Openings in the Old Trail

by Bret Harte

  Produced by Donald Lainson

  OPENINGS IN THE OLD TRAIL

  by Bret Harte

  CONTENTS

  OPENINGS IN THE OLD TRAIL

  I. A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS II. COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF III. THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL IV. A BUCKEYE HOLLOW INHERITANCE V. THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH VI. LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE VII. AN ALI BABA OF THE SIERRAS VIII. MISS PEGGY'S PROTEGES IX. THE GODDESS OF EXCELSIOR

  OPENINGS IN THE OLD TRAIL

  by Bret Harte

  A MERCURY OF THE FOOT-HILLS

  It was high hot noon on the Casket Ridge. Its very scant shade wasrestricted to a few dwarf Scotch firs, and was so perpendicularly castthat Leonidas Boone, seeking shelter from the heat, was obliged to drawhimself up under one of them, as if it were an umbrella. Occasionally,with a boy's perversity, he permitted one bared foot to protrude beyondthe sharply marked shadow until the burning sun forced him to draw it inagain with a thrill of satisfaction. There was no earthly reason whyhe had not sought the larger shadows of the pine-trees which rearedthemselves against the Ridge on the slope below him, except that he wasa boy, and perhaps even more superstitious and opinionated than mostboys. Having got under this tree with infinite care, he had made up hismind that he would not move from it until its line of shade reached andtouched a certain stone on the trail near him! WHY he did this he didnot know, but he clung to his sublime purpose with the courage andtenacity of a youthful Casabianca. He was cramped, tickled by dust andfir sprays; he was supremely uncomfortable--but he stayed! A woodpeckerwas monotonously tapping in an adjacent pine, with measured intervals ofsilence, which he always firmly believed was a certain telegraphy ofthe bird's own making; a green-and-gold lizard flashed by his footto stiffen itself suddenly with a rigidity equal to his own. Still HEstirred not. The shadow gradually crept nearer the mystic stone--andtouched it. He sprang up, shook himself, and prepared to go abouthis business. This was simply an errand to the post-office at thecross-roads, scarcely a mile from his father's house. He was alreadyhalfway there. He had taken only the better part of one hour for thisdesultory journey!

  However, he now proceeded on his way, diverging only to follow a freshrabbit-track a few hundred yards, to note that the animal had doubledtwice against the wind, and then, naturally, he was obliged to lookclosely for other tracks to determine its pursuers. He paused also,but only for a moment, to rap thrice on the trunk of the pine where thewoodpecker was at work, which he knew would make it cease work fora time--as it did. Having thus renewed his relations with nature, hediscovered that one of the letters he was taking to the post-office hadslipped in some mysterious way from the bosom of his shirt, where hecarried them, past his waist-band into his trouser-leg, and was about tomake a casual delivery of itself on the trail. This caused him to takeout his letters and count them, when he found one missing. He had beengiven four letters to post--he had only three. There was a big one inhis father's handwriting, two indistinctive ones of his mother's, and asmaller one of his sister's--THAT was gone! Not at all disconcerted,he calmly retraced his steps, following his own tracks minutely, witha grim face and a distinct delight in the process, whilelooking--perfunctorily--for the letter. In the midst of this slowprogress a bright idea struck him. He walked back to the fir-tree wherehe had rested, and found the lost missive. It had slipped out of hisshirt when he shook himself. He was not particularly pleased. He knewthat nobody would give him credit for his trouble in going back forit, or his astuteness in guessing where it was. He heaved the sigh ofmisunderstood genius, and again started for the post-office. This timehe carried the letters openly and ostentatiously in his hand.

  Presently he heard a voice say, "Hey!" It was a gentle, musicalvoice,--a stranger's voice, for it evidently did not know how to callhim, and did not say, "Oh, Leonidas!" or "You--look here!" He wasabreast of a little clearing, guarded by a low stockade of bark palings,and beyond it was a small white dwelling-house. Leonidas knew the placeperfectly well. It belonged to the superintendent of a mining tunnel,who had lately rented it to some strangers from San Francisco. Thus muchhe had heard from his family. He had a mountain boy's contempt for cityfolks, and was not himself interested in them. Yet as he heard thecall, he was conscious of a slightly guilty feeling. He might have beentrespassing in following the rabbit's track; he might have been seen bysome one when he lost the letter and had to go back for it--all grown-uppeople had a way of offering themselves as witnesses against him! Hescowled a little as he glanced around him. Then his eye fell on thecaller on the other side of the stockade.

  To his surprise it was a woman: a pretty, gentle, fragile creature, allsoft muslin and laces, with her fingers interlocked, and leaning bothelbows on the top of the stockade as she stood under the checkeredshadow of a buckeye.

  "Come here--please--won't you?" she said pleasantly.

  It would have been impossible to resist her voice if Leonidas had wantedto, which he didn't. He walked confidently up to the fence. She reallywas very pretty, with eyes like his setter's, and as caressing. Andthere were little puckers and satiny creases around her delicatenostrils and mouth when she spoke, which Leonidas knew were"expression."

  "I--I"--she began, with charming hesitation; then suddenly, "What's yourname?"

  "Leonidas."

  "Leonidas! That's a pretty name!" He thought it DID sound pretty. "Well,Leonidas, I want you to be a good boy and do a great favor for me,--avery great favor."

  Leonidas's face fell. This kind of prelude and formula was familiar tohim. It was usually followed by, "Promise me that you will never swearagain," or, "that you will go straight home and wash your face," or someother irrelevant personality. But nobody with that sort of eyes had eversaid it. So he said, a little shyly but sincerely, "Yes, ma'am."

