by Bret Harte
plain gold ring, bearing the engravedinscription, 'May to Cass,' alleged to have been picked up on the highroad near Blazing Star on the 4th March, 186-, will apply to Bookham &Sons, bankers, 1007 Y Street, Sacramento, he will be suitably rewardedeither for the recovery of the ring, or for such facts as may identifyit, or the locality where it was found."
Cass rose and frowned savagely on his comrades. "No! no!" cried a dozenvoices, assuringly. "It's all right! Honest Injun! True as gospel! Nojoke, Cass!"
"Here's the paper, Sacramento 'Union' of yesterday. Look for yourself,"said Drummond, handing him the well-worn journal. "And you see," headded, "how darned lucky you are. It ain't necessary for you to producethe ring, so if that old biled owl of a Boompointer don't giv' it backto ye, it's all the same."
"And they say nobody but the finder need apply," interrupted another."That shuts out Boompointer or Kanaka Joe, for the matter o' that."
"It's clar that it MEANS you, Cass, ez much ez if they'd given yourname," added a third.
For Miss Porter's sake and his own Cass had never told them of therestoration of the ring, and it was evident that Mountain Charley hadalso kept silent. Cass could not speak now without violating a secret,and he was pleased that the ring itself no longer played an importantpart in the mystery. But what was that mystery, and why was the ringsecondary to himself? Why was so much stress laid upon his finding it?
"You see," said Drummond, as if answering his unspoken thought, "that'ar gal--for it is a gal in course--hez read all about it in the papers,and hez sort o' took a shine to ye. It don't make a bit o' differencewho in thunder Cass IS or WAZ, for I reckon she's kicked him over bythis time--"
"Sarved him right, too, for losing the girl's ring and then lying lowand keeping dark about it," interrupted a sympathizer.
"And she's just weakened over the romantic, high-toned way you stuckto it," continued Drummond, forgetting the sarcasms he had previouslyhurled at this romance. Indeed, the whole camp, by this time, had becomeconvinced that it had fostered and developed a chivalrous devotion whichwas now on the point of pecuniary realization. It was generally acceptedthat "she" was the daughter of this banker, and also felt that inthe circumstances the happy father could not do less than develop theresources of Blazing Star at once. Even if there were no relationship,what opportunity could be more fit for presenting to capital a localitythat even produced engagement rings, and, as Jim Fauquier put it, "themen ez knew how to keep 'em." It was this sympathetic Virginian who tookCass aside with the following generous suggestion: "If you find that youand the old gal couldn't hitch hosses, owin' to your not likin' red hairor a game leg" (it may be here recorded that Blazing Star had, forno reason whatever, attributed these unprepossessing qualities to themysterious advertiser), "you might let ME in. You might say ez how Iused to jest worship that ring with you, and allers wanted to borrow iton Sundays. If anything comes of it--why--WE'RE PARDNERS!"
A serious question was the outfitting of Cass for what now was felt tobe a diplomatic representation of the community. His garments, ithardly need be said, were inappropriate to any wooing except that of the"maiden all forlorn," which the advertiser clearly was not. "He might,"suggested Fauquier, "drop in jest as he is--kinder as if he'd gotkeerless of the world, being lovesick." But Cass objected strongly, andwas borne out in his objection by his younger comrades. At last a pairof white duck trousers, a red shirt, a flowing black silk scarf, anda Panama hat were procured at Red Chief, on credit, after a judiciousexhibition of the advertisement. A heavy wedding ring, the property ofDrummond (who was not married), was also lent as a graceful suggestion,and at the last moment Fauquier affixed to Cass's scarf an enormousspecimen pin of gold and quartz. "It sorter indicates the auriferouswealth o' this yer region, and the old man (the senior member of Bookham& Sons) needn't know I won it at draw poker in Frisco," said Fauquier.
"Ef you 'pass' on the gal, you kin hand it back to me and I'LL tryit on." Forty dollars for expenses was put into Cass's hands, and theentire community accompanied him to the cross roads where he was to meetthe Sacramento coach, which eventually carried him away, followed by abenediction of waving hats and exploding revolvers.
