It was with mixed emotions that the passengers heard that a delay of
fifteen minutes to tighten certain screw-bolts had been ordered by the
autocratic Bill. Some were anxious to get their breakfast at Sugar Pine,
but others were not averse to linger for the daylight that promised
greater safety on the road. The Expressman, knowing the real cause of
Bill's delay, was nevertheless at a loss to understand the object of it.
The passengers were all well known; any idea of complicity with the road
agents was wild and impossible, and, even if there was a confederate
of the gang among them, he would have been more likely to precipitate a
robbery than to check it. Again, the discovery of such a confederate--to
whom they clearly owed their safety--and his arrest would have been
quite against the Californian sense of justice, if not actually illegal.
It seemed evident that Bill's quixotic sense of honor was leading him
astray.
The station consisted of a stable, a wagon shed, and a building
containing three rooms. The first was fitted up with “bunks” or sleeping
berths for the employees; the second was the kitchen; and the third
and larger apartment was dining-room or sitting-room, and was used
as general waiting-room for the passengers. It was not a refreshment
station, and there was no “bar.” But a mysterious command from the
omnipotent Bill produced a demijohn of whiskey, with which he hospitably
treated the company. The seductive influence of the liquor loosened the
tongue of the gallant Judge Thompson. He admitted to having struck a
match to enable the fair Pike Countian to find her ring, which, however,
proved to have fallen in her lap. She was “a fine, healthy young
woman--a type of the Far West, sir; in fact, quite a prairie blossom!
yet simple and guileless as a child.” She was on her way to Marysville,
he believed, “although she expected to meet friends--a friend, in
fact--later on.” It was her first visit to a large town--in fact, any
civilized centre--since she crossed the plains three years ago. Her
girlish curiosity was quite touching, and her innocence irresistible.
In fact, in a country whose tendency was to produce “frivolity and
forwardness in young girls, he found her a most interesting young
person.” She was even then out in the stable-yard watching the horses
being harnessed, “preferring to indulge a pardonable healthy young
curiosity than to listen to the empty compliments of the younger
passengers.”
The figure which Bill saw thus engaged, without being otherwise
distinguished, certainly seemed to justify the Judge's opinion. She
appeared to be a well-matured country girl, whose frank gray eyes and
large laughing mouth expressed a wholesome and abiding gratification in
her life and surroundings. She was watching the replacing of luggage in
the boot. A little feminine start, as one of her own parcels was thrown
somewhat roughly on the roof, gave Bill his opportunity. “Now there,” he
growled to the helper, “ye ain't carting stone! Look out, will yer! Some
of your things, miss?” he added, with gruff courtesy, turning to her.
“These yer trunks, for instance?”
She smiled a pleasant assent, and Bill, pushing aside the helper, seized
a large square trunk in his arms. But from excess of zeal, or some other
mischance, his foot slipped, and he came down heavily, striking
the corner of the trunk on the ground and loosening its hinges and
fastenings. It was a cheap, common-looking affair, but the accident
discovered in its yawning lid a quantity of white, lace-edged feminine
apparel of an apparently superior quality. The young lady uttered
another cry and came quickly forward, but Bill was profuse in his
apologies, himself girded the broken box with a strap, and declared his
intention of having the company “make it good” to her with a new one.
Then he casually accompanied her to the door of the waiting-room,
entered, made a place for her before the fire by simply lifting the
nearest and most youthful passenger by the coat collar from the stool
that he was occupying, and, having installed the lady in it, displaced
another man who was standing before the chimney, and, drawing himself
up to his full six feet of height in front of her, glanced down upon his
fair passenger as he took his waybill from his pocket.
“Your name is down here as Miss Mullins?” he said.
She looked up, became suddenly aware that she and her questioner were
the centre of interest to the whole circle of passengers, and, with a
slight rise of color, returned, “Yes.”
“Well, Miss Mullins, I've got a question or two to ask ye. I ask it
straight out afore this crowd. It's in my rights to take ye aside and
ask it---but that ain't my style; I'm no detective. I needn't ask it at
all, but act as ef I knowed the answer, or I might leave it to be asked
by others. Ye needn't answer it ef ye don't like; ye've got a friend
over ther--Judge Thompson--who is a friend to ye, right or wrong, jest
as any other man here is--as though ye'd packed your own jury. Well, the
simple question I've got to ask ye is THIS: Did you signal to anybody
from the coach when we passed Galloper's an hour ago?”
