figure was perfect. She never knew an hour's illness.
The cheeks had the rose tint of health, the eyes were clear, the teeth
perfect and her spirits buoyant. As one of the men expressed it, she
was like a burst of sunshine in the settlement.

But Parson Brush was thoughtful. He saw that she was crossing the line
into young womanhood, and that her own interests demanded that she
should go out into the world of which he had told her so much; that
she should meet those of her own sex and learn the mysteries of her
own being. The affection of her friends could not make up for this
lack. It cost the honest fellow many a pang when he thought of this,
but his consolation lay in the inevitable conclusion that nothing
could be done until the return of her parent or until his wishes were
made known.

"If it so happens that he shall fall in battle, then a grave problem
must be met. It will not do for her to remain here; I will talk it
over with the others and we shall make some arrangement for her good,"
and with this conclusion he was content to await the issue of events.

Occasionally the parson received a letter from the father. The
missives were models in their way, telling of his experiences in the
service of the battles, of the prospect of victory and his faith in
the final triumph of the great struggle. He thanked the teacher for
his interest in his child and assured him that his kindness would
never be forgotten by father or daughter.

Vose Adams continued his frequent journeys to Sacramento, for those
were stirring times and he was as anxious as his friends for news.
Always on his return he was met by Nellie some distance down the
winding trail, and, as soon as she was in sight, he held up the plump
letter for which she yearned, and over which she was made happy beyond
expression, and he never failed to carry back with him the reply of
the child, who knew how much it cheered the brave soldier in the
distant East and South fighting the battles of his country.

For two years and more there was not a break in this correspondence.
Dawson must have been a good soldier, for, though he enlisted as a
private, he was soon promoted, and before the close of the two years,
was a full fledged captain, with the brevet of major. It was about
this time that one of his letters gave the story of Gettysburg. In the
hell-blast of Pickett's charge two of his old friends, who had left
New Constantinople to fight for the South, were riddled, and another,
marching at the captain's side, had his head blown off by an exploding
shell. Thus in one engagement three of the old residents of the mining
settlement were wiped out.

Only once or twice was any news received of Al Bidwell. It was known
that Ruggles was with the Army of Northern Virginia, but no tidings
came of Budge Isham and Ike Hoe. The continued silence was accepted as
almost certain proof of their death, and yet both were well and
unharmed.

One day in early summer, two sunburned, shaggy men rode down the
mountain side and drew up their horses in front of the Heavenly Bower.
They had ridden from the East and had come through many hardships and
dangers. One of them wore a partial uniform of blue, while the other
was of a faded, butternut tinge. The two had been engaged for years in
trying to slay each other, inclusive of their respective friends, but
failing in the effort, gave it up when the final surrender took place
at Appomattox. Both were from New Constantinople, and they now turned
their faces in that direction. Starting from widely separated points
their lines of travel converged and finally joined. When they met,
there was a moment of mutual sharp scrutiny, then an exclamation of
delight, a fervent handclasp and a moistening of the eyes, as both
exclaimed:

"God bless you, old boy! There's no one in the world I would rather
meet than you! Shake again!"

And they did, and henceforward they followed the same trail and "drank
from the same canteen." They shared their rations with each other, and
in the regions of the West, where danger lurked in the air, one
watched while the other slept, ready to interpose his body as a shield
between peril and his comrade.

And what splendid soldiers the Civil War made! How those veterans
could fight! What pluck, what coolness, what nerve, what daring they
displayed! There was one stormy night beyond the Mississippi, when a
band of jayhawkers, believing the two men carried a few hundred
dollars, formed a plan for shooting both for the sake of the plunder.
There were six of the outlaws at the opening of proceedings, but at
the close just half the number was left, and one of them carried away
a wound with him, from which he could never recover, while the
defenders did not receive a scratch.

"When I heard that rebel yell of yours," remarked the veteran who wore
the blue, "it tingled through my veins as it did at Chancellorsville,
Antietam and various other scenes of unpleasantness. I couldn't help
sailing in."

"I didn't mean to let out the yawp," returned his companion, "but when
the shooting began, it was so like old times I couldn't help it. It
was real enjoyable."

"Yes," was the dry response, "but rather more so for us than for the
other fellows."

Three days later a band of Indians concluded to try their hand upon
the veterans, but the trouble was that the red men could not get a
fair chance. Before they arrived within effective striking distance,
the veterans began shooting, and whenever they shot somebody fell. The
thing became so monotonous that the hostiles gave it up in disgust and
drew off. Thenceforward the old soldiers had comparatively an easy
time of it.

And so, after a ride of more than two thousand miles on horseback,
these two men entered Dead Man's Gulch and drew rein in front of the
Heavenly Bower. Their coming caused a sensation, for their looks
showed they were veterans of the war and were certain to bring
important news. The couple smiled and whispered to each other, for
they saw that no one suspected their identity.

Among the wondering group that gathered round was Nellie Dawson. She
was profoundly interested, for Vose Adams had made two journeys to and
from Sacramento without bringing a letter from her father. Doubtless
these men could tell her something, and she stood on the edge of the
group, waiting for them to speak and for the opportunity to question
them.

"Do you see her?" whispered one of the men.

"Yes; gracious! hasn't she grown? Why, she was a little girl when we
left and now she's a young woman."

"Blessed if she isn't! She wears such long dresses that you can see
only the tiny toes of her shoes; we've obsarved a good many purty
women since we left these parts, but nothing that could come up to
her."

"You can bet your life! She hasn't any idee of who we are, nor
have the boys, but it looks to me as if the parson is a little
suspicious."

Although the patronage of the Heavenly Bower had shrunk a good deal,
Landlord Ortigies was as genial and hospitable as ever. The new
arrivals had time only for a few secret comments, when he came
forward:

"Strangers, you're welcome to the best we have, which isn't anything
to boast of; look as if you had rid a good many miles and you must be
as tired and thirsty as your animals. If you'll turn 'em over to Vose
Adams, he'll 'tend to them, and, if you'll allow me, you shall have a
good meal, which before the same, I beg to tender you some distilled
home brewed Mountain Dew."

Thanking the landlord for his offer, the men dismounted and waited
outside, while he brought forth two glasses, half-filled with the
fiery stuff of the poetical name. One of the men took his and eagerly
swallowed it. The other held his aloft, where under the bright
sunlight it glowed crimson like blood. With his hand motionless for a
moment, he slowly inverted the glass and allowed the liquid to run out
on the ground.

"Max, I reckon you haven't forgot when I done something like that some
four years ago," said the man, turning toward the astonished host.




CHAPTER XI

WAITING


"Wade Ruggles, as I'm alive!" exclaimed the delighted landlord,
rushing forward and grasping his hand. Instantly the group closed in,
and there was such laughing and handshaking that for a time nothing
was clearly distinguished.

"I was suspicious," remarked the parson; "but, though you both had
beards when you went away, these have grown so much that they have
greatly altered your appearance."

He scanned the other man closely, but before the parson had identified
him, several others had done so.

"It's Al Bidwell!"

"Yes," replied the laughing Ruggles; "that's the fellow, but I'm sorry
to say that since they made a major-general of him, he's become a
reg'lar dude. He doesn't go out when it rains for fear of soiling his
uniform, and the noise of powder makes him sick, so be careful how you
handle the delicate fellow."

"Well, you do not need to be told," was the hearty response of the
parson, "that no one could be more welcome than you; let's shake hands
all around again."

It was some minutes before the flurry was over, for the delight on
both sides was unbounded and the joy of the reunion great.

One member of the group lingered in the background. Her face was
flushed with delighted expectancy, but with a coyness unknown in her
earlier years, she hesitated on the outer edge of the circle. She
could not mingle with the rush and waited until the flurry was over.
The men were scarcely less embarrassed than she, and while not
appearing to see her, both were watching her every movement. When the
time came that the meeting could no longer be delayed, Ruggles walked
to her and extended his hand.

"Well, Nellie, aren't you glad to see me?"

