Tales of Trail and Town

by Bret Harte

  A NIGHT ON THE DIVIDE

  With the lulling of the wind towards evening it came on tosnow--heavily, in straight, quickly succeeding flakes, dropping likewhite lances from the sky. This was followed by the usual Sierranphenomenon. The deep gorge, which, as the sun went down, had lapsed intodarkness, presently began to reappear; at first the vanished trail cameback as a vividly whitening streak before them; then the larches andpines that ascended from it like buttresses against the hillsidesglimmered in ghostly distinctness, until at last the two slopes curvedout of the darkness as if hewn in marble. For the sudden storm, whichextended scarcely two miles, had left no trace upon the steep graniteface of the high cliffs above; the snow, slipping silently from them,left them still hidden in the obscurity of night. In the vanishedlandscape the gorge alone stood out, set in a chaos of cloud and stormthrough which the moonbeams struggled ineffectually.

  It was this unexpected sight which burst upon the occupants of a largecovered "station wagon" who had chanced upon the lower end of the gorge.Coming from a still lower altitude, they had known nothing of the storm,which had momentarily ceased, but had left a record of its intensityin nearly two feet of snow. For some moments the horses floundered andstruggled on, in what the travelers believed to be some old forgottendrift or avalanche, until the extent and freshness of the fall becameapparent. To add to their difficulties, the storm recommenced, and notcomprehending its real character and limit, they did not dare to attemptto return the way they came. To go on, however, was impossible. In thisquandary they looked about them in vain for some other exit from thegorge. The sides of that gigantic white furrow terminated in darkness.Hemmed in from the world in all directions, it might have been theirtomb.

  But although THEY could see nothing beyond their prison walls, theythemselves were perfectly visible from the heights above them. And JackTenbrook, quartz miner, who was sinking a tunnel in the rocky ledge ofshelf above the gorge, stepping out from his cabin at ten o'clockto take a look at the weather before turning in, could observe quitedistinctly the outline of the black wagon, the floundering horses, andthe crouching figures by their side, scarcely larger than pygmies on thewhite surface of the snow, six hundred feet below him. Jack had courageand strength, and the good humor that accompanies them, but hecontented himself for a few moments with lazily observing the travelers'discomfiture. He had taken in the situation with a glance; he would havehelped a brother miner or mountaineer, although he knew that it couldonly have been drink or bravado that brought HIM into the gorge in asnowstorm, but it was very evident that these were "greenhorns," oreastern tourists, and it served their stupidity and arrogance right! Heremembered also how he, having once helped an Eastern visitor catch themustang that had "bucked" him, had been called "my man," and presentedwith five dollars; he recalled how he had once spread the humbleresources of his cabin before some straying members of the San Franciscoparty who were "opening" the new railroad, and heard the audible wonderof a lady that a civilized being could live so "coarsely"? With theserecollections in his mind, he managed to survey the distant strugglinghorses with a fine sense of humor, not unmixed with self-righteousness.There was no real danger in the situation; it meant at the worst a delayand a camping in the snow till morning, when he would go down to theirassistance. They had a spacious traveling equipage, and were, no doubt,well supplied with furs, robes, and provisions for a several hours'journey; his own pork barrel was quite empty, and his blankets worn. Hehalf smiled, extended his long arms in a decided yawn, and turned backinto his cabin to go to bed. Then he cast a final glance around theinterior. Everything was all right; his loaded rifle stood against thewall; he had just raked ashes over the embers of his fire to keep itintact till morning. Only one thing slightly troubled him; a grizzlybear, two-thirds grown, but only half tamed, which had been given to himby a young lady named "Miggles," when that charming and historic girlhad decided to accompany her paralytic lover to the San Franciscohospital, was missing that evening. It had been its regular habit tocome to the door every night for some sweet biscuit or sugar beforegoing to its lair in the underbrush behind the cabin. Everybody knew italong the length and breadth of Hemlock Ridge, as well as the factof its being a legacy from the fair exile. No rifle had ever yet beenraised against its lazy bulk or the stupid, small-eyed head and ruffof circling hairs made more erect by its well-worn leather collar.Consoling himself with the thought that the storm had probably delayedits return, Jack took off his coat and threw it on his bunk. But fromthinking of the storm his thoughts naturally returned again to theimpeded travelers below him, and he half mechanically stepped out in hisshirt-sleeves for a final look at them.