We all thought that Bill's courage and audacity had reached its
climax here. To openly and publicly accuse a “lady” before a group
of chivalrous Californians, and that lady possessing the further
attractions of youth, good looks, and innocence, was little short of
desperation. There was an evident movement of adhesion towards the
fair stranger, a slight muttering broke out on the right, but the very
boldness of the act held them in stupefied surprise. Judge Thompson,
with a bland propitiatory smile began: “Really, Bill, I must protest on
behalf of this young lady”--when the fair accused, raising her eyes to
her accuser, to the consternation of everybody answered with the slight
but convincing hesitation of conscientious truthfulness:--
“I DID.”
“Ahem!” interposed the Judge hastily, “er--that is--er--you allowed
your handkerchief to flutter from the window,--I noticed it
myself,--casually--one might say even playfully--but without any
particular significance.”
The girl, regarding her apologist with a singular mingling of pride and
impatience, returned briefly:--
“I signaled.”
“Who did you signal to?” asked Bill gravely.
“The young gentleman I'm going to marry.”
A start, followed by a slight titter from the younger passengers, was
instantly suppressed by a savage glance from Bill.
“What did you signal to him for?” he continued.
“To tell him I was here, and that it was all right,” returned the young
girl, with a steadily rising pride and color.
“Wot was all right?” demanded Bill.
“That I wasn't followed, and that he could meet me on the road beyond
Cass's Ridge Station.” She hesitated a moment, and then, with a still
greater pride, in which a youthful defiance was still mingled, said:
“I've run away from home to marry him. And I mean to! No one can stop
me. Dad didn't like him just because he was poor, and dad's got money.
Dad wanted me to marry a man I hate, and got a lot of dresses and things
to bribe me.”
“And you're taking them in your trunk to the other feller?” said Bill
grimly.
“Yes, he's poor,” returned the girl defiantly.
“Then your father's name is Mullins?” asked Bill.
“It's not Mullins. I--I--took that name,” she hesitated, with her first
exhibition of self-consciousness.
“Wot IS his name?”
“Eli Hemmings.”
A smile of relief and significance went round the circle. The fame of
Eli or “Skinner” Hemmings, as a notorious miser and usurer, had passed
even beyond Galloper's Ridge.
“The step that you're taking, Miss Mullins, I need not tell you, is
one of great gravity,” said Judge Thompson, with a certain paternal
seriousness of manner, in which, however, we were glad to detect a
glaring affectation; “and I trust that you and your affianced have fully
weighed it. Far be it from me to interfere with or question the natural
affections of two young people, but may I ask you what you know of
the--er--young gentleman for whom you are sacrificing so much, and,
perhaps, imperiling your whole future? For instance, have you known him
long?”
The slightly troubled air of trying to understand,--not unlike the
vague wonderment of childhood,--with which Miss Mullins had received the
beginning of this exordium, changed to a relieved smile of comprehension
as she said quickly, “Oh yes, nearly a whole year.”
“And,” said the Judge, smiling, “has he a vocation--is he in business?”
“Oh yes,” she returned; “he's a collector.”
“A collector?”
“Yes; he collects bills, you know,--money,” she went on, with childish
eagerness, “not for himself,--HE never has any money, poor Charley,--but
for his firm. It's dreadful hard work, too; keeps him out for days and
nights, over bad roads and baddest weather. Sometimes, when he's stole
over to the ranch just to see me, he's been so bad he could scarcely
keep his seat in the saddle, much less stand. And he's got to take
mighty big risks, too. Times the folks are cross with him and won't pay;
once they shot him in the arm, and he came to me, and I helped do it
up for him. But he don't mind. He's real brave,--jest as brave as he's
good.” There was such a wholesome ring of truth in this pretty praise
that we were touched in sympathy with the speaker.
“What firm does he collect for?” asked the Judge gently.
“I don't know exactly--he won't tell me; but I think it's a Spanish
firm. You see”--she took us all into her confidence with a sweeping
smile of innocent yet half-mischievous artfulness--“I only know because
I peeped over a letter he once got from his firm, telling him he must
hustle up and be ready for the road the next day; but I think the name
was Martinez--yes, Ramon Martinez.”