The crinkling of the whiskers at the side of the invisible mouth
showed that he was laughing, and indeed his white teeth gleamed
through his wealth of beard. Nellie promptly advanced and met him half
way.

"Mr. Ruggles, I can't tell you how glad I am to meet you again."

He had been asking himself whether it would do to kiss this vision of
loveliness. He wished to do so, but was afraid. However, the question
was settled by the girl, who, instead of taking the hand, flung her
arms about his neck and saluted him fervently, that is as well as she
could under the conditions.

Al Bidwell came forward and was received in the same manner. Then, as
the two men stepped back and looked admiringly at her, she said:

"I can see you are the same and yet those beards make you look
different; I love to think of you as you were when you bade us good-by
and rode off four years ago."

"We shall be glad to fix up our faces in the old style," said Ruggles,
while his companion nodded assent. If she had asked them to cut off
their heads they would have unhesitatingly agreed to do it.

"No doubt we've changed somewhat," said Bidwell, "but not one half so
much as you."

"As I!" she repeated in astonishment; "why, I am just the same," and
she looked down at her dress, as if seeking the explanation of his
remark; "I haven't changed a bit."

"Not in goodness and all that sort of thing, but we left a little girl
and now I'm blessed if we don't find a young woman, and yet it's the
same little girl after all."

The maidenly blush darkened her face and she laughed.

"You couldn't expect me to stand still all these years."

"No; though we would have been glad if you had done so."

The three were standing apart, the others with commendable delicacy
leaving them to themselves. Nellie laid her arm on the sleeve of
Ruggles, and looking up yearningly in his face she asked:

"Can you give me any news of father?"

"Being as him and me was on different sides, I haven't seen or heard a
thing of him since we parted in San Francisco, but I hope all has gone
well with him."

She turned to Bidwell, who said:

"Me and him was thrown together once or twice and I met him after
Gettysburg, where neither of us got a scratch, which is more than tens
of thousands of others can say. Then I seen him in front of
Petersburg, where we had the same good luck agin, but in the fighting
round there we lost track of each other. Are you worried about him,
little gal?"

"Very much," she mournfully replied; "never once did Vose Adams come
back from Sacramento without one or two letters from him, but he has
now done so twice, and I haven't heard a word. I fear father is dead;
if he is, my heart is broken and I shall die too."

What could they say to cheer her, for Vose Adams made still another
journey westward with the same dismal emptiness of the mail bag, so
far as she was concerned. Every one did his utmost to cheer her, but
none succeeded. The ground taken was that the parent had set out on
his return, but had been hindered by some cause which would be
explained when he finally arrived. When not one of the men himself
believed the story, how could he hope to make the mourning daughter
believe it?

Felix Brush took a different stand from the others. He early settled
into the belief that Captain Dawson was dead, and that it was wrong to
encourage hope on the part of the child when the disappointment must
be more bitter in the end.

"If you are never to see him again in this world," he said, at the
close of a sultry afternoon, as the two were seated on a rocky ledge
near the cabin in which she had made her home all alone during her
parent's long absence, "what a blessed memory he leaves behind him!
Died on the field of battle, or in camp or hospital, in the service of
his country,--what more glorious epitaph can patriot desire?"

"If he is dead then I shall die; I shall pray that I may do so, so
that I shall soon see him again."

"My dear child, you must show some of the courage of your parent and
prove that you are a soldier's daughter. Your blow is a severe one,
but it has fallen upon thousands of others, and they have bravely met
it. You are young; you have seen nothing of the great world around
you--"

"I do not care to see anything of it," she interrupted with a sigh.

"You will feel different when you have recovered from the blow. It is
an amazing world, my dear. The cities and towns; the great ocean; the
works of art; the ships and steamboats; the vast structures; the
railways; the multitudes of people; the lands beyond the seas, with
still more marvelous scenes,--all these will expand like fairy land
before you and make you wonder that you ever should have wished to
leave such a realm of beauty and miracles while in your youth."

Nellie sat for some time in silence, and then rose to her feet with a
weary sigh. Without speaking, she turned to walk away, but not in the
direction of her own home.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To look for him," was her sorrowful reply.

It was what he suspected and feared. He knew she had done the same
thing night after night for weeks past, even when the rains fell and
the chilling blasts made her shiver with discomfort. He could not
interpose, and with the reflection that perhaps it was as well, he
turned mournfully aside and walked slowly toward the cabins.

Meanwhile, Nellie Dawson passed beyond the limits of the settlement
until all the houses were behind her. She did not sit down, but
folding her arms, after gathering her shawl about her, bent her gaze
upon the trail, which wound in and out at the bottom of the canyon
below, for a fourth of a mile, when a mass of projecting rocks hid it
from sight.

Night was closing in. Already the grim walls, thousands of feet in
height, were wrapped in gloom, and few eyes beside hers could have
traced the devious mule path for more than a hundred yards from where
she stood. The clear sky was studded with stars, but the moon had not
yet climbed from behind the towering peaks, which would shut out its
light until near the zenith.

The soft murmur of the distant waterfall, the sound of voices behind
her, the faint, hollow roar, which always is present in a vast
solitude, filled the great space around her and made the stillness
grander and more impressive.

All this had been in her ears many a time before, and little heed did
she give to it now. Her musings were with that loved one, who had been
silent for so many weeks, and for whose coming she longed with an
unspeakable longing. She knew the course of the trail so well, though
she had never been far over it, that she was aware at what point he
must first appear, if he ever appeared, and upon that point she
centered her attention.

"Something tells me that when father comes it will be in the night
time," she said; "I know he has tried hard to reach me, and what
could it be that held him back? I will not believe he is dead
until--"

Her heart gave a quicker throb, for surely that was a faint sound in
the path, though too far off for her to perceive the cause. She could
not tell its precise nature, but fancied it was the footfall of some
animal. She took several quick steps forward on tiptoe, with head
extended, peering and listening, with all her senses at the highest
tension.

Hark! she heard it again. Surely it was the noise of hoofs, for it was
repeated and the sounds ran into each other as if the animal were
trotting or galloping, or mayhap there was more than one of them.

Yes; some one was drawing nigh on the back of horse or mule. There was
no mistaking the hoof beats, and in the gloom the figure of an animal
and his rider assumed vague form, growing more distinct each moment.
Nellie broke into a run, her arms outstretched and her hair flying.

"Father! father! I know it is you! It is I--Nellie, your own Nellie,
who has waited so long for you! You have come at last!"




CHAPTER XII

HOME AGAIN


The horseman coming up the trail had assumed definite form. Checking
his animal he sat transfixed until the flying girl was beside him.
Then he bent forward and in a choking voice, answered:

"Yes, Nellie, it is your father! God be thanked for permitting me to
come to you again. And you are Nellie! But how grown!"

Captain Dawson leaned over the side of his horse and, passing his
strong arm around the waist of his daughter, lifted her up in front of
him. Then he pressed his lips to hers, and half-laughing and
half-crying asked:

"Who's the happier, you or I?"

"You can't be any happier than I; but, father," she added in
amazement, "where is your other arm?"

"Buried in Southern Virginia as a memento of my work for the Union,
but, my dear child, _I_ am here; isn't _that_ enough?"

"Yes, bless your heart!" she exclaimed, nestling up to him; "it all
seems like a dream, but it _isn't_, for I can feel you. I am so
sorry," she added, noticing the sleeve pinned to his breast; "how you
must have suffered."

"Nonsense! it isn't anything to lose an arm; it's not half so bad as
having your head blown off or both legs carried away. After going
nearly through the war without a scratch, I caught it just before
Appomattox, but thousands were less fortunate and I am thankful."

"But why did you not write to me and tell me all this? Mr. Brush was
sure you were dead, and I know the rest thought so, too, though they
didn't talk that way."

"I did have a close call; I got the fever while in the hospital and
didn't know so much as my own name for several weeks. Then, when well
enough to write, I concluded to come myself, believing I could keep up
with any letter and you would be gladder to see me than to receive
anything I might send."