  But here something occurred that changed his resolution entirely. He hadpreviously noticed only the three foreshortened, crawling figuresaround the now stationary wagon bulk. They were now apparently makingarrangements to camp for the night. But another figure had been addedto the group, and as it stood perched upon a wagon seat laid on the snowJack could see that its outline was not bifurcated like the others.But even that general suggestion was not needed! the little head, thesymmetrical curves visible even at that distance, were quite enough toindicate that it was a woman! The easy smile faded from Jack's face, andwas succeeded by a look of concern and then of resignation. He had nochoice now; he MUST go! There was a woman there, and that settled it.Yet he had arrived at this conclusion from no sense of gallantry, nor,indeed, of chivalrous transport, but as a matter of simple duty to thesex. He was giving up his sleep, was going down six hundred feet ofsteep trail to offer his services during the rest of the night as muchas a matter of course as an Eastern man would have offered his seat inan omnibus to a woman, and with as little expectation of return for hiscourtesy.

  Having resumed his coat, with a bottle of whiskey thrust into itspocket, he put on a pair of india-rubber boots reaching to his thighs,and, catching the blanket from his bunk, started with an axe and shovelon his shoulder on his downward journey. When the distance was halfcompleted he shouted to the travelers below; the cry was joyouslyanswered by the three men; he saw the fourth figure, now unmistakablythat of a slender youthful woman, in a cloak, helped back into thewagon, as if deliverance was now sure and immediate. But Jack onarriving speedily dissipated that illusive hope; they could only getthrough the gorge by taking off the wheels of the wagon, placingthe axle on rude sledge-runners of split saplings, which, with theirassistance, he would fashion in a couple of hours at his cabin and bringdown to the gorge. The only other alternative would be for them tocome to his cabin and remain there while he went for assistance to thenearest station, but that would take several hours and necessitate adouble journey for the sledge if he was lucky enough to find one. Theparty quickly acquiesced in Jack's first suggestion.

  "Very well," said Jack, "then there's no time to be lost; unhitch yourhorses and we'll dig a hole in that bank for them to stand in out ofthe snow." This was speedily done. "Now," continued Jack, "you'll justfollow me up to my cabin; it's a pretty tough climb, but I'll want yourhelp to bring down the runners."

  Here the man who seemed to be the head of the party--of middle age and asuperior, professional type--for the first time hesitated. "I forgotto say that there is a lady with us,--my daughter," he began, glancingtowards the wagon.

  "I reckoned as much," interrupted Jack simply, "and I allowed to carryher up myself the roughest part of the way. She kin make herself warmand comf'ble in the cabin until we've got the runners ready."

  "You hear what our friend says, Amy?" suggested the gentleman,appealingly, to the closed leather curtains of the wagon.

  There was a pause. The curtain was suddenly drawn aside, and a charminglittle head and shoulders, furred to the throat and topped with abewitching velvet cap, were thrust out. In the obscurity little couldbe seen of the girl's features, but there was a certain willfulness andimpatience in her attitude. Being in the shadow, she had the advantageof the others, particularly of Jack, as his figure was fully revealed inthe moonlight against the snow
bank. Her eyes rested for a moment on hishigh boots, his heavy mustache, so long as to mingle with the unkemptlocks which fell over his broad shoulders, on his huge red handsstreaked with black grease from the wagon wheels, and some blood,stanched with snow, drawn from bruises in cutting out brambles in thebrush; on--more awful than all--a monstrous, shiny "specimen" gold ringencircling one of his fingers,--on the whiskey bottle that shamelesslybulged from his side pocket, and then--slowly dropped her dissatisfiedeyelids.

