All waited breathlessly for Elsa’s answer. They knew her greed, or, rather, why she hoarded her money so closely, and were not so surprised, after all, when it came.

“No, I cannot.”

“Can’t? I should like to know why you can’t?” demanded John Benton, indignantly, though Mrs. Trent protested against his urgency by a nod of her head.

“It is for the little one. It is mine. I want it already.”

The ranch mistress at once extended the basket, but it was now the carpenter’s turn to object.

“Please, ‘admiral,’ not so fast. Let her tell us, first, how much money she lost.”

Elsa caught her breath. To save her life she could not have stated in exact figures the sum, because, though she had known to a dime before the robbery, at, and after that time, she had recklessly tossed aside the little that remained. This wasted portion belonged with the whole amount, and being as truthful as she was penurious, she hesitated. Her color came and went, as she looked anxiously into John’s face, realizing that he had laid a trap for her and caught her in it.

But the mistress confronted her, saying:

“Never mind that, Elsa. I do not blame you for refusing to try experiments with what you have so hardly earned and so nearly lost. These are certainly your own little money bags, as I judge from their knitted covers; but it is just possible there may have been other money added to that was taken from you. So, tell me as nearly as you can, what you had, and we will examine them all together.”

This was wise, and commended itself even to the eager Elsa, who stated promptly and proudly:

“Three t’ousand of the dollars it was. All gold. Big gold and littles ones. In them bags was lost entirely. In the others––I don’t know. Oh! I don’t know. It was much, much!”

It was Wolfgang’s turn to interpose, and he did so, sternly:

“Elsa, wife! Three thousand dollars, and I not know it! How dare you?”

“Ach! how not dare I? It was the new pick, or the new pushcart, or the new everything, is it not so? Well, then, if one would save one need not tell.”

Mrs. Trent’s face saddened, and, seeing this, Jessica impatiently exclaimed:

“Oh, I hate money! It’s always that which makes the trouble. It was about money that those New York folks made such wicked charges against my father. It was for a little money that you ‘boys’ were so quick to ruin ‘Forty-niner’s’ character. It was money, and the greed for it, that changed Antonio from a good to a bad man.”

“Hold on, captain. There wasn’t ever any ‘change’ in him. He was born that way.”

“He was born a baby, wasn’t he, John? All babies are good, I s’pose. It’s loving money has made Ferd do such dreadful things; and now, over a little money, Wolfgang and Elsa are quarreling, though I never heard them speak crossly to each other before. Oh, I hate it! Give it all back to her, mother dear, and let us forget all that Pedro said. I, for my part, hope his old copper mine will never be dug out.”

Some who heard her laughed, but the mother grew even graver than at first, and looked searchingly into her daughter’s face. Again there came to her mind the consciousness that the little girl was growing up in a strange fashion; seeming both too wise and too simple for her years. It could never be any different at Sobrante, where one and all conspired to spoil her, though innocently enough, and from pure affection. How could she, single-handed, combat these hurtful influences?

The answer came swiftly enough in a second thought: “Money.”

If there were but a little more of that power for good as well as evil in her possession she could send the child to some fine school and have her educated properly. The separation would be like death in life to herself, but what true mother ever thought of self where her child was concerned? Certainly, not Gabriella Trent. It was with a little sigh that she put her arm about Lady Jess and drew her to her side, saying:

“Here, daughter, you and John examine these bags together, while the rest of us look on and tally for you. I want Elsa to have her own, at once.”

Even John’s hands trembled slightly as he began to count the double eagles first, pushing each five of these toward his small co-laborer and reckoning:

“One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred––one thousand!”

“One thousand!” echoed Jessica, in turn handing the pile to her mother, while the others watched, counting each for himself in silence, ready to check any blunder that might be made.

That is, the men were silent, but Elsa and Aunt Sally rather disturbed the proceedings; the former, by eagerly reaching out for the piles as each was arranged before the mistress, and being as regularly rebuked by the latter.

“There you go again, woman! How can they count right if you don’t have patience? Keep your hands still, do,” said Mrs. Benton.