While these words were passing the steed remained motionless, but
Nellie had observed from the first that her parent had a companion.

"Father," she whispered, "you have some one with you."

"Yes, my child, I had forgotten it in my delight at meeting you."

A horseman was sitting as motionless as a statue in the trail behind
them, the form of himself and animal clearly outlined in the
obscurity. He had not spoken nor stirred since the coming of the girl.
The head of the steed was high, but beyond and above it loomed the
head and shoulders of the man sitting upright, like an officer of
dragoons. The gloom prevented a fair view of his countenance, but
Nellie fancied he was of pleasing appearance and wore a mustache.

Captain Dawson turned his head and looked over his shoulder, as if to
locate the man.

"That is Lieutenant Russell; he served under me during the latter
part of the war; he is my friend, Nellie, for he saved my life.
Lieutenant," added the captain, elevating his voice, "this is my
daughter Nellie of whom you heard me speak so often."

The young officer lifted his cap, the graceful gesture being plainly
seen and replied with a pleasant laugh.

"Miss Dawson, I am glad to become acquainted with you and hope I shall
soon be favored with a better view."

"And I hope to see more of the one that was the means of saving my
dear father," she was quick to reply.

"Well, I guess that was equal on both sides, for I should never have
reached this place but for him."

"Father, what is _that_?" abruptly asked Nellie, shrinking closer to
him; "have you a bear following you?"

That which caused the startled question was a huge animal, which came
slowly forward from the gloom in which he had been enveloped. The
horses showed no fear of him, and he sniffed at the skirts of the
girl.

"Don't be alarmed," replied her father; "you may consider him a lion
or tiger or both combined. He is Lieutenant Russell's dog Timon, one
of the biggest, fiercest, but most intelligent and affectionate of his
kind. We three are comrades, so you must accept him, too, as your
friend."

The two now gave rein to their horses and within briefer time than
would be supposed, every man in New Constantinople knew of the arrival
of the couple and had given them right royal welcome. It was the most
joyous incident in the history of the little mining settlement. Every
one knew of the corroding grief of Nellie Dawson, and there was not a
heart that did not go out in sympathy to her. All were gathered around
and within the crowded quarters of the Heavenly Bower, where the two
men and Nellie ate their happy evening meal. Then the pipes were
lighted, and with the girl perched upon her father's knee, the rest
listened to his story, which he summarized, leaving the particulars
for a more convenient occasion.

"I am sorry my long silence caused misgiving," said he looking round
in the faces of his friends, "but it could not be very well helped.
You have noticed that whereas I left New Constantinople with two arms,
I am now one short. As I told Nellie, that happened in the very last
days of the war. It was quite a loss, but you have little idea of how
soon a man can become accustomed to it. The fact is," added the
soldier, with a grim smile, "things are moving so well with me that I
wouldn't give much to have the old limb back again. I have no doubt
General Howard feels the same way."

"The pruned oak is the strongest," observed Parson Brush.

"Provided it isn't pruned too much. With my wound came an attack of
fever, which brought me nearer death than I ever was in battle, but I
came out of it all and here we are."

"What route did you take, captain?" asked Wade Ruggles.

"By steamer to the Isthmus, then up the coast to San Francisco.
There the lieutenant and I joined a party to Sacramento and each
bought a good strong horse. He had brought his dog Timon all the
way from Virginia, where he was given to him by an old friend who wore
the gray. We were hopeful of meeting Vose Adams in Sacramento, but
he had not been there for weeks. Instead of him, whom should we come
across but Ike Hoe, who was also getting ready to start for this
place. We three set out nearly ten days ago, but Ike is still in the
mountains."

This was said with so grave a face that all knew what it meant.

"I never heard of the Indians being so troublesome. For three days and
nights it was little else than fighting. In the darkness we would
steal off and hunt for some new way through the mountains, but it
mattered not where we went, for we were sure to run against some of
them."

"How was it that Hoe met his death?" asked the parson.

"It was on the third night. We hadn't seen a thing of the Indians
since the noon halt and were hopeful they had given up the hunt for
us. We hadn't eaten a mouthful for twenty-four hours and were hungry
enough to chew our boots. Ike found a place among the rocks, where a
camp fire couldn't be seen for more than a few rods and started a
blaze. The lieutenant had brought down an antelope, and if we could
get a chance to cook the steak, we were sure of the right kind of a
meal. Well, we broiled enough to give each all he wanted. Ike leaned
back with a pleasant smile on his face and remarked that it was worth
all the risk to get such a feast, when I caught the flicker of
something like the dart of a small bird between him and me. Before I
could make out what it was, Ike gave a groan, and rolling over
backward, never spoke or stirred. I saw the feathered end of an arrow
sticking up above his breast. The head had gone clean through him and
it must have split his heart in two."

"But was neither you or the lieutenant harmed?"

"That is the remarkable part of it. The lieutenant saw the arrow
before I did and warned me. We darted back in the darkness with our
guns ready, but saw and heard nothing more of the Indians. What was
remarkable about it was that only the single arrow should have been
launched at Ike."

"It looks as if there was but the single Injin," suggested Bidwell.

"That is the way we interpreted it."

"And that was the end of your troubles with the Indians?"

"Not quite, but they bothered us only once more and then they managed
to get us into a corner, where it would have been the last of me had
it not been for the lieutenant and Timon. I tell you----"

The captain stopped short and smiled. He had seen the protesting
expression on the face of the young officer, and said:

"We'll keep that story till some time when he isn't present. But there
is another fact which I observed. There are more white men in the
mountains than ever before and the numbers will increase. The close of
the war has released nearly a million soldiers, who must make a living
somehow. Some will come westward. You have preserved this place as an
exclusive residence for yourselves, but you won't be able to do it
much longer."

All saw the truth of these words, and knew trouble would inevitably
follow the mingling of uncongenial spirits, but they concluded it
would be time enough to meet it when it came, without allowing the
fear to disturb the pleasure of the present communion. Lieutenant Fred
Russell could not fail to be an individual of keen interest to those
who had never before seen him. While the captain was talking, he sat
modestly in the background, smoking his brierwood, listening as
intently as if everything said was new to him. It was noticed that
like several of the rest, he did not drink at the bar, though he
received numerous invitations. Truth to tell, he had been quite a
drinker, but during that eventful journey through the mountains, when
Captain Dawson was talking of his daughter, as he loved to do, he
named those who had reformed as the result of Nellie's influence. The
young officer made no comment, but it struck him that if those rough,
hardy men could abstain, it ought not to be difficult for him to do
the same, and he did it.

Few men were more prepossessing than the lieutenant. He was educated,
about twenty-four years of age, and undeniably handsome. His campaigns
of exposure, hardship and fighting had hardened his frame into the
mould of the trained athlete. The faded uniform which he still wore
became him well. The ruddy cheeks had grown swarthy and browned, but
when he removed his cap, the upper part of his forehead showed as
white and fair as that of a woman.

His nose was slightly aquiline, just enough to give character to his
countenance, the hair which was rather scant, was dark like the
mustache and the small tuft on his chin. He wore fine, high cavalry
boots, reaching above the knees, a sword and like the captain was
armed with revolver and Winchester rifle.

Crouched at his feet was his massive dog Timon, an object of as much
interest as his master; for, curious as it may seem, he was the only
canine ever owned in New Constantinople. He was of mixed breed, huge,
powerful and swift, seeming to combine the sagacity and intelligence
of the Newfoundland, the courage of the bull dog, the persistency of
the bloodhound and the best qualities of all of them. Seeming to
understand that he was among friends, he rested his nose between his
paws and lay as if asleep, but those who gazed admiringly at him,
noted that at intervals he opened one of his eyes as if to say:

"Strangers, I guess it is all right, but I'm taking no chances."