In the dead silence that ensued--a silence so profound that we could
hear the horses in the distant stable-yard rattling their harness--one
of the younger “Excelsior” boys burst into a hysteric laugh, but the
fierce eye of Yuba Bill was down upon him, and seemed to instantly
stiffen him into a silent, grinning mask. The young girl, however,
took no note of it. Following out, with lover-like diffusiveness, the
reminiscences thus awakened, she went on:--
“Yes, it's mighty hard work, but he says it's all for me, and as soon as
we're married he'll quit it. He might have quit it before, but he won't
take no money of me, nor what I told him I could get out of dad! That
ain't his style. He's mighty proud--if he is poor--is Charley. Why
thar's all ma's money which she left me in the Savin's Bank that I
wanted to draw out--for I had the right--and give it to him, but he
wouldn't hear of it! Why, he wouldn't take one of the things I've got
with me, if he knew it. And so he goes on ridin' and ridin', here and
there and everywhere, and gettin' more and more played out and sad, and
thin and pale as a spirit, and always so uneasy about his business, and
startin' up at times when we're meetin' out in the South Woods or in the
far clearin', and sayin': 'I must be goin' now, Polly,' and yet always
tryin' to be chiffle and chipper afore me. Why he must have rid miles
and miles to have watched for me thar in the brush at the foot of
Galloper's to-night, jest to see if all was safe; and Lordy! I'd have
given him the signal and showed a light if I'd died for it the next
minit. There! That's what I know of Charley--that's what I'm running
away from home for--that's what I'm running to him for, and I don't
care who knows it! And I only wish I'd done it afore--and I
would--if--if--if--he'd only ASKED ME! There now!” She stopped, panted,
and choked. Then one of the sudden transitions of youthful emotion
overtook the eager, laughing face; it clouded up with the swift change
of childhood, a lightning quiver of expression broke over it, and--then
came the rain!
I think this simple act completed our utter demoralization! We smiled
feebly at each other with that assumption of masculine superiority
which is miserably conscious of its own helplessness at such moments. We
looked out of the window, blew our noses, said: “Eh--what?” and “I say,”
vaguely to each other, and were greatly relieved, and yet apparently
astonished, when Yuba Bill, who had turned his back upon the fair
speaker, and was kicking the logs in the fireplace, suddenly swept down
upon us and bundled us all into the road, leaving Miss Mullins alone.
Then he walked aside with Judge Thompson for a few moments; returned to
us, autocratically demanded of the party a complete reticence towards
Miss Mullins on the subject-matter under discussion, re-entered the
station, reappeared with the young lady, suppressed a faint idiotic
cheer which broke from us at the spectacle of her innocent face once
more cleared and rosy, climbed the box, and in another moment we were
under way.
“Then she don't know what her lover is yet?” asked the Expressman
eagerly.
“No.”
“Are YOU certain it's one of the gang?”
“Can't say FOR SURE. It mout be a young chap from Yolo who bucked agin
the tiger* at Sacramento, got regularly cleaned out and busted, and
joined the gang for a flier. They say thar was a new hand in that job
over at Keeley's,--and a mighty game one, too; and ez there was some
buckshot onloaded that trip, he might hev got his share, and that would
tally with what the girl said about his arm. See! Ef that's the man,
I've heered he was the son of some big preacher in the States, and a
college sharp to boot, who ran wild in 'Frisco, and played himself for
all he was worth. They're the wust kind to kick when they once get
a foot over the traces. For stiddy, comf'ble kempany,” added Bill
reflectively, “give ME the son of a man that was HANGED!”
* Gambled at faro.
“But what are you going to do about this?”
“That depends upon the feller who comes to meet her.”
“But you ain't going to try to take him? That would be playing it pretty
low down on them both.”
“Keep your hair on, Jimmy! The Judge and me are only going to rastle
with the sperrit of that gay young galoot, when he drops down for his
girl--and exhort him pow'ful! Ef he allows he's convicted of sin and
will find the Lord, we'll marry him and the gal offhand at the next
station, and the Judge will officiate himself for nothin'. We're
goin' to have this yer elopement done on the square--and our waybill
clean--you bet!”
“But you don't suppose he'll trust himself in your hands?”
“Polly will signal to him that it's all square.”
“Ah!” said the Expressman. Nevertheless in those few moments the men
seemed to have exchanged dispositions. The Expressman looked doubtfully,
critically, and even cynically before him. Bill's face had relaxed, and
something like a bland smile beamed across it, as he drove confidently
and unhesitatingly forward.