“Keep your tongue, mother, too. Two thousand!” rejoined John.

“Two––thousand!” cried Jessica, tallying. But her voice had now lost its impatience, and she began to have a very different feeling in regard to this “money,” which looked so real, and was so much needed at Sobrante. If Pedro’s “copper” could be transmuted into shining golden eagles, why, after all, she guessed she didn’t hate it quite so much.

“Three––thousand––and––ain’t half––touched yet!” gasped Samson, throwing up his great hands in a gesture of astonishment.

Elsa was also gasping then, and the expression of her face was changing into one from which Mrs. Trent involuntarily turned her eyes. Cunning and avarice predominated, and in the woman’s throat was a curious clicking sound, as if she had lost and were trying to find her voice. Which, when found, seemed not to belong to the good-natured Elsa, so changed it was:

“Ach, me! But I forgot already. I guess––it was not three t’ousand; it was two times so much. That was seven t’ousand, is it not? The money of this America––it so confuse, yes,” and she tapped her forehead with one fat finger, while her eyes grew beady, and seemed to shrink in size as they gazed upon the wealth she coveted.

But Wolfgang would have none of this. He was as honest as the sun, and, till that moment, had supposed his wife to be of one mind with him. Indeed, honest she had been, in thought and deed, until that terrible temptation was spread before her.

“Elsa! Elsa Winkler! Is it my wife you was and would lie––lie––for a bit of that rubbish!”

“‘Rubbish’ is good,” commented “Marty,” under his breath, but nobody smiled.

The woman cowered. Accustomed as she was to domineer over the seemingly weak-willed man, there had been times, within her memory, when he had thrown off her rule and asserted himself to a degree that terrified her. She had stumbled upon one of those times now, and sank back in her place with a deprecating gesture, advancing the flimsy protest:

“Are they not my bags, so? Sewed I them not with my own hands out of the skin of the little kid was killed? The covers I knitted with–––”

The miner raised his hand, and she dropped her eyes before him.

“Give her what belongs, if you will, good lady, and let us be gone,” he said, pulling his forelock respectfully to Mrs. Trent.

“Gone! Why no, Wolfgang, not to-night. It’s a long way, and you should wait till morning. Indeed, you should,” she replied, at the same time sending a questioning glance toward John Benton, and pushing toward Elsa all the empty bags and three of the thousand dollar piles.

For the carpenter nodded swift acquiescence, on his part longing to be rid of “them miserly Dutchmen, barring the man.”

Elsa rapidly recounted, and bestowed the eagles within their receptacles, and these again, wrapped in a handkerchief, within her bosom. Then, as coolly as if she had not made an unpleasant exhibition of herself, she turned to her hostess and smiled:

“I go now, mistress. I thank you already for one good time I have. It is to buy the mine, one day, for my child. I must be going. Yes, I must. The stew! Ach! how I forgot! The cat––it was a good stew, no? And the cat has eat the stew!”

“Then you’d better stew the cat!” suggested Marty, with a facetiousness to which she paid no heed.

Holding out her hand for Otto to take it, she commanded:

“Little heart, but come. It is in bed you should be, yes. Good-by, all,” adding in German, “May you sleep well!”

Wolfgang followed the retreating pair, but turned on the threshold to make his obeisance to the ranch mistress, and to say, “At your service, good lady. My pick and my head.” Then, bowing again toward all the company, he disappeared.

Everybody felt the relief of their departure, and Aunt Sally humorously threw a kiss after them, remarking, with a sniff:

“Blessed be nothing, if somethin’ is going to make a hog out of a decent woman. That there Elsy’d been content with half she got if she hadn’t seen the rest that heap. I’m a good deal like Jessie, here. I think money’s the root of all evil.”

“That ain’t an original observation, mother, though you do speak as if it was. Money’s the root of a pretty consid’able comfort, too; and I’d like to know, for one, where in creation all this that’s left came from,” returned John.

“There’s no doubt in my mind, that it came out of the Trent pocketbook, every dollar of it!” said Samson. “But how it came into Ferd’s fist is more’n I can guess. Seems if even a half-wit would steal from his own brother, and it must have passed through Antonio’s hands first.”