Coming with the credentials that no one else ever bore, Lieutenant
Fred Russell was sure of a warm reception at New Constantinople. The
depletion of the population had left more than one cabin vacant and
the best of these was turned over to him. In it he found cooking
utensils, rough but serviceable bedding and accommodations and much
better comforts than he was accustomed to during his campaigning.
Having no immediate relatives, he had followed the discreet course of
Captain Dawson, who deposited nearly all of his accumulated pay in a
savings institution in the East, reserving only enough to insure their
arrival on the Pacific coast.

Russell, like so many turned from consumers into producers by the end
of hostilities, was obliged to decide upon the means of earning a
livelihood. He had begun the study of law, at the time he answered the
call for volunteers, and would have had no difficulty in taking it up
again; but, somehow or other, he did not feel drawn thitherward. He
disliked the confinements of office work and the sedentary profession
itself. He wanted something more stirring, and active, and calling for
out door life. It was when he was in this mood, that Captain Dawson
urged him to accompany him to the gold diggings in the Sierras.

"So far as I can learn," explained the captain, "the mines haven't
panned out to any great extent, but there is no doubt that there are
millions of dollars in gold in the mountains, and if it isn't at New
Constantinople, it is not far off."

"I shall accept your invitation," replied the junior officer, "with
the understanding that if the prospect is not satisfactory, I shall
feel at liberty to go somewhere else."

"That's the constitutional right of every American citizen."

"I am not as far along in years as you, but I am old enough to feel
that no person ought to fritter away the most valuable years of his
life."

And thus it was that the lieutenant went to New Constantinople and
received the heartiest welcome from every one there. And yet among
these citizens were two that had lately become partners and sharers of
the same cabin, and who were oppressed with misgiving.

"I tell you," said the parson late at night, when he and Wade Ruggles
were smoking in their home, with no one near enough to overhear them;
"Captain Dawson has made the mistake of his life."

"How?"

"In bringing Lieutenant Russell to New Constantinople."

"I don't quite foller your meaning, parson."

"Yes, you do; you understand it as well as myself."

"I have a suspicion of it, but are you afraid to trust me?"

"You ought to know better than to ask that."

"Go ahead then and give me the partic'lars."

"In the first place then, the lieutenant is young and good looking."

"Unfortinitly there can't be any doubt of that."

"Nellie Dawson has never seen a handsome young man----"

"Exceptin' you and me, and we ain't as young as we once was."

"She is now a young woman and ready to fall in love, and just at the
right hour, or rather the very worst hour, the captain brings the man
here."

"You have spoke the exact thoughts I had in mind all along; you're
right, parson."

He would have been better pleased had Ruggles contradicted him. He did
not wish to believe that which he could not help believing.

"We must treat him well because the captain brings him and he has
saved the captain's life, but, Wade, _we must watch them both
close_."

"I agree with you agin, but what shall we do if we find him making
love to the little gal?"

The parson's fierce reply showed how deeply his feelings were
stirred.

"Warn him just once!"

"I feel as bad about it as you do, but, parson, I haven't forgot that
afore the war broke out, and we was afeard the captain meant to take
the gal away to have her eddycated, you told us it was none of our
bus'ness and he had the right to do as he thought best with his own
child."

"All that was true at the time, but the conditions have changed."

"_Now_ I can't foller you. 'Spose the captain is agreeable?"

"He _won't_ be!" exclaimed Brush, who in the depth of his excitement
added an exclamation which sounded perilously like profanity. But for
the parson's intense earnestness, Ruggles would have quizzed him, but
he pitied the man and at the same time was distressed himself.

"I hope you're right, but I doubt it. We've all felt for a good while
that sooner or later, we must lose the little one. Now that she's
growed up, the captain may feel more than ever that she must be took
off to some town where all the men ain't savages, and she can see some
of her own kind."

"If he puts it that way, we shall have to submit. He can take her
where he wills, for my position is the same as four or five years ago,
but nobody else must take her from among us."

Ruggles's mood was now quite similar to that of his partner.

"If I see anything wrong in the doings of that pretty faced young
officer, I'll shoot him down like a mad dog."

"So will I."

The two were in the ugliest temper conceivable. They continued to
smoke, but their meditations were tumultuous and revengeful. Each
breast contained a strange disturbing secret that either would have
died before confessing, but nevertheless, it was there and had taken
ineradicable root within the past days and weeks.

Felix Brush, as the reader knows, had been the instructor of Nellie
Dawson from infancy. He was the medium through which she had gained an
excellent book education. He had held many long confidential talks
with her. She, in her trusting innocence, had told him more of her
inmost thoughts, her self communings, her dim, vague aspirations, than
she imparted to anyone else.

And he could not but notice her wonderful budding beauty. Surely, he
thought, such a winsome creature was never born. He had begun to ask
himself in a whispered, startled way: "Why may I not possess this
mountain flower? True, I am much her senior, but I will nourish,
protect and defend her against the world, as no younger man could or
would. She believes in my goodness, far more than I deserve. I will
cultivate the affection within her of whose nature she has as yet no
comprehension. By and by, when she is a few years older, perhaps I may
claim her. More extraordinary things have happened and are happening
every day. I have but to keep her uncontaminated from the world, of
which I have told her so much, so that when she goes forth, she shall
be under my guardianship--the most sacred guardianship of all for it
shall be that of husband."

"Aye," he added, his heart throbbing with the new, strange hope, "all
this, please heaven, shall come to pass if things go on as they are,
and no younger man with better looks crosses my path."

And now that younger and better looking man had crossed his path.

The knowledge seemed to rouse all the dormant resentment of his
nature, and to undo the good that the girl herself had done in the
years that were gone. He felt that if he lost her, if his cherished
dream was to be rudely dissipated, he would go to perdition.

And somewhat similar in range and nature were the communings of Wade
Ruggles, who until this eventful evening, had cherished a hope, so
wild, so ecstatic, so strange and so soul-absorbing that he hardly
dared to admit it to himself. At times, he shrank back, terrified at
his presumption, as does the man who has striven to seize and hold
that which is unattainable and which it would be sacrilege for him to
lay hands upon.

"I'm three months younger than the parson," he would reflect when the
more hopeful mood was upon him; "neither of us is in danger of being
hung for our good looks, but I've got the bulge on him dead sure. I
had too much in the way of whiskers to suit the little one, when I
came back from the war; she wanted to see me as I was when I left;
_why was that_?"

After pausing for a reply, he continued:

"So accordin' I trimmed 'em off and she says I'm better looking than
ever, and what she says in Dead Man's Gulch and New Constantinople,
goes. She meant it, too, as I could see by the sparkle of her eyes.

"I went all through the war without swallerin' a mouthful of strong
drink, even when the doctor ordered it. I've contrived, sort of
accerdental and off hand like, to let her know them circumstances and
I've seen it pleased her immense. I've been layin' out some of my
money for clothes, too, since I got back. Vose bought me a coat in
Sacramento, blue with brass buttons. I've had a necktie that has been
laid away till the proper time comes to put it on. There are three or
four yards of silk in it and it will knock a rainbow out of sight. I
didn't want to overwhelm her too sudden like, and have been layin'
back for the right occasion.

"It's arriv! I must knock that leftenant out, and that necktie will do
it! I'm mighty glad the parson hain't got any foolish dreams 'bout
the gal. The leftenant is the only galoot I've got to look out for, or
rather," added the miner grimly, "I'm the one he's got to beware of.
I'm in dead earnest this time."




CHAPTER XIII

YOUNG LOVE'S DREAM


That which in the nature of things was inevitable came to pass.
Lieutenant Russell, in the same moment that his eyes rested upon
Nellie Dawson, was smitten, as hopelessly as ever ardent lover was
smitten by the lady whom he worshiped. The many things which the
father had told him about his daughter naturally excited interest in
her, but the young officer never dreamed of looking upon such
marvelous beauty as that which met his gaze in that secluded canyon of
the Sierras. It required all his self-control from drawing attention
to himself by his admiration of her.