  "You are going to the post-office?"

  This seemed a very foolish, womanish question, seeing that he washolding letters in his hand; but he said, "Yes."

  "I want you to put a letter of mine among yours and post them alltogether," she said, putting one little hand to her bosom and drawingout a letter. He noticed that she purposely held the addressed side sothat he could not see it, but he also noticed that her hand wassmall, thin, and white, even to a faint tint of blue in it, unlikehis sister's, the baby's, or any other hand he had ever seen. "Can youread?" she said suddenly, withdrawing the letter.

  The boy flushed slightly at the question. "Of course I can," he saidproudly.

  "Of course, certainly," she repeated quickly; "but," she added, witha mischievous smile, "you mustn't NOW! Promise me! Promise me that youwon't read this address, but just post the letter, like one of your own,in the letter-box with the others."

  Leonidas promised readily; it seemed to him a great fuss about nothing;perhaps it was some kind of game or a bet. He opened his sunburnt hand,holding his own letters, and she slipped hers, face downward, betweenthem. Her soft fingers touched his in the operation, and seemed to leavea pleasant warmth behind them.

  "Promise me another thing," she added; "promise me you won't say a wordof this to any one."

  "Of course!" said Leonidas.

  "That's a good boy, and I know you will keep your word." She hesitateda moment, smilingly and tentatively, and then held out a brighthalf-dollar. Leonidas backed from the fence. "I'd rather not," he saidshyly.

  "But as a present from ME?"

  Leonidas colored--he was really proud; and he was also bright enough tounderstand that the possession of such unbounded wealth would provokedangerous inquiry at home. But he didn't like to say it, and onlyreplied, "I can't."

  She looked at him curiously. "Then--thank you," she said, offering herwhite han
d, which felt like a bird in his. "Now run on, and don't letme keep you any longer." She drew back from the fence as she spoke, andwaved him a pretty farewell. Leonidas, half sorry, half relieved, dartedaway.

  He ran to the post-office, which he never had done before. Loyally henever looked at her letter, nor, indeed, at his own again, swingingthe hand that held them far from his side. He entered the post-officedirectly, going at once to the letter-box and depositing the preciousmissive with the others. The post-office was also the "country store,"and Leonidas was in the habit of still further protracting his errandsthere by lingering in that stimulating atmosphere of sugar, cheese, andcoffee. But to-day his stay was brief, so transitory that the postmasterhimself inferred audibly that "old man Boone must have been tanning Leewith a hickory switch." But the simple reason was that Leonidas wishedto go back to the stockade fence and the fair stranger, if haply shewas still there. His heart sank as, breathless with unwonted haste, hereached the clearing and the empty buckeye shade. He walked slowly andwith sad diffidence by the deserted stockade fence. But presently hisquick eye discerned a glint of white among the laurels near the house.It was SHE, walking with apparent indifference away from him towards thecorner of the clearing and the road. But this he knew would bring herto the end of the stockade fence, where he must pass--and it did. Sheturned to him with a bright smile of affected surprise. "Why, you're asswift-footed as Mercury!"

  Leonidas understood her perfectly. Mercury was the other name forquicksilver--and that was lively, you bet! He had often spilt some onthe floor to see it move. She must be awfully cute to have noticed ittoo--cuter than his sisters. He was quite breathless with pleasure.

  "I put your letter in the box all right," he burst out at last.

  "Without any one seeing it?" she asked.

  "Sure pop! nary one! The postmaster stuck out his hand to grab it, but Ijust let on that I didn't see him, and shoved it in myself."

  "You're as sharp as you're good," she said smilingly. "Now, there's justONE thing more I want you to do. Forget all about this--won't you?"

  Her voice was very caressing. Perhaps that was why he said boldly: "Yes,ma'am, all except YOU."

  "Dear me, what a compliment! How old are you?"

  "Goin' on fifteen," said Leonidas confidently.

  "And going very fast," said the lady mischievously. "Well, then, youneedn't forget ME. On the contrary," she added, after looking at himcuriously, "I would rather you'd remember me. Good-by--or, rather,good-afternoon--if I'm to be remembered, Leon."

  "Good-afternoon, ma'am."

  She moved away, and presently disappeared among the laurels. But herlast words were ringing in his ears. "Leon"--everybody else called him"Lee" for brevity; "Leon"--it was pretty as she said it.

  He turned away. But it so chanced that their parting was not to passunnoticed, for, looking up the hill, Leonidas perceived his elder sisterand little brother coming down the road, and knew that they must haveseen him from the hilltop. It was like their "snoopin'"!

  They ran to him eagerly.

  "You were talking to the stranger," said his sister breathlessly.

  "She spoke to me first," said Leonidas, on the defensive.

  "What did she say?"

  "Wanted to know the eleckshun news," said Leonidas with cool mendacity,"and I told her."

  This improbable fiction nevertheless satisfied them. "What was she like?Oh, do tell us, Lee!" continued his sister.

  Nothing would have delighted him more than to expatiate upon herloveliness, the soft white beauty of her hands, the "cunning" littlepuckers around her lips, her bright tender eyes, the angelic textureof her robes, and the musical tinkle of her voice. But Leonidas had noconfidant, and what healthy boy ever trusted his sister in such matter!"YOU saw what she was like," he said, with evasive bluntness.

  "But, Lee"--

  But Lee was adamant. "Go and ask her," he said.

  "Like as not you were sassy to her, and she shut you up," said hissister artfully. But even this cruel suggestion, which he could have soeasily flouted, did not draw him, and his ingenious relations flounceddisgustedly away.

