by Bret Harte
to her seat. "Perhaps you had better give me thathandkerchief back."
Cass began to unbutton his coat.
"No! no! Do you want to take your death of cold?" she screamed. AndCass, to avoid this direful possibility, rebuttoned his coat again overthe handkerchief and a peculiarly pleasing sensation.
Very little now was said until the rattling, bounding descent of thecoach denoted the approach to Red Chief. The straggling main streetdisclosed itself, light by light. In the flash of glittering windowsand the sound of eager voices Miss Porter descended, without waiting forCass's proffered assistance, and anticipated Mountain Charley's descentfrom the box. A few undistinguishable words passed between them.
"You kin freeze to me, Miss," said Charley; and Miss Porter, turning herfrank laugh and frankly opened palm to Cass, half returned the pressureof his hand and slipped away.
A few days after the stage coach incident, Mountain Charley drew upbeside Cass on the Blazing Star turnpike, and handed him a small packet."I was told to give ye that by Miss Porter. Hush--listen! It's thatrather old dog-goned ring o' yours that's bin in all the papers. She'sbamboozled that sap-headed county judge, Boompointer, into givin' it toher. Take my advice and sling it away for some other feller to pick upand get looney over. That's all!"
"Did she say anything?" asked Cass, anxiously, as he received his losttreasure somewhat coldly.
"Well, yes! I reckon. She asked me to stand betwixt Hornsby and you.So don't YOU tackle him, and I'll see HE don't tackle you," and with aportentous wink Mountain Charley whipped up his horses and was gone.
Cass opened the packet. It contained nothing but the ring. Unmitigatedby any word of greeting, remembrance, or even raillery, it seemed almostan insult. Had she intended to flaunt his folly in his face, or had shebelieved he still mourned for it and deemed its recovery a sufficientreward for his slight service? For an instant he felt tempted to followCharley's advice, and cast this symbol of folly and contempt in the dustof the mountain road. And had she not made his humiliation complete bybegging Charley's interference between him and his enemy? He would gohome and send her back the handkerchief she had given him. But here theunromantic reflection that although he had washed it that very afternoonin the solitude of his own cabin, he could not possibly iron it, butmust send it "rough dried," stayed his indignant feet.
Two or three days, a week, a fortnight even, of this hopeless resentmentfilled Cass's breast. Then the news of Kanaka Joe's acquittal in theState Court momentarily revived the story of the ring, and revamped afew stale jokes in the camp. But the interest soon flagged; the fortunesof the little community of Blazing Star had been for some monthsfailing; and with early snows in the mountain and wasted capital infruitless schemes on the river, there was little room for the indulgenceof that lazy and original humor which belonged to their lost youth andprosperity. Blazing Star truly, in the grim figure of their slang, was"played out." Not dug out, worked out, or washed out, but dissipated ina year of speculation and chance.
Against this tide of fortune Cass struggled manfully, and even evokedthe slow praise of his companions. Better still, he won a certain praisefor himself, in himself, in a consciousness of increased strength,health, power, and self-reliance. He began to turn his quick imaginationand perception to some practical account, and made one or twodiscoveries which quite startled his more experienced but moreconservative companions. Nevertheless, Cass's discoveries and laborswere not of a kind that produced immediate pecuniary realization, andBlazing Star, which consumed so many pounds of pork and flour daily,did not unfortunately produce the daily equivalent in gold. Blazing Starlost its credit. Blazing Star was hungry, dirty, and ragged. BlazingStar was beginning to set.
Participating in the general ill luck of the camp, Cass was not withouthis own individual mischances. He had resolutely determined to forgetMiss Porter and all that tended to recall the unlucky ring, but, cruellyenough, she was the only thing that refused to be forgotten--whoseundulating figure reclined opposite to him in the weird moonlight of hisruined cabin, whose voice mingled with the song of the river by whosebanks he toiled, and whose eyes and touch thrilled him in his dreams.Partly for this reason, and partly because his clothes were beginning tobe patched and torn, he avoided Red Chief and any place where he wouldbe likely to meet her. In spite of this precaution he had once seen herdriving in a pony carriage, but so smartly and fashionably dressedthat he drew back in the cover of a wayside willow that she might passwithout recognition. He looked down upon his red-splashed clothesand grimy, soil-streaked hands, and for a moment half hated her. Hiscomrades seldom spoke of her--instinctively fearing some temptation thatmight beset his Spartan resolutions, but he heard from time to time thatshe had been seen at balls and parties, apparently enjoying those veryfrivolities of her sex she affected to condemn.