  "Why can't I stay HERE?" she said languidly. "It's quite nice andcomfortable."

  "Because we can't leave you alone, and we must go with this gentleman tohelp him."

  Miss Amy let the tail of her eye again creep shudderingly over thisimpossible Jack. "I thought the--the gentleman was going to help US,"she said dryly.

  "Nonsense, Amy, you don't understand," said her father impatiently."This gentleman is kind enough to offer to make some sledge-runners forus at his cabin, and we must help him."

  "But I can stay here while you go. I'm not afraid."

  "Yes, but you're ALONE here, and something might happen."

  "Nothing could happen," interrupted Jack, quickly and cheerfully. He hadflushed at first, but he was now considering that the carrying of a ladyas expensively attired and apparently as delicate and particular as thisone might be somewhat difficult. "There's nothin' that would hurt yehere," he continued, addressing the velvet cap and furred throat in thedarkness, "and if there was it couldn't get at ye, bein', so tospeak, in the same sort o' fix as you. So you're all right," he addedpositively.

  Inconsistently enough, the young lady did not accept this as gratefullyas might have been imagined, but Jack did not see the slight flash ofher eye as, ignoring him, she replied markedly to her father, "I'd muchrather stop here, papa."

  "And," continued Jack, turning also to her father, "you can keep thewagon and the whole gorge in sight from the trail all the way up. So youcan see that everything's all right. Why, I saw YOU from the first."He stopped awkwardly, and added, "Come along; the sooner we're off thequicker the job's over."

  "Pray don't delay the gentleman and--the job," said Miss Amy sweetly.

  Reassured by Jack's last suggestion, her father followed him withthe driver and the second man of the party, a youngish and somewhatundistinctive individual, but to whose gallant anxieties Miss Amyresponded effusively. Nevertheless, the young lady had especially notedJack's confession that he had seen them when they first entered thegorge. "And I suppose," she added to herself mentally, "that hesat there with his boozing companions, laughing and jeering at ourstruggles."

  But when the sound of her companions' voices died away, and theirfigures were swallowed up in the darkness behind the snow, sheforgot all this, and much else that was mundane and frivolous, in theimpressive and majestic solitude which seemed to descend upon her fromthe obscurity above.

  At first it was accompanied with a slight thrill of vague fear, but thispassed presently into that profound peace which the mountains alone cangive their lonely or perturbed children. It seemed to her that Naturewas never the same, on the great plains where men and cities alwaysloomed into such ridiculous proportions, as when the Great Mother raisedherself to comfort them with smiling hillsides, or encompassed them anddrew them closer in the loving arms of her mountains. The long whitecanada stretched before her in a purity that did not seem of the earth;the vague bulk of the mountains rose on either side of her in a mysterythat was not of this life. Yet it was not oppressive; neither was itsrestfulness and quiet suggestive of obliviousness and slumber; on thecontrary, the highly rarefied air seemed to give additional keennessto her senses; her hearing had become singularly acute; her eyesightpierced the uttermost extremity of the gorge, lit by the full moon thatoccasionally shone through slowly drifting clouds. Her nerves thrilledwith a delicious sense of freedom and a strange desire to run or climb.It seemed to her, in her exalted fancy, that these solitudes should bepeopled only by a kingly race, and not by such gross and material churlsas this mountaineer who helped them. And, I grieve to say,--writingof an idealist that WAS, and a heroine that IS to be,--she was gettingoutrageously hungry.

