In a Hollow of the Hills

by Bret Harte

  CHAPTER III.

  Of the great discovery in Sylvan Silver Hollow it would seem thatCollinson as yet knew nothing. In spite of Key's fears that he mightstray there on his return from Skinner's, he did not, nor did heafterwards revisit the locality. Neither the news of the registry ofthe claim nor the arrival of Key's workmen ever reached him. The fewtravelers who passed his mill came from the valley to cross the Divideon their way to Skinner's, and returned by the longer but easier detourof the stage-road over Galloper's Ridge. He had no chance toparticipate in the prosperity that flowed from the opening of the mine,which plentifully besprinkled Skinner's settlement; he was too far awayto profit even by the chance custom of Key's Sabbath wandering workmen.His isolation from civilization (for those who came to him from thevalley were rude Western emigrants like himself) remained undisturbed.The return of the prospecting party to his humble hospitality thatnight had been an exceptional case; in his characteristic simplicity hedid not dream that it was because they had nowhere else to go in theirpenniless condition. It was an incident to be pleasantly remembered,but whose nonrecurrence did not disturb his infinite patience. Hispork barrel and flour sack had been replenished for other travelers;his own wants were few.

  It was a day or two after the midnight visit of the sheriff to SilverHollow that Key galloped down the steep grade to Collinson's. He wasamused, albeit, in his new importance, a little aggrieved also, to findthat Collinson had as usual confounded his descent with that of thegenerally detached boulder, and that he was obliged to add his voice tothe general uproar. This brought Collinson to his door.

  "I've had your hoss hobbled out among the chickweed and clover in thegreen pasture back o' the mill, and he's picked up that much that he'slookin' fat and sassy," he said quietly, beginning to mechanicallyunstrap Key's bridle, even while his guest was in the act ofdismounting. "His back's quite healed up."

  Key could not restrain a shrug of impatience. It was three weeks sincethey had met,--three weeks crammed with excitement, energy,achievement, and fortune to Key; and yet this place and this man wereas stupidly unchanged as when he had left them. A momentary fancy thatthis was the reality, that he himself was only awakening from somedelusive dream, came over him. But Collinson's next words werepractical.

  "I reckoned that maybe you'd write from Marysville to Skinner to sendfor the hoss, and forward him to ye, for I never kalkilated you'd comeback."

  It was quite plain from this that Collinson had heard nothing. But itwas also awkward, as Key would now have to tell the whole story, andreveal the fact that he had been really experimenting when Collinsonovertook him in the hollow. He evaded this by post-dating hisdiscovery of the richness of the ore until he had reached Marysville.But he found some difficulty in recounting his good fortune: he wasnaturally no boaster, he had no desire to impress Collinson with hispenetration, nor the undaunted energy he had displayed in getting uphis company and opening the mine, so that he was actually embarrassedby his own understatement; and under the grave, patient eyes of hiscompanion, told his story at best lamely. Collinson's face betrayedneither profound interest nor the slightest resentment. When Key hadended his awkward recital, Collinson said slowly:--

  "Then Uncle Dick and that other Parker feller ain't got no show in thisyer find."

  "No," said Key quickly. "Don't you remember we broke up ourpartnership that morning and went off our own ways. You don'tsuppose," he added with a forced half-laugh, "that if Uncle Dick orParker had struck a lead after they left me, they'd have put me in it?"

  "Wouldn't they?" asked Collinson gravely.

  "Of course not." He laughed a little more naturally, but presentlyadded, with an uneasy smile, "What makes you think they would?"

  "Nuthin'!" said Collinson promptly.

  Nevertheless, when they were seated before the fire, with glasses intheir hands, Collinson returned patiently to the subject:

  "You wuz saying they went their way, and you went yours. But your waywas back on the old way that you'd all gone together."

  But Key felt himself on firmer ground here, and answered deliberatelyand truthfully, "Yes, but I only went back to the hollow to satisfymyself if there really was any house there, and if there was, to warnthe occupants of the approaching fire."

  "And there was a house there," said Collinson thoughtfully.