It was a Sabbath morning in early spring that he was returning from anineffectual attempt to enlist a capitalist at the county town to redeemthe fortunes of Blazing Star. He was pondering over the narrowness ofthat capitalist, who had evidently but illogically connected Cass'spresent appearance with the future of that struggling camp, when hebecame so foot-sore that he was obliged to accept a "lift" from awayfaring teamster. As the slowly lumbering vehicle passed the newchurch on the outskirts of the town, the congregation were sallyingforth. It was too late to jump down and run away, and Cass dared notask his new-found friend to whip up his cattle. Conscious of his unshornbeard and ragged garments, he kept his eyes fixed upon the road. A voicethat thrilled him called his name. It was Miss Porter, a resplendentvision of silk, laces, and Easter flowers--yet actually running,with something of her old dash and freedom, beside the wagon. Asthe astonished teamster drew up before this elegant apparition, shepanted:--
"Why did you make me run so far, and why didn't you look up?"
Cass, trying to hide the patches on his knees beneath a newspaper,stammered that he had not seen her.
"And you did not hold down your head purposely?"
"No," said Cass.
"Why have you not been to Red Chief? Why didn't you answer my messageabout the ring?" she asked, swiftly.
"You sent nothing but the ring," said Cass, coloring, as he glanced atthe teamster.
"Why, THAT was a message, you born idiot."
Cass stared. The teamster smiled. Miss Porter gazed anxiously at thewagon. "I think I'd like a ride in there; it looks awfully good." Sheglanced mischievously around at the lingering and curious congregation.
"May I?"
But Cass deprecated that proceeding strongly. It was dirty; he was notsure it was even WHOLESOME; she would be SO uncomfortable; he, himself,was only going a few rods farther, and in that time she might ruin herdress--
"Oh, yes," she said, a little bitterly, "certainly, my dress must belooked after. And--what else?"
"People might think it strange, and believe I had invited you,"continued Cass, hesitatingly.
"When I had only invited myself? Thank you. Good-by."
She waved her hand and stepped back from the wagon. Cass would havegiven worlds to recall her, but he sat still, and the vehicle moved onin moody silence. At the first cross road he jumped down. "Thank you,"he said to the teamster. "You're welcome," returned that gentleman,regarding him curiously, "but the next time a gal like that asks toride in this yer wagon, I reckon I won't take the vote of any deadheadpassenger. Adios, young fellow. Don't stay out late; ye might be run offby some gal, and what would your mother say?" Of course the young mancould only look unutterable things and walk away, but even in thatdignified action he was conscious that its effect was somewhat mitigatedby a large patch from a material originally used as a flour sack, whichhad repaired his trousers, but still bore the ironical legend, "BestSuperfine."
The summer brought warmth and promise and some blossom, if not absolutefruition, to Blazing Star. The long days drew Nature into closercommunion with the men, and hopefulness followed the discontent of theirwinter seclusion. It was easier, too, for Capital to be wooed and won
into making a picnic in these mountain solitudes than when high waterstayed the fords and drifting snow the Sierran trails. At the closeof one of these Arcadian days Cass was smoking before the door ofhis lonely cabin when he was astounded by the onset of a dozen of hiscompanions. Peter Drummond, far in the van, was waving a newspaper likea victorious banner. "All's right now, Cass, old man!" he panted as hestopped before Cass and shoved back his eager followers.
"What's all right?" asked Cass, dubiously.
"YOU! You kin rake down the pile now. You're hunky! You're on velvet.Listen!"
He opened the newspaper and read, with annoying deliberation, asfollows:--
"LOST.--If the finder of a