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diff --git a/2793-h/2793-h.htm b/2793-h/2793-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71d0e41 --- /dev/null +++ b/2793-h/2793-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2488 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Flip: a California Romance, by Bret Harte + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Flip: A California Romance, by Bret Harte + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Flip: A California Romance + +Author: Bret Harte + +Release Date: May 27, 2006 [EBook #2793] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLIP: A CALIFORNIA ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + FLIP: A CALIFORNIA ROMANCE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Bret Harte + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Just where the track of the Los Gatos road streams on and upward like the + sinuous trail of a fiery rocket until it is extinguished in the blue + shadows of the Coast Range, there is an embayed terrace near the summit, + hedged by dwarf firs. At every bend of the heat-laden road the eye rested + upon it wistfully; all along the flank of the mountain, which seemed to + pant and quiver in the oven-like air, through rising dust, the slow + creaking of dragging wheels, the monotonous cry of tired springs, and the + muffled beat of plunging hoofs, it held out a promise of sheltered + coolness and green silences beyond. Sunburned and anxious faces yearned + toward it from the dizzy, swaying tops of stagecoaches, from lagging teams + far below, from the blinding white canvas covers of “mountain schooners,” + and from scorching saddles that seemed to weigh down the scrambling, + sweating animals beneath. But it would seem that the hope was vain, the + promise illusive. When the terrace was reached it appeared not only to + have caught and gathered all the heat of the valley below, but to have + evolved a fire of its own from some hidden crater-like source unknown. + Nevertheless, instead of prostrating and enervating man and beast, it was + said to have induced the wildest exaltation. The heated air was filled and + stifling with resinous exhalations. The delirious spices of balm, bay, + spruce, juniper, yerba buena, wild syringa, and strange aromatic herbs as + yet unclassified, distilled and evaporated in that mighty heat, and seemed + to fire with a midsummer madness all who breathed their fumes. They stung, + smarted, stimulated, intoxicated. It was said that the most jaded and + foot-sore horses became furious and ungovernable under their influence; + wearied teamsters and muleteers, who had exhausted their profanity in the + ascent, drank fresh draughts of inspiration in this fiery air, extended + their vocabulary, and created new and startling forms of objurgation. It + is recorded that one bibulous stage-driver exhausted description and + condensed its virtues in a single phrase: “Gin and ginger.” This + felicitous epithet, flung out in a generous comparison with his favorite + drink, “rum and gum,” clung to it ever after. + </p> + <p> + Such was the current comment on this vale of spices. Like most human + criticism it was hasty and superficial. No one yet had been known to have + penetrated deeply its mysterious recesses. It was still far below the + summit and its wayside inn. It had escaped the intruding foot of hunter + and prospector; and the inquisitive patrol of the county surveyor had only + skirted its boundary. It remained for Mr. Lance Harriott to complete its + exploration. His reasons for so doing were simple. He had made the journey + thither underneath the stage-coach, and clinging to its axle. He had + chosen this hazardous mode of conveyance at night, as the coach crept by + his place of concealment in the wayside brush, to elude the sheriff of + Monterey County and his posse, who were after him. + </p> + <p> + He had not made himself known to his fellow-passengers as they already + knew him as a gambler, an outlaw, and a desperado; he deemed it unwise to + present himself in a newer reputation of a man who had just slain a + brother gambler in a quarrel, and for whom a reward was offered. He + slipped from the axle as the stage-coach swirled past the brushing + branches of fir, and for an instant lay unnoticed, a scarcely + distinguishable mound of dust in the broken furrows of the road. Then, + more like a beast than a man, he crept on his hands and knees into the + steaming underbrush. Here he lay still until the clatter of harness and + the sound of voices faded in the distance. Had he been followed, it would + have been difficult to detect in that inert mass of rags any semblance to + a known form or figure. A hideous reddish mask of dust and clay + obliterated his face; his hands were shapeless stumps exaggerated in his + trailing sleeves. And when he rose, staggering like a drunken man, and + plunged wildly into the recesses of the wood, a cloud of dust followed + him, and pieces and patches of his frayed and rotten garments clung to the + impeding branches. Twice he fell, but, maddened and upheld by the smarting + spices and stimulating aroma of the air, he kept on his course. + </p> + <p> + Gradually the heat became less oppressive; once when he stopped and leaned + exhaustedly against a sapling, he fancied he saw the zephyr he could not + yet feel in the glittering and trembling of leaves in the distance before + him. Again the deep stillness was moved with a faint sighing rustle, and + he knew he must be nearing the edge of the thicket. The spell of silence + thus broken was followed by a fainter, more musical interruption—the + glassy tinkle of water! A step further his foot trembled on the verge of a + slight ravine, still closely canopied by the interlacing boughs overhead. + A tiny stream that he could have dammed with his hand yet lingered in this + parched red gash in the hillside and trickled into a deep, irregular, + well-like cavity, that again overflowed and sent its slight surplus on. It + had been the luxurious retreat of many a spotted trout; it was to be the + bath of Lance Harriott. Without a moment's hesitation, without removing a + single garment, he slipped cautiously into it, as if fearful of losing a + single drop. His head disappeared from the level of the bank; the solitude + was again unbroken. Only two objects remained upon the edge of the ravine,—his + revolver and tobacco pouch. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes elapsed. A fearless blue jay alighted on the bank and made a + prospecting peck at the tobacco pouch. It yielded in favor of a gopher, + who endeavored to draw it toward his hole, but in turn gave way to a red + squirrel, whose attention was divided, however, between the pouch and the + revolver, which he regarded with mischievous fascination. Then there was a + splash, a grunt, a sudden dispersion of animated nature, and the head of + Mr. Lance Harriott appeared above the bank. It was a startling + transformation. Not only that he had, by this wholesale process, washed + himself and his light “drill” garments entirely clean, but that he had, + apparently by the same operation, morally cleansed HIMSELF, and left every + stain and ugly blot of his late misdeeds and reputation in his bath. His + face, albeit scratched here and there, was rosy, round, shining with + irrepressible good humor and youthful levity. His large blue eyes were + infantine in their innocent surprise and thoughtlessness. Dripping yet + with water, and panting, he rested his elbows lazily on the bank, and + became instantly absorbed with a boy's delight in the movements of the + gopher, who, after the first alarm, returned cautiously to abduct the + tobacco pouch. If any familiar had failed to detect Lance Harriott in this + hideous masquerade of dust and grime and tatters, still less would any + passing stranger have recognized in this blond faun the possible outcast + and murderer. And, when with a swirl of his spattering sleeve, he drove + back the gopher in a shower of spray and leaped to the bank, he seemed to + have accepted his felonious hiding-place as a mere picnicking bower. + </p> + <p> + A slight breeze was unmistakably permeating the wood from the west. + Looking in that direction, Lance imagined that the shadow was less dark, + and although the undergrowth was denser, he struck off carelessly toward + it. As he went on, the wood became lighter and lighter; branches, and + presently leaves, were painted against the vivid blue of the sky. He knew + he must be near the summit, stopped, felt for his revolver, and then + lightly put the few remaining branches aside. + </p> + <p> + The full glare of the noonday sun at first blinded him. When he could see + more clearly, he found himself on the open western slope of the mountain, + which in the Coast Range was seldom wooded. The spiced thicket stretched + between him and the summit, and again between him and the stage road that + plunges from the terrace, like forked lightning into the valley below. He + could command all the approaches without being seen. Not that this seemed + to occupy his thoughts or cause him any anxiety. His first act was to + disencumber himself of his tattered coat; he then filled and lighted his + pipe, and stretched himself full-length on the open hillside, as if to + bleach in the fierce sun. While smoking he carelessly perused the fragment + of a newspaper which had enveloped his tobacco, and being struck with some + amusing paragraph, read it half aloud again to some imaginary auditor, + emphasizing its humor with an hilarious slap upon his leg. + </p> + <p> + Possibly from the relaxation of fatigue and the bath, which had become a + vapor one as he alternately rolled and dried himself in the baking grass, + his eyes closed dreamily. He was awakened by the sound of voices. They + were distant; they were vague; they approached no nearer. He rolled + himself to the verge of the first precipitous grassy descent. There was + another bank or plateau below him, and then a confused depth of olive + shadows, pierced here and there by the spiked helmets of pines. + </p> + <p> + There was no trace of habitation, yet the voices were those of some + monotonous occupation, and Lance distinctly heard through them the click + of crockery and the ring of some household utensil. It appeared to be the + interjectional, half listless, half perfunctory, domestic dialogue of an + old man and a girl, of which the words were unintelligible. Their voices + indicated the solitude of the mountain, but without sadness; they were + mysterious without being awe-inspiring. They might have uttered the + dreariest commonplaces, but, in their vast isolation, they seemed musical + and eloquent. Lance drew his first sigh,—they had suggested dinner. + </p> + <p> + Careless as his nature was, he was too cautious to risk detection in broad + daylight. He contented himself for the present with endeavoring to locate + that particular part of the depths from which the voices seemed to rise. + It was more difficult, however, to select some other way of penetrating it + than by the stage road. “They're bound to have a fire or show a light when + it's dark,” he reasoned, and, satisfied with that reflection, lay down + again. Presently he began to amuse himself by tossing some silver coins in + the air. Then his attention was directed to a spur of the Coast Range + which had been sharply silhouetted against the cloudless western sky. + Something intensely white, something so small that it was scarcely larger + than the silver coin in his hand, was appearing in a slight cleft of the + range. + </p> + <p> + While he looked it gradually filled and obliterated the cleft. In another + moment the whole serrated line of mountain had disappeared. The dense, + dazzling white, encompassing host began to pour over and down every ravine + and pass of the coast. Lance recognized the sea-fog, and knew that + scarcely twenty miles away lay the ocean—and safety! The drooping + sun was now caught and hidden in its soft embraces. A sudden chill + breathed over the mountain. He shivered, rose, and plunged again for very + warmth into the spice-laden thicket. The heated balsamic air began to + affect him like a powerful sedative; his hunger was forgotten in the + languor of fatigue; he slumbered. When he awoke it was dark. He groped his + way through the thicket. A few stars were shining directly above him, but + beyond and below, everything was lost in the soft, white, fleecy veil of + fog. Whatever light or fire might have betokened human habitation was + hidden. To push on blindly would be madness; he could only wait for + morning. It suited the outcast's lazy philosophy. He crept back again to + his bed in the hollow and slept. In that profound silence and shadow, shut + out from human association and sympathy by the ghostly fog, what torturing + visions conjured up by remorse and fear should have pursued him? What + spirit passed before him, or slowly shaped itself out of the infinite + blackness of the wood? None. As he slipped gently into that blackness he + remembered with a slight regret, some biscuits that were dropped from the + coach by a careless luncheon-consuming passenger. That pang over, he slept + as sweetly, as profoundly, as divinely, as a child. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + He awoke with the aroma of the woods still steeping his senses. His first + instinct was that of all young animals; he seized a few of the young, + tender green leaves of the yerba buena vine that crept over his mossy + pillow and ate them, being rewarded by a half berry-like flavor that + seemed to soothe the cravings of his appetite. The languor of sleep being + still upon him, he lazily watched the quivering of a sunbeam that was + caught in the canopying boughs above. Then he dozed again. Hovering + between sleeping and waking, he became conscious of a slight movement + among the dead leaves on the bank beside the hollow in which he lay. The + movement appeared to be intelligent, and directed toward his revolver, + which glittered on the bank. Amused at this evident return of his + larcenous friend of the previous day, he lay perfectly still. The movement + and rustle continued, but it now seemed long and undulating. Lance's eyes + suddenly became set; he was intensely, keenly awake. It was not a snake, + but the hand of a human arm, half hidden in the moss, groping for the + weapon. In that flash of perception he saw that it was small, bare, and + deeply freckled. In an instant he grasped it firmly, and rose to his feet, + dragging to his own level as he did so, the struggling figure of a young + girl. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me go!” she said, more ashamed than frightened. + </p> + <p> + Lance looked at her. She was scarcely more than fifteen, slight and lithe, + with a boyish flatness of breast and back. Her flushed face and bare + throat were absolutely peppered with minute brown freckles, like grains of + spent gunpowder. Her eyes, which were large and gray, presented the + singular spectacle of being also freckled,—at least they were shot + through in pupil and cornea with tiny spots like powdered allspice. Her + hair was even more remarkable in its tawny, deer-skin color, full of + lighter shades, and bleached to the faintest of blondes on the crown of + her head, as if by the action of the sun. She had evidently outgrown her + dress, which was made for a smaller child, and the too brief skirt + disclosed a bare, freckled, and sandy desert of shapely limb, for which + the darned stockings were equally too scant. Lance let his grasp slip from + her thin wrist to her hand, and then with a good-humored gesture tossed it + lightly back to her. + </p> + <p> + She did not retreat, but continued looking at him in a half-surly + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't a bit frightened,” she said; “I'm not going to run away,—don't + you fear.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to hear it,” said Lance, with unmistakable satisfaction, “but why + did you go for my revolver?” + </p> + <p> + She flushed again and was silent. Presently she began to kick the earth at + the roots of the tree, and said, as if confidentially to her foot,— + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to get hold of it before you did.” + </p> + <p> + “You did?—and why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know why.” + </p> + <p> + Every tooth in Lance's head showed that he did, perfectly. But he was + discreetly silent. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know what you were hiding there for,” she went on, still + addressing the tree, “and,” looking at him sideways under her white + lashes, “I didn't see your face.” + </p> + <p> + This subtle compliment was the first suggestion of her artful sex. It + actually sent the blood into the careless rascal's face, and for a moment + confused him. He coughed. “So you thought you'd freeze on to that + six-shooter of mine until you saw my hand?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. Then she picked up a broken hazel branch, fitted it into the + small of her back, threw her tanned bare arms over the ends of it, and + expanded her chest and her biceps at the same moment. This simple action + was supposed to convey an impression at once of ease and muscular force. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd like to take it now,” said Lance, handing her the pistol. + </p> + <p> + “I've seen six-shooters before now,” said the girl, evading the proffered + weapon and its suggestion. “Dad has one, and my brother had two derringers + before he was half as big as me.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped to observe in her companion the effect of this capacity of her + family to bear arms. Lance only regarded her amusedly. Presently she again + spoke abruptly:— + </p> + <p> + “What made you eat that grass, just now?” + </p> + <p> + “Grass!” echoed Lance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there,” pointing to the yerba buena. + </p> + <p> + Lance laughed. “I was hungry. Look!” he said, gayly tossing some silver + into the air. “Do you think you could get me some breakfast for that, and + have enough left to buy something for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + The girl eyed the money and the man with half-bashful curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon Dad might give ye suthing if he had a mind ter, though ez a rule + he's down on tramps ever since they run off his chickens. Ye might try.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want YOU to try. You can bring it to me here.” + </p> + <p> + The girl retreated a step, dropped her eyes, and, with a smile that was a + charming hesitation between bashfulness and impudence, said: “So you ARE + hidin', are ye?” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it. Your head's level. I am,” laughed Lance unconcernedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yur ain't one o' the McCarty gang—are ye?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lance Harriott felt a momentary moral exaltation in declaring + truthfully that he was not one of a notorious band of mountain freebooters + known in the district under that name. + </p> + <p> + “Nor ye ain't one of them chicken lifters that raided Henderson's ranch? + We don't go much on that kind o' cattle yer.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lance, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Nor ye ain't that chap ez beat his wife unto death at Santa Clara?” + </p> + <p> + Lance honestly scorned the imputation. Such conjugal ill treatment as he + had indulged in had not been physical, and had been with other men's + wives. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's further hesitation on the part of the girl. Then she + said shortly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I reckon you kin come along with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” asked Lance. + </p> + <p> + “To the ranch,” she replied simply. + </p> + <p> + “Then you won't bring me anything to eat here?” + </p> + <p> + “What for? You kin get it down there.” Lance hesitated. “I tell you it's + all right,” she continued. “I'll make it all right with Dad.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose I reckon I'd rather stay here,” persisted Lance, with a + perfect consciousness, however, of affectation in his caution. + </p> + <p> + “Stay away then,” said the girl coolly; “only as Dad perempted this yer + woods”— + </p> + <p> + “PRE-empted,” suggested Lance. + </p> + <p> + “Per-empted or pre-emp-ted, as you like,” continued the girl scornfully,—“ez + he's got a holt on this yer woods, ye might ez well see him down thar ez + here. For here he's like to come any minit. You can bet your life on + that.” + </p> + <p> + She must have read Lance's amusement in his eyes, for she again dropped + her own with a frown of brusque embarrassment. “Come along, then; I'm your + man,” said Lance, gayly, extending his hand. + </p> + <p> + She would not accept it, eying it, however, furtively, like a horse about + to shy. “Hand me your pistol first,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He handed it to her with an assumption of gayety. She received it on her + part with unfeigned seriousness, and threw it over her shoulder like a + gun. This combined action of the child and heroine, it is quite + unnecessary to say, afforded Lance undiluted joy. + </p> + <p> + “You go first,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Lance stepped promptly out, with a broad grin. “Looks kinder as if I was a + prisoner, don't it?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, and don't fool,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + The two fared onward through the wood. For one moment he entertained the + facetious idea of appearing to rush frantically away, “just to see what + the girl would do,” but abandoned it. “It's an even thing if she wouldn't + spot me the first pop,” he reflected admiringly. + </p> + <p> + When they had reached the open hillside, Lance stopped inquiringly. “This + way,” she said, pointing toward the summit, and in quite an opposite + direction to the valley where he had heard the voices, one of which he now + recognized as hers. They skirted the thicket for a few moments, and then + turned sharply into a trail which began to dip toward a ravine leading to + the valley. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you have to go all the way round?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “WE don't,” the girl replied with emphasis; “there's a shorter cut.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “That's telling,” she answered shortly. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” asked Lance, after a steep scramble and a drop into + the ravine. + </p> + <p> + “Flip.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Flip.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean your first name,—your front name.” + </p> + <p> + “Flip.” + </p> + <p> + “Flip! Oh, short for Felipa!” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't Flipper,—it's Flip.” And she relapsed into silence. + </p> + <p> + “You don't ask me mine?” suggested Lance. + </p> + <p> + She did not vouchsafe a reply. + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't want to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Dad will. You can lie to HIM.” + </p> + <p> + This direct answer apparently sustained the agreeable homicide for some + moments. He moved onward, silently exuding admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Only,” added Flip, with a sudden caution, “you'd better agree with me.” + </p> + <p> + The trail here turned again abruptly and re-entered the canyon. Lance + looked up, and noticed they were almost directly beneath the bay thicket + and the plateau that towered far above them. The trail here showed signs + of clearing, and the way was marked by felled trees and stumps of pines. + </p> + <p> + “What does your father do here?” he finally asked. Flip remained silent, + swinging the revolver. Lance repeated his question. + </p> + <p> + “Burns charcoal and makes diamonds,” said Flip, looking at him from the + corners of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Makes diamonds?” echoed Lance. + </p> + <p> + Flip nodded her head. + </p> + <p> + “Many of 'em?” he continued carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Lots. But they're not big,” she returned, with a sidelong glance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they're not big?” said Lance gravely. + </p> + <p> + They had by this time reached a small staked inclosure, whence the sudden + fluttering and cackle of poultry welcomed the return of the evident + mistress of this sylvan retreat. It was scarcely imposing. Further on, a + cooking stove under a tree, a saddle and bridle, a few household + implements scattered about, indicated the “ranch.” Like most pioneer + clearings, it was simply a disorganized raid upon nature that had left + behind a desolate battlefield strewn with waste and decay. The fallen + trees, the crushed thicket, the splintered limbs, the rudely torn-up soil, + were made hideous by their grotesque juxtaposition with the wrecked + fragments of civilization, in empty cans, broken bottles, battered hats, + soleless boots, frayed stockings, cast-off rags, and the crowning + absurdity of the twisted-wire skeleton of a hooped skirt hanging from a + branch. The wildest defile, the densest thicket, the most virgin solitude, + was less dreary and forlorn than this first footprint of man. The only + redeeming feature of this prolonged bivouac was the cabin itself. Built of + the half-cylindrical strips of pine bark, and thatched with the same + material, it had a certain picturesque rusticity. But this was an accident + of economy rather than taste, for which Flip apologized by saying that the + bark of the pine was “no good” for charcoal. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon Dad's in the woods,” she added, pausing before the open door of + the cabin. “Oh, Dad!” Her voice, clear and high, seemed to fill the whole + long canyon, and echoed from the green plateau above. The monotonous + strokes of an axe were suddenly pretermitted, and somewhere from the + depths of the close-set pines a voice answered “Flip.” There was a pause + of a few moments, with some muttering, stumbling, and crackling in the + underbrush, and then the sudden appearance of “Dad.” + </p> + <p> + Had Lance first met him in the thicket, he would have been puzzled to + assign his race to Mongolian, Indian, or Ethiopian origin. Perfunctory but + incomplete washings of his hands and face, after charcoal burning, had + gradually ground into his skin a grayish slate-pencil pallor, grotesquely + relieved at the edges, where the washing had left off, with a border of a + darker color. He looked like an overworked Christy minstrel with the + briefest of intervals between his performances. There were black rims in + the orbits of his eyes, as if he gazed feebly out of unglazed spectacles, + which heightened his simian resemblance, already grotesquely exaggerated + by what appeared to be repeated and spasmodic experiments in dyeing his + gray hair. Without the slightest notice of Lance, he inflicted his + protesting and querulous presence entirely on his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's up now? Yer ye are calling me from work an hour before noon. + Dog my skin, ef I ever get fairly limbered up afore it's 'Dad!' and 'Oh, + Dad!'” + </p> + <p> + To Lance's intense satisfaction the girl received this harangue with an + air of supreme indifference, and when “Dad” had relapsed into an + unintelligible, and, as it seemed to Lance, a half-frightened muttering, + she said coolly,— + </p> + <p> + “Ye'd better drop that axe and scoot round getten' this stranger some + breakfast and some grub to take with him. He's one of them San Francisco + sports out here trout fishing in the branch. He's got adrift from his + party, has lost his rod and fixins, and had to camp out last night in the + Gin and Ginger Woods.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it; it's allers suthin like that,” screamed the old man, + dashing his fist on his leg in a feeble, impotent passion, but without + looking at Lance. “Why in blazes don't he go up to that there blamed hotel + on the summit? Why in thunder—” But here he caught his daughter's + large, freckled eyes full in his own. He blinked feebly, his voice fell + into a tone of whining entreaty. “Now, look yer, Flip, it's playing it + rather low down on the old man, this yer running' in o' tramps and + desarted emigrants and cast-ashore sailors and forlorn widders and ravin' + lunatics, on this yer ranch. I put it to you, Mister,” he said abruptly, + turning to Lance for the first time, but as if he had already taken an + active part in the conversation,—“I put it as a gentleman yourself, + and a fair-minded sportin' man, if this is the square thing?” + </p> + <p> + Before Lance could reply, Flip had already begun. “That's just it! D'ye + reckon, being a sportin' man and an A 1 feller, he's goin' to waltz down + inter that hotel, rigged out ez he is? D'ye reckon he's goin' to let his + partners get the laugh outer him? D'ye reckon he's goin' to show his head + outer this yer ranch till he can do it square? Not much! Go 'long. Dad, + you're talking silly!” + </p> + <p> + The old man weakened. He feebly trailed his axe between his legs to a + stump and sat down, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, and imparting to + it the appearance of a slate with a difficult sum partly rubbed out. He + looked despairingly at Lance. “In course,” he said, with a deep sigh, “you + naturally ain't got any money. In course you left your pocketbook, + containing fifty dollars, under a stone, and can't find it. In course,” he + continued, as he observed Lance put his hand to his pocket, “you've only + got a blank check on Wells, Fargo & Co. for a hundred dollars, and + you'd like me to give you the difference?” + </p> + <p> + Amused as Lance evidently was at this, his absolute admiration for Flip + absorbed everything else. With his eyes fixed upon the girl, he briefly + assured the old man that he would pay for everything he wanted. He did + this with a manner quite different from the careless, easy attitude he had + assumed toward Flip; at least the quick-witted girl noticed it, and + wondered if he was angry. It was quite true that ever since his eye had + fallen upon another of his own sex, its glance had been less frank and + careless. Certain traits of possible impatience, which might develop into + man-slaying, were coming to the fore. Yet a word or a gesture of Flip's + was sufficient to change that manner, and when, with the fretful + assistance of her father, she had prepared a somewhat sketchy and + primitive repast, he questioned the old man about diamond-making. The eye + of Dad kindled. + </p> + <p> + “I want ter know how ye knew I was making diamonds,” he asked, with a + certain bashful pettishness not unlike his daughter's. + </p> + <p> + “Heard it in 'Frisco,” replied Lance, with glib mendacity, glancing at the + girl. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon they're gettin' sort of skeert down there—them jewelers,” + chuckled Dad, “yet it's in nater that their figgers will have to come + down. It's only a question of the price of charcoal. I suppose they didn't + tell you how I made the discovery?” + </p> + <p> + Lance would have stopped the old man's narrative by saying that he knew + the story, but he wished to see how far Flip lent herself to her father's + delusion. + </p> + <p> + “Ye see, one night about two years ago I had a pit o' charcoal burning out + there, and tho' it had been a smouldering and a smoking and a blazing for + nigh unto a month, somehow it didn't charcoal worth a cent. And yet, dog + my skin, but the heat o' that er pit was suthin hidyus and frightful; ye + couldn't stand within a hundred yards of it, and they could feel it on the + stage road three miles over yon, t'other side the mountain. There was + nights when me and Flip had to take our blankets up the ravine and camp + out all night, and the back of this yer hut shriveled up like that bacon. + It was about as nigh on to hell as any sample ye kin get here. Now, mebbe + you think I built that air fire? Mebbe you'll allow the heat was just the + nat'ral burning of that pit?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Lance, trying to see Flip's eyes, which were resolutely + averted. + </p> + <p> + “Thet's whar you'd be lyin'! That yar heat kem out of the bowels of the + yearth,—kem up like out of a chimbley or a blast, and kep up that + yar fire. And when she cools down a month after, and I got to strip her, + there was a hole in the yearth, and a spring o' bilin', scaldin' water + pourin' out of it ez big as your waist. And right in the middle of it was + this yer.” He rose with the instinct of a skillful raconteur, and whisked + from under his bunk a chamois leather bag, which he emptied on the table + before them. It contained a small fragment of native rock crystal, + half-fused upon a petrified bit of pine. It was so glaringly truthful, so + really what it purported to be, that the most unscientific woodman or + pioneer would have understood it at a glance. Lance raised his mirthful + eyes to Flip. + </p> + <p> + “It was cooled suddint,—stunted by the water,” said the girl, + eagerly. She stopped, and as abruptly turned away her eyes and her + reddened face. + </p> + <p> + “That's it, that's just it,” continued the old man. “Thar's Flip, thar, + knows it; she ain't no fool!” Lance did not speak, but turned a hard, + unsympathizing look upon the old man, and rose almost roughly. The old man + clutched his coat. “That's it, ye see. The carbon's just turning to + di'mens. And stunted. And why? 'Cos the heat wasn't kep up long enough. + Mebbe yer think I stopped thar? That ain't me. Thar's a pit out yar in the + woods ez hez been burning six months; it hain't, in course, got the + advantages o' the old one, for it's nat'ral heat. But I'm keeping that + heat up. I've got a hole where I kin watch it every four hours. When the + time comes, I'm thar! Don't you see? That's me! that's David Fairley,—that's + the old man,—you bet!” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said Lance, curtly. “And now, Mr. Fairley, if you'll hand me + over a coat or a jacket till I can get past these fogs on the Monterey + road, I won't keep you from your diamond pit.” He threw down a handful of + silver on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Ther's a deerskin jacket yer,” said the old man, “that one o' them + vaqueros left for the price of a bottle of whiskey.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it wouldn't suit the stranger,” said Flip, dubiously producing a + much-worn, slashed, and braided vaquero's jacket. But it did suit Lance, + who found it warm, and also had suddenly found a certain satisfaction in + opposing Flip. When he had put it on, and nodded coldly to the old man, + and carelessly to Flip, he walked to the door. + </p> + <p> + “If you're going to take the Monterey road, I can show you a short cut to + it,” said Flip, with a certain kind of shy civility. + </p> + <p> + The paternal Fairley groaned. “That's it; let the chickens and the ranch + go to thunder, as long as there's a stranger to trapse round with; go on!” + </p> + <p> + Lance would have made some savage reply, but Flip interrupted. “You know + yourself, Dad, it's a blind trail, and as that 'ere constable that kem out + here hunting French Pete, couldn't find it, and had to go round by the + canyon, like ez not the stranger would lose his way, and have to come + back!” This dangerous prospect silenced the old man, and Flip and Lance + stepped into the road together. They walked on for some moments without + speaking. Suddenly Lance turned upon his companion. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't swallow all that rot about the diamond, did you?” he asked, + crossly. + </p> + <p> + Flip ran a little ahead, as if to avoid a reply. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say that's the sort of hog wash the old man serves out + to you regularly?” continued Lance, becoming more slangy in his ill + temper. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that it's any consarn o' yours what I think,” replied Flip, + hopping from boulder to boulder, as they crossed the bed of a dry + watercourse. + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you've piloted round and dry-nussed every tramp and dead + beat you've met since you came here,” continued Lance, with unmistakable + ill humor. “How many have you helped over this road?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a year since there was a Chinaman chased by some Irishmen from the + Crossing into the brush about yer, and he was too afeered to come out, and + nigh most starved to death in thar. I had to drag him out and start him on + the mountain, for you couldn't get him back to the road. He was the last + one but YOU.