reaching with a letter."Suthin' you forgot!" Then, in a hoarse stage whisper, perfectly audibleto every one: "From HER!"
Jeff seized the letter with a burning face. The whip snapped, and thestage plunged forward into the darkness. Presently Yuba Bill reacheddown, coolly detached one of the coach lamps, and handed it to Jeffwithout a word.
Jeff tore open the envelope. It contained Cyrus Parker's bill receipted,and the writ. Another small inclosure contained ten dollars, and a fewlines written in pencil in a large masculine business hand. By the lightof the lamp Jeff read as follows:--
"I hope you will forgive me for having tried to help you even in thisaccidental way, before I knew how strong were your objections to helpfrom me. Nobody knows this but myself. Even Mr. Dodd thinks my fatheradvanced the money. The ten dollars the rascal would have kept, but Imade him disgorge it. I did it all while you were looking for the letterin the woods. Pray forget all about it, and any pain you may have hadfrom J. M."
Frank and practical as this letter appeared to be, and, doubtless, asit was intended to be by its writer, the reader will not fail to noticethat Miss Mayfield said nothing of having overheard Jeff's quarrel withthe deputy, and left him to infer that that functionary had betrayedhim. It was simply one of those unpleasant details not affecting theresult, usually overlooked in feminine ethics.
For a moment Jeff sat pale and dumb, crushed under the ruins of hispride and self-love. For a moment he hated Miss Mayfield, small andtriumphant! How she must have inwardly laughed at his speech thatmorning! With what refined cruelty she had saved this evidence of hishumiliation, to work her vengeance on him now. He could not stand it!He could not live under it! He would go back and sell the house--hisclothes--everything--to pay this wicked, heartless, cruel girl, that waskilling--yes, killing--
A strong hand took the swinging-lantern from his unsteady fingers, astrong hand possessed itself of the papers and Miss Mayfield's note, astrong arm was drawn around him,--for his figure was swaying to and fro,his head was giddy, and his hat had fallen off,--and a strong voice,albeit a little husky, whispered in his ear,--
"Easy, boy! easy on the down grade. It'll be all one in a minit."
Jeff tried to comprehend him, but his brain was whirling.
"Pull yourself together, Jeff!" said Bill, after a pause. "Thar! Lookyar!" he said suddenly. "Do you think you can drive SIX?"
The words recalled Jeff to his senses. Bill laid the six reins in hishands. A sense of life, of activity, of POWER, came back to the youngman, as his fingers closed deliciously on the far-reaching, thrilling,living leathern sinews that controlled the six horses, and seemed tobe instinct and magnetic with their bounding life. Jeff, leaning backagainst them, felt the strong youthful tide rush back to his heart, andwas himself again. Bill, meantime, took the lamp, examined the papers,and read Miss Mayfield's note. A grim smile stole over his face. Aftera pause, he said again, "Give Blue Grass her head, Jeff. D--n it, sheain't Miss Mayfield!"
Jeff relaxed the muscles of his wrists, so as to throw the thumb andforefingers a trifle forward. This simple action relieved Blue Grass,alias Miss Mayfield, and made the coach steadier and less jerky.Wonderful co-relation of forces.
"Thar!" said Yuba Bill, quietly putting the coach lamp back in itsplace; "you're better already. Thar's nothing like six horses to draw awoman out of a man. I've knowed a case where it took eight mustangs, butit was a mulatter from New Orleans, and they are pizen! Ye might hitup a little on the Pinto hoss--he ain't harmin' ye. So! Now, Jeff, takeyour time, and take it easy, and what's all this yer about?"
To control six fiery mustangs, and at the same time give picturesque andaffecting exposition of the subtle struggles of Love and Pride, was aperformance beyond Jeff's powers. He had recourse to an angry staccato,which somehow seemed to him as ineffective as his previous discourseto Miss Mayfield; he was a little incoherent, and perhaps mixed hisimpressions with his facts, but he nevertheless managed to convey toBill some general idea of the events of the past three days.
"And she sent ye off after that letter, that wasn't thar, while shefixed things up with Dodd?"
"Yes," said Jeff furiously.
"Ye needn't bully the Pinto colt, Jeff; he is doin' his level best. Andshe snaked that ar ten dollars outer Dodd?"