  "Only the ruins." He stopped and flushed quickly, for he rememberedthat he had denied its existence at their former meeting. "That is,"he went on hurriedly, "I found out from the sheriff, you know, thatthere had been a house there. But," he added, reverting to hisstronger position, "my going back there was an accident, and my pickingup the outcrop was an accident, and had no more to do with ourpartnership prospecting than you had. In fact," he said, with areassuring laugh, "you'd have had a better right to share in my claim,coming there as you did at that moment, than they. Why, if I'd haveknown what the thing was worth, I might have put you in--only it wantedcapital and some experience." He was glad that he had pitched upon thatexcuse (it had only just occurred to him), and glanced affably atCollinson. But that gentleman said soberly:--

  "No, you wouldn't nuther."

  "Why not?" said Key half angrily.

  Collinson paused. After a moment he said, "'Cos I wouldn't hev tookanything outer thet place."

  Key felt relieved. From what he knew of Collinson's vagaries hebelieved him. He was wise in not admitting him to his confidences atthe beginning; he might have thought it his duty to tell others.

  "I'm not so particular," he returned laughingly, "but the silver inthat hole was never touched, nor I dare say even imagined by mortal manbefore. However, there is something else about the hollow that I wantto tell you. You remember the slipper that you picked up?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I lied to you about that; I never dropped it. On the contrary,I had picked up the mate of it very near where you found yours, and Iwanted to know to whom it belonged. For I don't mind telling you now,Collinson, that I believe there WAS a woman in that house, and the samewoman whose face I saw at the window. You remember how the boys jokedme about it--well, perhaps I didn't care that you should laugh at metoo, but I've had a sore conscience over my lie, for I remembered thatyou seemed to have some interest in the matter too, and I thought thatmaybe I might have thrown you off the scent. It seemed to me that ifyou had any idea who it was, we might now talk the matter over andcompare notes. I think you said--at least, I gathered the idea from aremark of yours," he added hastily, as he remembered that thesuggestion was his own, and a satirical one--"that it reminded you ofyour wife's slipper. Of course, as your wife is dead, that would offerno clue, and can only be a chance resemblance, unless"-- He stopped.

  "Have you got 'em yet?"

  "Yes, both." He took them from the pocket of his riding-jacket.

  As Collinson received them, his face took upon itself an even graverexpression. "It's mighty cur'ous," he said reflectively, "but lookingat the two of 'em the likeness is more fetchin'. Ye see, my wife had aSTRAIGHT foot, and never wore reg'lar rights and lefts like otherwomen, but kinder changed about; ye see, these shoes is reg'lar rightsand lefts, but never was worn as sich!"

  "There may be other women as peculiar," suggested Key.

  "There MUST be," said Collinson quietly.

  For an instant Key was touched with the manly security of the reply,for, remembering Uncle Dick's scandal, it had occurred to him that theunknown tenant of the robbers' den might be Collinson's wife. He wasglad to be relieved on that point, and went on more confidently:--

  "So, you see, this woman was undoubtedly in that house on the night ofthe fire. She escaped, and in a mighty hurry too, for she had not timeto change her slippers for shoes; she escaped on horseback, for that ishow she lost them. Now what was she doing there with those rascals,for the face I saw looked as innocent as a saint's."

  "Seemed to ye sort o' contrairy, jist as I reckoned my wife's footwould have looked in a slipper that you said was GIV t
o ye," suggestedCollinson pointedly, but with no implication of reproach in his voice.

  "Yes," said Key impatiently.

  "I've read yarns afore now about them Eyetalian brigands stealin'women," said Collinson reflectively, "but that ain't Californiaroad-agent style. Great Scott! if one even so much as spoke to awoman, they'd have been wiped outer the State long ago. No! the womanas WAS there came there to STAY!"

  As Key's face did not seem to express either assent or satisfaction atthis last statement, Collinson, after a glance at it, went on with asomewhat gentler gravity: "I see wot's troublin' YOU, Mr. Key; you'vebin thinkin' that mebbee that poor woman might hev bin the better for abit o' that fortin' that you discovered under the very spot where themslippers of hers had often trod. You're thinkin' that mebbee it mighthev turned her and those men from their evil ways."