  But Leonidas was not spared any further allusion to the fair stranger;for the fact of her having spoken to him was duly reported at home, andat dinner his reticence was again sorely attacked. "Just like her, inspite of all her airs and graces, to hang out along the fence like anyordinary hired girl, jabberin' with anybody that went along the road,"said his mother incisively. He knew that she didn't like her newneighbors, so this did not surprise nor greatly pain him. Neither didthe prosaic facts that were now first made plain to him. His divinitywas a Mrs. Burroughs, whose husband was conducting a series of miningoperations, and prospecting with a gang of men on the Casket Ridge.As his duty required his continual presence there, Mrs. Burroughs wasforced to forego the civilized pleasures of San Francisco for a frontierlife, for which she was ill fitted, and in which she had no interest.All this was a vague irrelevance to Leonidas, who knew her only as agoddess in white who had been familiar to him, and kind, and to whom hewas tied by the delicious joy of having a secret in common, and havingdone her a special favor. Healthy youth clings to its own impressions,let reason, experience, and even facts argue ever to the contrary.

  So he kept her secret and his intact, and was rewarded a few daysafterwards by a distant view of her walking in the garden, with a manwhom he recognized as her husband. It is needless to say that, withoutany extraneous thought, the man suffered in Leonidas's estimation by hispropinquity to the goddess, and that he deemed him vastly inferior.

  It was a still greater reward to his fidelity that she seized anopportunity when her husband's head was turned to wave her hand to him.Leonidas did not approach the fence, partly through shyness and partlythrough a more subtle instinct that this man was not in the secret. Hewas right, for only the next day, as he passed to the post-office, shecalled him to the fence.

  "Did you see me wave my hand to you yesterday?" she asked pleasantly.

  "Yes, ma'am; but"--he hesitated--"I didn't come up, for I didn't thinkyou wanted me when any one else was there."

  She laughed merrily, and lifting his straw hat from his head, ran thefingers of the other hand through his damp curls. "You're the brightest,dearest boy I ever knew, Leon," she said, dropping her pretty face tothe level of his own, "and I ought to have remembered it. But Idon't mind telling you I was dreadfully frightened lest you mightmisunderstand me and come and ask for another letter--before HIM." Asshe emphasized the personal pronoun, her whole face seemed to change:the light of her blue eyes became mere glittering points, her nostrilsgrew white and contracted, and her pretty little mouth seemed to narrowinto a straight cruel line, like a cat's. "Not a word ever to HIM,of all men! Do you hear?" she said almost brusquely. Then, seeing theconcern in the boy's face, she laughed, and added explanatorily: "He's abad, bad man, Leon, remember that."

  The fact that she was speaking of her husband did not shock the boy'smoral sense in the least. The sacredness of those relations, and even ofblood kinship, is, I fear, not always so clear to the youthful mind aswe fondly imagine. That Mr. Burroughs was a bad man to have excitedthis change in this lovely woman was Leonidas's only conclusion. Heremembered how his sister's soft, pretty little kitten, purring on herlap, used to get its back up and spit at the postmaster's yellow hound.

  "I never wished to come unless you called me first," he said frankly.

  "What?" she said, in her half playful, half reproachful, but whollycaressing way. "You mean to say you would never come to see me unless Isent for you? Oh, Leon! and you'd abandon me in that way?"

  But Leonidas was set in his own boyish superstition. "I'd just delightin being sent for by you any time, Mrs. Burroughs, and you kin alwaysfind me," he said shyly, but doggedly; "but"--He stopped.

  "What an opinionated young gentleman! Well, I see I must do all thecourting. So consider that I sent for you this morning. I've got anotherletter for you to mail." She put her hand to her breast, and out
of thepretty frillings of her frock produced, as before, with the same faintperfume of violets, a letter like the first. But it was unsealed. "Now,listen, Leon; we are going to be great friends--you and I." Leonidasfelt his cheeks glowing. "You are going to do me another great favor,and we are going to have a little fun and a great secret all by our ownselves. Now, first, have you any correspondent--you know--any one whowrites to you--any boy or girl--from San Francisco?"

  Leonidas's cheeks grew redder--alas! from a less happy consciousness. Henever received any letters; nobody ever wrote to him. He was obliged tomake this shameful admission.

  Mrs. Burroughs looked thoughtful. "But you have some friend in SanFrancisco--some one who MIGHT write to you?" she suggested pleasantly.

  "I knew a boy once who went to San Francisco," said Leonidas doubtfully."At least, he allowed he was goin' there."

  "That will do," said Mrs. Burroughs. "I suppose your parents know him orof him?"

  "Why," said Leonidas, "he used to live here."

  "Better still. For, you see, it wouldn't be strange if he DID write.What was the gentleman's name?"

  "Jim Belcher," returned Leonidas hesitatingly, by no means sure that theabsent Belcher knew how to write. Mrs. Burroughs took a tiny pencil fromher belt, opened the letter she was holding in her hand, and apparentlywrote the name in it. Then she folded it and sealed it, smilingcharmingly at Leonidas's puzzled face.

  "Now, Leon, listen; for here is the favor I am asking. Mr. JimBelcher"--she pronounced the name with great gravity--"will write to youin a few days. But inside of YOUR letter will be a little note to me,which you will bring me. You can show your letter to your family, ifthey want to know who it is from; but no one must see MINE. Can youmanage that?"

  "Yes," said Leonidas. Then, as the whole idea flashed upon his quickintelligence, he smiled until he showed his dimples. Mrs. Burroughsleaned forward over the fence, lifted his torn straw hat, and droppeda fluttering little kiss on his forehead. It seemed to the boy, flushedand rosy as a maid, as if she had left a shining star there for everyone to see.