"Yes; and sent it back to ME. To ME, Bill! At such a time as this! As ifI was dead broke!--a mere tramp. As if--"
"In course! in course!" said Bill soothingly, yet turning his head asideto bestow a deceitful smile upon the trees that whirled beside them."And ye told her ye didn't want her money?"
"Yes, Bill--but it--it--it was AFTER she had done this!"
"Surely! I'll take the lines now, Jeff."
He took them. Jeff relapsed into gloomy silence. The starlight of thatdewless Sierran night was bright and cold and passionless. There was nomoon to lead the fancy astray with its faint mysteries and suggestions;nothing but a clear, grayish-blue twilight, with sharply silhouettedshadows, pointed here and there with bright large-spaced constant stars.The deep breath of the pine-woods, the faint, cool resinous spices ofbay and laurel, at last brought surcease to his wounded spirit. Theblessed weariness of exhausted youth stole tenderly on him. His headnodded, dropped. Yuba Bill, with a grim smile, drew him to his side,enveloped him in his blanket, and felt his head at last sink upon hisown broad shoulder.
A few minutes later the coach drew up at the "Summit House." Yuba Billdid not dismount, an unusual and disturbing circumstance that broughtthe bar-keeper to the veranda.
"What's up, old man?"
"I am."
"Sworn off your reg'lar pizen?"
"My physician," said Bill gravely, "hez ordered me dry champagne everythree hours."
Nevertheless, the bar-keeper lingered.
"Who's that you're dry-nussin' up there?"
I regret that I may not give Yuba Bill's literal reply. It suggested aform of inquiry at once distant, indirect, outrageous, and impossible.
The bar-keeper flashed a lantern upon Jeff's curls and his droopingeyelashes and mustaches.
"It's that son o' Briggs o' Tuolumne--pooty boy, ain't he?"
Bill disdained a reply.
"Played himself out down there, I reckon. Left his rifle here in pawn."
"Young man," said Bill gravely.
"Old man."
"Ef you're looking for a safe investment ez will pay ye better thanforty-rod whiskey at two bits a glass, jist you hang onter that arrifle. It may make your fortin yet, or save ye from a drunkard's grave."With this ungracious pleasantry he hurried his dilatory passengersback into the coach, cracked his whip, and was again upon the road. Thelights of the "Summit House" presently dropped here and there into thewasting shadows of the trees. Another stretch through the close-setranks of pines, another dash through the opening, another whirl andrattle by overhanging rocks, and the vehicle was swiftly descending.Bill put his foot on the brake, threw his reins loosely on the necks ofhis cattle, and looked leisurely back. The great mountain was slowly andsteadily rising between them and the valley they quitted.
And at that same moment Miss Mayfield had crept from her bed, and, witha shawl around her pretty little figure, was pressing her eyes against ablank window of the "Half-way House," and wondering where HE was now.
V.
The "opening" suggested by Bill was not a fortunate one. Possibly viewsof business openings in the public-house line taken from the tops ofstage-coaches are not as judicious as those taken from less exaltedlevels. Certain it is that the "goodwill" of the "Lone Star House"promised little more pecuniary value than a conventional blessing. Itwas in an older and more thickly settled locality than the "Half-wayHouse;" indeed, it was but half a mile away from Campville, famous in'49--a place with a history and a disaster. But young communities areimpatient of settlements that through any accident fail to fulfil theextravagant promise of their youth, and the wounded hamlet of Campvillehad crept into the woods and died. The "Lone Star House" was an attemptto woo the passing travelers from ano
ther point; but its road led toCampville, and was already touched by its dry-rot. Bill, who honestlyconceived that the infusion of fresh young blood like Jeff's into thestagnant current would quicken it, had to confess his disappointment."I thought ye could put some go into the shanty, Jeff," said Bill, "andmake it lively and invitin'!" But the lack of vitality was not in thelandlord, but in the guests. The regular customers were disappointed,vacant, hopeless men, who gathered listlessly on the veranda, and talkedvaguely of the past. Their hollow-eyed, feeble impotency affected thestranger, even as it checked all ambition among themselves. Do what Jeffmight,