  Mr. Key had been thinking nothing of the kind, but for some obscurereason the skeptical jeer that had risen to his lips remained unsaid.He rose impatiently. "Well, there seems to be no chance of discoveringanything now; the house is burnt, the gang dispersed, and she hasprobably gone with them." He paused, and then laid three or four largegold pieces on the table. "It's for that old bill of our party,Collinson," he said. "I'll settle and collect from each. Some timewhen you come over to the mine, and I hope you'll give us a call, youcan bring the horse. Meanwhile you can use him; you'll find he's alittle quicker than the mule. How is business?" he added, with aperfunctory glance around the vacant room and dusty bar.

  "Thar ain't much passin' this way," said Collinson with equalcarelessness, as he gathered up the money, "'cept those boys from thevalley, and they're most always strapped when they come here."

  Key smiled as he observed that Collinson offered him no receipt, and,moreover, as he remembered that he had only Collinson's word for thedestruction of Parker's draft. But he merely glanced at hisunconscious host, and said nothing. After a pause he returned in alighter tone: "I suppose you are rather out of the world here. Indeed,I had an idea at first of buying out your mill, Collinson, and puttingin steam power to get out timber for our new buildings, but you see youare so far away from the wagon-road, that we couldn't haul the timberaway. That was the trouble, or I'd have made you a fair offer."

  "I don't reckon to ever sell the mill," said Collinson simply. Thenobserving the look of suspicion in his companion's face, he addedgravely, "You see, I rigged up the whole thing when I expected my wifeout from the States, and I calkilate to keep it in memory of her."

  Key slightly lifted his brows. "But you never told us, by the way, HOWyou ever came to put up a mill here with such an uncertainwater-supply."

  "It wasn't onsartin when I came here, Mr. Key; it was a full-fed streamstraight from them snow peaks. It was the earthquake did it."

  "The earthquake!" repeated Key.

  "Yes. Ef the earthquake kin heave up that silver-bearing rock that youtold us about the first day you kem here, and that you found t'otherday, it could play roots with a mere mill-stream, I reckon."

  "But the convulsion I spoke of happened ages on ages ago, when thiswhole mountain range was being fashioned," said Key with a laugh.

  "Well, this yer earthquake was ten years ago, just after I came. Ireckon I oughter remember it. It was a queer sort o' day in the fall,dry and hot as if thar might hev bin a fire in the woods, only tharwasn't no wind. Not a breath of air anywhar. The leaves of themalders hung straight as a plumb-line. Except for that thar stream andthat thar wheel, nuthin' moved. Thar wasn't a bird on the wing overthat canyon; thar wasn't a squirrel skirmishin' in the hull wood; eventhe lizards in the rocks stiffened like stone Chinese idols. It keptgettin' quieter and quieter, ontil I walked out on that ledge and feltas if I'd have to give a yell just to hear my own voice. Thar was athin veil over everything, and betwixt and between everything, and thesun was rooted in the middle of it as if it couldn't move neither.Everythin' seemed to be waitin', waitin', waitin'. Then all of asuddin suthin' seemed to give somewhar! Suthin' fetched away with aqueer sort of rumblin', as if the peg had slipped outer creation. Ilooked up and kalkilated to see half a dozen of them boulders come,lickity switch, down the grade. But, darn my skin, if one of 'emstirred! and yet while I was looking, the whole face o' that bluffbowed over softly, as if saying 'Good-by,' and got clean away somewharbefore I knowed it. Why, you see that pile agin the side o' thecanyon! Well, a thousand feet under that there's trees, three hundredfeet high, still upright and standin'. You know how them pines over onthat far mountain-side always seem to be climbin' up, up, up, over eachother's heads to the very top? Well, Mr. Key, I SAW 'EM climbin'! Andwhen I pulled myself together and got back to the mill, everything wasquiet; and, by G--d, so was the mill-wheel, and there wasn't two inchesof water in the river!"