“Antonio’s brother!” cried Marty, incredulously.

“That’s the true word. Pedro knew it, and the master knew it. The ‘admiral’ heard it, first, to-day; along with that other secret about the copper. Ain’t any harm in mentioning it, is there?” said Samson.

The lady laughed, and answered:

Aunt Sally immediately went and closed the door and locked it; then fastened the windows and pulled the shades over them. At which a shout arose that the old lady heeded not a whit. She clasped her hands over her breast and her round face turned pale, as she whispered shrilly enough for all to hear:

“We’re undone! We’re all undone! We’re a passel of fools––and––and––– Oh, suz!”

Down she dropped into a chair, and there was no more laughter. She was not a timid woman, and her fright was evident. Her son stepped to her side and laid his hand on her shaking shoulder, demanding:

“What ails you, mother? What did you see? Why did you lock the doors?”

“I––I–––”

“Quit chattering your teeth together. What did you see?”

“Oh, son! I seen a––a––ghost!”

“Trash!”

Her courage began to return, and her anger to rise. She retorted promptly:

“No trash! A ghost. A spirit! As sure as I’m a-settin’ here this minute; the spirit of––of–––”

It aggravated John that she should pause and peep behind her, to be sure the windows were still covered.

“Hold your tongue, John Benton, you sassy boy. As sure as I’m alive, I saw the ghost of Antonio Bernal peeking in at that open window afore I shut it. He was so white I couldn’t tell him from paper, and so thin I ’peared to see clean through him.”

“Pshaw, mother! You’re overtired, and for once in your life really nervous. I reckon it’s the sight of more money than ever come your way before. Well, forget it. ’Tisn’t yours nor mine. We’ve no cause to worry. I’ll step and get you a drink of water and then you’ll feel all right, and would better go to bed.”

“I don’t want water, and I shan’t go to bed. I shan’t close my eyes this night, John Benton, and you needn’t touch to tell me so.”

“All right. Stay awake if you like. It’s nothing to me,” answered the exasperated man, who, in spite of his strong common sense, had been more startled than he cared to admit, even to himself. But, glancing at Mrs. Trent and Jessica, he now felt that it would be wiser to express his own fear, which was of nothing supernatural.

“Howsomever, all the world ain’t as honest as them that had the honor of knowin’ Cassius Trent. There’s been a power of strangers on these premises durin’ these last days; and it stands to reason that among ’em one villain might have crept in. I ain’t sayin’ there was. I’ll never accuse nobody again––’cept––’cept–––”

Here the honest fellow interrupted himself with a laugh; remembering his ingrained suspicion of the two Bernals, which he would never even try to overcome. But he went on again:

“Mother thinks she’s seen somethin’, and like enough she has. There might be some scamp hangin’ around; and if there was, and he looked through that window and saw all this gold, I don’t wonder his face was ghosty-lookin’, nor––Somebody stop me talking and answer this: Where’s the safest place to stow that pile?”

For a moment nobody replied. Mrs. Trent was wishing, most heartily, that the money had never come into her possession, since she did not know to whom she should restore it; and beginning to feel, with Jessica, that “money” did carry discord and danger with it.

But the little captain was now all eagerness, and exclaimed:

“Oh! how I wish I’d seen it! Aunt Sally, I never saw a ghost in all my life, never! I thought they were just make-believes, but if you saw one, of course they’re true. Do you s’pose we could see it again if we went out to look? Will you go with me?”

“I? I! Well, I guess not. Not a step will I step–––”

“But several steps I’ll step, Mrs. Benton. I advise the money going into the office safe, that old Ephraim uses when he’s at home. One of us better camp out on the lounge in the room there till we get rid of whoever’s cash that is. I’ll bunk there myself, if you like, Mrs. Trent, after I step outside and see if all’s serene with my prisoner,” said Samson, cheerfully.

“May I go with you, Samson? May I, mother?” asked Jessica.