"I never saw such a perfect combination of face, feature and figure,"
he reflected when alone. "It is an illustration of what nature can do
when left to herself. Then, too, she has a fund of knowledge that is
amazing, when all the circumstances are considered. I haven't had much
chance to converse with her, but I heard enough to know that she would
shine by virtue of her mind among the most accomplished of her
sisters, who have had every advantage that civilization can give. She
is a flower nourished on a mountain crag, exhaling all its fragrance,
untainted by a poisonous breath from the outer world. Who would have
dared to say that amid this rough, uncouth people, such loveliness
could take root and nourish? And yet it is that loveliness which has
permeated and regenerated the miners themselves. But for her these
nights would be spent in drinking, roistering, fighting and carousing.
It is her blessed influence, which unconsciously to herself has
purified the springs of life. Like the little leaven she has leavened
the whole lump."

The passing days increased his interest in her, until very soon he
confessed to himself that he was deeply in love with Nellie Dawson.
She had become dearer to him than his own life. He could not live
without the hope of gaining and possessing her. He would remain in New
Constantinople and starve, even though a Golconda was discovered a few
miles away. He would linger, hopeful, buoyant and believing that the
dream of his existence was to be crowned with perfect fruition.

But the sagacious lieutenant had learned to be observant and to note
the most trifling things that escape the eyes of the majority of
persons. Thus it was that the secret which Wade Ruggles and Parson
Brush believed was hidden, each from everyone except himself, became
as clear as noonday to him. He pitied them and yet he extracted a grim
amusement from the fact.

"They are hopelessly infatuated with her; they are excessively jealous
and would rather shoot me than have me win. They are more than double
her age, and yet they can see no incongruity in hoping to win her.
They will hope on until the awakening comes. Then they will be my
deadliest enemies. I shouldn't be surprised if I receive a call and
warning from them, but neither they nor the whole world shall turn me
from the prize which is more than all the gold, mined or unmined, in
the Sierras."

No one could have been more circumspect than the young man. He treated
Nellie Dawson with the chivalrous respect of a Crusader of the olden
time. He was always deferential, and, though he managed frequently to
meet and chat with her, yet it invariably had the appearance of being
accidental. Fortunately his feeling of comradeship for Captain Dawson
gave him a legitimate pretext for spending many evenings in his cabin,
where it was inevitable that he should be thrown into the society of
the daughter.

Wade Ruggles and the parson noted all this with growing resentment.
When it had continued for several weeks, the two friends had a
conference over the situation.

"I tell you, parson, it won't do to wait any longer," observed
Ruggles, puffing away at his pipe; "things is getting dangerous."

"Do you think so?" asked his companion, who held precisely the same
opinion, but disliked to admit it.

"There isn't a particle of doubt of it."

"Let me see,--we agreed to give him warning didn't we?--just once."

"Yes,--it's only fair that you should let a man know afore you hit
him, so he can brace himself for the shock, as it were."

"Well, if we are going to do it, there is no use of waiting."

"No use! It'll git worse every day. Let's go over to his place now."

"It isn't likely we'll find him there; he spends nearly every evening
in the cabin of Captain Dawson."

Neither fancied the task, and, had not their feelings been so wrought
up, they never could have been induced to undertake it, but because of
their misgivings, nothing could have dissuaded them from their
purpose.

"When he comes to think soberly of it," added Ruggles, "he'll thank us
for giving him warning in time. If we wait much longer, it might be
too late; we couldn't scare him off the track, but now he'll show his
sense by stopping at once."

The two passed out of the house and walked to the cabin of Lieutenant
Russell. Relieved, and yet in a certain sense dismayed, they found the
young officer at home engaged in reading. The instant he saw and
admitted them, he knew the errand on which they had come. Except for
the grave question involved, that which followed would have been a
delicious comedy. The lieutenant could not have treated a brother with
greater cordiality and never did host shine more brilliantly. He fell
to talking of war times, drew out Ruggles, interested the parson and
gave some of his own stirring experiences. They remained two hours and
went away charmed, without having once referred to Nellie Dawson. They
voted the young man a good fellow, concluded they were mistaken about
his admiring the young lady, and thought it lucky they had not made
fools of themselves.

When they were clear of the house, Lieutenant Russell laughed
heartily.

"Their faces gave them away; they were loaded and primed, but I drew
their charges; to-night they will vote me one of the best fellows that
ever lived; to-morrow they will begin to doubt, and by and by the
sweetest privilege they can ask will be to shoot me."

Perhaps the most curious feature of the tragical incidents that
followed was the obtusiveness of Captain Dawson. What every one else
saw was veiled from him, until at times he almost seemed wilfully
blind. The two men had gone through many perilous experiences
together, and sometimes alone. It had been the fortune of the younger
officer to serve the elder, more than once when in imminent danger
and none could be more grateful than the captain.

As for Nellie Dawson herself, it is unlikely that for a time she
suspected the truth in all its fulness. She knew that hers was a
peculiarly sweet enjoyment, while her deft fingers were busy with some
needlework, to listen to the reminiscences of the two. Sometimes she
started with a shock of alarm, when the father pictured in his graphic
way a situation from which it seemed no escape was open to him.
Forgetful for the moment of the fact that he was there before her,
alive and well, she fairly held her breath, until the _denouement_
came. Not until then were her fears wholly relieved.

And when the parent rendered such glowing tributes to the bravery of
the young officer, recalling events of so thrilling a nature that the
lieutenant never would have dared to describe them in similar terms,
how could the daughter help the kindling of admiration for the
handsome young man? How could she avoid feeling grateful, when she
knew that he had risked his life for her parent, even on their late
journey through the mountains? In truth, everything tended to fan the
flame that had already been kindled in both hearts.

It was late one night, after the tired Nellie had withdrawn, that the
visitor made her the subject of the conversation, the approach being
so tactful, that the captain had no suspicion of its object.

"Do you intend to spend all your life in this out of the way corner of
the world?" was the question of the lieutenant.

"Probably I shall. Just before I went to war, I became convinced that
my duty to my daughter demanded I should move to the East, in order to
give her the education she can never receive here. However, when I
went to the war, there was no place except this where I could leave
her. When I come back, I find her a young woman, with excellent book
knowledge, thanks to Brush and the kind attention of the others.
Sometimes I think that she is so innocent and ignorant of evil, that
it will be better for her to spend the rest of her life here."

"It is a serious matter, but neither you nor she should be content to
remain in this place for the rest of your lives."

"Why not? Does that which she can learn elsewhere outweigh that which
she will never learn in this secluded settlement? Is not the man or
woman fortunate who never comes face to face with the ingratitude, the
treachery, the selfishness, the baseness and the sin which are the
accompaniments of civilization? In this untainted mountain air, her
nature will retain its freshness and purity; her life will be a well
spring of happiness and goodness to all with whom she comes in
contact; I shall never marry, and mean to keep her by me until in the
order of nature I am called away. That is the only boon that I ask
from heaven."

"But may not all this be hers and yours if the flower is transplanted
from the wilderness into a more congenial soil? Has she not already
acquired that rugged strength which renders her nature secure against
evil? Is she not doubly panoplied in goodness by the training of her
infancy and girlhood?"

"I would like to think so, but, lieutenant, I have lived a few years
longer than you. She _might_ not be safe there; I _know_ she is
here."




CHAPTER XIV

THE THUNDERBOLT


Lieutenant Russell was treading on delicate ground, where the utmost
caution was necessary. He must not alarm his friend. He smoked a few
minutes in silence.

"It is not for me to give counsel to my captain, but is it not a fact
that selfishness grows upon us with advancing years?"

"Very likely."

"Has it occurred to you that in concluding to pass the remainder of
your days in this mining settlement, you are thinking more of yourself
than of your child?"

"What have I said that warrants that question?" asked the captain
sharply.

"No higher motive than to protect a daughter from harm can inspire a
father, but if she should be allowed to close your eyes, when you come
to lie down and die, it will be hers to live: what _then_?"