  "Don't smile like that, Leon, you're positively irresistible! It will bea nice little game, won't it? Nobody in it but you and me--and Belcher!We'll outwit them yet. And, you see, you'll be obliged to come to me,after all, without my asking."

  They both laughed; indeed, quite a dimpled, bright-eyed, rosy, innocentpair, though I think Leonidas was the more maidenly.

  "And," added Leonidas, with breathless eagerness, "I can sometimes writeto--to--Jim, and inclose your letter."

  "Angel of wisdom! certainly. Well, now, let's see--have you got anyletters for the post to-day?" He colored again, for in anticipation ofmeeting her he had hurried up the family post that morning. He held outhis letters: she thrust her own among them. "Now," she said, laying hercool, soft hand against his hot cheek, "run along, dear; you must not beseen loitering here."

  Leonidas ran off, buoyed up on ambient air. It seemed just like afairy-book. Here he was, the confidant of the most beautiful creature hehad seen, and there was a mysterious letter coming to him--Leonidas--andno one to know why. And now he had a "call" to see her often; she wouldnot forget him--he needn't loiter by the fencepost to see if she wantedhim--and his boyish pride and shyness were appeased. There was noquestion of moral ethics raised in Leonidas's mind; he knew that itwould not be the real Jim Belcher who would write to him, but that madethe prospect the more attractive. Nor did another circumstance troublehis conscience. When he reached the post-office, he was surprised to seethe man whom he knew to be Mr. Burroughs talking with the postmaster.Leonidas brushed by him and deposited his letters in the box indiscreet triumph. The postmaster was evidently officially resenting someimputation on his carelessness, and, concluding his defense, "No, sir,"he said, "you kin bet your boots that ef any letter hez gone astray foryou or your wife--Ye said your wife, didn't ye?"

  "Yes," said Burroughs hastily, with a glance around the shop.

  "Well, for you or anybody at your house--it ain't here that's the fault.You hear me! I know every letter that comes in and goes outer thisoffice, I reckon, and handle 'em all,"--Leonidas pricked up hisears,--"and if anybody oughter know, it's me. Ye kin paste that in yourhat, Mr. Burroughs." Burroughs, apparently disconcerted by the intrusionof a third party--Leonidas--upon what was evidently a private inquiry,murmured something surlily, and passed out.

  Leonidas was puzzled. That big man seemed to be "snoopin'" around forsomething! He knew that he dared not touch the letter-bag,--Leonidas hadheard somewhere that it was a deadly crime to touch any letters afterthe Government had got hold of them once, and he had no fears for thesafety of hers. But ought he not go back at once and tell her abouther husband's visit, and the alarming fact that the postmaster waspersonally acquainted with all the letters? He instantly saw, too, thewisdom of her inclosing her letter hereafter in another address. Yet hefinally resolved not to tell her to-day,--it would look like "hanginground" again; and--another secret reason--he was afraid that anyallusion to her husband's interference would bring back that changein her beautiful face which he did not like. The better to resisttemptation, he went back another way.

  It must not be supposed that, while Leonidas indulged in this secretpassion for the beautiful stranger, it was to the exclusion of hisboyish habits. It merely took the place of his intellectual visions andhis romantic reading. He no longer carried books in his pocket on hislazy rambles. What were mediaeval legends of high-born ladies and theirpages to this real romance of himself and Mrs. Burroughs? What were theexploits of boy captains and juvenile trappers and the Indian maidensand Spanish senoritas to what was now possible to himself and hisdivinity here--upon Casket Ridge! The very ground around her was nowconsecrated to romance and adventure. Consequently, he visited afew traps on his way back which he had set for "jackass-rabbits" andwildcats,--the latter a vindictive reprisal for aggression upon anorphan brood of mountain quail which he had taken under his protection.For, while he nourished a keen love of sport, it was controlled by aboy's larger understanding of nature: a pantheistic sympathy withman and beast and plant, which made him keenly alive to the strangecruelties of creation, revealed to him some queer animal feuds, and madehim a chivalrous partisan of the weaker. He had even gone out of his wayto defend, by ingenious contrivances of his own, the hoard of a goldensquirrel and the treasures of some wild bees from a predatory bear,although it did not prevent him later from capturing the squirrel by anequally ingenious contrivance, and from eventually eating some of thehoney.

  He was late home that evening. But this was "vacation,"--the districtschool was closed, and but for the household "chores," which occupiedhis early mornings, each long summer day was a holiday. So two or threepassed; and then one morning, on his going to the post-office, thepostmaster threw down upon the counter a real and rather bulky letter,duly stamped, and addressed to Mr. Leonidas Boone! Leonidas was toodiscreet to open it before witnesses, but in the solitude of thetrail home broke the seal. It contained another letter with noaddress--clearly the one SHE expected--and, more marvelous still, asheaf of trout-hooks, with delicate gut-snells such as Leonidas hadonly dared to dream of. The letter to himself was written in a clear,distinct hand, and ran as follows:--

  DEAR LEE,--How are you getting on on old Casket Ridge? It seems a coon'sage since you and me was together, and times I get to think I must justrun up and see you! We're having bully times in 'Frisco, you bet! thoughthere ain't anything wild worth shucks to go to see--'cept the sealions at the Cliff House. They're just stunning--big as a grizzly, andbigger--climbing over a big rock or swimming in the sea like an otter ormuskrat. I'm sending you some snells and hooks, such as you can't get atCasket. Use the fine ones for pot-holes and the bigger ones for runningwater or falls. Let me know when you've got 'em. Write to Lock Box No.1290. That's where dad's letters come. So no more at present.