The mother’s consent was somewhat reluctant, for now she could not bear to have her darling out of sight. Yet if anybody on earth was to be trusted with so precious a charge it was the herder. Besides, she was annoyed at this talk of “ghosts,” and knew that the shortest way to convince Jessica how nonsensical it was, would be by allowing her to go out and seek for them herself.

But Samson answered cordially:

“You do me proud, little one. Suppose you take your rifle, and then, if we see any specter you can pin it to the mission wall, and we’ll have a show, charging ten pins’ admission.”

They went out, laughing and gay; the child clinging to the giant’s hand, and hoping that she might really see the phantom of Aunt Sally’s story, for she had no fear concerning it. They came back, five minutes later, looking grave and seriously alarmed.

“What’s happened?” asked Mrs. Trent, foreboding fresh trouble, since, of late, trouble had become so familiar a visitor.

“Well, ma’am, the bird has flown.”

“Please explain, Samson,” she anxiously urged.

“That bird of dark plumage––Ferd, the dwarf. He’s escaped, vamoosed, took wings and flew.”

“Oh, Samson! I’m so sorry. I hoped you would look after him until I could find some suitable institution in which to place him. It’s time he should be helped, for if he’s so sharp to do evil, he must have equal capacity for better things.”

“Yes, ma’am. So I allow; and I had them same hopes myself, not ten minutes ago. I hadn’t said a word to anybody, but after you gave him to me, I remembered what the little captain had commanded, for it sort of struck home, that did. I ain’t overly saintlike, myself, but what of goodness I’d catched from you all I meant to pass on to the coyote––I mean, Ferdinand Bernal. I reckon it was his face, ’stead of a ghost’s, that Aunt Sally saw by the window.”

“I thought you locked him in some room?”

“Very well. I do not see what harm he can do, after all, except to himself, now. Jessica, dear, please bring the key, and John can put this money in the safe. If it weren’t for Elsa’s satisfaction, I should regret that Pedro ever found it. Then we must all to sleep. It’s been a most eventful day, and we are tired.”

Before long the whole household was asleep; but the last to seek her rest was Mrs. Benton; nor did she do that until she had locked whatever locks would fasten, peeped under every bed, and invaded the sacredness of Wun Lung’s “heatheny den.” Then she placed her Bible on one side her bed, a broom and horsewhip on the other, and lay down to watch, explaining:

“’Cause I’m goin’ to watch, even if I am resting my body horizontal. I’m so tired I can’t set up straight, nohow, and I shan’t wink a wink till daylight comes and the rest are moving.”

Having called out this valiant resolution to Mrs. Trent, in the adjoining room, she instantly closed her heavy lids, and opened them no more till a series of thumps upon her shoulders aroused her. Then she realized that Ned and Luis were reminding her of yesterday’s promise that, if they’d eat no more plum cake overnight they should have some for their breakfasts.

“Land of love! What you doing? Is it daylight? Why, ’twas dark as Egypt when I lay down, and I–––Can it be that I––I––have overslept?”

“Plum cake, Aunt Sally,” reminded Ned.

“Plumsally!” cried Luis, with a forcible whack. Which was instantly returned, and with such added interest that he ran howling away, leaving the disturbed matron to scold herself at leisure for her lapse from duty, while she hurriedly dressed.

Naturally, she had to submit to some teasing on account of her valiant resolution of the previous night that she “wouldn’t wink a wink,” but Mrs. Trent was delighted that the faithful woman had, at last, enjoyed a needed rest. Besides, everything was bright at the ranch on that happy morning. Even Wun Lung had caught the infection of Christmas preparations, and was intent upon providing some dainties of his own, against the approaching festival, which should so far outshine the homelier pies and puddings of Mrs. Benton, as his own revered country outshone, in his opinion, even this pleasant one in which, at present, his lot was cast. He had also felt good-natured enough to put aside a plentiful breakfast for his mate––or foe––of the kitchen; and since it was such a time of happiness, Aunt Sally condescended not only to eat it, but to pronounce it “good.”

Hearing this unexpected praise, the Chinaman wound and unwound his precious queue, after a fashion he had of expressing satisfaction; and smilingly advised Mrs. Benton to “step black polch,” where she would find things to do.