Day, meantime, although full blown and radiant on the mountain summits
around us, was yet nebulous and uncertain in the valleys into which
we were plunging. Lights still glimmered in the cabins and few ranch
buildings which began to indicate the thicker settlements. And the
shadows were heaviest in a little copse, where a note from Judge
Thompson in the coach was handed up to Yuba Bill, who at once slowly
began to draw up his horses. The coach stopped finally near the junction
of a small crossroad. At the same moment Miss Mullins slipped down from
the vehicle, and, with a parting wave of her hand to the Judge, who had
assisted her from the steps, tripped down the crossroad, and disappeared
in its semi-obscurity. To our surprise the stage waited, Bill holding
the reins listlessly in his hands. Five minutes passed--an eternity of
expectation, and, as there was that in Yuba Bill's face which forbade
idle questioning, an aching void of silence also! This was at last
broken by a strange voice from the road:--
“Go on we'll follow.”
The coach started forward. Presently we heard the sound of other
wheels behind us. We all craned our necks backward to get a view of
the unknown, but by the growing light we could only see that we were
followed at a distance by a buggy with two figures in it. Evidently
Polly Mullins and her lover! We hoped that they would pass us. But the
vehicle, although drawn by a fast horse, preserved its distance always,
and it was plain that its driver had no desire to satisfy our curiosity.
The Expressman had recourse to Bill.
“Is it the man you thought of?” he asked eagerly.
“I reckon,” said Bill briefly.
“But,” continued the Expressman, returning to his former skepticism,
“what's to keep them both from levanting together now?”
Bill jerked his hand towards the boot with a grim smile.
“Their baggage.”
“Oh!” said the Expressman.
“Yes,” continued Bill. “We'll hang on to that gal's little frills and
fixin's until this yer job's settled, and the ceremony's over, jest
as ef we waz her own father. And, what's more, young man,” he added,
suddenly turning to the Expressman, “YOU'LL express them trunks of
hers THROUGH TO SACRAMENTO with your kempany's labels, and hand her the
receipts and checks for them, so she CAN GET 'EM THERE. That'll keep HIM
outer temptation and the reach o' the gang, until they get away
among white men and civilization again. When your hoary-headed ole
grandfather, or, to speak plainer, that partikler old whiskey-soaker
known as Yuba Bill, wot sits on this box,” he continued, with a
diabolical wink at the Expressman, “waltzes in to pervide for a young
couple jest startin' in life, thar's nothin' mean about his style, you
bet. He fills the bill every time! Speshul Providences take a back seat
when he's around.”
When the station hotel and straggling settlement of Sugar Pine, now
distinct and clear in the growing light, at last rose within rifleshot
on the plateau, the buggy suddenly darted swiftly by us, so swiftly
that the faces of the two occupants were barely distinguishable as they
passed, and keeping the lead by a dozen lengths, reached the door of the
hotel. The young girl and her companion leaped down and vanished within
as we drew up. They had evidently determined to elude our curiosity, and
were successful.
But the material appetites of the passengers, sharpened by the keen
mountain air, were more potent than their curiosity, and, as the
breakfast-bell rang out at the moment the stage stopped, a majority of
them rushed into the dining-room and scrambled for places without giving
much heed to the vanished couple or to the Judge and Yuba Bill, who had
disappeared also. The through coach to Marysville and Sacramento was
likewise waiting, for Sugar Pine was the limit of Bill's ministration,
and the coach which we had just left went no farther. In the course of
twenty minutes, however, there was a slight and somewhat ceremonious
bustling in the hall and on the veranda, and Yuba Bill and the Judge
reappeared. The latter was leading, with some elaboration of manner
and detail, the shapely figure of Miss Mullins, and Yuba Bill was
accompanying her companion to the buggy. We all rushed to the windows to
get a good view of the mysterious stranger and probable ex-brigand
whose life was now linked with our fair fellow-passenger. I am
afraid, however, that we all participated in a certain impression of
disappointment and doubt. Handsome and even cultivated-looking, he
assuredly was--young and vigorous in appearance. But there was a certain
half-shamed, half-defiant suggestion in his expression, yet coupled with
a watchful lurking uneasiness which was not pleasant and hardly becoming
in a bridegroom--and the possessor of such a bride. But the frank,
joyous, innocent face of Polly Mullins, resplendent with a simple,
happy confidence, melted our hearts again, and condoned the fellow's
shortcomings. We waved our hands; I think we would have given three
rousing cheers as they drove away if the omnipotent eye of Yuba Bill had
not been upon us. It was well, for the next moment we were summoned to
the presence of that soft-hearted autocrat.