  There were a few biscuits in her traveling-bag, and she remembered thatshe had been presented with a small jar of California honey at San Jose.This she took out and opened on the seat before her, and spreading thehoney on the biscuits, ate them with a keen schoolgirl relish and apleasant suggestion of a sylvan picnic in spite of the cold. It was allvery strange; quite an experience for her to speak of afterwards. Peoplewould hardly believe that she had spent an hour or two, all alone, in adeserted wagon in a mountain snow pass. It was an adventure such asone reads of in the magazines. Only something was lacking whichthe magazines always supplied,--something heroic, something done bysomebody. If that awful-looking mountaineer--that man with the long hairand mustache, and that horrible gold ring,--why such a ring?--was onlydifferent! But he was probably gorging beefsteak or venison with herfather and Mr. Waterhouse,--men were always such selfish creatures!--andhad quite forgotten all about her. It would have been only decent forthem to have brought her down something hot; biscuits and honey werecertainly cloying, and somehow didn't agree with the temperature. Shewas really half starved! And much they cared! It would just serve themright if something DID happen to her,--or SEEM to happen to her,--ifonly to frighten them. And the pretty face that was turned up in themoonlight wore a charming but decided pout.

  Good gracious, what was that? The horses were either struggling orfighting in their snow shelters. Then one with a frightened neigh brokefrom its halter and dashed into the road, only to be plunged snortingand helpless into the drifts. Then the other followed. How silly!Something had frightened them. Perhaps only a rabbit or a mole; horseswere such absurdly nervous creatures! However, it is just as well;somebody would see them or hear them,--that neigh was quite humanand awful,--and they would hurry down to see what was the matter. SHEcouldn't be expected to get out and look after the horses in the snow.Anyhow, she WOULDN'T! She was a good deal safer where she was; it mighthave been rats or mice about that frightened them! Goodness!

  She was still watching with curious wonder the continued fright of theanimals, when suddenly she felt the wagon half bumped, half lifted frombehind. It was such a lazy, deliberate movement that for a moment shethought it came from the party, who had returned noiselessly with therunners. She scrambled over to the back seat, unbuttoned the leathercurtain, lifted it, but nothing was to be seen. Consequently,with feminine quickness, she said, "I see you perfectly, Mr.Waterhouse--don't be silly!" But at this moment there was another shockto the wagon, and from beneath it arose what at first seemed to her tobe an uplifting of the drift itself, but, as the snow was shaken awayfrom its heavy bulk, proved to be the enormous head and shoulders of abear!

  Yet even then she was not WHOLLY frightened, for the snout thatconfronted her had a feeble inoffensiveness; the small eyes were brightwith an eager, almost childish curiosity rather than a savage ardor,and the whole attitude of the creature lifted upon its hind legs wascircus-like and ludicrous rather than aggressive. She was enabled to saywith some dignity, "Go away! Shoo!" and to wave her luncheon basket atit with exemplary firmness. But here the creature laid one paw on theback seat as if to steady itself, with the singular effect of collapsingthe whole side of the wagon, and then opened its mouth as if in somesort of inarticulate reply. But the revelation of its red tongue,its glistening teeth, and, above all, the hot, suggestive fume of itsbreath, brought the first scream from the lips of Miss Amy. It was realand convincing; the horses joined in it; the three screamed together!The bear hesitated for an instant, then, catching sight of the honey-poton the front seat, which the shrinking-back of the young girl haddisclosed, he slowly reached forward his other paw and attempted tograsp it. This exceedingly simple movement, however, at once doubledup the front seat, sent the honey-pot a dozen feet into the air, anddropped Miss Amy upon her knees in the bed of the wagon. The combinedmental and physical shock wa
s too much for her; she instantly andsincerely fainted; the last thing in her ears amidst this wreck ofmatter being the "wheep" of a bullet and the sharp crack of a rifle.

  *****

  She recovered her consciousness in the flickering light of a fire ofbark, that played upon the rafters of a roof thatched with bark and upona floor of strewn and shredded bark. She even suspected she was lyingupon a mattress of bark underneath the heavy bearskin she could feeland touch. She had a delicious sense of warmth, and, mingled with thisstrange spicing of woodland freedom, even a sense of home protection.And surely enough, looking around, she saw her father at her side.