So to the back porch the good lady retreated, carrying with her great dishes of fruit to prepare, and not forgetting two enormous slices of the rich plum cake she had promised the little boys, and which would have made less active, hardily reared children ill.

Mrs. Trent had moved her sewing machine to the porch, and Jessica sat near, with a little table before her, trying to write the Christmas invitations that had been so delayed, and to express them after a style which should not too painfully expose her own ignorance. The result was not so bad, considering the slight training the child had had, and her few years, yet it did not satisfy the mother, who felt that education was the one good thing, and who longed to have her child’s bright intellect developed as it should be.

Poor Jessica had written and rewritten the note intended for Mr. Hale a number of times, and still had it returned to her with many corrections, after Mrs. Trent’s reading of it, and now laid it aside with a sigh of discouragement.

“Can’t that wait a while, mother? If I may write to my darling Ninian Sharp, I’ll get myself rested. He doesn’t mind trifles like wrong capitals in the right places––oh! dear, I mean––I don’t know what I mean. But may I?”

“Certainly, dear. Though, first, come here and let me try the length of this sleeve.”

Lady Jess obeyed readily, for new clothes were rare events in her simple life. This natty little “Christmas frock” was white, with scarlet trimmings, and quite sufficiently in contrast with the plain blue flannel ones of everyday use to captivate her fancy and make her patient under the tedious process of “fitting.” Yet she was glad to return to her table and her letter to Ninian Sharp, which she found no difficulty in composing, since she was free to do as she chose.

“MY VERY DEAR MISTER SHARP: My mother and the children and aunt sally, and Me and all the rest the Boys, are well and send Their LUV. We are Now Inviteing you To come and Spend the holidays at dear Sobrante. everybody is Coming, most, and i Got lost and was found in a Hole. The Hole is in the ground. there was Money in It, that the Boys said my fortynineer stole and He Didn’t. It was elsa winklers and wolfgang was mad at her, and there was a Ghost, but it got away, else samson and Me would have shot it against the mission cordiror wall and had a nexibition. and ferd that was lock up got away two; and say, please my dear mister sharp, Will you see if this stone that’s in the package is any good? Pedro, thats a hundred years, says it’s copper and copper is worth money. We need some money bad, and i hope it is, and I don’t no anybody as clever as you. so Please write write away and tell us if you will come and tell ephraim Marsh, that the Boys will be at marion railway station with a buckborde and horses enough. i am Making something to put in everybodys stocking. i Began to make the things after last Christmas, that ever was, and i Have more than twenty-five presunts to Make and i Have got three done, one of Them is Yours. your Loving friend,

“JESSICA TRENT.”

“Afraid of your own shadder, ain’t you, Gabriell’, and well you may be. In the midst of life we are in the hands of them Bernals, and no knowin’. That son John of mine may try to hoodwink me that ’twasn’t no ghost I saw last night, but ghost it was if ever one walked this earth. It wasn’t, so to speak, a spooky ghost, neither; it was an avaricious one, and it wasn’t after no folks, but ’twas after that money, sharp. Ain’t disappeared, for good, neither. Liable to spring up and out anywhere happens; and you do well, Gabriell’, not to trust our girl off alone again. Not right to once. Where’s she hankerin’ to travel now? She’d ought to be learnt to sew patchwork, instead of riding all over the country, hitherty-yender, a bareback on a broncho or a burro. If she was my girl–––”

“If she was your girl, dear Aunt Sally, you couldn’t have been more anxious than you were while she was lost. And the life is good for her. It’s right for all women to understand sewing and household arts, but the captain isn’t a woman yet, and I have faith she’ll acquire all fitting knowledge in due time. She’s anxious to ride to Pedro’s. She says there was something different in his manner, last night, from ordinary, and, indeed, I fancied so myself. She’s gone to find which one of the boys can best leave his work to ride with her.”