  From yours truly,

  JIM BELCHER.

  Not only did Leonidas know that this was not from the real Jim, but
hefelt the vague contact of a new, charming, and original personalitythat fascinated him. Of course, it was only natural that one of HERfriends--as he must be--should be equally delightful. There was nojealousy in Leonidas's devotion; he knew only a joy in this fellowshipof admiration for her which he was satisfied that the other boy mustfeel. And only the right kind of boy could know the importance ofhis ravishing gift, and this Jim was evidently "no slouch"! Yet, inLeonidas's new joy he did not forget HER! He ran back to the stockadefence and lounged upon the road in view of the house, but she did notappear.

  Leonidas lingered on the top of the hill, ostentatiously examining ayoung hickory for a green switch, but to no effect. Then it suddenlyoccurred to him that she might be staying in purposely, and, perhapsa little piqued by her indifference, he ran off. There was a mountainstream hard by, now dwindled in the summer drouth to a mere tricklingthread among the boulders, and there was a certain "pot-hole" that hehad long known. It was the lurking-place of a phenomenal trout,--analmost historic fish in the district, which had long resisted theattempt of such rude sportsmen as miners, or even experts like himself.Few had seen it, except as a vague, shadowy bulk in the four feet ofdepth and gloom in which it hid; only once had Leonidas's quick eyefeasted on its fair proportions. On that memorable occasion Leonidas,having exhausted every kind of lure of painted fly and living bait,was rising from his knees behind the bank, when a pink five-cent stampdislodged from his pocket fluttered in the air, and descended slowlyupon the still pool. Horrified at his loss, Leonidas leaned over torecover it, when there was a flash like lightning in the black depths, adozen changes of light and shadow on the surface, a little whirling wavesplashing against the side of the rock, and the postage stamp was gone.More than that--for one instant the trout remained visible, stationaryand expectant! Whether it was the instinct of sport, or whether the fishhad detected a new, subtle, and original flavor in the gum and paper,Leonidas never knew. Alas! he had not another stamp; he was obliged toleave the fish, but carried a brilliant idea away with him. Ever sincethen he had cherished it--and another extra stamp in his pocket. Andnow, with this strong but gossamer-like snell, this new hook, and thisfreshly cut hickory rod, he would make the trial!

  But fate was against him! He had scarcely descended the narrow trail tothe pine-fringed margin of the stream before his quick ear detected anunusual rustling through the adjacent underbrush, and then a voice thatstartled him! It was HERS! In an instant all thought of sport had fled.With a beating heart, half opened lips, and uplifted lashes, Leonidasawaited the coming of his divinity like a timorous virgin at her firsttryst.

  But Mrs. Burroughs was clearly not in an equally responsive mood. Withher fair face reddened by the sun, the damp tendrils of her unwound hairclinging to her forehead, and her smart little slippers red with dust,there was also a querulous light in her eyes, and a still more querulouspinch in her nostrils, as she stood panting before him.

  "You tiresome boy!" she gasped, holding one little hand to her side asshe gripped her brambled skirt around her ankles with the other. "Whydidn't you wait? Why did you make me run all this distance after you?"

  Leonidas timidly and poignantly protested. He had waited before thehouse and on the hill; he thought she didn't want him.

  "Couldn't you see that THAT MAN kept me in?" she went on peevishly."Haven't you sense enough to know that he suspects something, andfollows me everywhere, dogging my footsteps every time the post comesin, and even going to the post-office himself, to make sure that he seesall my letters? Well," she added impatiently, "have you anything for me?Why don't you speak?"

  Crushed and remorseful, Leonidas produced her letter. She almostsnatched it from his hand, opened it, read a few lines, and her facechanged. A smile strayed from her eyes to her lips, and back again.Leonidas's heart was lifted; she was so forgiving and so beautiful!

  "Is he a boy, Mrs. Burroughs?" asked Leonidas shyly.

  "Well--not exactly," she said, her charming face all radiant again."He's older than you. What has he written to you?"

  Leonidas put his letter in her hand for reply.

  "I wish I could see him, you know," he said shyly. "That letter'sbully--it's just rats! I like him pow'ful."

  Mrs. Burroughs had skimmed through the letter, but not interestedly.

  "You mustn't like him more than you like me," she said laughingly,caressing him with her voice and eyes, and even her straying hand.

  "I couldn't do that! I never could like anybody as I like you," said.Leonidas gravely. There was such appalling truthfulness in the boy'svoice and frankly opened eyes that the woman could not evade it, andwas slightly disconcerted. But she presently started up with a vexatiouscry. "There's that wretch following me again, I do believe," she said,staring at the hilltop. "Yes! Look, Leon, he's turning to come down thistrail. What's to be done? He mustn't see me here!"

  Leonidas looked. It was indeed Mr. Burroughs; but he was evidentlyonly taking a short cut towards the Ridge, where his men were working.Leonidas had seen him take it before. But it was the principal trail onthe steep hillside, and they must eventually meet. A man might evadeit by scrambling through the brush to a lower and rougher trail; but awoman, never! But an idea had seized Leonidas. "I can stop him," he saidconfidently to her. "You just lie low here behind that rock till I comeback. He hasn't seen you yet."

  She had barely time to draw back before Leonidas darted down the trailtowards her husband. Yet, in her intense curiosity, she leaned outthe next moment to watch him. He paused at last, not far from theapproaching figure, and seemed to kneel down on the trail. What was hedoing? Her husband was still slowly advancing. Suddenly he stopped. Atthe same moment she heard their two voices in excited parley, and then,to her amazement, she saw her husband scramble hurriedly down the trailto the lower level, and with an occasional backward glance, hasten awayuntil he had passed beyond her view.