  He briefly explained the situation. They had been at first attracted bythe cry of the frightened horses and their plunging, which they couldsee distinctly, although they saw nothing else. "But, Mr. Tenbrook"--

  "Mr. Who?" said Amy, staring at the rafters.

  "The owner of this cabin--the man who helped us--caught up his gun, and,calling us to follow, ran like lightning down the trail. At first wefollowed blindly, and unknowingly, for we could only see the strugglinghorses, who, however, seemed to be ALONE, and the wagon from which youdid not seem to have stirred. Then, for the first time, my dear child,we suddenly saw your danger. Imagine how we felt as that hideous bruterose up in the road and began attacking the wagon. We called on Tenbrookto fire, but for some inconceivable reason he did not, although he stillkept running at the top of his speed. Then we heard you shriek--"

  "I didn't shriek, papa; it was the horses."

  "My child, I knew your voice."

  "Well, it was only a VERY LITTLE scream--because I had tumbled." Thecolor was coming back rapidly to her pink cheeks.

  "And, then, at your scream, Tenbrook fired!--it was a wonderful shot forthe distance, so everybody says--and killed the bear, though Tenbrooksays it oughtn't to. I believe he wanted to capture the creature alive.They've queer notions, those hunters. And then, as you were unconscious,he brought you up here."

  "WHO brought me?"

  "Tenbrook; he's as strong as a horse. Slung you up on his shoulders likea feather pillow."

  "Oh!"

  "And then, as the wagon required some repairing from the brute's attack,we concluded to take it leisurely, and let you rest here for a while."

  "And where is--where are THEY?"

  "At work on the wagon. I determined to stay with you, though you areperfectly safe here."

  "I suppose I ought--to thank--this man, papa?"

  "Most certainly, though of course, I have already done so. But he wasrather curt in reply. These half-savage men have such singular ideas.He said the beast would never have attacked you except for the honey-potwhich it scented. That's absurd."

  "Then it's all my fault?"

  "Nonsense! How could YOU know?"

  "And I've made all this trouble. And frightened the horses. And spoiltthe wagon. And made the man run down and bring me up here when he didn'twant to!"

  "My dear child! Don't be idiotic! Amy! Well, really!"

  For the idiotic one was really wiping two large tears from her lovelyblue eyes. She subsided into an ominous silence, broken by a singlesniffle. "Try to go to sleep, dear; you've had quite a shock to yournerves, added her father soothingly. She continued silent, but notsleeping.

  "I smell coffee."

  "Yes, dear."

  "You've been having coffee, papa?"

  "We DID have some, I think," said the wretched man apologetically,though why he could not determine.

  "Before I came up? while the bear was trying to eat me?"

  "No, after."

  "I've a horrid taste in my mouth. It's the honey. I'll never eat honeyagain. Never!"

  "Perhaps it's the whiskey."

  "What?"

  "The whiskey. You were quite faint and chilled, you know. We gave yousome."

  "Out of--that--black--bottle?"

  "Yes."

  Another silence.

  "I'd like some coffee. I don't think he'd begrudge me that, if he didsave my life."

  "I dare say there's some left." Her father at once bestirred himselfand presently brought her some coffee in a tin cup. It was part of MissAmy's rapid convalescence, or equally of her debilitated condition,that she made no comment on the vessel. She lay for some moments lookingcuriously around the cabin; she had no doubt it had a worse look in thedaylight, but somehow the firelight brought out a wondrous luxury ofcolor in the bark floor and thatching. Besides, it was not "smelly," asshe feared it would be; on the contrary the spicy aroma of the woodswas always dominant. She remembered that it was this that always made agreasy, oily picnic tolerable. She raised herself on her elbow, seeingwhich her father continued confidently, "Perhaps, dear, if you sat upfor a few moments you might be strong enough presently to walk down withme to the wagon. It would save time."