  "And what did you think of it?" said Key, interested in spite of hisimpatience.

  "I thought, Mr. Key-- No! I mustn't say I thought, for I knowed it. Iknowed that suthin' had happened to my wife!"

  Key did not smile, but even felt a faint superstitious thrill as hegazed at him. After a pause Collinson resumed: "I heard a month afterthat she had died about that time o' yaller fever in Texas with theparty she was comin' with. Her folks wrote that they died like flies,and wuz all buried together, unbeknownst and promiscuous, and tharwasn't no remains. She slipped away from me like that bluff over thatcanyon, and that was the end of it."

  "But she might have escaped," said Key quickly, forgetting himself inhis eagerness.

  But Collinson only shook his head. "Then she'd have been here," hesaid gravely.

  Key moved towards the door still abstractedly, held out his hand, shookthat of his companion warmly, and then, saddling his horse himself,departed. A sense of disappointment--in which a vague dissatisfactionwith himself was mingled--was all that had come of his interview. Hetook himself severely to task for following his romantic quest so far.It was unworthy of the president of the Sylvan Silver Hollow Company,and he was not quite sure but that his confidences with Collinson mighthave imperiled even the interests of the company. To atone for thismomentary aberration, and correct his dismal fancies, he resolved toattend to some business at Skinner's before returning, and branched offon a long detour that would intersect the traveled stage-road. Buthere a singular incident overtook him. As he wheeled into theturnpike, he heard the trampling hoof-beats and jingling harness of theoncoming coach behind him. He had barely time to draw up against thebank before the six galloping horses and swinging vehicle swept heavilyby. He had a quick impression of the heat and steam of sweatinghorse-hide, the reek of varnish and leather, and the momentary visionof a female face silhouetted against the glass window of the coach!But even in that flash of perception he recognized the profile that hehad seen at the window of the mysterious hut!

  He halted for an instant dazed and bewildered in the dust of thedeparting wheels. Then, as the bulk of the vehicle reappeared, alreadynarrowing in the distance, without a second thought he dashed after it.His disappointment, his self-criticism, his practical resolutions wereforgotten. He had but one idea now--the vision was providential! Theclue to the mystery was before him--he MUST follow it!

  Yet he had sense enough to realize that the coach would not stop totake up a passenger between stations, and that the next station was theone three miles below Skinner's. It would not be difficult to reachthis by a cut-off in time, and although the vehicle had appeared to becrowded, he could no doubt obtain a seat on top.

  His eager curiosity, however, led him to put spurs to his horse, andrange up alongside of the coach as if passing it, while he examined thestranger more closely. Her face was bent listlessly over a book; therewas unmistakably the same profile that he had seen, but the full facewas different in outline and expression. A strange sense ofdisappointment that was almost a revulsion of feeling came over him; helingered, he glanced again; she was certainly a very pretty woman:there was the beautifully rounded chin, the short straight nose, anddelicately curved uppe
r lip, that he had seen in the profile,--andyet--yet it was not the same face he had dreamt of. With an odd,provoking sense of disillusion, he swept ahead of the coach, and againslackened his speed to let it pass. This time the fair unknown raisedher long lashes and gazed suddenly at this persistent horseman at herside, and an odd expression, it seemed to him almost a glance ofrecognition and expectation, came into her dark, languid eyes. Thepupils concentrated upon him with a singular significance, that wasalmost, he even thought, a reply to his glance, and yet it was asutterly unintelligible. A moment later, however, it was explained. Hehad fallen slightly behind in a new confusion of hesitation, wonder,and embarrassment, when from a wooded trail to the right, anotherhorseman suddenly swept into the road before him. He was a powerfullybuilt man, mounted on a thoroughbred horse of a quality far superior tothe ordinary roadster. Without looking at Key he easily ranged upbeside the coach as if to pass it, but Key, with a sudden resolution,put spurs to his own horse and ranged also abreast of him, in time tosee his fair unknown start at the apparition of this second horsemanand unmistakably convey some signal to him,--a signal that to Key'sfancy now betrayed some warning of himself. He was the more convincedas the stranger, after continuing a few paces ahead of the coach,allowed it to pass him at a curve of the road, and slackened his paceto permit Key to do the same. Instinctively conscious that thestranger's object was to scrutinize or identify him, he determined totake the initiative, and fixed his eyes upon him as they approached.But the stranger, who wore a loose brown linen duster over clothes thatappeared to be superior in fashion and material, also had part of hisface and head draped by a white silk handkerchief worn under his hat,ostensibly to keep the sun and dust from his head and neck,--and hadthe advantage of him. He only caught the flash of a pair of steel-grayeyes, as the newcomer, apparently having satisfied himself, gave reinto his spirited steed and easily repassed the coach, disappearing in acloud of dust before it. But Key had by this time reached the"cut-off," which the stranger, if he intended to follow the coach,either disdained or was ignorant of, and he urged his horse to itsutmost speed. Even with the stranger's advantages it would be a closerace to the station.