"I shall leave her comfortably provided for. My pay amounted to a
goodly sum when the war ended, and it is placed where no one else can
reap the benefit of it. Then, too, as you know we have struck
considerable paying dirt of late. The prospects are that New
Constantinople, even if a small town, will soon be a rich one."

Lieutenant Russell groaned in spirit. Would the parent never
understand him?

"Then you expect her to remain here, sharing in all the vicissitudes
of the place? It cannot always stand still; it will either increase,
bringing with it many bad elements, or it will cease to exist and
these people will have to go elsewhere: what then of the child whom
you have left behind you?"

"Oh, by that time," airily replied the father; "she will be married to
some good honest fellow, like the parson, who seems to be fond of her,
as I know she is of him, but I will not allow her to think of marriage
for a long while to come," he added with emphasis.

Lieutenant Russell had heard all he wished. He had learned that the
father would not consent to the marriage of his daughter for a number
of years, and when that time came, he would select one of the shaggy,
uncouth miners for her life partner.

"He has never thought of _me_ in that capacity, but he will have to
entertain the thought before he is much older."

In her dreamings of the mysterious world, with its teeming multitudes
and all manner of men, Nellie Dawson was sure that none lived who
could compare with this young cavalier who had come out from that
wonderful realm into the loneliness of her mountain home, bringing
with him a sunshine, a glow, a radiance, a happiness, and a thrilling
life which she had never believed could be hers.

She often sat with her eyes upon his countenance, when, in his chair
opposite her father, he recalled those marvelous experiences of his.
To her no man could ever possess so musical a voice, and none so
perfect features and winning ways. It was young love's dream and in
her heart the sacred flame was kindled and fanned until her whole
being was suffused and glowed with the new life.

One of Lieutenant Russell's firsts acts of kindness to Nellie Dawson
was to present her with his massive dog Timon. She had shown great
admiration from the first for the magnificent brute, who became fond
of her. The maiden was delighted beyond measure and thanked the donor
so effusively that he was embarrassed. It is not probable, however,
that Timon himself was ever aware of the change of ownership, for it
brought no change of conditions to him. He had learned to divide his
time about equally between the home of the lieutenant and that of
Captain Dawson, while, like the young lady herself, he wandered about
the settlement at will. He was a dignified canine, who stalked
solemnly through New Constantinople, or took a turn in Dead Man's
Gulch, resenting all familiarity from every one, except from the only
two persons that had ever owned him.

The lieutenant reflected much upon his conversation with Captain
Dawson, the impression which he had received being anything but
pleasant. "He considers himself unselfish, and yet like all such he is
selfishness itself. He has determined to spend the rest of his days in
this hole and to keep her with him. He won't allow her to marry for
years, because it might interfere with his own pleasure; then he
intends to turn her over to that lank, shaggy-faced Brush, who
pretends to be a parson. The captain never thinks of _me_ as having
any claims upon her love. To carry out his plan would be a crime. If
she objects to Brush, he will probably give her a choice from the
whole precious lot, including Ruggles, Adams, Bidwell, or Red Mike,
the reformed gambler.

"Never once has he asked himself whether his daughter may not have a
preference in the matter, but, with the help of heaven, he shall not
carry out this outrage."

In the solitude of his own thoughts, the lover put the question to
himself:

"Am _I_ unselfish in my intentions?"

Selfishness is the essence of love. We resolve to obtain the one upon
whom our affections are set, regardless of the consequences or of the
future. It is _our_ happiness which is placed in the balance and
outweighs everything else.

"Of course," continued the young officer in his self-communing, "I
shall be the luckiest fellow in the world when I win her and she will
be a happy woman. Therefore, it is her good which I seek as much as my
own."

How characteristic of the lover!

"I shall not abduct her. If she tells me she does not love me; if she
refuses to forsake all for me, then I will bid her good-by and go off
and die."

How characteristic again of the lover!

And yet it may be repeated that Lieutenant Russell was the most
guarded and circumspect of men. He no longer argued with Captain
Dawson, for it was useless. He rather lulled his suspicion by falling
in with his views, and talked of the future of parent and daughter, as
if it were one of the least interesting subjects that could come
between them.

On one of Vose Adams's pilgrimages to Sacramento, he returned with a
superb mettled pony, the gift of Lieutenant Russell. With this pet she
soon became a daring and accomplished horsewoman. She was an expert,
too, with the small Winchester and revolver which her father brought
with him from the East. Perched like a bird upon her own Cap, as she
named him, she often dashed for a mile down the trail, wheeling like
a flash and returning at full speed.

"Have a care," said Parson Brush, more than once; "you ride like a
centaur and none knows better how to use firearms, but there are
Indians in these mountains and they sometimes approach nigh enough to
be seen from New Constantinople. Then, too, your father brought word
that other miners are working their way toward us. More than likely
there are bad men among them whom it is best you should not meet."

"But none would harm _me_," was the wondering reply of the miss; "are
not all of my own race my friends?"

"They ought to be, but alas! it is too much to expect."

She could not believe, however, that any danger of that nature
threatened her, but she deferred to the fears of her father,
Lieutenant Russell and the parson to that extent that she generally
had a companion with her on these dashes down the trail. Sometimes it
was Brush, sometimes Ruggles or her parent, and less frequently the
young officer. Timon always galloped or trotted behind her pony, and
she could not be made to believe that his protection was not
all-sufficient.

The winds of early autumn were moaning through the gorges and canyons
of the Sierras, bringing with them the breath of coming winter, which
was often felt with all its Arctic rigor in these depressions among
the towering peaks and ridges. The usual group was gathered in the
Heavenly Bower, though two of the most prominent citizens were absent.
They were Felix Brush and Wade Ruggles, who were seated in their
cabin, where a small fire had been kindled on the primitive hearth and
afforded the only light in the small apartment. They had eaten their
evening meal and as usual were smoking.

As neither cared to taste the Mountain Dew, so winsome to a majority
of the miners, the two often spent their evenings thus, especially
since the shadow caused by the coming of Lieutenant Russell had fallen
across their threshold.

"Things begin to look better than afore," remarked Ruggles, sitting
with one leg flung across the other and looking thoughtfully into the
fire.

"Yes, I always insisted that the soil about here is auriferous and we
had only to stick to it to obtain our reward."

Ruggles took his pipe from his mouth and looked at his partner with a
disgusted expression.

"What are you talkin' 'bout, parson?"

"Didn't you refer to the diggings?" he innocently asked in turn.

"Come now, that won't do; you know my references to allusions was the
leftenant and the young lady. I say things look better as regards the
same."

"In what way?"

"In the only way there could be. They don't care partic'lar for each
other."

"There is no doubt they did some time ago."

"Of course, but I mean _now_."

"How do you explain the change, Wade?"

"The chap ain't a fool; he's took notice of our warnin's."

"I wasn't aware that we had given him any."

"Not 'zactly in words, but every time I've met him with the gal, I
give the leftenant a scowl. Once I come purty near shakin' my fist at
him; he's obsarved it all and is wise in time."

"I think there is ground for what you say," remarked the parson,
anxious to be convinced of the hoped-for fact; "what I base my belief
on is that the leftenant doesn't accompany her on her little riding
trips as often as her father or you or I: _that_ is a sure barometer,
according to my judgment. Still I have sometimes feared from the way
she talks and acts that she thinks more of him than is right."

"Nothing of the kind! She treats him as she does everybody else; the
leftenant is the friend of the cap and the leftenant give her the dog
that is the size of a meetin' house and the pony hardly as big as the
dog, but she doesn't think half as much of him as of you and me; how
can she?" demanded Ruggles, sitting bolt upright and spreading his
hand like a lawyer who has uttered an unanswerable argument; "hain't
she knowed us a blamed sight longer than him?"

"You are correct; I didn't think of that."

How eagerly we accept the argument, flimsy as it may be, which accords
with our wishes!