  She could scarcely realize her narrow escape when Leonidas stood by herside. "How did you do it?" she said eagerly.

  "With a rattler!" said the boy gravely.

  "With a what?"

  "A rattlesnake--pizen snake, you know."

  "A rattlesnake?" she said, staring at Leonidas with a quick snatchingaway of her skirts.

  The boy, who seemed to have forgotten her in his other abstraction ofadventure, now turned quickly, with devoted eyes and a reassuring smile.

  "Yes; but I wouldn't let him hurt you," he said gently.

  "But what did you DO?"

  He looked at her curiously. "You won't be frightened if I show you?" hesaid doubtfully. "There's nothin' to be afeerd of s'long as you're withme," he added proudly.

  "Yes--that is"--she stammered, and then, her curiosity getting thebetter of her fear, she added in a whisper: "Show me quick!"

  He led the way up the narrow trail until he stopped where he had kneltbefore. It was a narrow, sunny ledge of rock, scarcely wide enough fora single person to pass. He silently pointed to a cleft in the rock, andkneeling down again, began to whistle in a soft, fluttering way. Therewas a moment of suspense, and then she was conscious of an awful glidingsomething,--a movement so measured yet so exquisitely graceful that shestood enthralled. A narrow, flattened, expressionless head was followedby a footlong strip of yellow-barred scales; then there was a pause, andthe head turned, in a beautifully symmetrical half-circle, towards thewhistler. The whistling ceased; the snake, with half its body out of thecleft, remained poised in air as if stiffened to stone.

  "There," said Leonidas quietly, "that's what Mr. Burroughs saw, andthat's WHY he scooted off the trail. I just called out William Henry,--Icall him William Henry, and he knows his name,--and then I sang out toMr. Burroughs what was up; and it was lucky I did, for the next momenthe'd have been on top of him and have been struck, for rattlers don'tgive way to any one."

  "Oh, why didn't you let"--She stopped herself quickly, but could notstop the fierce glint in her eye nor the sharp curve in her nostril.Luckily, Leonidas did not see this, being preoccupied with
his othergraceful charmer, William Henry.

  "But how did you know it was here?" said Mrs. Burroughs, recoveringherself.

  "Fetched him here," said Leonidas briefly.

  "What in your hands?" she said, drawing back.

  "No! made him follow! I HAVE handled him, but it was after I'd firstmade him strike his pizen out upon a stick. Ye know, after he strikesfour times he ain't got any pizen left. Then ye kin do anythin' withhim, and he knows it. He knows me, you bet! I've bin three monthstrainin' him. Look! Don't be frightened," he said, as Mrs. Burroughsdrew hurriedly back; "see him mind me. Now scoot home, William Henry."

  He accompanied the command with a slow, dominant movement of the hickoryrod he was carrying. The snake dropped its head, and slid noiselesslyout of the cleft across the trail and down the hill.

  "Thinks my rod is witch-hazel, which rattlers can't abide," continuedLeonidas, dropping into a boy's breathless abbreviated speech. "Livesdown your way--just back of your farm. Show ye some day. Suns himself ona flat stone every day--always cold--never can get warm. Eh?"

  She had not spoken, but was gazing into space with a breathless rigidityof attitude and a fixed look in her eye, not unlike the motionless orbsof the reptile that had glided away.

  "Does anybody else know you keep him?" she asked.

  "Nary one. I never showed him to anybody but you," replied the boy.

  "Don't! You must show me where he hides to-morrow," she said, in her oldlaughing way. "And now, Leon, I must go back to the house."

  "May I write to him--to Jim Belcher, Mrs. Burroughs?" said the boytimidly.

  "Certainly. And come to me to-morrow with your letter--I will have mineready. Good-by." She stopped and glanced at the trail. "And you say thatif that man had kept on, the snake would have bitten him?"

  "Sure pop!--if he'd trod on him--as he was sure to. The snake wouldn'thave known he didn't mean it. It's only natural," continued Leonidas,with glowing partisanship for the gentle and absent William Henry. "YOUwouldn't like to be trodden upon, Mrs. Burroughs!"

  "No! I'd strike out!" she said quickly. She made a rapid motion forwardwith her low forehead and level head, leaving it rigid the next moment,so that it reminded him of the snake, and he laughed. At which shelaughed too, and tripped away.

  Leonidas went back and caught his trout. But even this triumph did notremove a vague sense of disappointment which had come over him. He hadoften pictured to himself a Heaven-sent meeting with her in the woods,a walk with her, alone, where he could pick her the rarest flowers andherbs and show her his woodland friends; and it had only ended in this,and an exhibition of William Henry! He ought to have saved HER fromsomething, and not her husband. Yet he had no ill-feeling for Burroughs,only a desire to circumvent him, on behalf of the unprotected, as hewould have baffled a hawk or a wildcat. He went home in dismal spirits,but later that evening constructed a boyish letter of thanks to theapocryphal Belcher and told him all about--the trout!

  He brought her his letter the next day, and received hers to inclose.She was pleasant, her own charming self again, but she seemed moreinterested in other things than himself, as, for instance, the docileWilliam Henry, whose hiding-place he showed, and whose few tricks shemade him exhibit to her, and which the gratified Leonidas accepted as adelicate form of flattery to himself. But his yearning, innocent spiritdetected a something lacking, which he was too proud to admit even tohimself. It was his own fault; he ought to have waited for her, and notgone for the trout!