  Nevertheless, as he dashed on, he was by no means insensible to thesomewhat quixotic nature of his undertaking. If he was right in hissuspicion that a signal had been given by the lady to the stranger, itwas exceedingly probable that he had discovered not only the fairinmate of the robbers' den, but one of the gang itself, or at least aconfederate and ally. Yet far from deterring him, in that ingenioussophistry with which he was apt to treat his romance, he now lookedupon his adventure as a practical pursuit in the interests of law andjustice. It was true that it was said that the band of road agents hadbeen dispersed; it was a fact that there had been no spoliation ofcoach or teams for three weeks; but none of the depredators had everbeen caught, and their booty, which was considerable, was known to bestill intact. It was to the interest of the mine, his partners, andhis workmen that this clue to a danger which threatened the localityshould be followed to the end. As to the lady, in spite of thedisappointment that still rankled in his breast, he could bemagnanimous! She might be the paramour of the strange horseman, shemight be only escaping from some hateful companionship by his aid. Andyet one thing puzzled him: she was evidently not acquainted with thepersonality of the active gang, for she had, without doubt, at firstmistaken HIM for one of them, and after recognizing her real accomplicehad communicated her mistake to him.

  It was a great relief to him when the rough and tangled "cut-off" atlast broadened and lightened into the turnpike road again, and hebeheld, scarcely a quarter of a mile before him, the dust cloud thatoverhung the coach as it drew up at the lonely wayside station. He wasin time, for he knew that the horses were changed there; but a suddenfear that the fair unknown might alight, or take some other conveyance,made him still spur his jaded steed forward. As he neared the stationhe glanced eagerly around for the other horseman, but he was nowhere tobe seen. He had evidently either abandoned the chase or ridden ahead.

  It seemed equally a part of what he believed was a providentialintercession, that on arriving at the station he found there was avacant seat inside the coach. It was diagonally opposite that occupiedby the lady, and he was thus enabled to study her face as it was bentover her book, whose pages, however, she scarcely turned. After herfirst casual glance of curiosity at the new passenger, she seemed totake no more notice of him, and Key began to wonder if he had notmistaken her previous interrogating look. Nor was it his onlydisturbing query; he was conscious of the same disappointment now thathe could examine her face more attentively, as in his first cursoryglance. She was certainly handsome; if there was no longer thefreshness of youth, there was still the indefinable charm of the womanof thirty, and with it the delicate curves of matured muliebrity andrepose. There were lines, particularly around the mouth and fringedeyelids, that were deepened as by pain; and the chin, even in itsrounded fullness, had the angle of determination. From what wasvisible, below the brown linen duster that she wore, she appeared to betastefully although not richly dressed.