"When I feel sorter ugly over my 'spicions," continued Ruggles; "I
jest reflect that we've knowed the gal ever since she was a baby and
her father tumbled down a hundred feet onto the roof of the
Heavenly Bower, with her in his arms in the middle of that howlin'
blizzard,--when I think of that I say----"

The door of the cabin was hastily shoved inward and Captain Dawson,
his face as white as death, strode in.

"Have you seen anything of Nellie?" he asked in a husky whisper.

"No; what's the matter?" asked the startled miners.

"She has gone! she has left me!" gasped the father dropping into the
only remaining chair, the picture of despair and unutterable woe.

"Why do you think that?" asked the parson, sympathetically.

"Lieutenant Russell has gone too! They have fled together!"




CHAPTER XV

COMRADES IN SORROW


Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush sprang to their feet and confronted the
white-faced Captain Dawson, who stared at them and breathed fast. For
a full minute they gazed into one another's faces, dazed, motionless
and speechless. The partners stood, each with pipe in hand, the faint
smoke curling upward from the bowls, their slouched hats still on
their frowsy heads, the revolvers at their cartridge belts spanning
their waists, their trousers tucked in the tops of their boots, and
with their heavy flannel shirts serving for coats and vests.

Captain Dawson was similarly attired. He had dashed out of his own
cabin and into that of his friends, his long locks flying, and even
the strands of his heavy beard rigidly apart, as if from the
consternation that had taken possession of his very soul.

In those seconds of tomb-like stillness, an ember on the earthen
hearth fell apart and a twist of flame threw a yellow illumination
through the small room, grim and bare of everything suggesting
luxury.

It was the parson who first found voice, but when he spoke the tones,
even to himself, sounded like those of another person.

"Captain, it is possible that there is some mistake about this."

"Would to God there might be!"

"Let us hope there is."

"Mistake!" he repeated in a husky, rasping voice; "can there be any
mistake about _that_?"

He threw out his single arm as he spoke, as if he would drive his fist
through their chests. But he held a crumpled bit of paper in the face
of the parson, who silently took it from him, crinkled it apart and
turning his side so that the firelight fell on the sheet, began
reading the few words written in pencil and in the pretty delicate
hand which he knew so well.

"Read it out loud, parson," said Ruggles, speaking for the first
time.

Felix Brush did so in a voice of surprising evenness:

  "MY DEAREST FATHER:--I have decided to go with Lieutenant Russell.
  We love each other and I have promised to become his wife. Do not
  think I love you any less for that can never be. I cannot remain
  here. You will hear from us soon and then I pray that you will
  come to your own

                                                            NELLIE."

"Have you been to his shanty?" asked Ruggles, who hardly comprehended
the meaning of his own words.

"Why would he go there?" angrily demanded the parson.

"Mebbe the villain changed his mind."

"But, if he had, _she_ would not be there."

"Yes; I went to his cabin," bitterly answered Captain Dawson; "he has
not been in the place for hours; all is dark and deserted; if I found
him, I would have killed him."

The three were laboring under fearful emotion, but with surprising
power forced themselves to seem comparatively calm.

"Captain, tell us about it," said the parson, carefully folding the
bit of paper upon itself and shoving it into his pocket, unobserved by
the others.

Despite his apparent calmness it took a few moments for the father to
gain sufficient self-control to speak clearly. Seated in the chair, he
looked into the embers of the fire on the hearth, compressed his lips
and breathed hard. His two friends had also seated themselves, for it
seemed to them it was easier to master their agitation thus than while
upon their feet.

"What have I to tell, but my everlasting woe and shame? The lieutenant
and I have been working for several days by ourselves on a new lead. I
had noticed nothing unusual in his manner nor indeed in that of my
child. At lunch time to-day he complained to me of not feeling like
work, and told me not to expect him back this afternoon. I would have
returned with him, had not the indications of the new lead been so
good. And actually he invited me to do no more work until to-morrow,
though why he should have done it, when it would have spoiled their
whole scheme, is more than I can explain.

"It was part of his plan to deceive you."

"I don't see how it could do that, for there was no need of his
inviting me,--but let it go. It came about that I worked later than
usual, so that it was dark when I got home. I was surprised to see no
light and to find no fire or Nellie. I thought nothing of that,
however, for who would have believed it possible that there could be
anything wrong? I supposed she was with some of the folks and being
tired I sat down in my chair and fell asleep.

"When I awoke, the room was cold, silent and as dark as a wolf's
mouth. I felt impatient and decided to give her a scolding for being
so neglectful. I groped around until I found a match, intending to
start a fire. I had just lit the lamp and set it down on the table,
when I caught sight of a folded piece of paper with my name in her
handwriting on the outside. It gave me a queer feeling and my hands
trembled when I unfolded and read it.

"I don't clearly remember the next few minutes. The room seemed to be
spinning around, and I think I had to sit down to keep from falling,
but what saved me from collapse was my anger. I have been consumed
with indignation once or twice in my life, but was never so furious,
so uncontrollable, so utterly savage as I was after reading that note.
If I could have found Russell, I would have throttled him. It may
sound strange, but I hardly once thought of Nellie; it was _he_, the
villain, whom I yearned to get my hands on."

"Of course," said Ruggles, "that's the way you oughter feel."

"I don't know what possessed me to do so, but I rushed out and made
straight for his cabin, as if I would find him there. Of course that
too was empty, and then I came here. Fool that I have been!" exclaimed
the parent, leaping to his feet and striding up and down the room;
"not to see all this, but," he added pathetically, "I believed that
Nellie loved me."

The flaming wrath of the two melted into pity for the stricken father.
Parson Brush laid his hand on his shoulder and compelled him to resume
his seat. Then he spoke with the tenderness of a woman:

"That child _does_ love you more than she loves her own life, but she
is blinded by her infatuation for that smooth-tongued scoundrel. It is
the nature of her sex to feel and act thus; but, as I said, it does
not mean that her love for you is less--"

"Don't talk of her love for me," fiercely interrupted the parent; "we
only judge of a person by his actions."

"But you and I have made mistakes--"

"Nothing like this; why did she not ask me? why did _he_ not tell me
that he wished to marry her?--that is if he does," added the father,
as if determined to make his own cup as bitter as possible.

"He did not ask you, because he knew you would refuse; for from the
first time he entered this community, he was determined to have her."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Ruggles and I read him; we did what no one else did,--we
measured the man. Am I right, Wade?"

The miner nodded his head.

"Every word is as true as gospel; we noticed his sly looks at her,
that first night you and him entered the Heavenly Bower and she was
there. We couldn't make any mistake about it."

"And you didn't warn me! You two are as bad as he, because you kept
the secret when you ought to have put me on my guard, so that I might
have strangled him at the first advance he made."

Sympathy for the man prevented his listeners taking offence at
the words which, from any one else, would have brought serious
consequences. The parson said soothingly:

"If you were not so wrought up, captain, you would not be so
unreasonable; suppose Wade and I had gone to you with the statement
that the man who, according to your own words, had saved your life but
a short time before in the mountains, was a villain, who contemplated
robbing you of your child; what would you have done?"

"Thanked you and been on my guard."

"You would have done nothing of the kind; you would have cursed us and
told us to mind our own business."

"No matter what I would have done, it was your duty to tell me,
regardless of the consequences to yourselves. I might have resented
it, but my eyes would have been opened and this blow saved me."

"Nothing could have opened your eyes, for you were blind," said the
parson, who felt that though the man was intensely agitated, he ought
to hear some plain truths; "even had you suspected there was ground
for our fears, you would have gone to Lieutenant Russell and demanded
an explanation. He would have denied it, and you would have believed
him with the result that he would have been put on his guard and would
have deceived you the more completely."

"Likewise, as aforesaid," added Ruggles, "the villain would have come
to us and made us give our grounds for our charges. What ridic'lous
fools we would have been, when all we could answer was that we
thought he looked as if he meant to run away with your darter."

"There may be some justice in what you say," replied the captain more
composedly; "It was I who was blind, but I can't understand it. Never
until I read that piece of paper, did I suspect the truth."