  So a fortnight passed with an interchange of the vicarious letters, andbrief, hopeful, and disappointing meetings to Leonidas. To add to hisunhappiness, he was obliged to listen to sneering disparagement of hisgoddess from his family, and criticisms which, happily, his innocencedid not comprehend. It was his own mother who accused her of shamefully"making up" to the good-looking expressman at church last Sunday, anddeclared that Burroughs ought to "look after that wife of his,"--twostatements which the simple Leonidas could not reconcile. He had seenthe incident, and only thought her more lovely than ever. Why should notthe expressman think so too? And yet the boy was not happy; somethingintruded upon his sports, upon his books, making them dull and vapid,and yet that something was she! He grew pale and preoccupied. If he hadonly some one in whom to confide--some one who could explain his hopesand fears. That one was nearer than he thought!

  It was quite three weeks since the rattlesnake incident, and he waswandering moodily over Casket Ridge. He was near the Casket, that abruptupheaval of quartz and gneiss, shaped like a coffer, from which themountain took its name. It was a favorite haunt of Leonidas, one ofwhose boyish superstitions was that it contained a treasure of gold, andone of whose brightest dreams had been that he should yet discover it.This he did not do to-day, but looking up from the rocks that he waslistlessly examining, he made the almost as thrilling discovery thatnear him on the trail was a distinguished-looking stranger.

  He was bestriding a shapely mustang, which well became his handsomeface and slight, elegant figure, and he was looking at Leonidas withan amused curiosity and a certain easy assurance that were difficult towithstand. It was with the same fascinating self-confidence of smile,voice, and manner that he rode up to the boy, and leaning lightly overhis saddle, said with exaggerated politeness: "I believe I have thepleasure of addressing Mr. Leonidas Boone?"

  The rising color in Leonidas's face was apparently a sufficientanswer to the stranger, for he continued smilingly, "Then permit me tointroduce myself as Mr. James Belcher. As you perceive, I have grownconsiderably since you last saw me. In fact, I've done nothing else.It's surprising what a fellow can do when he sets his mind on one thing.And then, you know, they're always telling you that San Francisco is a'growing place.' That accounts for it!"

  Leonidas, dazed, dazzled, but delighted, showed all his white teeth in ashy laugh. At which the enchanting stranger leaped from his horse likea very boy, drew his arm through the rein, and going up to Leonidas,lifted the boy's straw hat from his head and ran his fingers through hiscurls. There was nothing original in that--everybody did that to him asa preliminary to conversation. But when this ingenuous fine gentlemanput his own Panama hat on Leonidas's head, and clapped Leonidas's tornstraw on his own, and, passing his arm through the boy's, began to walkon with him, Leonidas's simple heart went out to him at once.

  "And now, Leon," said the delightful stranger, "let's you and me havea talk. There's a nice cool spot under these laurels; I'll stake outPepita, and we'll just lie off there and gab, and not care if schoolkeeps or not."

  "But you know you ain't really Jim Belcher," said the boy shyly.

  "I'm as good a man as he is any day, whoever I am," said the stranger,with humorous defiance, "and can lick him out of his boots, whoever HEis. That ought to satisfy you. But if you want my certificate, here'syour own letter, old man," he said, producing Leonidas's last scrawlfrom his pocket.

  "And HERS?" said the boy cautiously.

  The stranger's face changed a little. "And HERS," he repeated gravely,showing a little pink note which Leonidas recognized as one of Mrs.Burroughs's inclosures. The boy was silent until they reached thelaurels, where the stranger tethered his horse and then threw himselfin an easy attitude beneath the tree, with the back of his head upon hisclasped hands. Leonidas could see his curved brown mustaches and silkylashes that were almost as long, and thought him the handsomest man hehad ever beheld.

  "Well, Leon," said the stranger, stretching himself out comfortably andpulling the boy down beside him, "how are things going on the Casket?All serene, eh?"

  The inquiry so dismally recalled Leonidas's late feelings that his faceclouded, and he involuntarily sighed. The stranger instantly shifted hishead and gazed curiously at him. Then he took the boy's sunburnt hand inhis own, and held it a moment. "Well, go on," he said.

  "Well, Mr.--Mr.--I can't go on--I won't!" said Leonidas, with a suddenfit of obstinacy. "I don't know what to call you."

  "Call me 'Jack'--'Jack Hamlin' when you're not in a h
urry. Ever heard ofme before?" he added, suddenly turning his head towards Leonidas.

  The boy shook his head. "No."

  Mr. Jack Hamlin lifted his lashes in affected expostulation to theskies. "And this is Fame!" he murmured audibly.

  But this Leonidas did not comprehend. Nor could he understand why thestranger, who clearly must have come to see HER, should not ask abouther, should not rush to seek her, but should lie back there all thewhile so contentedly on the grass. HE wouldn't. He half resented it, andthen it occurred to him that this fine gentleman was like himself--shy.Who could help being so before such an angel? HE would help him on.

  And so, shyly at first, but bit by bit emboldened by a word or two fromJack, he began to talk of her--of her beauty--of her kindness--of hisown unworthiness--of what she had said and done--until, finding in thisgracious stranger the vent his pent-up feelings so long had sought, hesang then and there the little idyl of his boyish life. He told of hisdecline in her affections after his unpardonable sin in keeping herwaiting while he went for the trout, and added the miserable mistake ofthe rattlesnake episode. "For it was a mistake, Mr. Hamlin. I oughtn'tto have let a lady like that know anything about snakes--just because Ihappen to know them."