  Amy instantly lay down again. "I don't know what you can be thinking of,papa. After this shock really I don't feel as if I could STAND alone,much less WALK. But, of course," with pathetic resignation, "if youand Mr. Waterhouse supported me, perhaps I might crawl a few steps at atime."

  "Nonsense, Amy. Of course, this man Tenbrook will carry you down as hebrought you up. Only I thought,--but there are steps, they're comingnow. No!--only HE."

  The sound of crackling in the underbrush was followed by a momentarydarkening of the open door of the cabin. It was the tall figure of themountaineer. But he did not even make the pretense of entering; standingat the door he delivered his news to the interior generally. It was tothe effect that everything was ready, and the two other men were eventhen harnessing the horses. Then he drew back into the darkness.

  "Papa," said Amy, in a sudden frightened voice, "I've lost my bracelet."

  "Haven't you dropped it somewhere there in the bunk?" asked her father.

  "No. It's on the floor of the wagon. I remember now it fell off when Itumbled! And it will be trodden upon and crushed! Couldn't you run down,ahead of me, and warn them, papa, dear? Mr. Tenbrook will have to goso slowly with me." She tumbled out of the bunk with singular alacrity,shook herself and her skirts into instantaneous gracefulness, and fittedthe velvet cap on her straying hair. Then she said hurriedly, "Runquick, papa dear, and as you go, call him in and say I am quite ready."

  Thus adjured, the obedient parent disappeared in the darkness. With himalso disappeared Miss Amy's singular alacrity. Sitting down carefullyagain on the edge of the bunk, she leaned against the post with acertain indefinable languor that was as touching as it was graceful. Ineed not tell any feminine readers that there was no dissimulation inall this,--no coquetry, no ostentation,--and that the young girl wasperfectly sincere! But the masculine reader might like to know that thesimple fact was that, since she had regained consciousness, she hadbeen filled with remorse for her capricious and ungenerous rejection ofTenbrook's proffered service. More than that, she felt she had periledher life in that moment of folly, and that this man--this hero--hadsaved her. For hero he was, even if he did not fulfill her ideal,--itwas only SHE that was not a heroine. Perhaps if he had been more likewhat she wished she would have felt this less keenly; love leaves littleroom for the exercise of moral ethics. So Miss Amy Forester, being agood girl at bottom, and not exactly loving this man, felt towards him afrank and tender consideration which a more romantic passion would haveshrunk from showing. Consequently, when Tenbrook entered a momentlater, he found Amy paler and more thoughtful, but, as he fancied,much prettier than before, looking up at him with eyes of the sincerestsolicitude.

  Nevertheless, he remained standing near the door, as if indicating apossible intrusion, his face wearing a look of lowering abstraction. Itstruck her that this might be the effect of his long hair and generaluncouthness, and this only spurred her to a fuller recognition of hisother qualities.

  "I am afraid," she began, with a charming embarrassment, "that insteadof resting satisfied with your kindness in carrying me up here, I willhave to burden you again with my dreadful weakness, and ask you to carryme down also. But al
l this seems so little after what you have just doneand for which I can never, NEVER hope to thank you!" She clasped her twolittle hands together, holding her gloves between, and brought them downupon her lap in a gesture as prettily helpless as it was unaffected.

  "I have done scarcely anything," he said, glancing away towards thefire, "and--your father has thanked me."

  "You have saved my life!"

  "No! no!" he said quickly. "Not that! You were in no danger, except frommy rifle, had I missed."

  "I see," she said eagerly, with a little posthumous thrill at havingbeen after all a kind of heroine, "and it was a wonderful shot, for youwere so careful not to touch me."

  "Please don't say any more," he said, with a slight movement of halfawkwardness, half impatience. "It was a rough job, but it's over now."