"Howsumever, the parson and me haven't been idle; we often talked it
over and fixed on a line that we thought would work better than going
to you. We showed the leftenant that we was onto his game; I give him
a scowl now and then, as it fell convenient, that said 'Beware!' We,
that is the parson and me, made up our minds to watch close, and, at
the first sign that was dead sure, we'd fall onto him like a couple of
mountains."

"And why didn't you?"

"He fooled us as he did you. We was talkin' over matters the very
minute you busted into the door and was satisfied that he had larned
he was playin' with fire and had concluded to drop it. We was as big
fools as you."




CHAPTER XVI

NOW


It was the parson who now broke in.

"Why do we sit here, lamenting that which cannot be helped? Do you
mean to give up, captain, and let her go? Will you settle down to
toil in the diggings, giving her no further thought, while this
pretty-faced lieutenant is chuckling over the clever manner by which
he fooled you as well as us--"

"No!" fairly shouted the roused parent; "I will follow them to the
ends of the earth! They shall not find a foot of ground that will
protect them! She has never seen me angry, but she shall now!"

"We are with you," coolly responded Brush, "but only on one
condition."

"What's that?"

"That this account is to be settled with _him_ alone; you musn't speak
so much as a cross word to Nellie; she will shed many a bitter tear of
sorrow; she will drain the cup to its dregs; _he_, the cause of it
all, is to be brought to judgment. When do you wish to take up the
pursuit?"

"Now!"

"And we are with you."

There was something wonderful in the way Parson Brush kept control of
himself. Externally he was as calm as when standing in front of the
adamantine blackboard, giving instruction to Nellie Dawson, while down
deep in his heart, raged a tempest such as rouses into life the
darkest passions that can nerve a man to wrong doing. Believing it
necessary to stir the father to action, he had done it by well chosen
words, that could not have been more effective.

For weeks and months the shadow had brooded over him. Sometimes it
seemed to lift and dissolve into unsubstantiality, only to come back
more baleful than before. And the moment when he had about persuaded
himself that it was but a figment of the imagination, it had sprung
into being and crushed him. But he was now stern, remorseless,
resolute, implacable.

It was much the same with Wade Ruggles. He strove desperately to gain
the remarkable control of his feelings, displayed by his comrade, and
partly succeeded. But there was a restless fidgeting which caused him
to move aimlessly about the room and showed itself now and then in a
slight tremulousness of the voice and hands, but his eyes wore that
steely glitter, which those at his side had noticed when the rumble
and grumble told that the battle was on.

Captain Dawson went from one extreme to the other. Crazed, tumultuous
in his fury, and at first like a baffled tiger, he moderated his voice
and manner until his companions wondered at his self-poise.

"They have started for Sacramento and are now well advanced over the
trail," he remarked without any evidence of excitement.

"When do you imagine they set out?" asked Brush.

"Probably about the middle of the afternoon; possibly earlier."

"Then," said Ruggles, "they have a good six hours' start. They haven't
lost any time and must be fifteen or twenty miles away."

"The trail is easy traveling for twice that distance, as I recollect
it," observed the captain; "after that it grows rougher and they will
not be able to go so fast."

"This must have been arranged several days ago, though it is only
guesswork on our part. Of course she has taken considerable clothing
with her."

"I did not look into her room," said the captain; "there's no use; it
is enough to know they made their preparations and started,
accompanied by that dog Timon."

No time was wasted. They knew they would encounter cold weather, for
the autumn had fairly set in, and some portions of the trail carried
them to an elevation where it was chilly in midsummer. Each took a
thick blanket. The captain donned his military coat, with the empty
sleeve pinned to the breast, caught up his saddle and trappings, his
Winchester and revolver, and buckled the cartridge belt around his
waist. Then he was ready. Neither of the others took coat or vest. The
blanket flung around the shoulders was all that was likely to be
needed, in addition to the heavy flannel shirt worn summer and
winter.

Thus equipped, the three stood outside the cabin, with the moon high
in the sky, a gentle wind sweeping up the canyon and loose masses of
clouds drifting in front of the orb of night. Here and there a light
twinkled from a shanty and the hum of voices sounded faintly in their
ears. Further off, at the extreme end of the settlement, stood the
Heavenly Bower, with the yellow rays streaming from its two windows.
They could picture the group gathered there, as it had gathered night
after night during the past years, full of jest and story, and with
never a thought of the tragedy that had already begun.

"Shall we tell them?" asked Ruggles.

"No," answered Brush; "some of them might wish to go with us."

"And it might be well to take them," suggested Captain Dawson.

"We are enough," was the grim response of the parson.

Like so many phantoms, the men moved toward the further end of the
settlement. Opposite the last shanty a man assumed form in the gloom.
He had just emerged from his dwelling and stopped abruptly at sight of
the trio of shadows gliding past.

"What's up, pards?" he called.

"Nothing," was the curt answer of the captain, who was leading and did
not change his pace.

"You needn't be so huffy about it," growled the other, standing still
and puffing his pipe until they vanished.

"That was Vose Adams," remarked the captain over his shoulder; "he'll
tell the rest what he saw and it will be known to everybody in the
morning."

The little party was carefully descending the side of the canyon, with
now and then a partial stumble, until they reached the bottom of the
broad valley where the grass grew luxuriantly nearly the whole year.
It was nutritious and succulent and afforded the best of pasturage for
the few horses and mules belonging to the miners.

Captain Dawson and Lieutenant Russell had ridden up the trail, each
mounted on a fine steed, which had brought them from Sacramento. When
the saddles and bridles were removed, the animals were turned loose in
the rich pasturage, which extended for miles over the bottom of the
canyon. There, too, grazed the pony of Nellie Dawson, the horses of
Ruggles and Bidwell and the three mules owned by Landlord Ortigies
and Vose Adams. The latter were left to themselves, except when needed
for the periodical journeys to Sacramento. The little drove
constituted all the possessions of New Constantinople in that line.
Consequently, if any more of the miners wished to join in the pursuit,
they would have to do so on foot or on mule back,--a fact which was
likely to deter most of them.

In the early days of the settlement, before the descent of that
terrible blizzard, fully a dozen mules and horses were grazing in the
gorge, subject to the call of their owners, who, however, did not
expect to need them, unless they decided to remove to some other site.
But one morning every hoof had vanished and was never seen again. The
prints of moccasins, here and there in the soft earth, left no doubt
of the cause of their disappearance. Perhaps this event had something
to do with the permanence of New Constantinople, since the means of a
comfortable departure with goods, chattels, tools and mining
implements went off with the animals.

After that the miners made no further investments in quadrupeds,
except to the extent of three or four mules, needed by Vose Adams,
though he was forced to make one journey to Sacramento on foot. Thus
matters stood until the addition of the horses. There was always
danger of their being stolen, but as the weeks and months passed,
without the occurrence of anything of that nature, the matter was
forgotten.

The three men were so familiar with the surroundings that they made
their way to the bottom of the canyon with as much readiness as if the
sun were shining. Pausing beside the narrow, winding stream, which at
that season was no more than a brook, they stood for several minutes
peering here and there in the gloom, for the animals indispensable for
a successful pursuit of the eloping ones.

"There's no saying how long it will take to find them," remarked the
captain impatiently; "it may be they have been grazing a mile away."

"Have you any signal which your animal understands?"

"Yes, but it is doubtful if he will obey it."

Captain Dawson placed his fingers between his lips and emitted a
peculiar tremulous whistle, repeating it three times with much
distinctness. Then all stood silent and listening.

"He may be asleep. Once he was prompt to obey me, but he has been
turned loose so long that there is little likelihood of his heeding
it."

"Try it again and a little stronger," suggested Ruggles.

The captain repeated the call until it seemed certain the animal must
hear it, but all the same, the result was nothing.

It was exasperating for the hounds thus to be held in leash when the
game was speeding from them, with the scent warm, but there was no
help for it.

"We are wasting time,"

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