  "It WAS an awful slump, Lee," said Hamlin gravely. "Get a woman anda snake together--and where are you? Think of Adam and Eve and theserpent, you know."

  "But it wasn't that way," said the boy earnestly. "And I want to tellyou something else that's just makin' me sick, Mr. Hamlin. You know Itold you William Henry lives down at the bottom of Burroughs's garden,and how I showed Mrs. Burroughs his tricks! Well, only two days ago Iwas down there looking for him, and couldn't find him anywhere. There'sa sort of narrow trail from the garden to the hill, a short cut up tothe Ridge, instead o' going by their gate. It's just the trail any onewould take in a hurry, or if they didn't want to be seen from the road.Well! I was looking this way and that for William Henry, and whistlin'for him, when I slipped on to the trail. There, in the middle of it, wasan old bucket turned upside down--just the thing a man would kick awayor a woman lift up. Well, Mr. Hamlin, I kicked it away, and"--the boystopped, with rounded eyes and bated breath, and added--"I just had timeto give one jump and save myself! For under that pail, cramped down sohe couldn't get out, and just bilin' over with rage, and chockful ofpizen, was William Henry! If it had been anybody else less spry, they'dhave got bitten,--and that's just what the sneak who put it there knew."

  Mr. Hamlin uttered an exclamation under his breath, and rose to hisfeet.

  "What did you say?" asked the boy quickly.

  "Nothing," said Mr. Hamlin.

  But it had sounded to Leonidas like an oath.

  Mr. Hamlin walked a few steps, as if stretching his limbs, and thensaid: "And you think Burroughs would have been bitten?"

  "Why, no!" said Leonidas in astonished indignation; "of course not--notBURROUGHS. It would have been poor MRS. Burroughs. For, of course, HEset that trap for her--don't you see? Who else would do it?"

  "Of course, of course! Certainly," said Mr. Hamlin coolly. "Of course,as you say, HE set the trap--yes--you just hang on to that idea."

  But something in Mr. Hamlin's manner, and a peculiar look in his eye,did not satisfy Leonidas. "Are you going to see her now?" he saideagerly. "I can show you the house, and then run in and tell her you'reoutside in the laurels."

  "Not just yet," said Mr. Hamlin, laying his hand on the boy's headafter having restored his own hat. "You see, I thought of giving her asurprise. A big surprise!" he added slowly. After a pause, he went on:"Did you tell her what you had seen?"

  "Of course I did," said Leonidas reproachfully. "Did you think I wasgoing to let her get bit? It might have killed her."

  "And it might not have been an unmixed pleasure for William Henry. Imean," said Mr. Hamlin gravely, correcting himself, "YOU would neverhave forgiven him. But what did she say?"

  The boy's face clouded. "She thanked me and said it was verythoughtful--and kind--though it might have been only an accident"--hestammered--"and then she said perhaps I was hanging round and comingthere a little too much lately, and that as Burroughs was very watchful,I'd better quit for two or three days." The tears were rising to hiseyes, but by putting his two clenched fists into his pockets, he managedto hold them down. Perhaps Mr. Hamlin's soft hand on his head assistedhim. Mr. Hamlin took from his pocket a notebook, and tearing out a leaf,sat down again and began to write on his knee. After a pause, Leonidassaid,--

  "Was you ever in love, Mr. Hamlin?"

  "Never," said Mr. Hamlin, quietly continuing to write. "But, now youspeak of it, it's a long-felt want in my nature that I intend to supplysome day. But not until I've made my pile. And don't YOU either." Hecontinued writing, for it was this gentleman's peculiarity to talkwithout apparently the slightest concern whether anybody else spoke,whether he was listened to, or whether his remarks were at all relevantto the case. Yet he was always listened to for that reason. When he hadfinished writing, he folded up the paper, put it in an envelope, andaddressed it.

  "Shall I take it to her?" said Leonidas eagerly.

  "It's not for HER; it's for him--Mr. Burroughs," said Mr. Hamlinquietly.

  The boy drew back. "To get him out of the way," added Hamlinexplanatorily. "When he gets it, lightning wouldn't keep him here. Now,how to send it," he said thoughtfully.

  "You might leave it at the post-office," said Leonidas timidly. "Healways goes there to watch his wife's letters."

  For the first time in their interview Mr. Hamlin distinctly laughed.

  "Your head is level, Leo, and I'll do it. Now the best thing you can dois to follow Mrs. Burroughs's advice. Quit going to the house for a dayor two." He walked towards his horse. The boy's face sank, but he keptup bravely. "And will I see you again?" he said wistfully.

  Mr. Hamlin lowered his face so near the boy's that Leonidas could seehimself in the brown depths of Mr. Hamlin's eyes. "I hope you will,"he said gravely. He mounted, shook the boy's hand, and rode away in thelengthening shadows. Then Leonidas walked sadly home.

  There was no need for him to keep his promise; for the next morning thefamily were stirred by the announcement that Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs hadleft Casket Ridge that night by the down stage for Sacramento, and thatthe house was closed. There were various rumors concerning the reason ofthis sudden departure, but only one was persistent, and borne out bythe postmaster. It was that Mr. Burroughs had received that afternoon ananonymous note that his wife was about to elope with the notorious SanFrancisco gambler, Jack Hamlin.

  But Leonidas Boone, albeit half understanding, kept his miserable secretwith a still hopeful and trustful heart. It grieved him a little thatWilliam Henry was found a few days later dead, with his head crushed.Yet it was not until years later, when he had made a successful"prospect" on Casket Ridge, that he met Mr. Hamlin in San Francisco,and knew how he had played the part of Mercury upon that "heaven-kissinghill."