  As the coach at last drove away from the station, a grizzled,farmer-looking man seated beside her uttered a sigh of relief, sopalpable as to attract the general attention. Turning to his fairneighbor with a smile of uncouth but good-humored apology, he said inexplanation:--

  "You'll excuse me, miss! I don't know ezactly how YOU'RE feelin',--forjudging from your looks and gin'ral gait, you're a stranger in theseparts,--but ez for ME, I don't mind sayin' that I never feel ezactlysafe from these yer road agents and stage robbers ontil arter we passSkinner's station. All along thet Galloper's Ridge it's jest tech andgo like; the woods is swarmin' with 'em. But once past Skinner's,you're all right. They never dare go below that. So ef you don'tmind, miss, for it's bein' in your presence, I'll jest pull off mybutes and ease my feet for a spell."

  Neither the inconsequence of this singular request, nor the smile itevoked on the faces of the other passengers, seemed to disturb thelady's abstraction. Scarcely lifting her eyes from her book, she boweda grave assent.

  "You see, miss," he continued, "and you gents," he added, taking thewhole coach into his confidence, "I've got over forty ounces of cleangold dust in them butes, between the upper and lower sole,--and it'smighty tight packing for my feet. Ye kin heft it," he said, as heremoved one boot and held it up before them. "I put the dust there forsafety--kalkilatin' that while these road gentry allus goes for a man'spockets and his body belt, they never thinks of his butes, or haven'ttime to go through 'em." He looked around him with a smile ofself-satisfaction.

  The murmur of admiring comment was, however, broken by a burly-beardedminer who sat in the middle seat. "Thet's pretty fair, as far as itgoes," he said smilingly, "but I reckon it wouldn't go far ef youstarted to run. I've got a simpler game than that, gentlemen, and ezwe're all friends here, and the danger's over, I don't mind tellin' ye.The first thing these yer road agents do, after they've covered thedriver with their shot guns, is to make the passengers get out and holdup their hands. That, ma'am,"--explanatorily to the lady, who betrayedonly a languid interest,--"is to keep 'em from drawing their revolvers.A revolver is the last thing a road agent wants, either in a man's handor in his holster. So I sez to myself, 'Ef a six-shooter ain't of noaccount, wet's the use of carryin' it?' So I just put my shooting-ironin my valise when I travel, and fill my holster with my gold dust, so!It's a deuced sight heavier than a revolver, but they don't feel itsweight, and don't keer to come nigh it. And I've been 'held up' twiceon t'other side of the Divide this year, and I passed free every time!"

  The applause that followed this revelation and the exhibition of theholster not only threw the farmer's exploits into the shade, but seemedto excite an emulation among the passengers. Other methods of securingtheir property were freely discussed; but the excitement culminated inthe leaning forward of a passenger who had, up to that moment,maintained a reserve almost equa
l to the fair unknown. His dress andgeneral appearance were those of a professional man; his voice andmanner corroborated the presumption.

  "I don't think, gentlemen," he began with a pleasant smile, "that anyman of us here would like to be called a coward; but in fighting withan enemy who never attacks, or even appears, except with a deliberatelyprepared advantage on his side, it is my opinion that a man is not onlyjustified in avoiding an unequal encounter with him, but incircumventing by every means the object of his attack. You have allbeen frank in telling your methods. I will be equally so in tellingmine, even if I have perhaps to confess to a little more than you have;for I have not only availed myself of a well-known rule of the robberswho infest these mountains, to exempt all women and children from theirspoliation,--a rule which, of course, they perfectly understand givesthem a sentimental consideration with all Californians,--but I have, Iconfess, also availed myself of the innocent kindness of one of thatcharming and justly exempted sex." He paused and bowed courteously tothe fair unknown. "When I entered this coach I had with me a bulkyparcel which was manifestly too large for my pockets, yet as evidentlytoo small and too valuable to be intrusted to the ordinary luggage.Seeing my difficulty, our charming companion opposite, out of the verykindness and innocence of her heart, offered to make a place for it inher satchel, which was not full. I accepted the offer joyfully. WhenI state to you, gentlemen, that that package contained valuablegovernment bonds to a considerable amount, I do so, not to claim yourpraise for any originality of my own, but to make this public avowal toour fair fellow passenger for securing to me this most perfect securityand immunity from the road agent that has been yet recorded."