The ranchmen took turns in riding to the post, each esteeming it a privilege, and finding nothing but pleasure in the sixty miles’ gallop to Marion and back. At that moment, indeed, Marty was swinging out of sight on his own fine mount, the mailbag before him on his heavy Mexican saddle, the wind created by the swift motion of the beast raising the brim of his broad hat and thrilling him with that sense of abounding life and freedom which comes so forcibly to men in the wide spaces of the earth.

He was the youngest of the “boys,” even though past his first youth, and the “life” of the ranchmen’s quarters, where all liked and some loved him.

The women on the porch watched him till he became a mere speck in the distance, and Aunt Sally sighed:

“That George Cromarty is as likely a youth as ever I knew. He’s that good to his old mother, back in the East, I tell my own son John, he ought to profit by such an example. I should hate to have anything happen to him. Yes, indeedy, I should hate to have a single bad thing happen to poor George Cromarty.”

A little nervous shiver ran through Mrs. Trent’s slender frame, yet she turned upon her companion, as she threaded her needle, with a laugh, exclaiming:

“Well, I don’t know. Something’s going to go wrong somewhere. I feel it in my bones, seems if. There, I told you so! Yonder comes that lazy boy of mine and Jessie. There’s more things needing him here on this place than you could shake a stick at, yet off he’ll go traipsing just at a nod from his captain.”

“Don’t begrudge them their happiness, Aunt Sally. Certainly, after grief, it is their due. Well, John, will you act escort for the little lady of Sobrante?” asked its mistress.

“Will I not? And do me proud. She ain’t to be trusted with any of the flighty ones, Samson now, or–––”

Mrs. Trent’s laughter––that morning as heart-whole and free as a girl’s––interrupted the ranchman’s disparaging comments on his fellows, sedate grayheads as most of them were; for well she understood the universal devotion of all to their darling captain.

“I’ll try, mistress. But he’ll not be persuaded. Old Pedro wouldn’t think he could breathe down here in the valley, for long at a time. Well, good-by. Ready, captain?”

“Ready, John, as soon as mother gets the basket. Quiet, Buster. I believe you’re more eager for a canter than I am, even.”

Then when the basket had been handed up to John, the pair merrily saluted the women on the porch and rode away; but Mrs. Benton called shrilly after them:

“Turn back and start over again! Turn back, I say! Both your horses set off left feet first. That means bad luck as sure as you are born!”

But nobody paid any heed to Aunt Sally’s forecasts of evil, save to laugh at them. Only Mrs. Trent again felt that nervous shiver seize her, and but for shame’s sake would have begged her daughter to defer her ride until another day.

However, shame prevailed; or common sense, which is far better; and well it was––or ill––that the riders kept serenely on their way, indifferent to “signs” and ignorant of what lay before them.

The train from Los Angeles rolled slowly up to the little station at Marion and the asthmatic engine seemed to wheeze its relief that its labor was ended, as an old man stepped from the last car and looked eagerly along the platform. Then a certain degree of disappointment overspread his fine face, and shouldering a heavy parcel, strapped round with leather to give a holding place, he strode rather unsteadily forward over the same sandy road, or street, which had tried Ninian Sharp’s patience on his first visit to the post town.

Yet, after a little, the man grew accustomed to his own stiffness of limb and moved with a sort of halting swiftness which soon brought him to the little hostelry of one Aleck McLeod, where a group of ranchmen were sunning themselves while they waited the distribution of the mail.

It was noticeable that the porch was spotlessly clean and that none of the idlers profaned its cleanliness by so much as one expectoration of tobacco juice, though all were either smoking or chewing that weed. They had far too great respect for Janet, Aleck’s wife, and for the labor that cleanliness meant in that waterless region. They were all deep in the discussion of the late events at Sobrante and none heard the old traveler’s approach over the soft ground, till he stood close beside them with his foot on the lower step.

But he heard them and their eager talk; and, pausing a bit, the more completely to surprise them by an intended halloo, he forgot that and all else save what they were saying.

“It was ten to one she was never found. ’Pears like a miracle to me, that old Pedro was led to find that very cave just when he did. My wife claims it was a miracle, same as used to be in Bible days, and you can’t talk her out of it. You know how women are,” said one ranchman, who had aided in the search for Jessica.