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you reckon it's the right thing for a girl like you to run about with + trash of this kind, and mix herself up with all sorts of rough and bad + company?” said Lance. + </p> + <p> + Flip stopped short. “Look! if you're goin' to talk like Dad, I'll go + back.” + </p> + <p> + The ridiculousness of such a resemblance struck him more keenly than a + consciousness of his own ingratitude. He hastened to assure Flip that he + was joking. When he had made his peace they fell into talk again, Lance + becoming unselfish enough to inquire into one or two facts concerning her + life which did not immediately affect him. Her mother had died on the + plains when she was a baby, and her brother had run away from home at + twelve. She fully expected to see him again, and thought he might sometime + stray into their canyon. “That is why, then, you take so much stock in + tramps,” said Lance. “You expect to recognize HIM?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Flip, gravely, “there is suthing in THAT, and there's + suthing in THIS: some o' these chaps might run across brother and do him a + good turn for the sake of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Like me, for instance?” suggested Lance. + </p> + <p> + “Like you. You'd do him a good turn, wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet!” said Lance, with a sudden emotion that quite startled him; + “only don't you go to throwing yourself round promiscuously.” He was + half-conscious of an irritating sense of jealousy, as he asked if any of + her proteges had ever returned. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Flip, “no one ever did. It shows,” she added with sublime + simplicity, “I had done 'em good, and they could get on alone. Don't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It does,” responded Lance grimly. “Have you any other friends that come?” + </p> + <p> + “Only the Postmaster at the Crossing.” + </p> + <p> + “The Postmaster?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he's reckonin' to marry me next year, if I'm big enough.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you reckon?” asked Lance earnestly. + </p> + <p> + Flip began a series of distortions with her shoulders, ran on ahead, + picked up a few pebbles and threw them into the wood, glanced back at + Lance with swimming mottled eyes, that seemed a piquant incarnation of + everything suggestive and tantalizing, and said, + </p> + <p> + “That's telling.” + </p> + <p> + They had by this time reached the spot where they were to separate. + “Look,” said Flip, pointing to a faint deflection of their path, which + seemed, however, to lose itself in the underbrush a dozen yards away, + “ther's your trail. It gets plainer and broader the further you get on, + but you must use your eyes here, and get to know it well afore you get + into the fog. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by.” Lance took her hand and drew her beside him. She was still + redolent of the spices of the thicket, and to the young man's excited + fancy seemed at that moment to personify the perfume and intoxication of + her native woods. Half laughingly, half earnestly, he tried to kiss her; + she struggled for some time strongly, but at the last moment yielded, with + a slight return and the exchange of a subtle fire that thrilled him, and + left him standing confused and astounded as she ran away. He watched her + lithe, nymph-like figure disappear in the checkered shadows of the wood, + and then he turned briskly down the half-hidden trail. His eyesight was + keen, he made good progress, and was soon well on his way toward the + distant ridge. + </p> + <p> + But Flip's return had not been as rapid. When she reached the wood she + crept to its beetling verge, and, looking across the canyon, watched + Lance's figure as it vanished and reappeared in the shadows and + sinuosities of the ascent. When he reached the ridge the outlying fog + crept across the summit, caught him in its embrace, and wrapped him from + her gaze. Flip sighed, raised herself, put her alternate foot on a stump, + and took a long pull at her too-brief stockings. When she had pulled down + her skirt and endeavored once more to renew the intimacy that had existed + in previous years between the edge of her petticoat and the top of her + stockings, she sighed again, and went home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + For six months the sea fogs monotonously came and went along the Monterey + coast; for six months they beleaguered the Coast Range with afternoon + sorties of white hosts that regularly swept over the mountain crest, and + were as regularly beaten back again by the leveled lances of the morning + sun. For six months that white veil which had once hidden Lance Harriott + in its folds returned without him. For that amiable outlaw no longer + needed disguise or hiding-place. The swift wave of pursuit that had dashed + him on the summit had fallen back, and the next day was broken and + scattered. Before the week had passed, a regular judicial inquiry relieved + his crime of premeditation, and showed it to be a rude duel of two armed + and equally desperate men. From a secure vantage in a seacoast town Lance + challenged a trial by his peers, and, as an already prejudged man escaping + from his executioners, obtained a change of venue. Regular justice, seated + by the calm Pacific, found the action of an interior, irregular jury rash + and hasty. Lance was liberated on bail. + </p> + <p> + The Postmaster at Fisher's Crossing had just received the weekly mail and + express from San Francisco, and was engaged in examining it. It consisted + of five letters and two parcels. Of these, three of the letters and the + two parcels were directed to Flip. It was not the first time during the + last six months that this extraordinary event had occurred, and the + curiosity of the Crossing was duly excited. As Flip had never called + personally for the letters or parcels, but had sent one of her wild, + irregular scouts or henchmen to bring them, and as she was seldom seen at + the Crossing or on the stage road, that curiosity was never satisfied. The + disappointment to the Postmaster—a man past the middle age—partook + of a sentimental nature. He looked at the letters and parcels; he looked + at his watch; it was yet early, he could return by noon. He again examined + the addresses; they were in the same handwriting as the previous letters. + His mind was made up, he would deliver them himself. The poetic, soulful + side of his mission was delicately indicated by a pale blue necktie, a + clean shirt, and a small package of gingernuts, of which Flip was + extravagantly fond. + </p> + <p> + The common road to Fairley's Ranch was by the stage turnpike to a point + below the Gin and Ginger Woods, where the prudent horseman usually left + his beast and followed the intersecting trail afoot. It was here that the + Postmaster suddenly observed on the edge of the wood the figure of an + elegantly-dressed woman; she was walking slowly, and apparently at her + ease; one hand held her skirts lightly gathered between her gloved + fingers, the other slowly swung a riding whip. Was it a picnic of some + people from Monterey or Santa Cruz? The spectacle was novel enough to + justify his coming nearer. Suddenly she withdrew into the wood; he lost + sight of her; she was gone. He remembered, however, that Flip was still to + be seen, and as the steep trail was beginning to tax all his energies, he + was fain to hurry forward. The sun was nearly vertical when he turned into + the canyon, and saw the bark roof of the cabin beyond. At almost the same + moment Flip appeared, flushed and panting, in the road before him. + </p> + <p> + “You've got something for me,” she said, pointing to the parcel and + letters. Completely taken by surprise, the Postmaster mechanically yielded + them up, and as instantly regretted it. “They're paid for,” continued + Flip, observing his hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” stammered the official of the Crossing, seeing his last + chance of knowing the contents of the parcel vanish; “but I thought ez + it's a valooable package, maybe ye might want to examine it to see that it + was all right afore ye receipted for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll risk it,” said Flip, coolly, “and if it ain't right I'll let ye + know.” + </p> + <p> + As the girl seemed inclined to retire with her property, the Postmaster + was driven to other conversation. “We ain't had the pleasure of seeing you + down at the Crossing for a month o' Sundays,” he began, with airy yet + pronounced gallantry. “Some folks let on you was keepin' company with some + feller like Bijah Brown, and you were getting a little too set up for the + Crossing.” The individual here mentioned being the county butcher, and + supposed to exhibit his hopeless affection for Flip by making a long and + useless divergence from his weekly route to enter the canyon for “orders,” + Flip did not deem it necessary to reply. “Then I allowed how ez you might + have company,” he continued; “I reckon there's some city folks up at the + summit. I saw a mighty smart, fash'n'ble gal cavorting round. Had no end + o' style and fancy fixin's. That's my kind, I tell you. I just weaken on + that sort o' gal,” he continued, in the firm belief that he had awakened + Flip's jealousy, as he glanced at her well-worn homespun frock, and found + her eyes suddenly fixed on his own. + </p> + <p> + “Strange I ain't got to see her yet,” she replied coolly, shouldering her + parcel, and quite ignoring any sense of obligation to him for his + extra-official act. + </p> + <p> + “But you might get to see her at the edge of the Gin and Ginger Woods,” he + persisted feebly, in a last effort to detain her; “if you'll take a pasear + there with me.” Flip's only response was to walk on toward the cabin, + whence, with a vague complimentary suggestion of “droppin' in to pass the + time o' day” with her father, the Postmaster meekly followed. + </p> + <p> + The paternal Fairley, once convinced that his daughter's new companion + required no pecuniary or material assistance from his hands, relaxed to + the extent of entering into a querulous confidence with him, during which + Flip took the opportunity of slipping away. As Fairley had that + infelicitous tendency of most weak natures, to unconsciously exaggerate + unimportant details in their talk, the Postmaster presently became + convinced that the butcher was a constant and assiduous suitor of Flip's. + The absurdity of his sending parcels and letters by post when he might + bring them himself did not strike the official. On the contrary, he + believed it to be a master stroke of cunning. Fired by jealousy and Flip's + indifference, he “deemed it his duty”—using that facile form of + cowardly offensiveness—to betray Flip. + </p> + <p> + Of which she was happily oblivious. Once away from the cabin, she plunged + into the woods, with the parcel swung behind her like a knapsack. Leaving + the trail, she presently struck off in a straight line through cover and + underbrush with the unerring instinct of an animal, climbing hand over + hand the steepest ascent, or fluttering like a bird from branch to branch + down the deepest declivity. She soon reached that part of the trail where + the susceptible Postmaster had seen the fascinating unknown. Assuring + herself she was not followed, she crept through the thicket until she + reached a little waterfall and basin that had served the fugitive Lance + for a bath. The spot bore signs of later and more frequent occupancy, and + when Flip carefully removed some bark and brushwood from a cavity in the + rock and drew forth various folded garments, it was evident she had used + it as a sylvan dressing-room. Here she opened the parcel; it contained a + small and delicate shawl of yellow China crepe. Flip instantly threw it + over her shoulders and stepped hurriedly toward the edge of the wood. Then + she began to pass backward and forward before the trunk of a tree. At + first nothing was visible on the tree, but a closer inspection showed a + large pane of ordinary window glass stuck in the fork of the branches. It + was placed at such a cunning angle against the darkness of the forest + opening that it made a soft and mysterious mirror, not unlike a Claude + Lorraine glass, wherein not only the passing figure of the young girl was + seen, but the dazzling green and gold of the hillside, and the far-off + silhouetted crests of the Coast Range. + </p> + <p> + But this was evidently only a prelude to a