It was quite dark when Mr. Jack Brace stopped before Father Wynn’s open
door. The windows were also invitingly open to the wayfarer, as were
the pastoral counsels of Father Wynn, delivered to some favored guest
within, in a tone of voice loud enough for a pulpit. Jack Brace paused.
The visitor was the convalescent sheriff, Jim Dunn, who had publicly
commemorated his recovery by making his first call upon the father
of his inamorata. The Reverend Mr. Wynn had been expatiating upon the
unremitting heat of a possible precursor of forest fires, and exhibiting
some catholic knowledge of the designs of a Deity in that regard, and
what should be the policy of the Legislature, when Mr. Brace concluded
to enter. Mr. Wynn and the wounded man, who occupied an arm-chair by
the window, were the only occupants of the room. But in spite of the
former’s ostentatious greeting, Brace could see that his visit was
inopportune and unwelcome. The sheriff nodded a quick, impatient
recognition, which, had it not been accompanied by an anathema on the
heat, might have been taken as a personal insult. Neither spoke of
Miss Nellie, although it was patent to Brace that they were momentarily
expecting her. All of which went far to strengthen a certain wavering
purpose in his mind.
“Ah, ha! strong language, Mr. Dunn,” said Father Wynn, referring to the
sheriff’s adjuration, “but ‘out of the fullness of the heart the mouth
speaketh.’ Job, sir, cursed, we are told, and even expressed himself in
vigorous Hebrew regarding his birthday. Ha, ha! I’m not opposed to that.
When I have often wrestled with the spirit I confess I have sometimes
said, ‘D--n you.’ Yes, sir, ‘D--n you.’”
There was something so unutterably vile in the reverend gentleman’s
utterance and emphasis of this oath that the two men, albeit both easy
and facile blasphemers, felt shocked; as the purest of actresses is apt
to overdo the rakishness of a gay Lothario, Father Wynn’s immaculate
conception of an imprecation was something terrible. But he added, “The
law ought to interfere with the reckless use of camp-fires in the woods
in such weather by packers and prospectors.”
“It isn’t so much the work of white men,” broke in Brace, “as it is
of Greasers, Chinamen, and Diggers, especially Diggers. There’s that
blasted Low, ranges the whole Carquinez Woods as if they were his. I
reckon he ain’t particular just where he throws his matches.”
“But he’s not a Digger; he’s a Cherokee, and only a half-breed at that,”
interpolated Wynn. “Unless,” he added, with the artful suggestion of the
betrayed trust of a too credulous Christian, “he deceived me in this as
in other things.”
In what other things Low had deceived him he did not say; but, to the
astonishment of both men, Dunn growled a dissent to Brace’s proposition.
Either from some secret irritation with that possible rival, or
impatience at the prolonged absence of Nellie, he had “had enough of
that sort of hog-wash ladled out to him for genuine liquor.” As to the
Carquinez Woods, he [Dunn] “didn’t know why Low hadn’t as much right
there as if he’d grabbed it under a preemption law and didn’t live
there.” With this hint at certain speculations of Father Wynn in public
lands for a homestead, he added that “If they [Brace and Wynn] could
bring him along any older American settler than an Indian, they
might rake down his [Dunn’s] pile.” Unprepared for this turn in the
conversation, Wynn hastened to explain that he did not refer to the pure
aborigine, whose gradual extinction no one regretted more than himself,
but to the mongrel, who inherited only the vices of civilization. “There
should be a law, sir, against the mingling of races. There are men, sir,
who violate the laws of the Most High by living with Indian women--squaw
men, sir, as they are called.”
Dunn rose with a face livid with weakness and passion. “Who dares say
that? They are a d--d sight better than sneaking Northern Abolitionists,
who married their daughters to buck niggers like--” But a spasm of pain
withheld this Parthian shot at the politics of his two companions, and
he sank back helplessly in his chair.
An awkward silence ensued. The three men looked at each other in
embarrassment and confusion. Dunn felt that he had given way to a
gratuitous passion; Wynn had a vague presentiment that he had said
something that imperiled his daughter’s prospects; and Brace was divided
between an angry retort and the secret purpose already alluded to.
“It’s all the blasted heat,” said Dunn, with a forced smile, pushing
away the whisky which Wynn had ostentatiously placed before him.
“Of course,” said Wynn hastily; “only it’s a pity Nellie ain’t here to
give you her smelling-salts. She ought to be back now,” he added, no
longer mindful of Brace’s presence; “the coach is over-due now, though I
reckon the heat made Yuba Bill take it easy at the up grade.”
“If you mean the coach from Indian Spring,” said Brace quietly, “it’s in
already; but Miss Nellie didn’t come on it.”
“May be she got out at the Crossing,” said Wynn cheerfully; “she
sometimes does.”
“She didn’t take the coach at Indian Spring,” returned Brace, “because
I saw it leave, and passed it on Buckskin ten minutes ago, coming up the
hills.”