  With his eyes riveted on the lady's face, Key saw a faint color rise toher otherwise impassive face, which might have been called out by theenthusiastic praise that followed the lawyer's confession. But he waspainfully conscious of what now seemed to him a monstrous situation!Here was, he believed, the actual accomplice of the road agents calmlyreceiving the complacent and puerile confessions of the men who wereseeking to outwit them. Could he, in ordinary justice to them, tohimself, or the mission he conceived he was pursuing, refrain fromexposing her, or warning them privately? But was he certain? Was avague remembrance of a profile momentarily seen--and, as he must evennow admit, inconsistent with the full face he was gazing at--sufficientfor such an accusation? More than that, was the protection she hadapparently afforded the lawyer consistent with the function of anaccomplice!

  "Then if the danger's over," said the lady gently, reaching down todraw her satchel from under the seat, "I suppose I may return it toyou."

  "By no means! Don't trouble yourself! Pray allow me to still remainyour debtor,--at least as far as the next station," said the lawyergallantly.

  The lady uttered a languid sigh, sank back in her seat, and calmlysettled herself to the perusal of her book. Key felt his cheeksbeginning to burn with the embarrassment and shame of his evidentmisconception. And here he was on his way to Marysville, to follow awoman for whom he felt he no longer cared, and for whose pursuit he hadno longer the excuse of justice.

  "Then I understand that you have twice seen these road agents," saidthe professional man, turning to the miner. "Of course, you could beable to identify them?"

  "Nary a man! You see they're all masked, and only one of 'em everspeaks."

  "The leader or chief?"

  "No, the orator."

  "The orator?" repeated the professional man in amazement.

  "Well, you see, I call him the orator, for he's mighty glib with histongue, and reels off all he has to say like as if he had it by heart.He's mighty rough on you, too, sometimes, for all his high-toned style.Ef he thinks a man is hidin' anything he jest scalps him with histongue, and blamed if I don't think he likes the chance of doin' it.He's got a regular set speech, and he's bound to go through it all,even if he makes everything wait, and runs the risk of capture. Yet heain't the chief,--and even I've heard folks say ain't got anyresponsibility if he is took, for he don't tech anybody or anybody'smoney, and couldn't be prosecuted. I reckon he's some sort of abroken-down lawyer--d'ye see?"

  "Not much of a lawyer, I imagine," said the professional man, smiling,"for he'll find himself quite mistaken as to his share ofresponsibility. But it's a rather clever way of concealing theidentity of the real leader."

  "It's the smartest gang that was ever started in the Sierras. Theyfooled the sheriff of Sierra the other day. They gave him a sort ofidea that they had a kind of hidin'-place in the woods whar they metand kept their booty, and, by jinks! he goes down thar with his hullposse,--just spilin' for a fight,--and only lights upon a gang ofinnocent greenhorns, who were boring for silver on the very spot wherehe allowed the robbers had their den! He ain't held up his head since."

  Key cast a quick glance at the lady to see the effect of thisrevelation. But her face--if the same profile he had seen at thewindow--betrayed neither concern nor curiosity. He let his eyes dropto the smart boot that peeped from below her gown, and the thought ofhis trying to identify it with the slipper he had picked up seemed tohim as ridiculous as his other misconceptions. He sank back gloomilyin his seat; by degrees the fatigue and excitement of the day began tomercifully benumb his senses; twilight had fallen and the talk hadceased. The lady had allowed her book to drop in her lap as thedarkness gathered, and had closed her eyes; he closed his own, andslipped away presently into a dream, in which he saw the profile againas he had seen it in the darkness of the hollow, only that this time itchanged to a full face, unlike the lady's or any one he had ever seen.Then the window seemed to open with a rattle, and he again felt thecool odors of the forest; but he awoke to find that the lady had onlyopened her window for a breath of fresh air. It was nearly eight o'clock; it would be an hour yet before the coach stopped at the nextstation for supper; the passengers were drowsily nodding; he closed hiseyes and fell into a deeper sleep, from which he awoke with a start.

  The coach had stopped!