severer rehearsal. When she + returned to the waterfall she unearthed from her stores a large piece of + yellow soap and some yards of rough cotton “sheeting.” These she deposited + beside the basin and again crept to the edge of the wood to assure herself + that she was alone. Satisfied that no intruding foot had invaded that + virgin bower, she returned to her bath and began to undress. A slight wind + followed her, and seemed to whisper to the circumjacent trees. It appeared + to waken her sister naiads and nymphs, who, joining their leafy fingers, + softly drew around her a gently moving band of trembling lights and + shadows, of flecked sprays and inextricably mingled branches, and involved + her in a chaste sylvan obscurity, veiled alike from pursuing god or + stumbling shepherd. Within these hallowed precincts was the musical ripple + of laughter and falling water, and at times the glimpse of a lithe + brier-caught limb, or a ray of sunlight trembling over bright flanks, or + the white austere outline of a childish bosom. + </p> + <p> + When she drew again the leafy curtain, and once more stepped out of the + wood, she was completely transformed. It was the figure that had appeared + to the Postmaster; the slight, erect, graceful form of a young woman + modishly attired. It was Flip, but Flip made taller by the lengthened + skirt and clinging habiliments of fashion. Flip freckled, but, through the + cunning of a relief of yellow color in her gown, her piquant brown-shot + face and eyes brightened and intensified until she seemed like a spicy + odor made visible. I cannot affirm that the judgment of Flip's mysterious + modiste was infallible, or that the taste of Mr. Lance Harriott, her + patron, was fastidious; enough that it was picturesque, and perhaps not + more glaring and extravagant than the color in which Spring herself had + once clothed the sere hillside where Flip was now seated. The phantom + mirror in the tree fork caught and held her with the sky, the green + leaves, the sunlight and all the graciousness of her surroundings, and the + wind gently tossed her hair and the gay ribbons of her gypsy hat. Suddenly + she started. Some remote sound in the trail below, inaudible to any ear + less fine than hers, arrested her breathing. She rose swiftly and darted + into cover. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes passed. The sun was declining; the white fog was beginning to + creep over the Coast Range. From the edge of the wood Cinderella appeared, + disenchanted, and in her homespun garments. The clock had struck—the + spell was past. As she disappeared down the trail even the magic mirror, + moved by the wind, slipped from the tree top to the ground, and became a + piece of common glass. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + The events of the day had produced a remarkable impression on the facial + aspect of the charcoal-burning Fairley. Extraordinary processes of + thought, indicated by repeated rubbing of his forehead, had produced a + high light in the middle and a corresponding deepening of shadow at the + sides, until it bore the appearance of a perfect sphere. It was this + forehead that confronted Flip reproachfully as became a deceived comrade, + menacingly as became an outraged parent in the presence of a third party + and—a Postmaster! + </p> + <p> + “Fine doin's this, yer receivin' clandecent bundles and letters, eh?” he + began. Flip sent one swift, withering look of contempt at the Postmaster, + who at once becoming invertebrate and groveling, mumbled that he must “get + on” to the Crossing, and rose to go. But the old man, who had counted on + his presence for moral support, and was clearly beginning to hate him for + precipitating this scene with his daughter, whom he feared, violently + protested. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, can't ye? Don't you see you're a witness?” he screamed + hysterically. + </p> + <p> + It was a fatal suggestion. “Witness,” repeated Flip, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a witness! He gave ye letters and bundles.” + </p> + <p> + “Weren't they directed to me?” asked Flip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Postmaster, hesitatingly; “in course, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do YOU lay claim to them?” she said, turning to her father. + </p> + <p> + “No,” responded the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” sharply, to the Postmaster. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Flip, coolly, “if you're not claimin' 'em for yourself, and + you hear father say they ain't his, I reckon the less you have to say + about 'em the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Thar's suthin' in that,” said the old man, shamelessly abandoning the + Postmaster. + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't she say who sent 'em, and what they are like,” said the + Postmaster, “if there's nothin' in it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” echoed Dad. “Flip, why don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Without answering the direct question, Flip turned upon her father. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you forget how you used to row and tear round here because tramps + and such like came to the ranch for suthin', and I gave it to 'em? Maybe + you'll quit tearin' round and letting yourself be made a fool of now by + that man, just because one of those tramps gets up and sends us some + presents back in turn?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twasn't me, Flip,” said the old man, deprecatingly, but glaring at the + astonished Postmaster. “Twasn't my doin'. I allus said if you cast your + bread on the waters it would come back to you by return mail. The fact is, + the Gov'ment is gettin' too high-handed! Some o' these bloated officials + had better climb down before next leckshen.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe,” continued Flip to her father, without looking at her discomfited + visitor, “ye'd better find out whether one of those officials comes up to + this yer ranch to steal away a gal about my own size, or to get points + about diamond-making. I reckon he don't travel round to find out who + writes all the letters that go through the Post Office.” + </p> + <p> + The Postmaster had seemingly miscalculated the old man's infirm temper and + the daughter's skillful use of it. He was unprepared for Flip's boldness + and audacity, and when he saw that both barrels of the accusation had + taken effect on the charcoal burner, who was rising with epileptic rage, + he fairly turned and fled. The old man would have followed him with + objurgation beyond the door, but for the restraining hand of Flip. + </p> + <p> + Baffled and beaten, nevertheless Fate was not wholly unkind to the + retreating suitor. Near the Gin and Ginger Woods he picked up a letter + which had fallen from Flip's pocket. He recognized the writing, and did + not scruple to read it. It was not a love epistle,—at least, not + such a one as he would have written,—it did not give the address nor + the name of the correspondent; but he read the following with greedy eyes:— + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it's just as well that you don't rig yourself out for the benefit + of those dead beats at the Crossing, or any tramp that might hang round + the ranch. Keep all your style for me when I come. I can't tell you when, + it's mighty uncertain before the rainy season. But I'm coming soon. Don't + go back on your promise about lettin up on the tramps, and being a little + more high-toned. And don't you give 'em so much. It's true I sent you hats + TWICE. I clean forgot all about the first; but I wouldn't have given a + ten-dollar hat to a nigger woman who had a sick baby because I had an + extra hat. I'd have let that baby slide. I forgot to ask whether the skirt + is worn separately; I must see the dressmaking sharp about it; but I think + you'll want something on besides a jacket and skirt; at least, it looks + like it up here. I don't think you could manage a piano down there without + the old man knowing it, and raisin' the devil generally. I promised you + I'd let up on him. Mind you keep all your promises to me. I'm glad you're + gettin' on with the six-shooter; tin cans are good at fifteen yards, but + try it on suthin' that MOVES! I forgot to say that I am on the track of + your big brother. It's a three years' old track, and he was in Arizona. + The friend who told me didn't expatiate much on what he did there, but I + reckon they had a high old time. If he's above the earth I'll find him, + you bet. The yerba buena and the southern wood came all right,—they + smelt like you. Say, Flip, do you remember the last—the VERY last—thing + that happened when you said 'Good-by' on the trail? Don't let me ever find + out that you've let anybody else kiss—” + </p> + <p> + But here the virtuous indignation of the Postmaster found vent in an oath. + He threw the letter away. He retained of it only two facts,—Flip HAD + a brother who was missing; she had a lover present in the flesh. + </p> + <p> + How much of the substance of this and previous letters Flip had confided + to her father I cannot say. If she suppressed anything it was probably + that which affected Lance's secret alone, and it was doubtful how much of + that she herself knew. In her own affairs she was frank without being + communicative, and never lost her shy obstinacy even with her father. + Governing the old man as completely as she did, she appeared most + embarrassed when she was most dominant; she had her own way without + lifting her voice or her eyes; she seemed oppressed by mauvaise honte when + she was most triumphant; she would end a discussion with a shy murmur + addressed to herself, or a single gesture of self-consciousness. + </p> + <p> + The disclosure of her strange relations with an unknown man and the + exchange of presents and confidences seemed to suddenly awake Fairley to a + vague, uneasy sense of some unfulfilled duties as a parent. The first + effect of this on his weak nature was a peevish antagonism to the cause of + it. He had long, fretful monologues on the vanity of diamond-making, if + accompanied with a “pestering” by “interlopers;” on the wickedness of + concealment and conspiracy, and their effects on charcoal-burning; on the + nurturing of spies and “adders” in the family circle, and on the + seditiousness of dark and mysterious councils in which a gray-haired + father was left out. It was true that a word or look from Flip generally + brought these monologues to an inglorious and abrupt termination, but they + were none the less lugubrious as long as they lasted. In time they were + succeeded by an affectation of contrite apology and self-depreciation. + “Don't go out o' the way to ask the old man,” he would say, referring to + the quantity of bacon to be ordered; “it's nat'ral a young gal should have + her own advisers.” The state of the flour barrel would also produce a like + self-abasement. “Unless ye're already in correspondence about more flour, + ye might take the opinion o' the first tramp ye meet ez to whether Santa + Cruz Mills is a good brand, but don't ask the old man.” If Flip was in + conversation with the butcher, Fairley would obtrusively retire with the + hope “he wasn't intrudin' on their secrets.” + </p> + <p> + These phases of her father's weakness were not frequent enough to excite + her alarm, but she could not help noticing they were accompanied with a + seriousness unusual to him. He began to be tremulously watchful of her, + returning often from work at an earlier hour, and lingering by the cabin + in the morning. He brought absurd and useless presents for her, and + presented them with a nervous anxiety, poorly concealed by an assumption + of careless, paternal generosity. “Suthin' I picked up at the Crossin' for + ye to-day,” he would say, airily, and retire to watch the effect of a pair + of shoes two sizes too large, or a fur cap in September. He would have + hired a cheap parlor organ for her, but for the apparently unexpected + revelation that she couldn't play. He had received the news of a clue to + his long-lost son without emotion, but lately he seemed to look upon it as + a foregone conclusion, and one that necessarily solved the question of + companionship for Flip. “In course, when you've got your own flesh and + blood with ye, ye can't go foolin' around with strangers.” These autumnal + blossoms of affection, I fear, came too late for any effect upon Flip, + precociously matured by her father's indifference and selfishness. But she + was good humored, and, seeing him seriously concerned, gave him more of + her time, even visited him in the sacred seclusion of the “diamond pit,” + and listened with far-off eyes to his fitful indictment of all things + outside his grimy laboratory. Much of this patient indifference came with + a capricious change in her own habits; she no longer indulged in the + rehearsal of dress, she packed away her most treasured garments, and her + leafy boudoir knew her no more. She sometimes walked on the hillside, and + often followed the trail she had taken with Lance when she led him to the + ranch. She once or twice extended her walk to the spot where she had + parted from him, and as often came shyly away, her eyes downcast and her + face warm with color. Perhaps because these experiences and some + mysterious instinct of maturing womanhood had left a story in her eyes, + which her two adorers, the Postmaster and the Butcher, read with passion, + she became famous without knowing it. Extravagant stories of her + fascinations brought strangers into the valley. The effect upon her father + may be imagined. Lance could not have desired a more effective guardian + than he proved to be in this emergency. Those who had been told of this + hidden pearl were surprised to find it so jealously protected. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + The long, parched summer had drawn to its dusty close. Much of it was + already blown abroad and dissipated on trail and turnpike, or crackled in + harsh, unelastic fibres on hillside and meadow. Some of it had disappeared + in the palpable smoke by day and fiery crests by night of burning forests. + The besieging fogs on the Coast Range daily thinned their hosts, and at + last vanished. The wind changed from northwest to southwest. The salt + breath of the sea was on the summit. And then one day the staring, + unchanged sky was faintly touched with remote mysterious clouds, and grew + tremulous in expression. The next morning dawned upon a newer face in the + heavens, on changed woods, on altered outlines, on vanished crests, on + forgotten distances. It was raining! + </p> + <p> + Four weeks of this change, with broken spaces of sunlight and intense blue + aerial islands, and then a storm set in. All day the summit pines and + redwoods rocked in the blast. At times the onset of the rain seemed to be + held back by the fury of the gale, or was visibly seen in sharp waves on + the hillside. Unknown and concealed watercourses suddenly overflowed the + trails, pools became lakes and brooks rivers. Hidden from the storm, the + sylvan silence of sheltered valleys was broken by the impetuous rush of + waters; even the tiny streamlet that traversed Flip's retreat in the Gin + and Ginger Woods became a cascade. + </p> + <p> + The storm drove Fairley from his couch early. The falling of a large tree + across the trail, and the sudden overflow of a small stream beside it, + hastened his steps. But he was doomed to encounter what was to him a more + disagreeable object—a human figure. By the bedraggled drapery that + flapped and fluttered in the wind, by the long, unkempt hair that hid the + face and eyes, and by the grotesquely misplaced bonnet, the old man + recognized one of his old trespassers,—an Indian squaw. + </p> + <p> + “Clear out 'er that! Come, make tracks, will ye?” the old man screamed; + but here the wind stopped his voice, and drove him against a hazel bush. + </p> + <p> + “Me heap sick,” answered the squaw, shivering through her muddy shawl. + </p> + <p> + “I'll make ye a heap sicker if ye don't vamose the ranch,” continued + Fairley, advancing. + </p> + <p> + “Me wantee Wangee girl. Wangee girl give me heap grub,” said the squaw, + without moving. + </p> + <p> + “You bet your life,” groaned the old man to himself. Nevertheless an idea + struck him. “Ye ain't brought no presents, hev ye?” he asked cautiously. + “Ye ain't got no pooty things for poor Wangee girl?” he continued, + insinuatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Me got heap cache nuts and berries,” said the squaw. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in course! in course! That's just it,” screamed Fairley; “you've got + 'em cached only two mile from yer, and you'll go and get 'em for a half + dollar, cash down.” + </p> + <p> + “Me bring Wangee girl to cache,” replied the Indian, pointing to the wood. + “Honest Injin.” + </p> + <p> + Another bright idea struck Mr. Fairley. But it required some elaboration. + Hurrying the squaw with him through the pelting rain, he reached the + shelter of the corral. Vainly the shivering aborigine drew her tightly + bandaged papoose closer to her square, flat breast, and looked longingly + toward the cabin; the old man backed her against the palisade. Here he + cautiously imparted his dark intentions to employ her to keep watch and + ward over the ranch, and especially over its young mistress—“clear + out all the tramps 'ceptin' yourself, and I'll keep ye in grub and rum.” + Many and deliberate repetitions of this offer in various forms at last + seemed to affect the squaw; she nodded violently, and echoed the last word + “rum.” “Now,” she added. The old man hesitated; she was in possession of + his secret; he groaned, and, promising an immediate installment of liquor, + led her to the cabin. + </p> + <p> + The door was so securely fastened against the impact of the storm that + some moments elapsed before the bar was drawn, and the old man had become + impatient and profane. When it was partly opened by Flip he hastily + slipped in, dragging the squaw after him, and cast one single suspicious + glance around the rude apartment which served as a sitting-room. Flip had + apparently been writing. A small inkstand was still on the board table, + but her paper had evidently been concealed before she allowed them to + enter. The squaw instantly squatted before the adobe hearth, warmed her + bundled baby, and left the ceremony of introduction to her companion. Flip + regarded the two with calm preoccupation and indifference. The only thing + that touched her interest was the old squaw's draggled skirt and limp + neckerchief. They were Flip's own, long since abandoned and cast off in + the Gin and Ginger Woods. “Secrets again,” whined Fairley, still eying + Flip furtively. “Secrets again, in course—in course—jiss so. + Secrets that must be kep from the ole man. Dark doin's by one's own flesh + and blood. Go on! go on! Don't mind me.” Flip did not reply. She had even + lost the interest in her old dress. Perhaps it had only touched some note + in unison with her revery. + </p> + <p> + “Can't ye get the poor critter some whiskey?” he queried, fretfully. “Ye + used to be peart enuff before.” As Flip turned to the corner to lift the + demijohn, Fairley took occasion to kick the squaw with his foot, and + indicate by extravagant pantomime that the bargain was not to be alluded + to before the girl. Flip poured out some whiskey in a tin cup, and, + approaching the squaw, handed it to her. “It's like ez not,” continued + Fairley to his daughter, but looking at the squaw, “that she'll be huntin' + the woods off and on, and kinder looking after the last pit near the + Madronos; ye'll give her grub and licker ez she likes. Well, d'ye hear, + Flip? Are ye moonin' agin with yer secrets? What's gone with ye?” + </p> + <p> + If the child were dreaming, it was a delicious dream. Her magnetic eyes + were suffused by a strange light, as though the eye itself had blushed; + her full pulse showed itself more in the rounding outline of her cheek + than in any deepening of color; indeed, if there was any heightening of + tint, it was in her freckles, which fairly glistened like tiny spangles. + Her eyes were downcast, her shoulders slightly bent, but her voice was low + and clear and thoughtful as ever. + </p> + <p> + “One o' the big pines above the Madrono pit has blown over into the run,” + she said. “It's choked up the water, and it's risin' fast. Like ez not + it's pourin' over into the pit by this time.” + </p> + <p> + The old man rose with a fretful cry. “And why in blames didn't you say so + first?” he screamed, catching up his axe and rushing to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Ye didn't give me a chance,” said Flip, raising her eyes for the first + time. With an impatient imprecation, Fairley darted by her and rushed into + the wood. In an instant she had shut the door and bolted it. In the same + instant the squaw arose, dashed the long hair not only from her eyes, but + from her head, tore away her shawl and blanket, and revealed the square + shoulders of Lance Harriott! Flip remained leaning against the door; but + the young man in rising dropped the bandaged papoose, which rolled from + his lap into the fire. Flip, with a cry, sprang toward it; but Lance + caught her by the waist with one arm, as with the other he dragged the + bundle from the flames. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be alarmed,” he said, gayly, “it's only—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Flip, trying to disengage herself. + </p> + <p> + “My coat and trousers.” + </p> + <p> + Flip laughed, which encouraged Lance to another attempt to kiss her. She + evaded it by diving her head into his waistcoat, and saying, “There's + father.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's gone to clear away that tree?” suggested Lance. + </p> + <p> + One of Flip's significant silences followed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see,” he laughed. “That was a plan to get him away! Ah!” She had + released herself. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come like that?” she said, pointing to his wig and blanket. + </p> + <p> + “To see if you'd know me,” he responded. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Flip, dropping her eyes. “It's to keep other people from + knowing you. You're hidin' agin.” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” returned Lance; “but,” he interrupted, “it's only the same old + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “But you wrote from Monterey that it was all over,” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “So it would have been,” he said gloomily, “but for some dog down here who + is hunting up an old scent. I'll spot him yet, and—” He stopped + suddenly, with such utter abstraction of hatred in his fixed and + glittering eyes that she almost feared him. She laid her hand quite + unconsciously on his arm. He grasped it; his face changed. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't wait any longer to see you, Flip, so I came here anyway,” he + went on. “I thought to hang round and get a chance to speak to you first, + when I fell afoul of the old man. He didn't know me, and tumbled right in + my little game. Why, do you believe he wants to hire me for my grub and + liquor, to act as a sort of sentry over you and the ranch?” And here he + related with great gusto the substance of his interview. “I reckon as he's + that suspicious,” he concluded, “I'd better play it out now as I've begun, + only it's mighty hard I can't see you here before the fire in your fancy + toggery, Flip, but must dodge in and out of the wet underbrush in these + yer duds of yours that I picked up in the old place in the Gin and Ginger + Woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you came here just to see me?” asked Flip. + </p> + <p> + “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “For only that?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that.” + </p> + <p> + Flip dropped her eyes. Lance had got his other arm around her waist, but + her resisting little hand was still potent. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” she said at last without looking up, but apparently talking to + the intruding arm, “when Dad comes I'll get him to send you to watch the + diamond pit. It isn't far; it's warm, and”— + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll come, after a bit, and see you. Quit foolin' now. If you'd only have + come here like yourself—like—like—a white man.” + </p> + <p> + “The old man,” interrupted Lance, “would have just passed me on to the + summit. I couldn't have played the lost fisherman on him at this time of + year.