“She’s stopped over at Burnham’s,” said Wynn reflectively. Then, in
response to the significant silence of his guests, he added, in a tone
of chagrin which his forced heartiness could not disguise, “Well, boys,
it’s a disappointment all round; but we must take the lesson as it
comes. I’ll go over to the coach office and see if she’s sent any word.
Make yourselves at home until I return.”
When the door had closed behind him, Brace arose and took his hat as
if to go. With his hand on the lock, he turned to his rival, who, half
hidden in the gathering darkness, still seemed unable to comprehend his
ill-luck.
“If you’re waiting for that bald-headed fraud to come back with the
truth about his daughter,” said Brace coolly, “you’d better send for
your things and take up your lodgings here.”
“What do you mean?” said Dunn sternly.
“I mean that she’s not at the Burnhams’; I mean that he either does or
does not know WHERE she is, and that in either case he is not likely to
give you information. But I can.”
“You can?”
“Yes.”
“Then, where is she?”
“In the Carquinez Woods, in the arms of the man you were just
defending--Low, the half-breed.”
The room had become so dark that from the road nothing could be
distinguished. Only the momentary sound of struggling feet was heard.
“Sit down,” said Brace’s voice, “and don’t be a fool. You’re too weak,
and it ain’t a fair fight. Let go your hold. I’m not lying--I wish to
God I was!”
There was silence, and Brace resumed, “We’ve been rivals, I know. May be
I thought my chance as good as yours. If what I say ain’t truth, we’ll
stand as we stood before; and if you’re on the shoot, I’m your man when
you like, where you like, or on sight if you choose. But I can’t bear to
see another man played upon as I’ve been played upon--given dead away as
I’ve been. It ain’t on the square.
“There,” he continued, after a pause, “that’s right, now steady. Listen.
A week ago that girl went down just like this to Indian Spring. It
was given out, like this, that she went to the Burnhams’. I don’t mind
saying, Dunn, that I went down myself, all on the square, thinking I
might get a show to talk to her, just as YOU might have done, you know,
if you had my chance. I didn’t come across her anywhere. But two men
that I met thought they recognized her in a disguise going into the
woods. Not suspecting anything, I went after her; saw her at a distance
in the middle of the woods in another dress that I can swear to, and was
just coming up to her when she vanished--went like a squirrel up a tree,
or down like a gopher in the ground, but vanished.”
“Is that all?” said Dunn’s voice. “And just because you were a d--d
fool, or had taken a little too much whisky, you thought--”
“Steady. That’s just what I said to myself,” interrupted Brace coolly,
“particularly when I saw her that same afternoon in another dress,
saying ‘Good-by’ to the Burnhams, as fresh as a rose and as cold as
those snow-peaks. Only one thing--she had a ring on her finger she never
wore before, and didn’t expect me to see.”
“What if she did? She might have bought it. I reckon she hasn’t to
consult you,” broke in Dunn’s voice sternly.
“She didn’t buy it,” continued Brace quietly. “Low gave that Jew trader
a bearskin in exchange for it, and presented it to her. I found that
out two days afterwards. I found out that out of the whole afternoon she
spent less than an hour with the Burnhams. I found out that she bought
a duster like the disguise the two men saw her in. I found the yellow
dress she wore that day hanging up in Low’s cabin--the place where I saw
her go--THE RENDEZVOUS WHERE SHE MEETS HIM. Oh, you’re listenin’, are
you? Stop! SIT DOWN!
“I discovered it by accident,” continued the voice of Brace when all was
again quiet; “it was hidden as only a squirrel or an Injin can hide when
they improve upon nature. When I was satisfied that the girl had been
in the woods, I was determined to find out where she vanished, and went
there again. Prospecting around, I picked up at the foot of one of the
biggest trees this yer old memorandum-book, with grasses and herbs stuck
in it. I remembered that I’d heard old Wynn say that Low, like the d--d
Digger that he was, collected these herbs; only he pretended it was for
science. I reckoned the book was his and that he mightn’t be far away. I
lay low and waited. Bimeby I saw a lizard running down the root. When he
got sight of me he stopped.”
“D--n the lizard! What’s that got to do with where she is now?”
“Everything. That lizard had a piece of sugar in his mouth. Where did it
come from? I made him drop it, and calculated he’d go back for more. He
did. He scooted up that tree and slipped in under some hanging strips of
bark. I shoved ‘em aside, and found an opening to the hollow where they
do their housekeeping.”
“But you didn’t see her there--and how do you know she is there now?”
“I determined to make it sure. When she left to-day, I started an hour
ahead of her, and hid myself at the edge of the woods. An hour after the
coach arrived at Indian Spring, she came there in a brown duster and was
joined by him. I’d have followed them, but the d--d hound has the ears
of a squirrel, and though I was five hundred yards from him he was on
his guard.”