We found him alone with the Judge in a private sitting-room, standing
before a table on which there was a decanter and glasses. As we filed
expectantly into the room and the door closed behind us, he cast a
glance of hesitating tolerance over the group.
“Gentlemen,” he said slowly, “you was all present at the beginnin' of a
little game this mornin', and the Judge thar thinks that you oughter
be let in at the finish. I don't see that it's any of YOUR d----d
business--so to speak; but ez the Judge here allows you're all in the
secret, I've called you in to take a partin' drink to the health of Mr.
and Mrs. Charley Byng--ez is now comf'ably off on their bridal tower.
What YOU know or what YOU suspects of the young galoot that's married
the gal ain't worth shucks to anybody, and I wouldn't give it to a
yaller pup to play with, but the Judge thinks you ought all to promise
right here that you'll keep it dark. That's his opinion. Ez far as my
opinion goes, gen'l'men,” continued Bill, with greater blandness and
apparent cordiality, “I wanter simply remark, in a keerless, offhand
gin'ral way, that ef I ketch any God-forsaken, lop-eared, chuckle-headed
blatherin' idjet airin' HIS opinion”--
“One moment, Bill,” interposed Judge Thompson with a grave smile; “let
me explain. You understand, gentlemen,” he said, turning to us, “the
singular, and I may say affecting, situation which our good-hearted
friend here has done so much to bring to what we hope will be a happy
termination. I want to give here, as my professional opinion, that there
is nothing in his request which, in your capacity as good citizens and
law-abiding men, you may not grant. I want to tell you, also, that
you are condoning no offense against the statutes; that there is not a
particle of legal evidence before us of the criminal antecedents of Mr.
Charles Byng, except that which has been told you by the innocent lips
of his betrothed, which the law of the land has now sealed forever in
the mouth of his wife, and that our own actual experience of his acts
have been in the main exculpatory of any previous irregularity--if not
incompatible with it. Briefly, no judge would charge, no jury convict,
on such evidence. When I add that the young girl is of legal age, that
there is no evidence of any previous undue influence, but rather of the
reverse, on the part of the bridegroom, and that I was content, as a
magistrate, to perform the ceremony, I think you will be satisfied to
give your promise, for the sake of the bride, and drink a happy life to
them both.”
I need not say that we did this cheerfully, and even extorted from Bill
a grunt of satisfaction. The majority of the company, however, who were
going with the through coach to Sacramento, then took their leave, and,
as we accompanied them to the veranda, we could see that Miss Polly
Mullins's trunks were already transferred to the other vehicle under the
protecting seals and labels of the all-potent Express Company. Then
the whip cracked, the coach rolled away, and the last traces of the
adventurous young couple disappeared in the hanging red dust of its
wheels.
But Yuba Bill's grim satisfaction at the happy issue of the episode
seemed to suffer no abatement. He even exceeded his usual deliberately
regulated potations, and, standing comfortably with his back to the
centre of the now deserted barroom, was more than usually loquacious
with the Expressman. “You see,” he said, in bland reminiscence, “when
your old Uncle Bill takes hold of a job like this, he puts it straight
through without changin' hosses. Yet thar was a moment, young feller,
when I thought I was stompt! It was when we'd made up our mind to make
that chap tell the gal fust all what he was! Ef she'd rared or kicked in
the traces, or hung back only ez much ez that, we'd hev given him jest
five minits' law to get up and get and leave her, and we'd hev toted
that gal and her fixin's back to her dad again! But she jest gave a
little scream and start, and then went off inter hysterics, right on
his buzzum, laughing and cryin' and sayin' that nothin' should part 'em.
Gosh! if I didn't think HE woz more cut up than she about it; a minit
it looked as ef HE didn't allow to marry her arter all, but that passed,
and they was married hard and fast--you bet! I reckon he's had enough of
stayin' out o' nights to last him, and ef the valley settlements hevn't
got hold of a very shining member, at least the foothills hev got shut
of one more of the Ramon Martinez gang.”