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye could have been stopped at the Crossing by high water, you silly,” + said the girl. “It was.” This grammatical obscurity referred to the stage + coach. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I might have been tracked to this cabin. And look here, Flip,” + he said, suddenly straightening himself, and lifting the girl's face to a + level with his own, “I don't want you to lie any more for me. It ain't + right.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Ye needn't go to the pit, then, and I won't come.” + </p> + <p> + “Flip!” + </p> + <p> + “And here's Dad coming. Quick!” + </p> + <p> + Lance chose to put his own interpretation on this last adjuration. The + resisting little hand was now lying quite limp on his shoulder, He drew + her brown, bright face near his own, felt her spiced breath on his lips, + his cheeks, his hot eyelids, his swimming eyes, kissed her, hurriedly + replaced his wig and blanket, and dropped beside the fire with the + tremulous laugh of youth and innocent first passion. Flip had withdrawn to + the window, and was looking out upon the rocking pines. + </p> + <p> + “He don't seem to be coming,” said Lance, with a half-shy laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No,” responded Flip demurely, pressing her hot oval cheek against the wet + panes; “I reckon I was mistaken. You're sure,” she added, looking + resolutely another way, but still trembling like a magnetic needle toward + Lance, as he moved slightly before the fire, “you're SURE you'd like me to + come to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, Flip?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Flip, as this reassuring query of reproachful astonishment + appeared about to be emphasized by a forward amatory dash of Lance's; + “hush! he's coming this time, sure.” + </p> + <p> + It was, indeed, Fairley, exceedingly wet, exceedingly bedraggled, + exceedingly sponged out as to color, and exceedingly profane. It appeared + that there was, indeed, a tree that had fallen in the “run,” but that, far + from diverting the overflow into the pit, it had established “back water,” + which had forced another outlet. All this might have been detected at once + by any human intellect not distracted by correspondence with strangers, + and enfeebled by habitually scorning the intellect of its own progenitor. + This reckless selfishness had further only resulted in giving “rheumatics” + to that progenitor, who now required the external administration of + opodeldoc to his limbs, and the internal administration of whiskey. Having + thus spoken, Mr. Fairley, with great promptitude and infantine simplicity, + at once bared two legs of entirely different colors and mutely waited for + his daughter to rub them. If Flip did this all unconsciously, and with the + mechanical dexterity of previous habit, it was because she did not quite + understand the savage eyes and impatient gestures of Lance in his + encompassing wig and blanket, and because it helped her to voice her + thought. + </p> + <p> + “Ye'll never be able to take yer watch at the diamond pit to-night, Dad,” + she said; “and I've been reck'nin' you might set the squaw there instead. + I can show her what to do.” + </p> + <p> + But to Flip's momentary discomfiture, her father promptly objected. + “Mebbee I've got suthin' else for her to do. Mebbee I may have my secrets, + too—eh?” he said, with dark significance, at the same time + administering a significant nudge to Lance, which kept up the young man's + exasperation. “No, she'll rest yer a bit just now. I'll set her to + watchin' suthin' else, like as not, when I want her.” Flip fell into one + of her suggestive silences. Lance watched her earnestly, mollified by a + single furtive glance from her significant eyes; the rain dashed against + the windows, and occasionally spattered and hissed in the hearth of the + broad chimney, and Mr. David Fairley, somewhat assuaged by the internal + administration of whiskey, grew more loquacious. The genius of incongruity + and inconsistency which generally ruled his conduct came out with + freshened vigor under the gentle stimulation of spirit. “On an evening + like this,” he began, comfortably settling himself on the floor beside the + chimney, “ye might rig yerself out in them new duds and fancy fixin's that + that Sacramento shrimp sent ye, and let your own flesh and blood see ye. + If that's too much to do for your old dad, ye might do it to please that + digger squaw as a Christian act.” Whether in the hidden depths of the old + man's consciousness there was a feeling of paternal vanity in showing this + wretched aborigine the value and importance of the treasure she was about + to guard, I cannot say. Flip darted an interrogatory look at Lance, who + nodded a quiet assent, and she flew into the inner room. She did not + linger on the details of her toilet, but reappeared almost the next moment + in her new finery; buttoning the neck of her gown as she entered the room, + and chastely stopping at the window to characteristically pull up her + stocking. The peculiarity of her situation increased her usual shyness; + she played with the black and gold beads of a handsome necklace,—Lance's + last gift,—as the merest child might; her unbuckled shoe gave the + squaw a natural opportunity of showing her admiration and devotion by + insisting upon buckling it, and gave Lance, under that disguise, an + opportunity of covertly kissing the little foot and ankle in the shadow of + the chimney; an event which provoked slight hysterical symptoms in Flip, + and caused her to sit suddenly down in spite of the remonstrances of her + parent. “Ef you can't quit gigglin' and squirmin' like an Injin baby + yourself, ye'd better git rid o' them duds,” he ejaculated with peevish + scorn. + </p> + <p> + Yet, under this perfunctory rebuke, his weak vanity could not be hidden, + and he enjoyed the evident admiration of a creature whom he believed to be + half-witted and degraded all the more keenly because it did not make him + jealous. She could not take Flip from him. Rendered garrulous by liquor, + he went to voice his contempt for those who might attempt it. Taking + advantage of his daughter's absence to resume her homely garments, he + whispered confidentially to Lance,— + </p> + <p> + “Ye see these yer fine dresses, ye might think is presents. Pr'aps Flip + lets on they are? Pr'aps she don't know any better. But they ain't + presents. They're only samples o' dressmaking and jewelry that a vain, + conceited shrimp of a feller up in Sacramento sends down here to get + customers for. In course I'm to pay for 'em. In course he reckons I'm to + do it. In course I calkilate to do it; but he needn't try to play 'em off + as presents. He talks suthin' o' coming down here, sportin' hisself off on + Flip as a fancy buck! Not ez long ez the old man's here, you bet.” + Thoroughly carried away by his fancied wrongs, it was perhaps fortunate + that he did not observe the flashing eyes of Lance behind his lank and + lustreless wig; but seeing only the figure of Lance, as he had conjured + him, he went on: “That's why I want you to hang around her. Hang around + her ontil my boy,—him that's comin' home on a visit,—gets + here, and I reckon he'll clear out that yar Sacramento counter-jumper. + Only let me get a sight o' him afore Flip does, eh? D'ye hear? Dog my skin + if I don't believe the d——d Injin's drunk.” It was fortunate + that at that moment Flip reappeared, and, dropping on the hearth between + her father and the infuriated Lance, let her hand slip in his with a + warning pressure. The light touch momentarily recalled him to himself and + her, but not until the quick-witted girl had had revealed to her in one + startled wave of consciousness the full extent of Lance's infirmity of + temper. With the instinct of awakened tenderness came a sense of + responsibility, and a vague premonition of danger. The coy blossom of her + heart was scarce unfolded before it was chilled by approaching shadows. + Fearful of, she knew not what, she hesitated. Every moment of Lance's stay + was imperiled by a single word that might spring from his suppressed white + lips; beyond and above the suspicions his sudden withdrawal might awaken + in her father's breast, she was dimly conscious of some mysterious terror + without that awaited him. She listened to the furious onslaught of the + wind upon the sycamores beside their cabin, and thought she heard it + there; she listened to the sharp fusillade of rain upon roof and pane, and + the turbulent roar and rush of leaping mountain torrents at their very + feet, and fancied it was there. She suddenly sprang to the window, and, + pressing her eyes to the pane, saw through the misty turmoil of tossing + boughs and swaying branches the scintillating intermittent flames of + torches moving on the trail above, and KNEW it was there! + </p> + <p> + In an instant she was collected and calm. “Dad,” she said, in her ordinary + indifferent tone, “there's torches movin' up toward the diamond pit. + Likely it's tramps. I'll take the squaw and see.” And before the old man + could stagger to his feet she had dragged Lance with her into the road. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + The wind charged down upon them, slamming the door at their backs, + extinguishing the broad shaft of light that had momentarily shot out into + the darkness, and swept them a dozen yards away. Gaining the lee of a + madrono tree, Lance opened his blanketed arms, enfolded the girl, and felt + her for one brief moment tremble and nestle in his bosom like some + frightened animal. “Well,” he said, gayly, “what next?” Flip recovered + herself. “You're safe now anywhere outside the house. But did you expect + them tonight?” Lance shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?” “Hush!” returned + the girl; “they're coming this way.” + </p> + <p> + The four flickering, scattered lights presently dropped into line. The + trail had been found; they were coming nearer. Flip breathed quickly; the + spiced aroma of her presence filled the blanket as he drew her tightly + beside him. He had forgotten the storm that raged around them, the + mysterious foe that was approaching, until Flip caught his sleeve with a + slight laugh. “Why, it's Kennedy and Bijah?” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Kennedy and Bijah?” asked Lance, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Kennedy's the Postmaster and Bijah's the Butcher.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they want?” continued Lance. + </p> + <p> + “Me,” said Flip, coyly. + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; let's run away.” + </p> + <p> + Half leading, half dragging her friend, Flip made her way with unerring + woodcraft down the ravine. The sound of voices and even the tumult of the + storm became fainter, an acrid smell of burning green wood smarted Lance's + lips and eyes; in the midst of the darkness beneath him gradually a faint, + gigantic nimbus like a lurid eye glowed and sank, quivered and faded with + the spent breath of the gale as it penetrated their retreat. “The pit,” + whispered Flip; “it's safe on the other side,” she added, cautiously + skirting the orbit of the great eye, and leading him to a sheltered nest + of bark and sawdust. It was warm and odorous. Nevertheless, they both + deemed it necessary to enwrap themselves in the single blanket. The eye + beamed fitfully upon them, occasionally a wave of lambent tremulousness + passed across it; its weirdness was an excuse for their drawing nearer + each other in playful terror. + </p> + <p> + “Flip.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “What did the other two want? To see you, TOO?” + </p> + <p> + “Likely,” said Flip, without the least trace of coquetry. “There's been a + lot of strangers yer, off and on.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd like to go back and see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me to?” + </p> + <p> + Lance's reply was a kiss. Nevertheless he was vaguely uneasy. “Looks a + little as if I were running away, don't it?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Flip; “they think you're only a squaw; it's me they're after.” + Lance smarted a little at this infelicitous speech. A strange and + irritating sensation had been creeping over him—it was his first + experience of shame and remorse. “I reckon I'll go back and see,” he said, + rising abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Flip was silent. She was thinking. Believing that the men were seeking her + only, she knew that their attention would be directed from her companion + when it was found out he was no longer with her, and she dreaded to meet + them in his irritable presence. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” she said, “tell Dad something's gone wrong in the diamond pit, and + say I'm watching it for him here.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go there and wait for him. If he can't get rid of them, and they + follow him there, I'll come back here and meet you. Anyhow, I'll manage to + have Dad wait there a spell.” + </p> + <p> + She took his hand and led him back by a different path to the trail. He + was surprised to find that the cabin, its window glowing from the fire, + was only a hundred yards away. “Go in the back way, by the shed. Don't go + in the room, nor near the light, if you can. Don't talk inside, but call + or beckon to Dad. Remember,” she said, with a laugh, “you're keeping watch + of me for him. Pull your hair down on your eyes so.” This operation, like + most feminine embellishments of the masculine toilet was attended by a + kiss, and Flip, stepping back into the shadow, vanished in the storm. + </p> + <p> + Lance's first movements were inconsistent with his assumed sex. He picked + up his draggled skirt, and drew a bowie knife from his boot. From his + bosom he took a revolver, turning the chambers noiselessly as he felt the + caps. He then crept toward the cabin softly and gained the shed. It was + quite dark but for a pencil of light piercing a crack of the rude, + ill-fitting door that opened on the sitting-room. A single voice not + unfamiliar to him, raised in half-brutal triumph, greeted his ears. + </p> + <p> + A name was mentioned—his own! His angry hand was on the latch. One + moment more and he would have burst the door, but in that instant another + name was uttered—a name that dropped his hand from the latch and the + blood from his cheeks. He staggered backward, passed his hand swiftly + across his forehead, recovered himself with a gesture of mingled rage and + despair, and, sinking on his knees beside the door, pressed his hot + temples against the crack. + </p> + <p> + “Do I know Lance Harriott?” said the voice. “Do I know the d——d + ruffian? Didn't I hunt him a year ago into the brush three miles from the + Crossing? Didn't we lose sight of him the very day he turned up yer at + this ranch, and got smuggled over into Monterey? Ain't it the same man as + killed Arkansaw Bob—Bob Ridley—the name he went by in Sonora? + And who was Bob Ridley, eh? Who? Why, you d——d old fool, it + was Bob Fairley—YOUR SON!” + </p> + <p> + The old man's voice rose querulous and indistinct. + </p> + <p> + “What are ye talkin' about?” interrupted the first speaker. “I tell you I + KNOW. Look at these pictures. I found 'em on his body. Look at 'em. + Pictures of you and your girl. Pr'aps you'll deny them. Pr'aps you'll tell + me I lie when I tell you HE told me he was your son; told me how he ran + away from you; how you were livin' somewhere in the mountains makin' gold, + or suthin' else, outer charcoal. He told me who he was as a secret. He + never let on he told it to any one else. And when I found that the man who + killed him, Lance Harriott, had been hidin' here, had been sendin' spies + all around to find out all about your son, had been foolin' you and tryin' + to ruin your gal as he had killed your boy, I knew that HE knew it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “LIAR!” + </p> + <p> + The door fell in with a crash. There was the sudden apparition of a + demoniac face, still half hidden by the long trailing black locks of hair + that curled like Medusa's around it. A cry of terror filled the room. + Three of the men dashed from the door and fled precipitately. The man who + had spoken sprang toward his rifle in the chimney corner. But the movement + was his last; a blinding flash and shattering report interposed between + him and his weapon. + </p> + <p> + The impulse carried him forward headlong into the fire, that hissed and + spluttered with his blood, and Lance Harriott with his smoking pistol, + strode past him to the door. Already far down the trail there were hurried + voices, the crack and crackling of impending branches growing fainter and + fainter in the distance. Lance turned back to the solitary living figure—the + old man. + </p> + <p> + Yet he might have been dead, too, he sat so rigid and motionless, his + fixed eyes staring vacantly at the body on the hearth. Before him on the + table lay the cheap photographs, one evidently of himself, taken in some + remote epoch of complexion, one of a child which Lance recognized as Flip. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Lance hoarsely, laying his quivering hand on the table, + “was Bob Ridley your son?” + </p> + <p> + “My son,” echoed the old man in a strange, far-off voice, without turning + his eyes from the corpse—“My son—is—is—is there!” + pointing to the dead man. “Hush! Didn't he tell you so? Didn't you hear + him say it? Dead—dead—shot—shot!” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! are you crazy, man?” repeated Lance, tremblingly; “that is not + Bob Ridley, but a dog, a coward, a liar gone to his reckoning. Hear me! If + your son WAS Bob Ridley, I swear to God I never knew it, now or—or—THEN. + Do you hear me? Tell me! Do you believe me? Speak! You shall speak.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand almost menacingly on the old man's shoulder. Fairley + slowly raised his head. Lance fell back with a groan of horror. The weak + lips were wreathed with a feeble imploring smile, but the eyes wherein the + fretful, peevish, suspicious spirit had dwelt were blank and tenantless; + the flickering intellect that had lit them was blown out and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Lance walked toward the door and remained motionless for a moment, gazing + into the night. When he turned back again toward the fire his face was as + colorless as the dead man's on the hearth; the fire of passion was gone + from his beaten eyes; his step was hesitating and slow. He went up to the + table. + </p> + <p> + “I say, old man,” he said, with a strange smile and an odd, premature + suggestion of the infinite weariness of death in his voice, “you wouldn't + mind giving me this, would you?” and he took up the picture of Flip. The + old man nodded repeatedly. “Thank you,” said Lance. He went to the door, + paused a moment, and returned. “Good-by, old man,” he said, holding out + his hand. Fairley took it with a childish smile. “He's dead,” said the old + man softly, holding Lance's hand, but pointing to the hearth. “Yes,” said + Lance, with the faintest of smiles on the palest of faces. “You feel sorry + for any one that's dead, don't you?” Fairley nodded again. Lance looked at + him with eyes as remote as his own, shook his head, and turned away. When + he reached the door he laid his revolver carefully, and, indeed, somewhat + ostentatiously, upon a chair. But when he stepped from the threshold he + stopped a moment in the light of the open door to examine the lock of a + small derringer which he drew from his pocket. He then shut the door + carefully, and with the same slow, hesitating step, felt his way into the + night. + </p> + <p> + He had but one idea in his mind, to find some lonely spot; some spot where + the footsteps of man would never penetrate, some spot that would yield him + rest, sleep, obliteration, forgetfulness, and, above all, where HE would + be forgotten. He had seen such places; surely there were many,—where + bones were picked up of dead men who had faded from the earth and had left + no other record. If he could only keep his senses now he might find such a + spot, but he must be careful, for her little feet went everywhere, and she + must never see him again alive or dead. And in the midst of his thoughts, + and the darkness, and the storm, he heard a voice at his side, “Lance, how + long you have been!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Left to himself, the old man again fell into a vacant contemplation of the + dead body before him, until a stronger blast swept down like an avalanche + upon the cabin, burst through the ill-fastened door and broken chimney, + and, dashing the ashes and living embers over the floor, filled the room + with blinding smoke and flame. Fairley rose with a feeble cry, and then, + as if acted upon by some dominant memory, groped under the bed until he + found his buckskin bag and his precious crystal, and fled precipitately + from the room. Lifted by this second shock from his apathy, he returned to + the fixed idea of his life,—the discovery and creation of the + diamond,—and forgot all else. The feeble grasp that his shaken + intellect kept of the events of the night relaxed, the disguised Lance, + the story of his son, the murder, slipped into nothingness; there remained + only the one idea, his nightly watch by the diamond pit. The instinct of + long habit was stronger than the darkness or the onset of the storm, and + he kept his tottering way over stream and fallen timber until he reached + the spot. A sudden tremor seemed to shake the lambent flame that had lured + him on. He thought he heard the sound of voices; there were signs of + recent disturbance,—footprints in the sawdust! With a cry of rage + and suspicion, Fairley slipped into the pit and sprang toward the nearest + opening. To his frenzied fancy it had been tampered with, his secret + discovered, the fruit of his long labors stolen from him that very night. + With superhuman strength he began to open the pit, scattering the + half-charred logs right and left, and giving vent to the suffocating gases + that rose from the now incandescent charcoal. At times the fury of the + gale would drive it back and hold it against the sides of the pit, leaving + the opening free; at times, following the blind instinct of habit, the + demented man would fall upon his face and bury his nose and mouth in the + wet bark and sawdust. At last, the paroxysm past, he sank back again in + his old apathetic attitude of watching, the attitude he had so often kept + beside his sylvan crucible. In this attitude and in silence he waited for + the dawn. + </p> + <p> + It came with a hush in the storm; it came with blue openings in the broken + up and tumbled heavens; it came with stars that glistened first, and then + paled, and at last sank drowning in those deep cerulean lakes; it came + with those cerulean lakes broadening into vaster seas, whose shores + expanded at last into one illimitable ocean, cerulean no more, but flecked + with crimson and opal dyes; it came with the lightly lifted misty curtain + of the day, torn and rent on crag and pine top, but always lifting, + lifting. It came with the sparkle of emerald in the grasses, and the flash + of diamonds in every spray, with a whisper in the awakening woods, and + voices in the traveled roads and trails. + </p> + <p> + The sound of these voices stopped before the pit, and seemed to + interrogate the old man. He came, and, putting his finger on his lips, + made a sign of caution. When three or four men had descended he bade them + follow him, saying, weakly and disjointedly, but persistently: “My boy—my + son Robert—came home—came home at last—here with Flip—both + of them—come and see!” + </p> + <p> + He had reached a little niche or nest in the hillside, and stopped and + suddenly drew aside a blanket. Beneath it, side by side, lay Flip and + Lance, dead, with their cold hands clasped in each other's. + </p> + <p> + “Suffocated!” said two or three, turning with horror toward the broken up + and still smouldering pit. + </p> + <p> + “Asleep!” said the old man. “Asleep! I've seen 'em lying that way when + they were babies together. Don't tell me! Don't say I don't know my own + flesh and blood! So! so! So, my pretty ones!” He stooped and kissed them. + Then, drawing the blanket over them gently, he rose and said softly, “Good + night!” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Flip: A California Romance, by Bret Harte + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLIP: A CALIFORNIA ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 2793-h.htm or 2793-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/9/2793/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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