“Guard be blessed! Wasn’t you armed? Why didn’t you go for him?” said
Dunn, furiously.
“I reckoned I’d leave that for you,” said Brace coolly. “If he’d killed
me, and if he’d even covered me with his rifle, he’d been sure to let
daylight through me at double the distance. I shouldn’t have been any
better off, nor you either. If I’d killed HIM, it would have been your
duty as sheriff to put me in jail; and I reckon it wouldn’t have broken
your heart, Jim Dunn, to have got rid of TWO rivals instead of one.
Hullo! Where are you going?”
“Going?” said Dunn hoarsely. “Going to the Carquinez Woods, by God! to
kill him before her. I’LL risk it, if you daren’t. Let me succeed, and
you can hang ME and take the girl yourself.”
“Sit down, sit down. Don’t be a fool, Jim Dunn! You wouldn’t keep the
saddle a hundred yards. Did I say I wouldn’t help you? No. If you’re
willing, we’ll run the risk together, but it must be in my way. Hear me.
I’ll drive you down there in a buggy before daylight, and we’ll surprise
them in the cabin or as they leave the wood. But you must come as if
to arrest him for some offense--say, as an escaped Digger from the
Reservation, a dangerous tramp, a destroyer of public property in the
forests, a suspected road agent, or anything to give you the right
to hunt him. The exposure of him and Nellie, don’t you see, must be
accidental. If he resists, kill him on the spot, and nobody’ll blame
you; if he goes peaceably with you, and you once get him in Excelsior
jail, when the story gets out that he’s taken the belle of Excelsior for
his squaw, if you’d the angels for your posse you couldn’t keep the boys
from hanging him to the first tree. What’s that?”
He walked to the window, and looked out cautiously.
“If it was the old man coming back and listening,” he said, after a
pause, “it can’t he helped. He’ll hear it soon enough, if he don’t
suspect something already.”
“Look yer, Brace,” broke in Dunn hoarsely. “D--d if I understand you or
you me. That dog Low has got to answer to ME, not to the LAW! I’ll take
my risk of killing him, on sight and on the square. I don’t reckon to
handicap myself with a warrant, and I am not going to draw him out with
a lie. You hear me? That’s me all the time!”
“Then you calkilate to go down thar,” said Brace contemptuously, “yell
out for him and Nellie, and let him line you on a rest from the first
tree as if you were a grizzly.”
There was a pause. “What’s that you were saying just now about a
bearskin he sold?” asked Dunn slowly, as if reflecting.
“He exchanged a bearskin,” replied Brace, “with a single hole right over
the heart. He’s a dead shot, I tell you.”
“D--n his shooting,” said Dunn. “I’m not thinking of that. How long ago
did he bring in that bearskin?”
“About two weeks, I reckon. Why?”
“Nothing! Look yer, Brace, you mean well--thar’s my hand. I’ll go down
with you there, but not as the sheriff. I’m going there as Jim Dunn, and
you can come along as a white man, to see things fixed on the square.
Come!”
Brace hesitated. “You’ll think better of my plan before you get there;
but I’ve said I’d stand by you, and I will. Come, then. There’s no time
to lose.”
They passed out into the darkness together.
“What are you waiting for?” said Dunn impatiently, as Brace, who was
supporting him by the arm, suddenly halted at the corner of the house.
“Some one was listening--did you not see him? Was it the old man?” asked
Brace hurriedly.
“Blast the old man! It was only one of them Mexican packers chock-full
of whisky, and trying to hold up the house. What are you thinking of? We
shall be late.”
In spite of his weakness, the wounded man hurriedly urged Brace forward,
until they reached the latter’s lodgings. To his surprise, the horse
and buggy were already before the door.
“Then you reckoned to go, any way?” said Dunn, with a searching look at
his companion.
“I calkilated SOMEBODY would go,” returned Brace, evasively, patting the
impatient Buckskin; “but come in and take a drink before we leave.”
Dunn started out of a momentary abstraction, put his hand on his hip,
and mechanically entered the house. They had scarcely raised the glasses
to their lips when a sudden rattle of wheels was heard in the street.
Brace set down his glass and ran to the window.
“It’s the mare bolted,” he said, with an oath. “We’ve kept her too long
standing. Follow me,” and he dashed down the staircase into the street.
Dunn followed with difficulty; when he reached the door he was already
confronted by his breathless companion. “She’s gone off on a run, and
I’ll swear there was a man in the buggy!” He stopped and examined the
halter-strap, still fastened to the fence. “Cut! by God!”
Dunn turned pale with passion. “Who’s got another horse and buggy?” he
demanded.
“The new blacksmith in Main Street; but we won’t get it by borrowing,”
said Brace.
“How then?” asked Dunn savagely.
“Seize it, as the sheriff of Yuba and his deputy, pursuing a confederate
of the Injin Low--THE HORSE THIEF!”