“Well, first and last, them Trents have done a heap for this section of our ‘native.’ And they’re square folks, every identical of them. Even the little tacker, that boy Ned. There’s more in his head than he gets credit for, and one these days he’ll show there is. He’s a master hand with a gun, baby as he is, and if he’d had one handy I wager he’d have put some shot into the ugly carcass of that Ferd––– But he hadn’t the iron and he didn’t,” added another smoker.

“It was a prime spread Mis’ Trent gave us. Must have took about all the provisions she had in store, but nothing was too good for them that helped her in her trouble. Or tried to help, same thing; since it was her own man, Pedro, found the child. Away down in the bottom of a pit in the depth of an unknown cave! Think of it, somebody! It just makes my hair rise on end, known’ there is such a fool and scoundrel joined in one dwarf’s body––Hello! hel––lo!”

The last speaker’s words ended in a sort of screech of astonishment and recognition, as a hard hand was laid upon his shoulder, and Ephraim Marsh demanded, fiercely:

“What’s that you say, neighbor?”

“Why, hello, Marsh! Where’d you drop from?” cried one, rising and extending a hand in greeting.

“You’re a sight to cure sick folks!” shouted another, pressing to “Forty-niner’s” side, and slapping the veteran’s shoulder in high good will.

But Ephraim had no feeling at present, save anxiety to know what their discussion had meant; and, all talking, they laid a succinct history of the last few days before him. He listened in increasing alarm and amazement and his old limbs tottered beneath him, so that he called out, hastily:

“Give me a seat, somebody, quick, before I fall. I––I––to think of my little gell––my own sweet-faced, lovin’ little gell–––Oh, I can’t believe it! I can’t and I won’t. It’s some plaguey Californy yarn’ you’re passin’ the time with. Atlantic! But you might have chose a likelier subject to fool over, you might.”

But Aleck himself had seen the arrival through the window and came out to greet him with the heartiness accorded all the Sobrante people, and to assure him that the story was all true; and that, after all, it were better that he had not been at home when the trouble came; “for it would have broke your heart, ‘Forty-niner,’ into more pieces than old Stiffleg broke your bones, and it wouldn’t have healed so soon, neither. But, come in, come in, boy, and have a mouthful of dinner. Janet has as fine a dish of haggis as ever I tasted in Aberdeen at home, and it should relish to you, after all that hospital fare and so on. Janet! Janet! Here’s Ephraim Marsh! Come welcome him!”

“For since it is over and done with we can reckon the gain. The sweet bit bairnie has won for herself fresh friends. In all the countryside there was but one feeling, ‘The child must be found.’ No other thing was of any moment, and found she was, by a man so much older than any of the rest that nobody, not even you, can grudge him the honor. More hot milk? Oat cake? Nothing? Well, well; for a man that’s traveling you’ve a small appetite. Must be off already and pack your own bundle? Why, friend, you would better leave that till one the boys rides up for the mail. Due before this, indeed, for Sobrante ranchers are ever keen for their post stuff. No? A horse, then? Aleck was going to do a bit of plowing with her, later on, but he’ll eagerly give over that for you.”

But Ephraim felt that he could delay for nothing more, not even for the arrival of a Sobrante messenger; and as for Jean, the sorrel mare––he and she were old acquaintances, and he declined her services with a grim smile, saying:

Though Janet protested against the trouble her face glowed at prospect of her gifts, and as she assisted him to unstrap and refasten his canvas sack, and even begged to be shown the simple remembrances he had procured for everybody he knew “at home;” not least among them being calicoes of brilliantly unwashable colors for Aunt Sally’s patchwork. Then he set off alone, staff in hand, stolidly yet swiftly covering the ground with that halting stride of his that soon took him out of sight.

The assembled ranchmen received their own mail matter, mounted and rode away; and there settled over the little town that monotonous quiet which would not be broken again until the arrival of the evening train, when, possibly, some chance passenger might alight on the deserted platform.