That Cass did not participate in the extravagant hopes of his comrades,and that he rejected utterly their matrimonial speculations in hisbehalf, need not be said. Outwardly, he kept his own counsel withgood-humored assent. But there was something fascinating in thesituation, and while he felt he had forever abandoned his romanticdream, he was not displeased to know that it might have proved areality. Nor was it distasteful to him to think that Miss Porter wouldhear of it and regret her late inability to appreciate his sentiment.If he really were the object of some opulent maiden's passion, he wouldshow Miss Porter how he could sacrifice the most brilliant prospectsfor her sake. Alone, on the top of the coach, he projected one of thosesatisfying conversations in which imaginative people delight, but whichunfortunately never come quite up to rehearsal. "Dear Miss Porter,"he would say, addressing the back of the driver, "if I could remainfaithful to a dream of my youth, however illusive and unreal, can youbelieve that for the sake of lucre I could be false to the one realpassion that alone supplanted it." In the composition and delivery ofthis eloquent statement an hour was happily forgotten: the onlydrawback to its complete effect was that a misplace of epithets in rapidrepetition did not seem to make the slightest difference, and Cass foundhimself saying "Dear Miss Porter, if I could be false to a dream of myyouth, etc., etc., can you believe I could be FAITHFUL to the one realpassion, etc., etc.," with equal and perfect satisfaction. As MissPorter was reputed to be well off, if the unknown were poor, that mightbe another drawback.
The banking house of Bookham & Sons did not present an illusive normysterious appearance. It was eminently practical and matter of fact; itwas obtrusively open and glassy; nobody would have thought of leavinga secret there that would have been inevitably circulated over thecounter. Cass felt an uncomfortable sense of incongruity in himself,in his story, in his treasure, to this temple of disenchanting realism.With the awkwardness of an embarrassed man he was holding prominently inhis hand an envelope containing the ring and advertisement as a voucherfor his intrusion, when the nearest clerk took the envelope from hishand, opened it, took out the ring, returned it, said briskly, "T'othershop, next door, young man," and turned to another customer.
Cass stepped to the door, saw that "T'other shop" was a pawnbroker's,and returned again with a flashing eye and heightened color. "It's anadvertisement I have come to answer," he began again.
The clerk cast a glance at Cass's scarf and pin. "Place takenyesterday--no room for any more," he said, abruptly.
Cass grew quite white. But his old experience in Blazing Star reparteestood him in good stead. "If it's YOUR place you mean," he said coolly,"I reckon you might put a dozen men in the hole you're rattlin' roundin--but it's this advertisement I'm after. If Bookham isn't in,maybe you'll send me one of the grown-up sons." The production of theadvertisement and some laughter from the bystanders had its effect.The pert young clerk retired, and returned to lead the way to thebank parlor. Cass's heart sank again as he was confronted by a dark,iron-gray man--in dress, features, speech, and action--uncompromisinglyopposed to Cass--his ring and his romance. When the young man had toldhis story and produced his treasure he paused. The banker scarcelyglanced at it, but said, impatiently,--
"Well, your papers?"
"My papers?"
"Yes. Proof of your identity. You say your name is Cass Beard. Good!What have you got to prove it? How can I tell who you are?"
To a sensitive man there is no form of suspicion that is as bewilderingand demoralizing at the moment as the question of his identity. Cassfelt the insult in the doubt of his word, and the palpable sense of hispresent inability to prove it. The banker watched him keenly but notunkindly.
"Come," he said at length, "this is not my affair; if you can legallysatisfy the lady for whom I am only agent, well and good. I believe youcan; I only warn you that you mus
t. And my present inquiry was to keepher from losing her time with impostors, a class I don't think youbelong to. There's her card. Good day."
"Miss Mortimer." It was NOT the banker's daughter. The first illusion ofBlazing Star was rudely dispelled. But the care taken by the capitalistto shield her from imposture indicated a person of wealth. Of her youthand beauty Cass no longer thought.
The address given was not distant. With a beating heart he rung thebell of a