“What's that about the Ramon Martinez gang?” said a quiet potential
voice.
Bill turned quickly. It was the voice of the Divisional Superintendent
of the Express Company,--a man of eccentric determination of character,
and one of the few whom the autocratic Bill recognized as an equal,--who
had just entered the barroom. His dusty pongee cloak and soft hat
indicated that he had that morning arrived on a round of inspection.
“Don't care if I do, Bill,” he continued, in response to Bill's
invitatory gesture, walking to the bar. “It's a little raw out on the
road. Well, what were you saying about Ramon Martinez gang? You haven't
come across one of 'em, have you?”
“No,” said Bill, with a slight blinking of his eye, as he ostentatiously
lifted his glass to the light.
“And you WON'T,” added the Superintendent, leisurely sipping his liquor.
“For the fact is, the gang is about played out. Not from want of a job
now and then, but from the difficulty of disposing of the results of
their work. Since the new instructions to the agents to identify and
trace all dust and bullion offered to them went into force, you see,
they can't get rid of their swag. All the gang are spotted at the
offices, and it costs too much for them to pay a fence or a middleman
of any standing. Why, all that flaky river gold they took from the
Excelsior Company can be identified as easy as if it was stamped with
the company's mark. They can't melt it down themselves; they can't
get others to do it for them; they can't ship it to the Mint or Assay
Offices in Marysville and 'Frisco, for they won't take it without our
certificate and seals; and WE don't take any undeclared freight WITHIN
the lines that we've drawn around their beat, except from people and
agents known. Why, YOU know that well enough, Jim,” he said, suddenly
appealing to the Expressman, “don't you?”
Possibly the suddenness of the appeal caused the Expressman to swallow
his liquor the wrong way, for he was overtaken with a fit of
coughing, and stammered hastily as he laid down his glass, “Yes--of
course--certainly.”
“No, sir,” resumed the Superintendent cheerfully, “they're pretty well
played out. And the best proof of it is that they've lately been robbing
ordinary passengers' trunks. There was a freight wagon 'held up' near
Dow's Flat the other day, and a lot of baggage gone through. I had to
go down there to look into it. Darned if they hadn't lifted a lot o'
woman's wedding things from that rich couple who got married the other
day out at Marysville. Looks as if they were playing it rather low down,
don't it? Coming down to hardpan and the bed rock--eh?”
The Expressman's face was turned anxiously towards Bill, who, after a
hurried gulp of his remaining liquor, still stood staring at the window.
Then he slowly drew on one of his large gloves. “Ye didn't,” he said,
with a slow, drawling, but perfectly distinct, articulation, “happen to
know old 'Skinner' Hemmings when you were over there?”
“Yes.”
“And his daughter?”
“He hasn't got any.”
“A sort o' mild, innocent, guileless child of nature?” persisted Bill,
with a yellow face, a deadly calm and Satanic deliberation.
“No. I tell you he HASN'T any daughter. Old man Hemmings is a confirmed
old bachelor. He's too mean to support more than one.”
“And you didn't happen to know any o' that gang, did ye?” continued
Bill, with infinite protraction.
“Yes. Knew 'em all. There was French Pete, Cherokee Bob, Kanaka
Joe, One-eyed Stillson, Softy Brown, Spanish Jack, and two or three
Greasers.”
“And ye didn't know a man by the name of Charley Byng?”
“No,” returned the Superintendent, with a slight suggestion of weariness
and a distraught glance towards the door.
“A dark, stylish chap, with shifty black eyes and a curled-up
merstache?” continued Bill, with dry, colorless persistence.
“No. Look here, Bill, I'm in a little bit of a hurry--but I suppose
you must have your little joke before we part. Now, what is your little
game?”
“Wot you mean?” demanded Bill, with sudden brusqueness.
“Mean? Well, old man, you know as well as I do. You're giving me the
very description of Ramon Martinez himself, ha! ha! No--Bill! you didn't
play me this time. You're mighty spry and clever, but you didn't catch
on just then.”
He nodded and moved away with a light laugh. Bill turned a stony face to
the Expressman. Suddenly a gleam of mirth came into his gloomy eyes. He
bent over the young man, and said in a hoarse, chuckling whisper:--
“But I got even after all!”
“How?”
“He's tied up to that lying little she-devil, hard and fast!”