Gazing toward this place, Ephraim reflected that; “If that Greaser had half as much snap as he has wickedness he’d be a rich man. As ’tis, honest folks sort of give Solano’s a wide berth. I’m thirsty as a dog and wouldn’t mind havin’ a drink out that artesian well they have there, but––Atlantic! There’s somebody already stoopin’ over it; looks mighty familiar!”

Then the old man stood up and shielded his eyes with his hand as he peered into the distance, ending his scrutiny with a shake of his fist in the direction he had gazed, and muttering aloud:

“No, I’m better off here. Queer how you can recognize a snake, no matter how far off! That’s Ferd, the dwarf; and if I was near enough to touch him I couldn’t keep my fingers off his dirty throat, nohow, till I’d choked the life out of him! Ugh! When I think––– But I mustn’t think. I must just get up and jog on till I see a prettier sight than that. If I can spy the hunchback at one mile off I can see my little captain’s bonny head at ten. Home, old ‘Forty-niner’! Home’s the word!”

Away flew the pack, and Ephraim bent over the man, gently turning him over, and crying in fresh dismay:

“It’s Marty! George Cromarty, of all men, dead as a doornail!”

Alas! Ephraim’s home-coming was proving anything but the delight he had anticipated. To be met first by the story of the trouble which had visited Sobrante and now by this dreadful discovery almost unnerved him; but he was a man of action and his hand flew to Marty’s breast to feel if his heart still beat. With the other hand he softly brushed the dust from the rigid features and rubbed the colorless temples. After a second or two his face brightened, and he cried aloud, as if the other might hear and be cheered:

“Well, you aren’t a dead man, after all, Marty, my lad! But I’d give a heap, this minute, for a bit of cold water to give you. And, Atlantic! I believe I’m losing my wits. ’Course, he’s got it himself, handy. All the boys carry a flask in their pockets, even on the short ride to post, but Marty, being teetotal, fills his with water and gets laughed at for his notions. A mighty good notion it’ll prove for him if it saves his life, and here goes!”

For it was a horse in agony which sent that moving appeal from the thicket near by, and as soon as “Forty-niner” was sure that the man was recovering, though he could not as yet speak, he sought the poor beast and saw, to his distress, that for it there was no respite save in death.

“Well, well, well! This is a bad job all round, but better a horse than a man, and lucky for both I came when I did. If I had a gun I’d end the misery of one, straight off. And maybe Marty has. I’ll look and see.”

Returning to the road he was greeted by a prolonged stare from the dazed ranchman, who had, indeed, been able to drag his body to a sitting posture, but vainly sought to understand what had happened.

Ephraim spoke to him, asking in a matter-of-fact tone:

“Got a revolver with you, lad?”

“Eh? W-h-a-t?” returned Marty, wonder drawing upon him at finding who his companion was. “You––Eph?”

“Course. Who else! Been quite a spell since we two met, but better late than never. Got a pistol, I say?”

“What for?”

The sharpshooter hesitated, then gave an evasive answer:

“Powerful long since I done any practicin’, and feel like I better try my hand.”

“That’s Comanche!”

“Forty-niner” gravely nodded.

“He’s hurt?” demanded Marty, as if he defied the answer to be affirmative.

Ephraim turned away his face. To them, horses were almost as human beings, and the love of a master for his beast was something fraternal.

“Help me to him,” said the ranchman, staggering to his feet.

“Better not, lad. Best trust to me,” protested the elder man.

“Trust––what?”

The look in Ephraim’s eyes was all the answer needed to this fierce question, and Marty turned away his own gaze as he faltered the next one:

“Yes, mate, but take it like a man. Better him than you, and––give me the gun.”

Marty straightened and stiffened himself.

“Help me to him. Something’s wrong with my legs. I’ll see for myself. If it must be, I’ll do it for myself.”

The frontiersman understood the sentiment and respected it. He had had to do a like hard duty for his own horseflesh before that, and he had always felt it a sort of murder. He did not look at Marty’s face as he carefully guided his wavering steps into the thicket and the presence of the suffering Comanche, where one look sufficed his master.

“Oh, you poor fellow!”