  He stopped and chafed his red hands abstractedly together. She could seethat he had evidently just washed them--and the glaring ring was more inevidence than ever. But the thought gave her an inspiration.

  "You'll at least let me shake hands with you!" she said, extending bothher own with childish frankness.

  "Hold on, Miss Forester," he said, with sudden desperation. "It ain'tthe square thing! Look here! I can't play this thing on you!--I can'tlet you play it on me any longer! You weren't in any danger,--you NEVERwere! That bear was only a half-wild thing I helped to ra'r myself! It'staken sugar from my hand night after night at the door of this cabinas it might have taken it from yours here if it was alive now. It sleptnight after night in the brush, not fifty yards away. The morning'snever come yet--till now," he said hastily, to cover an odd break inhis voice, "when it didn't brush along the whole side of this cabinto kinder wake me up and say 'So long,' afore it browsed away into thecanyon. Thar ain't a man along the whole Divide who didn't know it;thar ain't a man along the whole Divide that would have drawn a bead orpulled a trigger on it till now. It never had an enemy but the bees; itnever even knew why horses and cattle were frightened of it. It wasn'tmuch of a pet, you'd say, Miss Forester; it wasn't much to meet a lady'seye; but we of the woods must take our friends where we find 'em and ofour own kind. It ain't no fault of yours, Miss, that you didn't knowit; it ain't no fault of yours what happened; but when it comes to yourTHANKING me for it, why--it's--it's rather rough, you see--and gets me."He stopped short as desperately and as abruptly as he had begun, andstared blankly at the fire.

  A wave of pity and shame swept over the young girl and left its hightide on her cheek. But even then it was closely followed by the feminineinstinct of defence and defiance. The REAL hero--the GENTLEMAN--shereasoned bitterly, would have spared her all this knowledge.

  "But why," she said, with knitted brows, "why, if you knew it was soprecious and so harmless--why did you fire upon it?"

  "Because," he said almost fiercely, turning upon her, "because youSCREAMED, and THEN I KNEW IT HAD FRIGHTENED YOU!" He stopped instantlyas she momentarily recoiled from him, but the very brusqueness of hisaction had dislodged a tear from his dark eyes that fell warm on theback of her hand, and seemed to blot out the indignity. "Listen, Miss,"he went on hurriedly, as if to cover up his momentary unmanliness."I knew the bear was missing to-night, and when I heard the horsesscurrying about I reckoned what was up. I knew no harm could come toyou, for the horses were unharnessed and away from the wagon. I pelteddown that trail ahead of them all like grim death, calkilatin' to getthere before the bear; they wouldn't have understood me; I was too highup to call to the creature when he did come out, and I kinder hopedyou wouldn't see him. Even when he turned towards the wagon, I knew itwasn't YOU he was after, but suthin' else, and I kinder hoped, Miss,that you, being different and quicker-minded than the rest, would seeit too. All the while them folks were yellin' behind me to fire--as ifI didn't know my work. I was half-way down--and then you screamed! Andthen I forgot everything,--everything but standing clear of hittingyou,--and I fired. I was that savage that I wanted to believe that he'dgone mad, and would have touched you, till I got down there and foundthe honey-pot lying alongside of him. But there,--it's all over now!I wouldn't have let on a word to you only I couldn't bear to take YOURTHANKS for it, and I couldn't bear to have you thinking me a brutefor dodgin' them." He stopped, walked to the fire, leaned against thechimney under the shallow pretext of kicking the dull embers intoa blaze, which, however, had only the effect of revealing his twoglistening eyes as he turned back again and came towards her. "Well,"he said, with an ineffectual laugh, "it's all over now, it's all in theday's work, I reckon,--and now, Miss, if you're ready, and will justfix yourself your own way so as to ride easy, I'll carry you down." Andslightly bending his strong figure, he dropped on one knee beside herwith extended arms.

  Now it is one thing to be carried up a hill in temperate, unconsciousblood and practical business fashion by a tall, powerful man withsteadfast, glowering eyes, but quite another thing to be carried downagain by the same man, who has been crying, and when you are consciousthat you are going to cry too, and your tears may be apt to mingle. SoMiss Amy Forester said: "Oh, wait, please! Sit down a moment. Oh, Mr.Tenbrook, I am so very, very sorry," and, clapping her hand to her eyes,burst into tears.

  "Oh, please, please don't, Miss Forester," said Jack, sitting down onthe end of the bunk with frightened eyes, "please don't do that! Itain't worth it. I'm only a brute to have said anything."

  "No, no! You are SO noble, SO forgiving!" sobbed Miss Forester, "andI have made you go and kill the only thing you cared for, that was allyour own."

  "No, Miss,--not all my own, either,--and that makes it so rough. For itwas only left in trust with me by a friend. It was her only companion."

  "HER only companion?" echoed Miss Forester, sharply lifting her bowedhead.

  "Except," said Jack hurriedly, miscomprehending the emphasis withmasculine fatuity,--"except the dying man for whom she lived andsacrificed her whole life. She gave me this ring, to always remind me ofmy trust. I suppose," he added ruefully, looking down upon it, "it's nouse now. I'd better take it off."

  Then Amy eyed the monstrous object with angelic simplicity. "I certainlyshould," she said with infinite sweetness; "it would only remind you ofyour loss. But," she added, with a sudden, swift, imploring look of herblue eyes, "if you could part with it to me, it would be such a reminderand token of--of your forgiveness."

  Jack instantly handed it to her. "And now," he said, "let me carry youdown."

  "I think," she said hesitatingly, "that--I had better try to walk," andshe rose to her feet.

  "Then I shall know that you have not forgiven me," said Jack sadly.

  "But I have no right to trouble"--

  Alas! she had no time to finish her polite objection, for the nextmoment she felt herself lifted in the air, smelled the bark thatchwithin an inch of her nose, saw the firelight vanish behind her, andsubsiding into his curved arms as in a hammock, the two passed forthinto the night together.

  "I can't find, your bracelet anywhere, Amy," said her father, when theyreached the wagon.

  "It was on the floor in the lint," said Amy reproachfully. "But, ofcourse, you never thought of that!"

  *****

  My pen halts with some diffidence between two conclusions to thisveracious chronicle. As they agree in result, though not in theory orintention, I may venture to give them both. To one coming from the lipsof the charming heroine herself I naturally yield the precedence. "Oh,the bear story! I don't really remember whether that was before I wasengaged to John or after. But I had known him for some time; fatherintroduced him at the Governor's ball at Sacramento. Let me see!--Ithink it was in the winter of '56. Yes! it was very amusing; I alwaysused to charge John with having trained that bear to attack our carriageso that he might come in as a hero! Oh, of course, there are a hundredabsurd stories about him,--they used to say that he lived all alone ina cabin like a savage, and all that sort of thing, and was a friend ofa dubious woman in the locality, whom the common people made a heroineof,--Miggles, or Wiggles, or some such preposterous name. Bu
t lookat John there; can you conceive it?" The listener, glancing at a veryhandsome, clean-shaven fellow, faultlessly attired, could not conceivesuch an absurdity. So I therefore simply give the opinion of JoshuaBixley, Superintendent of the Long Divide Tunnel Company, for what it isworth: "I never took much stock in that bear story, and its captivatingold Forester's daughter. Old Forester knew a thing or two, and when hewas out here consolidating tunnels, he found out that Jack Tenbrook wasabout headed for the big lead, and brought him out and introduced himto Amy. You see, Jack, clear grit as he was, was mighty rough style, andabout as simple as they make 'em, and they had to get up something toaccount for that girl's taking a shine to him. But they seem to be happyenough--and what are you going to do about it?"

  And I transfer this philosophic query to the reader.